She was on her feet, prepared to do battle. "Your charm wil not work with me."

He cocked a doubtful eyebrow, grinning.

She folded her arms across her chest, trying to look stern when in truth her heart was banging madly in her breast. "Why are you spying on us, Mr.

Bragg?"

"Rathe," he said, softly. "Rathe. I think we know each other wel enough for you to cal me Rathe."

She blushed beautiful y. "We most certainly do not!"

"Not for my lack of trying." He grinned.

The blush deepened. "You can try til your dying day, Mister Bragg, but it won't change anything."

His smile was broad. "Is that a chal enge?"

She took a breath, suddenly uneasy. "Take it any way you like."

"Is that an invitation?" He coudn't help it-he imagined "taking" her a dozen different ways. Grace, he saw, was impervious to the innuendo.

"An invitation?" she said blankly. Then, "I suppose you'l be tel ing Louisa about this?"

"Now why would I do that?" Rathe asked, riffling Geoffrey's hair.

He was pul ing at Rathe's big, cal oused hand. "Come an' look, Mistah Rathe. Look at my A's an' B's."

Rathe laughed at Geoff's enthusiasm and al owed himself to be pul ed forward. "Ah ha," he said, squatting and studying the slate. "Why, I have never seen a finer A or B in my entire life."

"Real y?"

"Real y."

Geoffrey shrieked a cry of gladness, bouncing around in a little jig, while Rathe and Grace's gazes met-hers hard, his soft.

"Don't play with me, Mister Bragg," Grace final y said, stiffly.

He smiled at her innocent words, imagining vividly how he would like to play with her. He would start by loosening that bun and letting her glorious hair flame free. He stood. "I'm not playing with you, Gracie. When we play, you'l know it."

She stared blankly, frigidly.

There was absolutely no doubt in his mind that she had never been with a man. Her innocence, at her age, with her intel ect, was astounding.

"Are you or are you not going to inform on me, Mister Bragg?" she said rigidly.

"Rathe," he coaxed. "Rathe. And I never tel on a lady."

This time she understood, and this time she blushed.

He grinned. "I give you my word."

She raised her chin, her expression one of utter contempt.

It amused him. "You doubt the word of a Texan?"

"I doubt the word of a scoundrel."

Rathe laughed, a rich rumble of sound. "Then you'l just have to trust me, won't you."

"I'd rather not."

Once again, he wondered if her animosity was directed solely at him, or at al men. "Maybe if you tried trusting me, you wouldn't be disappointed."

She laughed. "You are the last man on this earth that I'd ever trust!"

He was genuinely insulted. "Another chal enge? Gracie, I think it's only fair that I warn you," his gaze held hers, "that I find chal enges irresistible."

She clenched her teeth. "That is your problem, not mine. If you'l excuse us? Geoffrey, come on, we don't have al day. I want to see your A's and B's again."

Geoffrey came running and plopped down. Grace made a point of ignoring Rathe, who made no move to leave. She watched her student making near-perfect letters. "Very good. Do you remember what C is for?"

"C is for cat."

"That's right. And C looks like this. There. Now you do it."

She watched him make a large, irregular C, trying to ignore the man standing with his boot-clad calf in the peripheral range of her right eye. The boot cleaved to thick, but not squat, muscles, and was gleaming with polish. Her eye wandered up to a doeskin-clad knee, lingered at the edge of a powerful thigh. She quickly looked back down as Geoff gave a cry of triumph and shoved the slate at her. "Excel ent. Let's see four more."

"Let me see," Rathe said, and Grace watched the boot move practical y against her arm as he came to stand behind her. She realized, as he bent over her to look down, that she was holding her breath. She exhaled, and it came out in a large rush of sound.

"That is excel ent, Geoff," Rathe said.

He beamed and began enthusiastical y making more C's.

Grace flinched when she felt a pair of large, warm hands cup her shoulders. It was getting hotter out; she was perspiring. She pul ed away, then rose to her feet. "What are you doing?"

"Doesn't it hurt, holding them so stiff like you do al the time?"

Her shoulders went squarer. "You have no right to touch me. What are you even doing here? Why don't you leave? Or don't you have anything better to do with your time?"

"No."

"What?"

"I don't have anything better to do-that is, there is nothing I would rather do than be here with you."

"That is too bad," she said stiffly, thinking, of course, that he didn't mean it. Words, they were just words. But what if he did mean it? "Because the feeling is not mutual."

"Now why is that? You being the fair-minded person you are, it doesn't seem right that you've judged me without knowing me." His gaze was bright blue and teasing, even though his words were serious. "Haven't you ever heard of a fair trial?"

"I wasn't aware that this was a trial."

"You could have fooled me," he said, unsmiling now. "There was no evidence, yet the verdict is guilty."

"Your conceit is astounding. Contrary to what you might think, I have not given you one thought." She stared, feeling secretly appal ed by the immensity of the falsehood.

He started to smile knowingly. "Not one?"

"Life is one big joke to you, isn't it?" she said gravely.

"And you take it too seriously," Rathe said, reaching out a hand and touching one forefinger to her smooth, alabaster cheek. He'd known it. Like silk. Her skin was flawless.

Her mouth parted in shock.

His gaze was inexorably drawn to the ful , open lips.

She stood frozen, unable to move.

Unable to resist, he bent forward.

For the briefest moment, his lips brushed hers with the delicate touch of a feather. Then he pul ed back slightly, to stare into her wide, purple eyes framed by the ugly little glasses. He saw the slap coming but only turned his face slightly. The blow was surprisingly hard and it stung. He guessed he deserved it.

"How dare you!"

He didn't smile. "The question real y is, how could I not?"

"You're worse than the others," she gasped. "Much, much worse! The worst sort of rake, a perverted philistine who wants only one thing from women. We're al your toys, aren't we? And the world is just one big playroom to keep you amused, isn't it?"

He stared, riveted by her words and the vague memory of another time and another place. Perverted philistine...Rathe suddenly cupped her face.

"Stop it!" she cried furiously, trying to twist away.

"Be stil ." He held her face in one large hand, studying it. He twisted his hips to avoid her sudden kick. "It was you!"

He released her and she backed away, panting and frightened. She had seen the light of recognition in his eyes.

"Grace-it was you! In New York! You're that crazy suffragette who shot up van Horne's home!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Grace said tensely.

He threw back his head and roared. "It was you! Damn! I knew there was something familiar about you!"

He was laughing at her-again. "You bigoted pig," she said furiously.

"Male tyrant?" he supplied helpful y, eyes twinkling, dimples deep.

"Yes! Pig, tyrant, philistine, you sicken me!"

He laughed again, then clasped her shoulders, ignoring her struggles. His hands were so very strong-so uncompromising. "Gracie, what in hel are you doing way down here?"

She stopped struggling, flushed with anger and other dangerous emotions. Her glasses were slipping down her nose, but she couldn't raise her hands to push them up. "That, sir, is none of your business!"

He grinned. "I guess not." He released her, then suddenly swooped down on Geoff. "Hey, Geoff, what's wrong?"

Geoffrey was close to tears. "You done hurt Miz Grace."

"Oh, no, never, Geoff, I'm a Southern gentleman and I'd never hurt a lady." Al his attention was on the little boy, and perversely, Grace was peeved.

"It's okay, Geoffrey," Grace said, reaching out to smooth his hair. "He wasn't hurting me. We were-having a disagreement."

"Truly?"

"Truly," Rathe supplied. "Now, let's see those C's."

Reassured, Geoff handed the slate to Rathe. "Perfect," Rathe announced.

Geoff looked hopeful y at Grace.

"Yes, they are perfect. Geoff," Grace said, "I want you to practice these letters tonight in secret. Okay?"

"Yes'm."

"Now, I have to get back, so why don't you run on ahead. You can keep the slate, but don't show it to anyone."

After Geoffrey had gone, Grace turned a serious regard on Rathe, who was grinning. Before she could speak, he reached for her. "Can't wait for us to be alone?"

She dodged his eager hands.

"What are you going to do with-with the information you found out today?"

Rathe's expression grew bright with comprehension and his grin widened. "Ah. I don't know."

"Please," Grace managed, hating having to beg. "I need this job. She doesn't know-about New York."

"I see."

"No, I doubt that you do. I'm asking you nicely to stay out of this."

Rathe's eyes sparkled. "What do I get in return for my silence?"

"What do you mean?" she asked cautiously.

"What do you think?" he said recklessly.

She was breathless, blushing.

He was breathless, throbbing. "The price of my silence is a kiss."

She bit off a gasp of outrage. "You, sir, are impossible!" she cried, and turned away furiously.