"And I asked them to play it for us tonight," Tom told her with a corresponding grin.

"What do you think of them?" Jane asked Sarah when they had gone.

"I like them. He seems very down to earth, shrewd, but completely honest, not the sort of man it would be easy to fool, or deceive."

"No, he's got no time for what he calls " posers"," Ralph told her.

"A.

few of the old brigade locally don't care for him--but I've always found him pleasant enough. He's apt to call a spade a spade, and he's come on in life the hard way. He'll have no truck with any pretence but he's exceptionally kind-hearted--and not because he's one of these self-made millionaires who's out to buy himself a peerage, either. "

"You must be thrilled to bits about the contract," Sarah enthused to Ralph.

"It will make all the difference to the business. The pair of you should be out celebrating alone tonight without having me tagging along."

"Oh, we can celebrate in private later on."

Ralph grinned, laughing when Jane blushed slightly and said reprovingly, "Ralph..."

"But if you'll excuse us, Sarah, I would like to dance with my wife."

"Dancing.. is that what you call it," Jane groaned, but nevertheless she stood up, pausing only to say to Sarah, "Are you sure you don't mind?"

"Don't be silly. Off you go."

Slowly sipping what was left of her champagne Sarah sat back in her chair and studied her surroundings. Apart from a disconcerting tendency to sway rather unnervingly whenever she chanced to move her head too quickly, she could find nothing to criticise in the very traditional Adam decor of the room she was in. The walls had panels in the same eau de nil as her gown, a similar colour contrasted with a soft b.u.t.ter yellow used on the intricately plaster worked ceiling, with the plaster work itself picked out in white and embellished with gold.

At one end of the room was an Adam fireplace over which hung a gilt wood mirror. Several portraits ornamented the rooms, and Sarah was studying one several yards away, a mother and daughter study very much in the style of Leiy, wondering if it was genuine, when a voice against her ear made her jump and clutch wildly at the stem of her champagne gla.s.s, her eyes swivelling from the picture to those of the man bending over her.

"She was reputed to be one of Charles II's many mistresses," he murmured dulcetly.

"That was how the family got this land. Leiy in his time had a reputation for being the portraitist of the " Royal Wh.o.r.es"."

"So it is genuine?"

The last thing she wanted to do was to talk about their hostess's art collection. Her heart was thumping so loudly it seemed impossible that she was actually able to carry on a normal conversation. How she managed to be so deeply engrossed in staring at the portrait that she had not heard him approach, especially since she had had every sense attuned for him ever since she had seen him in the ballroom, she had no idea.

At close quarters his eyes were even more darkly blue than she had realised, fringed with thick black lashes, his tanned skin, and slightly mocking expression somehow making him look far more at ease in his costume than any of the other men present.

"I shouldn't think so ... but it's a pa.s.sable enough copy. The original was probably sold years ago. Would you care for another drink?."

Sarah grimaced ruefully into her empty gla.s.s.

"I don't think I'd better," she admitted frankly, "I have absolutely no head for chamgagne and that was my third gla.s.s. At the moment I doubt if I could so much as walk in a straight line from here to the ballroom!"

"Why don't we give it a try?"

Before she knew what was happening he was gently tugging her out of her seat, sliding his hands to her waist to support her as she stood somewhat shakily. As he bent to steady her his jaw was on a level with her mouth and she ached to touch her lips to its hard firmness.

A sensation of mild shock quivered through her, its intensity muted by the champagne she had consumed, and as he guided her towards the ballroom, it suddenly struck Sarah that here was the ideal candidate with whom to rid herself of the tiresome burden of her virginity.

Every female sense she possessed told her that this man would be a lover whose touch, once experienced, would never be forgotten, and above and beyond that there was something about him that reached out to her on the most primitive and intense level of her being. She wanted to make love with him, she acknowledged inwardly; and the admission brought her no shame or shock, merely a sense of lightness.

She trembled, and although she knew he must have felt her physical reaction, unlike Ralph he did not ask her if she was cold, merely lifting one eyebrow and smiling down at her rather quizzically.

"Before I steal you away, I take it the gentleman I saw you with earlier has no prior claim on you that I should know about?"

She liked that in him, Sarah thought muzzily;

that he should so clearly and yet so inoffensively make his desire for her plain, and yet at the same time want to make sure that she was free to reciprocate that desire.

"None at all," she a.s.sured him.

"Ralph is my brother-in-law."

"Unfortunate man." He drawled the words softly, releasing her waist with his right hand to hold her arm, his thumb stroking softly over the vulnerable underside of her skin where the sleeve fell away from her elbow. While she was still shuddering with delicate pleasure he bent his head and caressed the inner curve of her elbow with his mouth before lifting her hand to his lips and slowly kissing the tip of each finger.

A weird swooning sensation turned her blood hot and sluggish in her veins, a pleasure so intense and all-consuming enveloping her that she moved automatically into his arms, clinging to his shoulders as her body trembled its age-old message against his.

"I want to make love to you."

The words fell gently against her skin as he murmured them into her ear.

In an almost dreamlike sequence Sarah heard herself replying huskily, "I want it too..."

It was something she had never envisaged happening to herself; this instantaneous rapport; this surge of sheer physical desire so strong that nothing could make itself heard above it. Already she could imagine herself in his arms, touching his skin, caressing him as he caressed her in turn;

and as her body trembled beneath the erotic images her mind was conjuring up, Sarah knew that her desire to give herself to this man had little or nothing to do with losing her virginity, but she dismissed that knowledge, banishing it to the furthermost recess of her mind, knowing that to admit it was to open herself to a danger she was not yet ready to face.

CHAPTER THREE.

they danced, once. twice . on the surface, neither of them in a hurry to precipitate what they both knew would be the culmination of the evening, but beneath it. Every time his body brushed hers in the movement of the dance Sarah was conscious of heightening excitement .

of intense hunger, of an ache that tightened to a refined form of torture, and she knew that he felt it, too.

She had long ago forgotten about Ralph and Jane, and when the grandfather clock in one of the ante-rooms finally struck twelve she looked questioningly at her partner.

"Yes," he murmured softly.

"I think it's time we left...1 have a cottage a few miles away."

The prosaic words held a question, and Sarah nodded her head and Whispered shakily, "Take me there."

She saw the smile curl his mouth and the rather whimsical expression in his eyes.

"Just like that? You're very trusting. We don't even know one another's names..."

Without knowing why she did it, Sarah reached up and pressed her fingers to his mouth. It felt hot against her skin, his lips parting to moistly caress her fingertips. Rivulets of sensation spread through her body, like darts of lightning.

"Tonight's a fairytale night," she told him softly.