He shoved past his mother and father, a grim, frightening expression on his face. He started up the steps to the platform with hard, purposeful strides. The crowd murmured at his intrusion, the speaker stopped in mid-sentence. "What is this interruption? Sir! Excuse me..."

Grace was on her feet, eyes riveted on him.

Oh, God, she was alive!

Grace leaned toward him, as if she were going to come to meet him. Rathe's strides lengthened. She suddenly, abruptly, whirled and took two running steps. It was as far as she got. He caught her and slung her over his shoulder.

She cried out, "Put me down this instant!"

"Who is that man?" Elizabeth Cady Stanton said into the bul horn. "Can someone stop that man? He's absconding with one of my women!"

Rathe carried her through the crowd, which parted like the Red Sea at his feet, undoubtedly from the fierceness of his expression. He heaved her to her feet. She stared up at him, her eyes shining and bright. Rathe took a deep breath. It was as far as he got. She threw herself at him with a glad cry, and he clasped her to him, moaning. Eyes closed, he held her and rocked her, saying her name, over and over in a wondrous litany.

"Is it real y you?" he cried, cupping her face. "Ah, Grace..."

She was crying. "Rathe, I missed you so...."

He kissed her, hard, possessively, bruisingly. She pressed against him wildly, clinging fiercely. The kiss changed tenor slowly. His mouth softened, his tongue slid between her lips. They drank of each other, their teeth catching in their effort to get as far into each other as possible. He wanted her so much he hurt.

He clutched her face. "Grace-how could you do this to me? I thought you were-"

"I had to," she interrupted, sobbing softly, her violet eyes pleading. "I love you, Rathe, I love you so much, I do! It tore me apart to leave, but how could I stay? I tried to explain it in the letter!"

"You didn't give me a chance," he cried, gripping her shoulders. "You didn't trust me, Grace! I never intended to take your career from you-never!

But did you ask me how I felt-even try and find out? No. You ran away!"

"What are you saying?" she gasped, covering her mouth with her hands, eyes wide.

"I don't want you any other way than the way you are, dammit! I want you to teach, to crusade for what you believe in. I just want to be there to keep you out of trouble! I would never try and take away your career."

"But in Natchez-"

He cut her off. "Can you blame me?" His gaze locked on hers. "I'm a man. You're the woman I love. I could never stop myself from protecting you.

There were two issues there, Grace, not one."

"Oh, Lord," she moaned, and fel into his embrace.

"I should have made myself clearer, but Grace, God, how could you have done it? How could you have run out like that?"

"It was the hardest thing I've ever done." She wept. "I felt there was no hope for us, that you would always try to control me. I didn't trust you, Rathe, I was afraid to! I'm so sorry, because now I know if I had to do it over, I wouldn't! And I was terrified of meeting your parents." She was weeping. "I couldn't endure the humiliation, don't you see? And on top of everything else, I thought you might back off from Ford if I left. I was so afraid he'd kil you!"

He was starting to see. "But I thought you were dead!"

"What?" she gasped.

He couldn't, wouldn't, let go of her face. "I thought you were dead. There was a body in the fire." He stopped. He suddenly understood. His gaze pinned her. "Your necklace, the one I gave you, was there, and some of your things. The body was burned beyond recognition. I thought it was you."

"No," she said, aghast. "I managed to escape the night riders and wound up at Melrose. I asked Louisa for her help. One of her drivers took me to the railway station. But Ford was there, and he tore the necklace from me. I thought he was stealing it because of the money-and because you had given it to me. I didn't know."

Rathe closed his eyes for one bitter moment. "One day that Barclay bitch wil be sorry. As for Ford, I'm only sorry I didn't kil him, that I only ran him out of town."

"Oh, Rathe-I never meant for you to think that I was dead!" She flung herself at him, then stepped back. "Did it mean that much to you?"

He had to laugh, a raw sound. "Mean that much?" he echoed. "Only the difference between night and day, death and life. Grace, without you..." He hesitated, searching for words. "You are the light in my life, can't you understand? From the day I met you, nothing was ever the same. Without you, there's only darkness and despair."

She thought her heart might explode from sheer joy. She touched his beautiful face gently. "Are you tel ing me that you love me?"

"Love you? That word's not strong enough! I love you, I adore you, Grace, I want you." And suddenly he grinned wickedly, his dimples etched deeply in his cheeks. His eyes glinted. He pul ed her close against him. "Right now, in fact," he said in a low voice.

Grace blushed.

"Marry me, Grace," Rathe commanded. "Now, today, this instant. Right here. And then I'm taking you to my hotel room and we're going to make love as man and wife."

"Yes," she said breathlessly.

He was smiling. "The lady final y said yes-on the third round! Does this mean you are no longer immune to my charm?"

"I was never immune to your charm," she chided gently, touching his face. "But where wil we find a preacher?"

"There's at least a dozen men of the cloth here today. Do you think I'm ever going to let you out of my sight again?"

She smiled. "I hope not."

Rathe took her hand and practical y dragged her to where his parents were standing a discreet distance away, yet unabashedly watching. "Pa, find us a preacher." He realized belatedly, then, that Stanton had never resumed her speech and the attention of the entire crowd was stil focused on them. Now Stanton picked up her bul horn. "Is there a minister in the house?"

Laughter greeted this, and a dozen preachers came rushing forward.

"We're getting married," Rathe told his parents, proudly and unnecessarily. "Then I'm going to spend the rest of my life doing two things."

Grace held her breath, but she couldn't help shooting him an adoring glance. Just looking at him fil ed her up with love!

"What's that?" Derek asked, smiling.

"Keeping Grace happy and keeping her out of trouble."

Grace bit her lip nervously, but she was smiling. Miranda came forward and kissed her cheek. "Welcome to the family, dear." Grace's eyes flooded with tears.

"Okay, let's get on with this ceremony," Derek shouted, turning and pointing at a preacher. "How about you, good man?"

The minister grinned. "It wil be my pleasure."

Grace and Rathe smiled into each other's eyes, Rathe taking her hand.

"Does anyone have a ring?" Derek addressed the fascinated crowd.

"Is this for real?" someone asked.

Rathe chuckled and Grace smiled, while Derek shouted that it was, indeed, for real.

A dozen people surged forth, offering to lend them their rings. Rathe accepted one with a hearty thanks and took Grace's hand. Derek and Miranda stepped behind the star-struck couple. "Go ahead." Derek grinned at the preacher.

"Dearly beloved," the preacher intoned.

Rathe and Grace shifted to face each other ful y, gazing raptly into each other's eyes. "This is forever, Grace," Rathe whispered so only she could hear.

"Forever," Grace breathed back.

"I love you," Rathe mouthed. "I adore you."

Grace beamed.

"Soon," he murmured, giving her a pointed look.

Grace blushed.

"The ring, Rathe, give her the ring," Derek urged in a stage whisper.

Startled, Rathe recovered; the crowd laughed softly. Then Rathe placed the ring on Grace's finger.

"I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Rathe pul ed her slowly and deliberately into his arms. "Final y," he murmured. And he lowered his head to hers.

Feeling his blatant erection, Grace came up for air and said, "You, Rathe Bragg, are incorrigible."

"I'm waiting for you to reform me, remember?" he said.

And they smiled and kissed again.

Epilogue.

New York City, 1880 "Look! That's Mama!"

The little red-haired bundle of energy squirmed in her father's arms. "Can you see, honey?" Rathe asked. At the emphatic shake of her head, Rathe shifted his daughter up to his shoulders. "How's that, Lucy?"

"That's my mama!" four-year-old Lucy cried to the gentlemen in the crowd standing next to them.

Rathe smiled, holding her chubby little ankles.

"Mama says women must vote," Lucy declared loudly.

Despite themselves, the gentlemen smiled.

"Hush, sweetheart," Rathe said softly. "Let's listen to what Mama's saying."

"It is imperative," Grace cried from the platform of the auditorium, "that each and every one of you joins us in our quest! We cannot let Supreme Court decisions like Minor and Bradley deter us; to the contrary, they must spur us on! Never has the need for a Federal Women's Suffrage Amendment been greater; never has the law and the tyranny of men been so blatantly obvious. Our oppressors are scared, ladies and gentlemen. Why else would Mrs. Bradley be denied her rights as a citizen under the Fourteenth Amendment merely because she is a woman?" Grace paused, her violet eyes sweeping the crowd.

"I implore each and every one of you, not only to sign these petitions demanding a federal amendment, but also to take a blank petition to your neighbors, families, and friends. Exhort and implore! We need their signatures! The time is now!"

A moment of silence reigned. Then there was a smattering of applause. It was broken by a solitary boo, which was fol owed by a chorus of them.

Someone shouted, "Women belong in the home and I, for one, am sick of listening to you immoral, promiscuous free-lovers!"

More boos and applause fol owed.

"Ah, damn," Rathe said, tensing.

"Women are equal, we deserve the vote!" a woman screamed.

"Lady, go home!" a man shouted back.

Voices rose, a cacophony of protest and argument and imminent pandemonium. The crowd rippled and swayed, taking on a life of its own, its energy coiling, seething. Rathe pul ed Lucinda into his arms. "No, Daddy!" she protested. "I want to see!"

"Daddy has to rescue Mama," Rathe said, tucking his daughter under his arm and surging down the aisle. His eyes were on Grace. She met his glare. She smiled sweetly; his glare deepened. At that moment a ripe tomato went flying, and she ducked just in time. It landed on the woman standing directly behind her. Grace started to hurry off the stage.

People were shoving and shouting, and eggs and tomatoes pelted the stage as a dozen National members, both men and women, rushed off.

Rathe never took his gaze from Grace as she stumbled down the steps at the side of the stage. He saw a man reach out and take her arm, shouting. A second later Rathe grabbed him, pul ing him off with one hand, never releasing his daughter. He shoved the bewhiskered fel ow into another man, knocking their heads together. They staggered groggily.

Rathe had Grace's elbow and was spiriting her out the exit when he felt something slap him on the back of the neck, cool and wet, then start oozing under his col ar. They hurried outside and onto the sidewalk. Rathe looked at her.

"Did you like my speech, darling?" Grace cooed to Lucy, forcibly taking her from Rathe's arms.

"We need mending," Lucy crowed. "We need the vote!"

"That's an amendment, darling," Grace cried, hugging her. "Oh dear, Rathe, you have tomato on your suit."

"Grace, do you have to train her this early?" Rathe groaned. "And whose fault is it that I have tomato on my suit?"

She blinked at him innocently, then leaned forward to kiss him. "Why, I just don't know."

He put his arm around her. "And to think I thought a baby would keep you barefoot and at home."

"You cad," she said.

"Let's not start another riot until next week," he said.

"Al right," she agreed.

"We need mending!" Lucy shouted. "Daddy, I want to riot too!"