Becky nodded, realized her sister could not see her, and said, "I am sure everyone is searching. I have been yelling and yelling, but so far no one has answered."

"Will you yell again now?" Reggie asked. "Or shall I?"

Becky thought of the headache Reggie must have, and though she was afraid to move in the dark-for fear of running into spiderwebs, and the spiders who had made them-she knew Reggie was right. She had to keep shouting for help. It was their only hope.

She had cleared a path while the lantern was still lit, and put her hands out in front of her now to be certain she did not encounter anything that might have moved of its own accord in the dark as she made her way to the door.

When she reached the wooden door, she raised her head toward the open window and yelled, "Is anyone there? We are locked in the dungeon and cannot get out. Help, someone! We are locked-"

"I can hear you, Becky."

Father's voice. Becky's nose stung, and her eyes welled with tears. Maybe she and Reggie were already dead, and they did not know it. How else could Father have responded so quickly to her cries for help? How else could he know exactly where to find them?

"We are locked in, Father," she said in a calm voice. Becky thought she saw a glow of light at the high window, but perhaps that was wishful thinking.

"There is a key," the voice replied. "It is hidden in another place. I will be back shortly."

Becky thought she heard footsteps moving away.

"Is Father really here?" Reggie asked. "I thought I must be imagining his voice in my head."

"I could hear him, too," Becky replied. And then, expressing her fears aloud, "Don't you think it quite impossible that Father could be here? That he could have found us when no one else has?"

"Not at all. We have expected him to return to the Abbey anytime now. And he has finally arrived," Reggie said.

"On the one day we are lost, and no one can find us?" Becky asked skeptically.

"What are you suggesting?"

"That perhaps we are dead, and Father's ghost has come to take us to heaven."

Reggie moaned deep in her throat, a keening sound. "I don't want to die, Becky. I don't want Father to be dead. I love him."

Becky made her way back to Reggie as quickly as she could, took her sister's hand in hers, and pinched it.

"Ow! Why did you do that?"

"Pinch me back," Becky said excitedly. "Ow, not so hard! Don't you see? It hurts!"

"Then we are not dead!"

"And Father must really be here!"

The door swung open and Father stood there, the lantern casting eerie shadows on his face and figure. Becky sat frozen where she was, still not quite certain whether he was an apparition. He was, she realized, wearing a skirt-a kilt, she corrected, the kind Fenwick had said were worn in Scotland.

"Reggie? Becky? Are you all right?" he asked in his familiar nimbly voice.

"Reggie is hurt, Father. She fell and cut her head."

He crossed to them hurriedly, dropping on one knee beside Reggie and setting the lamp where the circle of light lit both their faces and his.

Becky looked at his face, so somber and serious. Was this the kind father she had missed so much? Or the stern one?

"Who put this bandage on?" he asked.

"I did," Becky said. "I tried to stop the bleeding."

Becky watched as he lifted Reggie right into his arms and pulled her against his breast. His eyes closed as he held her tight against him. "Reggie," he murmured, pressing his lips to her cheeks and forehead. "I am so glad you are safe."

Then he looked into her eyes and said, "Thank you, Becky. I think your nursing may have saved your sister's life."

Becky felt her throat tighten. It was neither of the old fathers who had come back, she realized, but someone new. Someone wonderful.

Father's eyes had blurred with tears. He held his hand out to her, and she laid hers in it and let him draw her close. His arm banded her waist and pulled her and Reggie snugly against him, enfolding them in a warm circle of love.

"Papa is home," he said, his breath warm against her brow.

"I love you, Papa," Becky whispered in his ear.

"I love you, too," he whispered back.

Eliza was shivering, her body pressed close to the stone wall, the only solid thing she had to hang on to. She told herself over and over that she was only afraid of the dark because she had once been locked inside a dark room when she was a child.

It helped a little. But the feeling of being abandoned, the sensation that the walls were closing in and would crush her if she did not somehow escape, persisted despite all logic against it.

Eliza saw the glow from the lantern long before she could distinguish the face of the person carrying it. Somehow she knew it was Marcus. "You found me," she said, half crying, half laughing with relief as he took the last few steps to reach her.

"I could hear you calling for me. I came as fast as I could."

Eliza launched herself toward Marcus, who quickly set the lantern on the stone floor and opened his arms wide.

"I've missed you, Eliza," he breathed against her ear.

When he lowered his mouth, hers was waiting for him. As his tongue urgently probed the seam of her lips, her mouth opened eagerly to receive him. His tongue dipped inside, tasting her, letting her taste him. Eliza quivered. This was what had been missing all her life. His body impatient for hers, hers more than ready for his, a merging of body and soul, so that two became one.

She let her tongue tease the side of his mouth, where the scar was, and heard him make a primitive, guttural sound as he pulled her close, letting her feel his arousal.

Eliza had forgotten how wonderful the Beau's kisses could be. She put a hand to his cheek, wanting to feel his flesh against her fingertips-and abruptly ended the kiss, levering herself back to look at him. "You shaved! I can see your face!"

Marcus rubbed a hand over his jaw and grinned. "I did not think you were going to notice." She saw the tension in his body when he asked, "What is the verdict? Can you bear the Beast in all his glory?"

As if his scarred face could ever keep her from loving him! "Shaving that monstrous beard is a vast improvement," she said tartly. "At least now I can find your lips to kiss them."

She suited word to deed, and it was long moments before either of them came up for air. Eliza realized he was brushing her damp lips with his thumb. His left thumb.

"Your hand!" she cried, grabbing hold of it. "You can use your fingers!"

"Griggs has been helping me to exercise them," he said, thrusting his now-flexible left hand into her hair and sending pins flying. "I have learned a great deal about myself in the past six weeks, Eliza. Enough to know that I need you. Enough to know that I do not want to wait another moment to start our lives together."

He grabbed a handful of curls and gently angled her head back, kissing her with a passion that spoke volumes about his desire and need and hopes and dreams. "I want you with me always," he murmured, pressing kisses against her throat.

"I am listening," she said with throaty laugh. "Tell me more."

"I need you to light the dark places inside of me. I want to make children with you, to fill your days and nights with passion and laughter." He teased her lips with his teeth and tongue, doing all the things with his mouth that she had imagined he would do in the weeks they had been separated. Promising rapture. Offering heaven.

"Say you will let me love you," he whispered. "Say we can be husband and wife again."

Eliza looked deep into the Beau's blue eyes for the first time since the afternoon she had kissed him in the forest, the day she had seen in his eyes the love and desire that had been missing in Julian's.

"Oh, Marcus," she breathed reverently. "It is there. I can see it in your eyes."

He pressed his scarred cheek against her soft, smooth one and pulled her tight enough against him that she could feel the thundering pulse beating inside his chest. "I love you, Eliza."

"I love you, too, Marcus. I have for a very long time."

Their lips met in a kiss that offered more than the breath of life. It filled all the empty places inside her. Eliza heard a guttural moan of satisfaction, as Marcus took the soul she offered him, and gave her his.

"How many children do you want?" she murmured, thinking of the one growing inside her. "I mean, aside from the two you already have."

"The twins are not mine, Eliza," he said, looking earnestly into her eyes. "I have just explained to Alastair that it is an impossibility."

"Oh. So you never ... with your brother's wife."

He shook his head. "Never."

Then she realized what else he had said. "You just now explained this to your brother? The duke is here? He has returned?"

"He is so changed, Eliza! I hardly recognized him. The bitterness is gone, and he seems so much happier. He is determined to be a better father to Reggie and Becky."

"The twins!" She flushed. "I had completely forgotten about them."

"You have been a bit distracted," Marcus said with a grin.

"Have they been found, then? Are they all right?"

"Alastair went to search for them down another passageway, while I came to find you."

Eliza turned to look into the gloom. She thought of her own experience, calling and calling for help that never came. "Dear God. If the twins are still lost inside here somewhere, Marcus, they must think we have abandoned them. We must find them as quickly as we can!"

"Alastair gave me directions how to find him. He will know the quickest way to get you out of here, so I can continue the search."

"I am not leaving your side until we find the children," she said stubbornly, following closely behind him as he began to move through the narrow tunnel.

"Your aunt told me how frightened you are of the dark."

"She would."

He glanced over his shoulder at her. "You should have told me why you wished me to leave a candle burning," he accused. "It is another sin for which I must be forgiven."

"I was not afraid with your arms around me, Marcus. Truly. And now that I know what caused the fear-it is another story and can be told later-my dread is not so strong as it used to be. I will be fine if we are together."

It seemed they made a great many right turns before they finally saw the glow of a lantern in the distance.

"We must be in the very bowels of the Abbey," Marcus muttered. "It must be the dungeon! Hurry. Alastair may need our help."

But when they reached the door and looked inside, they saw Alastair with his arms around the twins, and the twins holding him tight and chattering like magpies.

"This is quite a family reunion," Marcus quipped, setting his lantern on the boxes stacked just inside the door. "May we join in?"

Eliza saw that, for the first time, the twins did not jump up and race to Marcus. She wondered if they still had not forgiven him for hiding away the past year.

But Becky piped up, "Papa is home, Uncle Marcus. Papa is home!" She seemed glad to see Marcus, but she clung to her father, rather than running to her uncle.

Reggie lifted her head so she could see Marcus past Alastair's shoulder and said, "I hit my head, Uncle Marcus. But Papa has promised it will feel better soon."

Eliza saw the momentary flash of pain as Marcus realized he was no longer first in their lives. And then his smile, as he turned to her and squeezed her hand, accepting what had always been meant to be.

"The twins seem to have survived their ordeal," Alastair said. "Becky has a bump on her head that bled, but aside from a headache and a couple of ruined shifts, the twins got off lightly. I think we must take the door off this dungeon, Marcus," Alastair said. "It is far too dangerous for our progeny."

"I think you might be right."

Eliza saw how longingly Marcus looked at Alastair's daughters. "You will have one of your own soon," she whispered in his ear. She looked down and laid her hand on her belly. "She is already growing inside me."

Marcus looked stunned for an instant before his face broke into a broad grin, crinkling the web of scars near his eye. He grabbed her and whirled her in a circle so fast it made her dizzy.

"Put me down," she warned with a laugh, "or I shall cast up my accounts."

He set her down and pulled her against his side, his arm cinched around her waist. "I am going to be a father, Alex. Congratulate me. Eliza says it is a girl."

Alex grinned back at him. "I hear daughters are easier to raise than sons, Marcus," he said, looking with adoration at his incorrigible twins. "They are quiet, retiring, polite, and they never get into trouble."

"Did you hear that, Eliza? Daughters only, please," Marcus teased.

"I don't care what it is," Becky said. "As long as I get to hold it!"

Eliza laughed along with Marcus and Alastair. She slid her husband's scarred hand down to her belly and covered it with her own. "Very well, Marcus," she said, her gaze locked with his. "A meek and docile daughter you shall have."

"I only hope she is as wild a hellion as Reggie and Becky," he whispered in her ear. "I can hardly wait."

"Neither can I," Eliza said, imagining a daughter as fun-loving, as dauntless, and as hopelessly unmanageable as the twins. She grinned. "Neither can I."

Epilogue.