"Isaac told me. He thinks the world of you, Glory. But he'd never do anything behind my back."

"Why didn't you say something?"

"Because I wanted you to tell me yourself."

She twisted the folds of the sheet, unable to meet his gaze. "It's important to me, Nicholas."

"So you said."

She lifted her eyes to his. The smoky irises didn't waver, but they held no rebuke. "Does that mean you'll let me continue?"

"Could I stop you?"

"I . . . I don't know."

"At least you're honest. I told you before, Glory, I trade with the people of the South. I'd be a hypocrite if I worked against them behind their backs. On the other hand, you'd be guilty of a far greater sin if you didn't heed your conscience. I will not assist you, but I won't stop you either."

"Oh, Nicholas!" She rolled on top of him and covered his face with kisses, smiling and laughing at the same time. "Thank you, thank you, thank you." The hard muscles of his chest bunched as his hand cupped her bottom to settle her more firmly atop him. Her eyes widened as she felt his rigid manhood pressing stiffly between her thighs.

"I'm afraid I won't settle for just a thank-you," he said, his voice turning husky. "It's time you paid the piper." With that he kissed her until she felt breathless and hot all over. Then he slid inside. She could feel the heat, the thickness of his shaft as he filled her, gliding out and then in, stirring a surge of desire with each demanding stroke. Wanting more, Glory arched and bucked against him, but he gripped her flesh and held her steady, thrusting into her again and again. The heat he fired seared her loins. She moaned and writhed, but he didn't let go. Just drove hard and deep until she reached a climax and so did he.

When they'd spiraled down to a comfortable glow, she ran a playful finger along his chest. "If that is my punishment, maybe I should deceive you more often."

"Try it again," he warned, "and I won't be so gentle."

"Gentle!" They both laughed at the same time. Brushing her lips in a last brief kiss, he enfolded her in the circle of his arm.

They lay quiet for a while, then, "Tell me you love me."

She didn't answer. It was still too soon. "I can't, Nicholas," she whispered. "Not yet. Please try to understand."

"I'm trying, Glory. Harder than you know."

"Do you think you can entertain yourself for a few hours while I'm away?" he asked. "I need to check on a few things at my office."

Glory yawned and stretched catlike beneath the sheets. Nicholas was already up and dressed in navy blue splittailed coat, gray cashmere waistcoat and trousers, white shirt, and stock. Damp black hair curled just above his collar.

"I'm sure I'll manage," she told him with a soft smile.

"I won't be back till late this afternoon. Just take it easy today. I want you well rested for the ball."

Glory's smile faded.

Nicholas leaned over the bed and brushed her lips with a kiss. "It won't be that bad. I promise." He strode to the door. "I'll see you later."

A few minutes after he'd gone, a petite woman in her early twenties knocked and entered the room. She was dressed in black except for a crisp white apron and a white linen cap.

"Mornin', miss."

Glory sighed. "Good morning."

"My name is Cheryl. I'll be your lady's maid whilst you're here."

"Thank you, Cheryl." Cheryl helped Glory with her ablutions, coiffed her hair, and helped her dress. She was extremely efficient, her demeanor almost stoic. Glory imagined the maid had learned the attitude from her mistress.

Glory spent the day reading and resting, as Nicholas had suggested. She walked in the gardens at the rear of the town house, soaking up the early sun, then returned to her room. The day passed far too quickly, though she'd spent the time alone. Nicholas arrived before dark but still had work to do, so she saw him only briefly. She ate a light repast, ordered a bath sent up, and had her gown laid out She had chosen a beautiful white satin trimmed in blue brocade. The bodice, also of blue brocade, fit closely, ending in a deep-V-shaped inset below the waist. The color matched her eyes; the decolletage was daringly low.

After a rose-scented bath, Glory dressed in a fine linen chemise and demicorset; then Cheryl returned to comb her hair, styling it in long cascading ringlets below her ears. Freshly washed, it glistened in the flickering lamplight as richly as her satin gown. Cheryl finished Glory's toilette by smoothing rose-scented cream over her bare shoulders.

"My, miss, you certainly look pretty. Every man there will have eyes only for you."

"Thank you, Cheryl." Eyes only for her? Glory had no doubt of that. They would be dying to see "the captain's tart." She felt her stomach roll, the color drain from her cheeks. It was all she could do to keep from bursting into tears. She would never be able to face them. Never!

"Are you all right, miss?" Cheryl asked, and Glory felt worse than ever.

Was she that transparent? How in God's name would she be able to fool Nicholas's friends if she couldn't even fool one of the servants? "I'm . . . I'm fine, thank you. That will be all for now." Cheryl quietly left the room.

Glory sank down on the tapestry stool before the giltframed mirror. If she gave in to tears, her eyes would be swollen and red, and she would make an even bigger fool of herself. Her stomach rolled again, and for a moment she thought she might really be sick.

Just then Nicholas opened the door. He had bathed, shaved, and dressed in black evening clothes, perfectly tailored to his lean, hard frame.

Nicholas paused in the doorway, his gaze drawn to the beauty who faced him from across the room. Though her cheeks were pale, her blond hair glistened, and her skin locked so soft and smooth he fought the urge to touch it. The creamy mounds of her bosom rose and fell above the top of the gown, tantalizing him, beckoning him-just as they would every other man who saw her. It was all he could do to keep his jealousy at bay. He smiled at himself. He'd married a beautiful, desirable woman. He would have to learn to accept that. He certainly had no trouble accepting it in bed.

Striding across the room, he dropped a light kiss on the curve of her neck. "Good evening, love.'' Again he allowed himself the pleasure of watching her. "You look more beautiful than I could have wished." His voice had turned husky.

"Nicholas, I'm afraid I won't be able to go with you after all."

He quirked a brow. "No?"

Nervously she glanced away. "I'm not feeling well. Maybe my monthly time is coming."

Nicholas chuckled softly. "You never cease to amaze me. I was certain you'd be eager for revenge. A chance to show them the stuff you're really made of. That's what your father would have wanted you to do, but if you're afraid . . ." He shrugged his shoulders. "I'd rather you accompany me, but if you're . . . ill, I certainly don't want to encourage you."

Glory chewed her lip, looking uncertain.

"I believe an old friend of yours from Charleston will be there," he pressed. "Lavinia Bond. And of course you know Kristen and Arthur Pedigru."

Cheeks coloring, she lifted her chin. Nicholas took a stride toward the door. "I'll send the maid up to help you undress. I don't want to be late."

She took a hesitant step toward him, hands clenched at her sides. "Nicholas, wait."

He faced her, allowing himself a narrow half-smile. "Feeling better?"

"Damn you, Nicholas Blackwell. You are still a devil of a man!"

"And you, my sweet, are still stubborn and spoiled and in need of just such a man."

They both grinned at the same time. Nicholas extended his arm. "Shall we go?"

"You always win, don't you?"

"Not always. I distinctly remember losing a game of billiards once."

Glory laughed, a soft tinkling sound. She accepted his arm with an impish smile.

"One more thing." Nicholas reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and extracted a small velvet box. He opened the lid and lifted a thin gold chain. A single blue sapphire surrounded by a wreath of diamonds dangled from the end of the chain.

"Oh, Nicholas."

He draped it around her neck and fastened the clasp. "Call it a late Christmas present."

"It's beautiful, Nicholas. I love it. Thank you." She kissed his cheek. He felt the fullness of her lips, the brush of her hair as she leaned forward. He only wished she had told him she loved him as well.

His smile a little less wide, Nicholas nestled her hand in the crook of his arm, and they headed for the stairs.

A line of carriages waited in front of the Whitmore mansion. Yellow light beckoned through every window, upstairs and down.

Wrapped in a white satin pelisse lined in the same blue as the bodice of her gown, Glory accepted Nicholas's hand and stepped from the glistening black brougham. His own red satin-lined cape swung out behind them as they walked. Black-clad servants took their wraps as they entered the foyer. Crystal chandeliers flickered overhead, and black and white marble floors glistened beneath their feet. Nicholas kept Glory's hand firmly tucked into the crook of his elbow. He felt a slight tremor in her touch and wished he could somehow make things easier.

Their host and hostess, Morgan and Celeste Whitmore, greeted them just inside the ballroom.

"Captain Blackwell." Morgan extended a hand. "We're so happy you could come. You remember my wife, Celeste."

"Of course." Nicholas brought her gloved fingers to his lips. "May I present my wife, Glory?"

Celeste Whitmore barely smiled. Morgan smiled so knowingly Nicholas wanted to hit him.

"It is an honor to meet the woman who has brought the elusive Captain Blackwell to heel," Morgan said.

"We've been looking forward to meeting you, my dear," Celeste put in. "Quite intrigued, in fact."

"Thank you for inviting us" was all Glory said.

"Why don't you go on inside?" Morgan suggested to Nicholas. "Have some refreshment. I'm sure the others are just as curious-I mean, eager-to meet your new bride as we."

Nicholas bowed stiffly, determined to ignore the barbs he knew his wife had not missed. He smiled down at Glory, his gaze purposely long and warm. "Come on, love. I'm sure my friends are going to adore you just as much as I do." He caught a glimpse of Celeste Whitmore's surprised expression as he led Glory from the room.

The evening moved with agonizing slowness for Glory. If it hadn't been for Nicholas's reassuring presence, she would have long ago run from the room. He always seemed to be there with just the right words, just the right look to still people's tongues and make them begin to wonder. When he danced with her, he had eyes only for her. Whenever he could, he led her onto the terrace and spoke to her in intimate whispers. Once he even kissed her. She was sure he'd done it to make a point, for she saw several matronly women watching from behind their plumed fans.

By the time he released her, she'd forgotten the ladies' existence, forgotten almost where she was. Breathless and a little dizzy, she pressed a hand against the front of his stiff white shirt to steady herself. "Are you certain you should be kissing me like that?"

Nicholas chuckled, a soft rumble beneath her hand. "It didn't turn out exactly as I intended. It was supposed to be a little more chaste."

Glory blushed to her toes. "You are such a rogue."

"And you, love, are so damned desirable that all I want to do is take you to bed."

"Then why don't you?"

"Not just yet. I want to know exactly where we stand. Will you be all right out here until I get back?"

"I promise I won't desert."

He kissed her cheek and headed back into the ballroom. Lavinia Bond stopped him just a few steps inside the door.

"Nicholas darling, shame on you. Where on earth have you been keeping yourself?" She fluttered her thick black lashes and looked at him over her black lace fan.

"I'm a married man now, Lavinia. Hadn't you heard?"

"Everyone's heard, darling. We all know how you were forced into it, poor dear."

"Maybe everyone should take a good look at my wife. I doubt there's a man here who doesn't envy me. I hardly needed to be forced. Now if you'll excuse me, Lavinia." He started to leave, then turned. "Isn't that Victor over there? I'll tell him you're looking for him." With an inward smile, he walked away.

Nicholas moved around the room, catching bits of conversation as he passed.

"Apparently the gossips were wrong," one velvet-gowned matron said.

"She certainly doesn't look like the disreputable creature they say," came the voice of a middle-aged man.

"I for one find her charming," a young dandy said, staring toward the terrace with a wistful look in his eyes.

As Nicholas awaited his turn at the punch bowl, he heard Colonel Marcus Wilby, a rotund merchant, and Devon Howard, a thin-lipped importer with wily eyes, in quiet conversation. Devon chuckled softly at something the colonel said. All Nicholas caught was the mention of his wife's name. The next words pumped a surge of anger through his veins.

"I'll say one thing for her, the captain's tart is-"

"Good evening, Colonel," Nicholas said, smiling falsely, temper barely in check. "Oh, excuse me, I hope I didn't interrupt."

"Not at all," the colonel said, clearing his throat. "As I was saying, the captain's . . . bride is one of the most enchanting creatures I've ever seen."

This time Nicholas's smile was genuine. "I couldn't agree more. I'm a fortunate man indeed."

Devon Howard seemed surprised. "Really? Why, we'd heard . . . that is, we weren't quite certain of the circumstances of your marriage."

"That should be obvious, gentlemen. Her father and I were friends. The marriage had long been in the planning."

"I see."

"We all knew Julian Summerfield," the colonel put in. "A fine man."

"His daughter is a fine young woman," Nicholas said softly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd better see to my wife before someone tries to take my place." Satisfied that he'd accomplished his mission at last, he smiled and left them staring after him.

He and Glory left the ball a short time later.

"Now, that wasn't so bad," he teased as the carriage rolled over the cobblestone streets.

Glory shuddered in the circle of his arms. "I'm just glad it's over."

"Next time you'll be able to enjoy yourself."