He didn't look up. "About what?"

"Rathe!"

He laid the list aside. "Isn't this what you wanted? Me to take on Ford? Stand up against him? Kil him?"

"No!"

"That's what this is going to come to, Grace. Either that or he'l kil me."

She clutched her hands. "No! There has to be a way to resolve this."

"I want you to stay out of it," he told her.

"What are you going to do now?"

"Order some champagne."

"No, I mean about Ford."

He looked at her, then turned and signaled to a waiter. "I'm going to find that sailor and bring him back."

"He's probably left town!"

"Undoubtedly."

"Rathe, don't pursue this. Let it go."

"What about the principles involved here, Grace?"

Grace looked at the tablecloth. "This is personal for you. You're doing this for al the wrong reasons! Just like you proposed to me for al the wrong reasons!"

His hand slapped the table, hard. "You're sitting in judgment on me again! And I don't like it!"

"Everyone's staring," she whispered.

"Everyone's been staring at you since you came down those stairs," he said tightly. "It's because you're stunning. Tel me something, Grace." He leaned forward. "Just how in hel would you know why I do anything?"

She swal owed.

"You don't know my thoughts, my feelings. You don't know them because you don't care enough to find out what they are! Instead, you've judged me as some sort of rotten cad-and for some reason, you won't look any further."

"That's not true."

"No?"

"Then tel me," she said, her heart pounding. "Why did you ask me to marry you?"

"Because I wanted you to be my wife."

Wanted. The past tense. He had wanted her to be his wife-he didn't want that anymore. Why should he? He had what he wanted-didn't he? Not that it mattered! She didn't want to be his wife-did she?

He was stil staring at her, hard. Grace dropped her gaze, feeling miserable. She did not see the disappointment sweep his face.

How many times had he come close to proposing again? Rathe wondered. He kept giving her openings, but she wouldn't respond, wouldn't tel him she'd changed her mind. He was stunned, then, to realize he stil wanted to marry her. And that he always would.

Oh, my God, he thought. He was in love with her. He hadn't faced it before-there had only been words spoken in the frenzy of passion. But he could no longer avoid the truth. He had fal en in love with Grace O'Rourke.

A crazy, red-haired, politicking spinster.

A wonderful, warm, blossoming woman.

And on the heels of shock came fierce resolution. He would marry her. No matter what it took, he would marry her.

"Wel , isn't this a quaint, happy scene?" purred Louisa Barclay.

They both looked up, startled from their grim thoughts. Louisa was resplendent in bold purple silk, her shoulders and most of her white bosom completely bared. Grace suddenly felt dowdy and drab.

"Why, this is a surprise," she gushed loudly. "If it isn't Rathe Bragg and-why-I almost didn't recognize you!"

Grace sat stil and taut, wishing that Louisa had caught them gazing with rapt devotion into each other's eyes.

"Hel o, Louisa." Rathe was standing politely. He took her hand and brushed it with his mouth, barely touching her skin.

"I had heard, of course-why everyone in this town has heard, but I just didn't believe it until I saw it with my little ole eyes! It is the governess-oh, excuse me-the darkie schoolteacher!"

"Louisa, stop it," Rathe said.

"Honey, I'l forgive you your trespass, as I can see that you're squabbling with your new par-ah, lady friend? An' how do you like the accommodations heah?"

Grace inhaled sharply.

"But darlin', "Louisa said to Grace. "Don't despair. You'l have such fun makin' up. Rathe is an expert when it comes to makin' women happy. But you already know that, don't you?"

Grace was red with humiliation and anger. Before she could take a breath, Louisa was kissing Rathe's cheek. He drew back rigidly, but too late.

Grace had seen her ful pink lips open and wet on his skin. Then Louisa sailed away. I wil not cry, Grace told herself.

"Ignore her. She's a spiteful cat," Rathe said, sitting and taking her hand.

Grace yanked her palm away as if his touch burned. "You didn't ignore her. You didn't think she was spiteful enough to keep her out of your bed."

"I never said I was celibate before you."

"No, you most certainly didn't." She knew she could not contain the tears another moment longer.

"Grace!"

She leapt to her feet and ran out of the dining room. She knew he was behind her. She stumbled on her dress on the stairs, but managed to regain her balance. On the top step she fel , onto her hands and knees. Rathe cal ed to her, pounding up the stairs. Grace stood and heard the fabric of her beautiful gown ripping. She began to weep.

He froze on the top step, but only for an instant. "She's not worth crying over," he said gently, taking her into his arms.

"I tore my new gown," she sobbed.

"It can be fixed."

"My beautiful new gown."

"I'l buy you another one."

"I don't want another one." She wept.

He rocked her. "Don't cry. Please don't cry."

"Hold me."

"I'm holding you."

"Don't let me go."

"I won't. Ever. I'l take care of you, Grace. I swear it."

"I'm afraid."

"Don't be afraid. Don't ever be afraid. Everything wil be fine."

"How can you take care of me when you're going to get kil ed?"

He raised her tearstained face. "What?"

She looked into his eyes and her face crumbled anew.

"Would you care, Grace?"

"Yes, yes, I would care!" she sobbed hysterical y.

His breath caught in his chest. His hold on her tightened. Together they swayed.

"I don't know what's happening to me," she said into his soaked chest.

"Just stop fighting me, Grace," he murmured. "Stop fighting me and everything wil be al right."

Chapter 22.

The first thing Grace was aware of was the morning sunlight spil ing brightly, hotly, into their room. She opened her eyes, blinking, wondering why she had slept so late. Remembrance flooded her-Rathe carrying her into their room, holding her, touching her. Something had happened to her last night, an explosion of passion accompanying the realization that she was so very scared for him. When his mouth gently sought hers in comfort, stil wet with her tears, she had clutched him fiercely, holding his big neck in her hands, never wanting to let him go. His gasp was one of surprise.

"Rathe," she cried, nipping his mouth frantical y, demandingly. She could not control her need, her aggression, fed by horror and fear. She was desperate, and only his big body sliding into hers could stil that desperation.

Grace rol ed onto her side. She had started something, something she desperately wished she could undo. She did not mean the passion which she and Rathe had shared. How could she feel shame over her uninhibited behavior when there was so much more at stake? When an innocent man could be kil ed? When it was her fault for provoking Rathe to oppose Ford? And even if Rathe didn't get kil ed, even if it were Ford, she had never meant to put a match to burning coals, had never dreamed the result would be an uncontrol able conflagration.

The sheriff had threatened Rathe. She felt sick remembering. Previously, Rathe and Ford had only been hurling innuendoes at each other, but this time the sheriff had blatantly threatened him. If Rathe ever wound up in Ford's jail he would be in dire straits. Somehow, at al costs, that must not happen!

She found the note immediately. It was propped up on the night table by the pitcher of water. Shocked, Grace stared at his bold handwriting, the envelope addressed with a single word, Grace. Sitting up, she reached for it, fil ed with dread. Somehow, she already knew...

"I didn't want to wake you after last night," he wrote. "I'm on my way to New Orleans, which is the most likely place for Able Smith to have gone. I hope to be back in a week or so, with him. The room is paid for. Charge anything else you need, including meals. Everything is arranged. I've left you extra money, just in case. Rathe." There was a hundred dol ars inside the envelope.

He was gone. Grace crumpled the letter and threw it on the floor. She would pray that he would come back empty-handed so that this ridiculous conflict would go no further. And even then, she had a feeling that nothing was going to stop the two men, not now.

Grace, you fool! If someone is killed it will be your fault! If Rathe is killed ...She inhaled. The thought was unbearable. She cared for him. She real y cared for him. Somehow, it was happening. She was fal ing in love with him.

And he hadn't even said goodbye.

Enough brooding. She decided she would take advantage of his absence in the best way she knew. She would devote herself ful -time to her informal class. And if she could, she would think of a way to manipulate Rathe away from a confrontation with Ford. She had tried to manipulate him once; she'd try again. But why did she feel so awful just contemplating such action?

"Al en, you shouldn't have come today," Grace said.

Al en climbed slowly out of the buggy which Grace was driving. He had accompanied her to school that day and they had just returned to Natchez.

It was late afternoon. "I had to, Grace. When I heard you had organized a class, I just had to. Besides, I'm feeling much better now."

Grace shifted in her seat uneasily. She had been too much of a coward to ever bring up the subject of Rathe with him. "I think Doctor Lang was being optimistic when he said you could be up and about. And he certainly didn't mean for you to spend an entire afternoon out of bed!"

"Do you care?"

"Of course I care," Grace said miserably.

"Do you love him?"

She paused, stricken. Then a burning blush began.

"I knew it," Al en cried, turning his face away. "I knew you would never have gone to him if you didn't." He turned a hot gaze on her. "Has he asked you to marry him?"

"I don't want to get married," Grace said, more calmly than she felt. And the moment the words were out she realized they were a lie.

"I can't claim to understand what's going on between the two of you, Grace," Al en said careful y. "I can't even tel whether you're happy with him.

God knows, he's not a bad man, but he ought to marry you. Anyway," Al en added softly, "should you change your mind, I'l be here. Waiting. I stil want to marry you, Grace."

He was so sincere and there was so much love in his eyes that Grace wanted to weep. "I don't deserve you, Al en," she said huskily, and then she clicked the buggy on down the street, back to the livery.

On the fourth day that Rathe was gone, Grace had visitors. The children were playing tag in the churchyard. Grace was eating her lunch beside Al en, who was getting better and better. Every day he insisted upon coming with her to school. He moved less stiffly now, and she was glad he was here, for he so enjoyed teaching. She had to admit, it felt good being with him; it felt good teaching together; it felt good sitting here like this at noon, discussing their students, sharing their progress. This was what it would be like if she married him.

She pictured Rathe. Her heart and soul took flight and soared. There was no comparing her feelings-and she knew it.