There was nothing crude about Isabella's house.

A male laugh, followed by a softer female one, pealed from behind oneclosed door and Catherine scooted past. Somewhere behind her,footsteps sounded. She glanced frantically around. She was about to be caught, or worse perhaps, be mistaken for one of Isabella's girls.She took a deep breath and opened the door at the end of the corridor,praying that she wouldn't find her hostess inside.

At first glance the room seemed to be empty. While the furnishings ofher bedroom had been lush, this room bespoke elegance such as Catherinehad never before seen. Panels of white, painted with tiny pink rosesand lavender forget-me-nots, hung from the walls, caught in the centerby satin ties that made the walls look as if they were windows, drapedwith gauzy curtains. The bed was enormous, hung with matching tiers offabric that swayed back and forth, caught by the night breeze flowingthrough an open window. This had to be Isabella's room.

From the bed came the distinctive sound of a man snoring. A man wouldn't likely be snoring if he were with a woman, at least Catherinedidn't think so. She had to be in the right place, Isabella's room.The occupant of her bed had to be Stone.

Catherine glanced down at the sheer nigh trail she was wearing andwished she'd stopped to find a wrapper with which to cover herself.

Feeling like an intruder, she tiptoed toward the bed, timidly reachingfor the netting and drawing it aside. Fervently she prayed that theoccupant of the bed was Stone, the river pirate, not some customer.

Stone was her last hope to find Patrick.

A single lamp threw a watery light across the lower half of his body.

The sleeping man was big. His huge arm was laid across his face,revealing only the bottom of a light-colored beard. His hair was thick and curly. The sheet, lying loosely across his lower body, revealed alarge chest scarred with red streaks that weren't recently made.

A soft gasp escaped her lips as she realized that the man had beenbadly beaten in the past.

The man groaned and moved his arm, revealing his forehead, discoloredjust above his right eye where he'd suffered some heavy blow. There was a jagged wound at the hairline. His skin gleamed with a sheen ofsweat. As she watched, she felt her knees go weak. A strange shiverraced up the back of her neck.

He licked his lips and whispered a name.

Catherine took a step closer. Still half-shadowed, and covered by hislong hair, his face wasn't revealed. She wasn't yet ready to believewhat every part of her was screaming.

"Are you Stone?"

"Angel? Of course I am." He let out a deep breath and tried to moisten his lips again.

"Water."

Catherine reached for the pitcher, poured a small amount of liquid intothe goblet beside the bed and stepped up onto the bed stool to reachthe man. She lifted his head, pushing back the mass of unruly hair Herheart stopped and every part of her body stilled with dizzyingsensations as she pressed the goblet against his lips, allowing thewater to trickle inside. As if she were in a dream, she replaced theglass on the table and reached out her hand to catch a drop of waterthat trickled down the injured man's face.

She still didn't believe it, even as she felt the soft hair curl aroundher fingers. She closed her eyes and opened them again, deciding thather mind was playing tricks on her, that she wanted something so badlyshe was willing it to be true. Then he moved and for a brief connecting second his eyes flew open and there was no more doubt. She'dfound Patrick. Patrick was the pirate, Stone!

"Patrick!"

"Ah, Catherine. Sweet Jesus. I know you're in my dream. Don't temptme any longer, darling', come close," he whispered and pulled back thesheet in invitation.

"I'm so cold, warm me."

He was nude, his glorious body exposed in a way that Catherine hadwished for, but never expected to find. Like the marble statue in Papa's study, her Patrick was magnificent, even in his injuredcondition, a condition that in no way stilled his great physicalresponse to a woman.

Her hand played across his face, touching, reassuring her that he wasreal, that she wasn't conjuring up the man she'd wanted to find. He'd said he was cold, but he wasn't. He was warm, too warm.

"Please, Catherine. I need you."

She didn't hesitate. This was Patrick, not some pirate called Stone.

Catherine had come across a wilderness to reach him. He'd saved her life. She didn't care where they were, or what might happen. Patrick needed her; nothing else mattered. She blew out the lamp, slid into bed and pulledthe sheet over them both.

Moments later his arm was around her, pulling her face to his chest,pressing her against his body as if he wanted them joined. She felt the force of his touching her, not the polite teasing that they'dshared in Georgia, but the unleashed power of his need. Catherine had never been so close to a man, not even back in Georgia, on the bank ofthe Broad River, or in the barn when they'd kissed.

And it was no longer just Patrick who was on fire.

"What's this?" he muttered in a voice that was more a growl than aquestion. He caught her nightdress and pushed it up around her neck.

Their skins touched, melded. Fire met ice and engulfed Catherine withsuch heat that she knew she would surely burn up.

"It's all right," she whispered, in a voice so shaky that she didn'trecognize herself.

"I'm here now, Patrick. I've found you."

"Ah, Catherine, I've waited so long." His kiss was rough, urgent. Thenhe groaned and fell back.

"No, I must be gentle. I promise."

Given the chance, Catherine would have told him she didn't care. But he covered her mouth again, even in his feverish condition, governinghis actions by settling her in the curl of his arm so that his otherhand could steal across her body, touching her face, her neck, herbreasts.

"Open your eyes, Patrick," she finally pleaded. See me, she saidsilently.

But Patrick didn't comply. He knew that he was turning Isabella intoCatherine as he'd done so many times and that opening his eyes woulddispel his fantasy.

And then Catherine saw the moisture begin to bead his forehead. His fever was breaking. She tried to use the corner of the bed cover to wipe the perspiration from his skin, but the silk fabric slid away andher fingers were caressing his chest, following the line of the scars,finding his lower body and the enlarged part of him that had oncepressed against her so urgently. Her skin was absorbing his heat andsimmering with the fire of his touch.

Catherine's eyes stung with a mist of tears that rolled down hercheeks. There was such intense joy in being with Patrick again. Joyand gratitude. Never had she given up that he was alive, even wheneveryone told her he was dead. Even when a stranger had sailed hisSavannah Lady into port. She'd still refused to believe that he was gone.

Privateer, adventurer, pirate, whatever he was, she was here, with him,in his arms, and nothing else mattered--not where he'd been, or why hehadn't come back for her. He was Patrick, her laughing, blue-eyedIrishman, and she trusted him with her life, and her body.

She was aware of every part of him, lying beside her, her breasts beingseared by rough skin, fingertips skimming the rounded curves, seekingand teasing her now taut nipples. When his hands left her breasts and moved lower, she wondered at her body's reaction, the involuntaryarching of her back, as if she were reaching out for something thatshe'd craved but never experienced.

Catherine's breath came faster. Somewhere in her mind she knew that what was happening was probably not the best thing for a man who'd beeninjured. But he was strong and there was a need in him that wentbeyond his condition, a determination that seemed to match her own andshe knew that there was no stopping him. Even if she'd wanted to, andshe couldn't.

He was sliding his hands along her hips, down her legs and across herknees until he reached the inside of her thighs, which partedinvoluntarily. She panicked for a moment, reaching for his arm andholding on as if she couldn't decide whether to stop him or urge him on.

Slowly, either from his weakened condition or from some inner control,his fingers played along the inside of her thighs, skimming across themoist, tingling area between, touching her lightly until she thoughtshe would die.

Patrick wasn't cold anymore. His body was fiery hot, and she couldn'ttell whether it was from the fever or the heat raging between them.

Then she felt him touch her most private place.

Without thought, Catherine pressed against his hand, urging him on,lifting herself to meet the intrusion that had coaxed the flame higher.Of its own volition her hand left Patrick's arm and sought that part ofhim pressing itself against her thigh as he turned his body towardhers. His leg slipped across her, dislodging her hand just as itgripped his maleness.

With a groan, half of pain and half of passion, Patrick lifted himselftotally and pressed against the most heated part of her body, found andentered her with a sudden fullness that seemed more than she could take.

As if he'd suddenly wakened, Patrick stopped and held himself aboveher, barred by the barrier he'd encountered. Then that fleetingrealization passed and in one sudden push he was inside.

He knew as he plunged inside her that he was caught up in a fevereddream. He knew because night after night, imprisoned in that dark,airless cell, he'd had that same dream, of holding Catherine in hisarms, of loving her, of losing himself in that warm, wonderful bodythat he'd walked away from. But now, as before in his imagination, shewas here and he was loving her, and he could hear her soft mewingcries.

"Patrick... Patrick, Oh, Patrick" -And then he felt it, the powerful,dizzying whirlpool of sensation that caught his body and spun it into aplace of quaking heat that he'd always believed existed, but nevertruly found. Faster and faster, hotter and hotter, and finally athrust of tightness that ripped his control and spilled over into somegreat plunging release.

Then there was stillness, contentment, connection, even as he fell backinto sleep, the first real, relaxed sleep he'd had in so very long.He'd apologize to Bella for calling her Catherine. She'd forgive him,she always did. Until the next time Stone made love to her, when he'dclose his eyes and pretend that it was Catherine in his arms.

But tonight, caught up in a dream, tonight he'd have sworn that itreally was his Catherine who'd come to him. But Catherine was back in Petersburg, Georgia, waiting for Patrick, who could never return.

Catherine lay for a long time, nestled in the crook of Patrick's arm,listening to him breathe. He seemed calmer now, cooler. As if their mating had removed the evils festering inside his body and made himwell.

Catherine liked that thought. She sighed in pleasure and closed her eyes. Tomorrow they'd talk. Tomorrow would be soon enough. Tonightshe'd found him and that was enough.

Chapter Four.

"Where is the girl, Sally?"

"I don't know. She was in her room just before I came down tonight.

Then, after you sang I brought a gent up for a short time. Afterward I checked on her and she was gone. "

Isabella glared at the open door and back at Sally.

"Well, that's a fine thank-you. We take her in and she runs off in the middle of the night. I'd better check on Stone."

But her progress was halted by the voice of Pharaoh, coming fromdownstairs.

"Where you going, Captain Lopaz, suh? Miss Isabella don't allow no soldiers in her private quarters."

Captain Lopaz? The intruder was the newly assigned assistant to thecommandant at the nearby fort, the man who'd beaten Stone and arrestedPharaoh. And he was here.

That was to be expected. Everyone in any position of authority came toHeaven, sooner or later. Isabella groaned and chastised herself fornot finding out the man's name yesterday so she could have warned Stonethat his enemy had returned.

And there was Pharaoh.

In the weeks since Pharaoh had arrived, he'd gained back his strengthand his pride, improving to the point that she'd made him her house manager. With Pharaoh at the door and Stone, injured, in Isabella'sbed, Captain Lopaz's arrival could be a disaster. She held her breath,searching her mind for answers.

"How may we be of service. Captain, sir?" Pharaoh was askingpolitely.

There was no immediate response from the captain, so perhaps he didn'trecognize Pharaoh as the slave he'd sent to prison. "There is a woman missing, upriver. Her future husband believes she may have been takenby the pirate, Stone. He has offered a large reward for her return.I've been told that a man and a woman were found in the river and brought here," the captain said.

"I've come to question the pair."

Isabella thought about the woman Stone had brought here. Stone had never done anything like that before. She could be the missing woman,but Lopaz was too late. She'd already gone.

Still, if the soldiers were allowed to search, Stone would bediscovered and she couldn't let that happen.

"Sally, tell the captain that I'll be down shortly, and send Pharaoh tothe kitchen until he leaves."

As Sally left to comply, Isabella dashed down the corridor and into her room."Stone! You must get away!"But it wasn't Stone who sat up sleepily. It was the girl. She was in Isabella's bed, where Isabella expected to find Stone. For a momentIsabella was stunned into silence."Where is he, you foolish girl?" she said at last.Catherine looked around in sleepy confusion. Patrick was gone."Idon't know. He was here earlier. "There was a commotion behind Isabella in the hall.

"You can't go in there!" Sally was saying."Get out of my way, woman! No more lies. He got fished out of theriver last night and was brought here. Everybody knows that head ofyellow hair. Give me that lamp and step aside."

"Why, Captain," Isabella said smoothly.

"I hadn't expected you to call so late."

"Move aside, woman. I want to see who you have in your bed. If it's

Stone, I'll take him into custody and see that he's hanged. Then I'll

get back to New Orleans and collect the reward." Catherine leaned back, hiding herself among the pillows. The Spanishcaptain was looking for Stone--no, she corrected herself, notStone--Patrick. She understood the truth now; Stone and PatrickMcLendon were indeed one and the same. And she'd caused Patrick's injury when he brought her here. It was because he'd rescued her that he was about to be caught.

Isabella looked as if she were going to argue, then smiled and steppedback.

"By all means, Captain, see who is occupying my bed." The overlarge man shoved Isabella away and jerked the hangings from thebed, exposing the frightened and confused Catherine. She stared at the soldier, turned her head into the pillow and covered herself with thesheet.

"A woman?" "My niece," she said in resignation, trying not to let him see hercasual perusal of the room. As the captain waved the lamp about, she noticed that the rug beside the bed had been moved, exposing the cornerof the trapdoor. "Where is Stone?" he was demanding, "and don't tell me that he hasn't been here. I know that he has.""Why, Captain, I don't know what you're talking about. As you can see, there is no man here. Now, suppose we go back downstairs and leavethis poor frightened child alone," Isabella said, stepping between thegirl and the captain in an attempt to hide the escape tunnel fromdiscovery.

"Your niece is quite attractive." The captain gave Catherine apiercing glance that said he was not completely convinced that hewasn't being fooled.

Lopaz would accept Isabella's story for the moment. If this girl wasthe one the American claimed had been kidnapped by Stone, she wasn'tgoing anywhere--and neither was Stone. Come morning, Senor Forrestwould be on the flatboat heading down river. He didn't have to know about this girl just yet. Lopaz gave an imperceptible nod and allowedIsabella to draw him into the hallway. He could wait. Two rewards were better than one.

Once the soldier was gone and the door was closed, Sally rushed towardthe bed.

"Where is Stone? Isabella is going to have your hide for this, youfoolish girl."

"I don't know. And his name isn't" -Catherine broke off. She didn't understand what had happened. She'd gone to sleep in Patrick's arms,only to be awakened by the clamor in the hallway. She'd only justdiscovered that Patrick was gone when the door burst open.

"I think you'd better return to your room before Isabella gets back."

She pulled Catherine's arm, forcing her to stand, then let out a gasp.

"What's wrong, Sally?"

"Blood. On the sheet. What did you do to Stone? Is he injured?" She took a step closer, studying the sheet, then lifting her eyes inquestion.

"You--you made love with Stone?"

"No!" Catherine felt a flush of heat color her cheeks.

"Yes. How did you know?"