On the fol owing Wednesday, Grace spent the whole day excited over the prospect of the meeting planned for that night. Lessons seemed endless, and Grace had trouble concentrating on her pupils; instead, she was planning the best approach for winning as many ladies as she could to the cause of women's suffrage. As soon as Mary Louise and Margaret Anne were sent to their rooms to wash and change for supper, Grace went flying down the stairs and out the door, clutching her reticule and a sheath of pamphlets. On the veranda she ran smack into a very familiar wal of male muscle -Rathe.

"Are you al right?" he drawled, chuckling, his hands on her arms, holding her so close their bodies touched.

Grace wrenched backward. He reluctantly let her go. The pamphlets were scattered al over the porch, and she dropped to her knees to begin gathering them. Her face flamed. Worse, her traitorous heart was slamming madly around in her chest.

"Here, let me help," Rathe said, kneeling beside her. "Where are you off to in such a rush? Or did you see me coming up the drive?" he teased.

"Hmph," Grace said. She made the mistake of looking up at him.

His bright blue eyes were trained steadily upon her, and when she met his gaze, everything seemed to stop. For a long moment, she was unable to tear her glance away. He squatted inches from her. There were flecks of gold in his irises. His lashes were short but thick and the darkest of browns.

Laugh lines fanned from the corners of his eyes. As she stared, she watched the amusement in his eyes fade, while something else flared. The blue visibly brightened, growing hotter, darker. The look was so unmistakable that Grace was shaken right out of her trance; she reached wildly for the papers nearest her hand, looking down, anywhere but at him.

His hand clamped over hers, stil ing it.

She froze again. She could hear her own breathing, feel her own careening heart. Damn, she thought, damn. She was aware of his hand, large and hard and cal oused, of his knees, inches from her breast. The breeches clinging obscenely to powerful thighs, strained from squatting. Grace's glance wandered upward, settling unavoidably on the soft, conspicuous bulge of his crotch. The instant she was aware of where she was looking, she jerked away, standing. Immediately, he was on his feet too.

"Calm down," he murmured. "Relax, Gracie."

She would not, absolutely would not, meet his gaze again. "I'm late," she said, feeling utter confusion. With new resolve she began gathering the pamphlets. What was wrong with her?

"And where are you off to?" Rathe asked, helping her. Then he glanced at the title of the paper in his hand, Elizabeth Cady Stanton Speaks on Divorce, and laughed. She snatched the pamphlet back, glaring. He reached out and chucked her chin.

She drew back, shoving everything under her arm and huffed past him.

"You forgot this, darlin'," he cal ed, retrieving her reticule and fol owing her. "Where are you going, Gracie? Do you need an escort?"

That thought horrified her. "I most certainly do not," she cried.

"How about a ride then?"

Because she had to walk, the offer was tempting. But she'd sooner die than accept anything from this impossible scoundrel. "No, thank you," she said glacial y, striding down the drive.

"You're walking?" Rathe asked incredulously, pacing alongside her. "Where are you going? You can't walk. Did you know that the whole reason I came to Melrose was to see you?"

She snorted. "I have two good legs, Mr. Bragg, and an excel ent set of lungs. I most certainly can walk."

He grinned, looking sideways at her, "I'l vouch for the excel ence of your lungs'."

Grace caught the glance and the innuendo and went crimson. She decided to ignore him. He wasn't worthy of her attention. Maybe that was the problem-instead of disregarding him she let him bait her, which he seemed to thoroughly enjoy. Then she realized he had stopped and was no longer fol owing, and she had to check herself to keep from looking back to see what he was doing. She managed to keep marching down the drive, and refused to be disappointed that he had given up so easily.

But she did look back ten minutes later when she heard a carriage approaching. Rathe smiled, sitting relaxed as you please in the open vehicle, looking very much the Southern gentleman in his coat, breeches, and polished boots. Grace could not believe his audacious persistence. She resolved to ignore him as the buggy drew alongside.

"Come on, Gracie, let me drive you to town."

She didn't answer.

"How are you going to get back later? It'l be dark in a couple of hours. You can't wander around here alone at night. You might get lost, or worse."

"Something worse', as you put it, would most likely occur if I were to ride with you!" She felt quite smug and pleased with that retort.

"Ah, Gracie, that's not fair. Wasn't I the perfect gentleman the other night?"

"I real y can't recal ," she lied, cheeks burning. She doubted she would ever forget the sensual, rasping quality of his voice. Even now, thinking about it did something strange to her stomach.

"You wouldn't have forgotten if I had kissed you," he said tightly. "Look, Grace, I only want to give you a ride. And I real y did come al the way out to Melrose just to see you." His coaxing smile flashed.

It was about two miles to Sarah Bel sley's house, and Grace would have dearly loved to ride. But she did not dare give him an inch. She did not trust him. Or was it her own self she didn't trust? "No thank you, Mr. Bragg. Would you please stop bothering me? Maybe you should think about Louisa.

I'm sure she's wondering where you are at this very moment."

"I doubt it," Rathe said.

"I do not need a ride," Grace said firmly.

To her surprise, he acquiesced with a grin. "They're your lungs."

The night was balmy, soft and thoroughly pleasant. Rathe leaned back in the carriage, once again looking toward the lights of the Bel sley house. A dozen ladies had congregated. He had to smile at the thought of Grace arousing them with her incendiary talk. After having seen her at van Horne's, he could just envision her lecturing now-and it was too easy to recal just how adorable she was when she got excited.

Scraps of conversation had been drifting through the open windows to him al night. Initial y, the women of Natchez had been shocked. They were not prepared for Grace's extremism. Grace's strident tone had carried. "But they make the laws! And we have to abide by them! How fair is that when we're principal parties, too?"

Hesitant murmurs had fol owed.

"We are equal! And with the vote we can pass new laws-laws that wil give us a chance to obtain custody of our children in cases of divorce, laws that wil enable us to keep our own property when we join in marriage..."

Rathe heard enough to know that the conservative and genteel ladies of Natchez were intimidated by Grace's views. He found himself straining to hear everything she had to say, and realizing for the first time that Grace actual y had quite a few good points. If al married couples had the relationship his father and mother or his sister and his brother-in-law had, the laws Grace wanted to change wouldn't real y matter. But those kinds of relationships were rare, as he wel knew. Many women were unhappy in their marriages and stuck there. But, he mused, many men were unhappy, too. Yet this was the point Grace was making-men did benefit from both society's double standards and the power they wielded through the vote. Women suffered.

He was stil listening intently when she abruptly changed the subject to one more suitable for conservative ladies-temperance.

"It's disgusting," Sarah Bel sley cried. "The decadence, the sin, the shame! Why, I won't mention names, but three of the ladies here have husbands who pass every evening on Silver Street, spending al the family's income on liquor and-and-hussies!"

"Silver Street is abominable!" someone shouted furiously, and Rathe winced.

A chorus of rousing war cries greeted this statement.

"My Wil ard changes beyond recognition under the influence," a woman stated. "Normal y he's so kind. But with whiskey in him he becomes a demon. I'm afraid of him. I can't-don't dare-even criticize him!"

Murmurs of understanding and affirmation rippled through the assemblage. The ladies agreed that it was their Christian duty to form a temperance union.

Outside Rathe shook his head. There were going to be a few unhappy husbands in the days that fol owed. Leave it to Grace to stir up Natchez.

Soon the meeting drew to a close. Rathe puffed on a cigar and watched the ladies as they left. Their goodbyes seemed interminable. As the carriages dispersed he spotted Grace, coming through the picket gate, walking slowly down the street. He watched her approach from the shadow of an ancient walnut tree. Did she real y think she could walk back to Melrose alone at night? Did she real y think he would allow her to walk back there alone?

He leapt down from the carriage in an easy, graceful movement. He didn't want to scare her, but when he moved forward into the il umination provided by a gaslight, she gasped and jumped.

"It's me," he cal ed. "Rathe. At your service, madame."

She stared, then snapped, "What is wrong with you? Haven't I made myself perfectly clear?"

He shook his head with mock sadness. "Why did I suspect it would be like this? I'm driving you home, Gracie. Don't be a stubborn fool about it."

"I don't want anything from you," she cried furiously.

"I know you don't. You have made that abundantly clear. Bend a little, Grace. It's dark out, it's a long walk to Melrose, and there are always thieves and riffraff out at night."

"Oooh," she cried.

"Does that mean yes?"

"Do you always get your way?"

"Until recently," he muttered.

She hadn't heard. "Oh, al right, I give up! If you're going to make so much trouble about it..."

He watched her march to the carriage, head high and shoulders stiff like a little martyr. He found himself smiling. Then he caught himself and ran forward to help her climb in. She ignored his hand, swatting it away, hoisting her skirts and starting to step up. She was too much to resist. His hands closed around her narrow waist. For an instant he paused, relishing the feel of her.

"What are you doing?" she cried, twisting to get free, as if a maniac was accosting her.

He sighed heavily and swung her into the carriage, then climbed in beside her. "Pretty painless, huh?"

She looked at him careful y, sitting erect and properly apart from him, her hands clasped in her lap. He could feel her mind working. She said, "When does the pain begin?"

He threw back his head and laughed. When he met her gaze he saw that she was smiling, too-slightly, but smiling.

Miss Grace O'Rourke was thawing.

Chapter 8.

Louisa Barclay met them on the veranda.

Her furious gaze went from one to the other. "Just what," she ground out, "is going on?"

Rathe was nonchalant, smiling slightly. "Good evening, Louisa."

Grace froze, silently cursing her fair coloring for another damning blush. Louisa saw it, and, if possible, her eyes became darker. "What is going on?" she repeated.

Louisa knew nothing about tonight's meeting, Grace told herself. But then why was she so angry?

"I gave Grace a ride back from a ladies' social," Rathe said easily.

She quickly added, "Sarah Bel sley was introducing me to some of the women in town."

Louisa burned her with a look. "Miss O'Rourke-I'l deal with you later. Leave me with our friend Mr. Bragg."

Grace did not want to go. She wanted to hear every word they said. She wanted to know whether Rathe would reveal the reason for tonight's meeting and exactly how much trouble she was in. She fled into the house-but lingered in the foyer behind the door.

Louisa whirled on Rathe. "Since when do you drive the servants around, Rathe?"

"Is Miss O'Rourke a servant?"

"She's the governess! And one more question," she cried. "Were you on your way to see me when you ran into O'Rourke and gave her a ride?"

"No, Louisa," Rathe said. "The sole purpose of my trip here tonight was to escort Grace safely home."

"You bastard!" She sensed then that she had gone too far, and clutched his sleeve. "I'm sorry." She tried to placate him. "I miss you." Her tone dropped to a husky, sensual note. "I couldn't sleep last night, thinking about you."

"I am sorry," he said, extracting his hand.

She smiled seductively. "You look tired. I think I know exactly the cure for what ails you."

Rathe softened with the knowledge that their affair had already ended. "I have an appointment in town tonight, Louisa."

"That's what you said last night-and the night before."

He smiled slightly, took her hand, and lifted it to his lips. Then he rubbed his thumb along her lower lip, which was starting to tremble. "I'm sorry."

"There's someone else," she accused. "I can feel it. Someone you're seeing tonight!"

He thought about Grace. "There's no one, Louisa. I'm playing cards tonight."

Her brows knit. "Just what were you doing with the governess? I wouldn't think you would like her, but..."

He felt anger rising. He didn't like scenes and he didn't have to answer to her, but so far Louisa had only managed to annoy him. The slur cast on Grace was another matter-one that made him surprisingly angry. He reminded himself of how much Grace needed this job, how he'd hate to be the cause of her dismissal. "I told you, I was giving her a ride back here. Leave it be, Louisa," he warned.

Louisa intuited al she needed to know; she could tel that something had occurred between her governess and her lover, and she felt a stunning fury. "That bitch."

"Louisa, you're wrong."

"I'm wrong? Oh, no, I'm not wrong. I know something's going on between you two. Have you been carrying on right here under my nose?"

"There's nothing between us," Rathe said, too grimly.

"I hate you," Louisa hissed.

Rathe sighed. "On that note, I think I'l leave. Tel the girls I'l be back to say goodbye to them, wil you?"

"Don't you dare set foot on my property again," Louisa shouted.

Rathe shrugged and left.