Her brother's answer was unintelligible; Griselda just smiled to herself. She had no need for an interpreter when it came to males and their childish dependence on profanity; after all, she had been married for all of a year, God rest his soul.

"You cannot leave the Church. I won't allow it!"

"For you. Only for you."

"I won't allow it!"

"But you said you didn't wish to marry a vicar." The said vicar's eyes burned down at his companion. "It never occurred to me that I could be anything other than what I am. But I could do so, for you. The only person I would ever give up my vows for is you, Lina."

"My name isn't Lina," she said, stumbling a little. "It's Alina. But my mother always called me Lina."

"You're my Lina now," he said into her ear. "And if what I do for a living would come between us, I'll do something else."

"I don't want you to relinquish your vows. You wouldn't be happy."

"The only thing that would make me unhappy is losing you."

"Then make me a vicar's wife, Tom."

There was nothing to overhear for a while and then, "You will keep me from becoming as perfect as your father, won't you, Lina?"

"I don't think that's a problem," she said with a giggle. "Take your hand away!"

He groaned. "Lord, I wish Rees would return with that Special License."

"Are you sure?" There was a hesitancy in her voice that rung his heart.

"I've never been surer of anything in my life," he told her. "Never. Listen-I'll make a vow so that I can break it for you!"

"Don't be silly!" she scolded, laughing.

"I vow to God himself that I will never kiss your breast."

And she, whispering, with a rosy blush, "You won't?"

"God will forgive me for breaking my vow," he said, his lips tracing the very edge of her bodice. "He can see into my heart and knows that I love you with every bit of my soul. That's the most important vow."

"I love you the same," she said, and then his lips did slip below her bodice-but only for a moment or two.

Mr. Holland, vicar of St. Mary's, was a man of considerable self-control, and considerable patience.

The portly Bishop of Rochester viewed the young couple before him with keen interest. "I only have the slimmest acquaintance with your father," he said to Miss McKenna. "I knew him at Cambridge, oh, many years ago, that was. He was quite the rapscallion, your father!"

That seemed to surprise Miss McKenna.

"Indeed," Bishop Lynsey assured her, with a belly laugh that made his vestments shake as if a tempest had struck the environs of Rochester Cathedral. "They do say that rascals make the best churchmen, you know! Well, mum's the word on that. He's an excellent man, your father, an excellent man. And you couldn't do better than marry Mr. Holland, my dear. I can see your father's influence in your choice. I'm only sorry that your family can't be with you. But I do understand the urgency of young love, even such an oldster as I."

He gave the bridegroom's elder brother a sapient look. It would be nice if that ne'er-do-well, Lord Godwin, were moved by the words of the marriage ceremony into conducting his own affairs with more propriety. It was surprising to see the earl and countess standing beside each other; Lynsey had heard gossip that suggested the two hadn't even spoken for years. But here they were, looking as married as can be. Well, the ways of God are mysterious indeed.

Still, he beckoned the married couple closer. It would do them good to hear the words of the ceremony since, if he remembered correctly, they had trotted off to Gretna Green in a harum-scarum fashion and married over the anvil. Likely two or three words in the whole ritual, if one could even call it that.

"Dearly beloved," he began with a fine flourish in his voice, "we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation"-he smiled encouragingly at Earl Godwin and his wife-"to join together this Man and this Woman in holy matrimony, which is an honorable estate..."

"You're awfully quiet."

"That was a very sweet ceremony, didn't you think?"

"Mmmm."

"I believe I shall retire to my chamber."

His hands stopped. "Weren't we going to work on the etude before bed?"

"Rees!"-rather exasperated-"I'm exhausted. We can think of this in the morning." And then, "What are you doing?"

"Taking you upstairs," he said. "I'm going to carry you over the threshold."

"What?"

"I never carried you across the threshold of the house ten years ago, Helene, so the bedchamber door will have to do. I have a mind to pretend that I'm going to walk into an inn bedroom and find you there."

She had her arms around his neck, and he was climbing the stairs. "Are you going to laugh at my bosom then?"

He stopped. "What?"

So, in the way of wives, Helene reminded the earl that on seeing his wife's breasts for the very first time, he had suggested that she might have shrunk in the rain.

Repentance is an emotion that can be expressed in many different ways.

Rees was not eloquent. He wasn't good at tossing off debonair little phrases or comparing his wife to roses or jewels.

So he did the very best he could. He took his wife into his bedchamber, pulled her gown over her head, revealing a pair of breasts whose pale pink perfection instantly fired his loins, and then fell backwards, flat on the floor.

"What's the matter with you?" the countess asked with some curiosity, walking over to peer down at him.

"I've fainted from the beauty of your breasts," he said, grinning up at her lasciviously.

And then, as she giggled, large hands circled her ankles and crept up her legs. "I'll make up for my stupidity, Helene," he said, kissing his way up a slender thigh. "I'll make it my daily chore to praise your breasts. Even before I touch the piano."

As one musician to another, Helene could tell when she'd received the greatest compliment of her life, although nary a rose nor a jewel was mentioned.

Chapter Thirty-nine.

The Plot Unveiled.

Lady Felicia Saville gave one, and only one, ball each year. The night before the event she often couldn't sleep. There was so much to worry about: would Gunter's deliver half-melted ices, would the champagne punch be sufficient, would her husband appear reasonably sane or utterly cracked? The last question was the most pressing. The year after they married he informed a large and amused audience that he was actually the child of a black-tipped ewe, and then there was the occasion when he insisted that his horse was a blood relative. Over the years, she had realized that his particular form of mania was less disagreeable than it could have been, but it did require forethought to make certain that he did not regale the ballroom with tales to rival those of Aesop.

But this year was different. Last night she had slept like a baby. The ball would be easy, because Mayne would be by her side.

Contrary to his usual custom, and quite contrary to what she herself would have expected, he was still showing her marked attention. It was the most delightful and unexpected pleasure of her entire life. They had been intimates, as one might say, for exactly one week, and his ardor showed no signs of cooling. Felicia had to hug herself for the pure joy of it. Everyone wanted to know her secrets. How could she, Felicia Saville, hold the attention of a man known to flit from woman to woman like the proverbial butterfly?

Felicia frowned over her morning hot chocolate. Frankly, she hadn't the faintest idea how she was keeping Mayne's attention. It wasn't as if they shared scintillating conversation. Nor were they terribly intimate with each other in private, if the truth were known. He certainly kissed her with a great deal of finesse, but then he muttered phrases about respecting her too much to overstep, and carried the business no further.

Which was rather disappointing. Felicia's marital partner, after all, was past hope in that area. After one night in which he shouted tally-ho! in an intimate moment, she banished him from the bedroom.

She was beginning to think that perhaps Mayne had never slept with any of the women he accompanied. Perhaps the women in question were so enchanted by his attentions-and their reputations so enhanced by his presence at their side-that they told no one their relationship was unexpectedly chaste. If that was the truth of it, Felicia was perfectly happy to continue the tradition. In fact, in the last week, when her friends kept noting that she was looking particularly becoming, she had given one and all a twinkling glance that put her renewed looks at Mayne's bedstead. The truth, after all, was hardly important in these situations.

with a shrug, she finished her hot chocolate and dismissed perplexing thoughts about Mayne's continued attentions. She was beautiful enough, wasn't she? Or at least, she would be, once she finished the four-hour dressing process that would ready her for the ball tonight.

She was three hours into the ritual, bathed, perfumed, painted and powdered, but only half-dressed, when a footman informed her maid that the Earl of Mayne wished a brief word, if she were available. A smile curled on Felicia's lips. Oh, this was even better than she could have imagined! She cast a look at herself in her dressing room mirror. She hadn't yet put on her evening gown. She was wearing stockings of the palest rose silk, tied above the knee with a silver garter. Her chemise certainly covered her flesh adequately, and its edging of rose lace would entice any man alive.

"I'd like my corset," she ordered.

Felicia's lady's maid, Lucy, rushed forward with her corset and laced it lightly over her chemise. Yes! That was perfect. Now Felicia's breasts swelled enticingly and her waist looked to be the span of a man's hand. She had never done such a risque thing as entertain a gentleman in her dressing room. Not even her husband. Mind you, Saville had never shown the slightest interest in joining her during the dressing process.

Her maid began tucking tiny rosebuds high into a coronet on her head, from which hung precisely four ringlets. Felicia reached out and applied more color to her lips. "He may come up," she said coolly, as if she entertained gentlemen every day of the week. "And Lucy, you may go. Return in a half hour, if you please, as I shall need to finish dressing with some dispatch."

Lucy could be counted on to gabble to all the maids in attendance at the ball tonight, Felicia thought happily. She tweaked one curl forward over her shoulder. She did have a long nose, but really, she was remarkably well preserved. It must be her beauty that tied Mayne so closely to her side.

There was a knock and the man himself strode into her bedchamber. Felicia almost gasped. Her chamber was all frothy lace and pink ribbons; in contrast, the earl looked like the very personification of sleek masculinity. Tonight he was dressed with supreme elegance, in a coat of smoky blue that outlined the breadth of his shoulders and gave his hair the sheen of a raven's wing. He looked utterly male and (had Felicia the wits to perceive it) rather dangerous, as if some subtle rage were driving him forward.

"Darling," he said, bending down and dropping a kiss on her cheek so that their eyes met in the mirror. "This is an honor that I didn't expect."

Felicia tilted her head back, the better to show her neck. Her mother had once called it a trifle long, but Felicia disagreed. A graceful neck was a never-fading virtue. "You are always welcome by my side, even in the most intimate of circumstances," she purred.

Somewhat to her relief, he didn't take up the obvious suggestion, but just smiled and brought over a chair for himself. Felicia could hardly contain herself at the sight of the two of them in the mirror: he so beautiful, so potent, so devastatingly powerful. And she, leader of the ton, exquisitely dressed... Their coloring was quite perfect together.

"I need your help," he said, bending close to her ear as if he couldn't resist kissing it.

Felicia shook with excitement. "Anything!" she said eagerly, and then contained herself, adding languidly, "of course, darling, whatever you request."

"I seem to have made a small mistake," he said, "in the matter of Lady Godwin."

Felicia blinked. "You did?"

"You are the only woman powerful enough in the ton to salvage my disastrous follies," he continued, tracing her ear with his lips. And his hands... Perhaps Mayne did bed all those women. Perhaps he was just saving himself, building her anticipation for the moment when he would besiege her virtue. Felicia shivered a bit at the thought.

"If there's any way I can help," she said rather absent-mindedly. It was hard not to gaze at the two of them in her mirror as if she were at the theater, watching one of those Restoration comedies from the last century. But his actual comment had finally sunk in. "I doubt I can do much to salvage Lady Godwin's reputation, Mayne."

"Do call me Garret," Mayne said, trying not to breathe deeply. The woman had practically papered herself in rice powder! He was like to sneeze, if he didn't watch himself.

"My pleasure," she sighed.

"It appears that Lady Godwin had returned to her husband's house merely in order to chaperone Godwin's brother's fiancee," Mayne told her. "The girl is a tender little Scottish vicar's daughter, if you can believe it, and doubtless horrified to hear that she's been mistaken for a strumpet."

Felicia sat straight up in her chair with the air of a fox scenting a rabbit. "You don't mean it!"

Mayne nodded. "I've made an ass of myself," he said, pulling a face of laughing mock repentance. "Blotted my copybook."

"And what's your excuse?" she asked, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

"Something about Lady Godwin irritates me," he admitted. "I'm afraid that I didn't bother to corroborate my impression that Godwin was still living with an opera singer. Now I feel, naturally enough, culpable."

"I share your feelings about Lady Godwin," Felicia agreed. "And now that she looks for all the world like a shorn lamb, I positively shudder to look at her. Her hair was her only beauty, you know."

Mayne's lips tightened, but his companion simply trilled on. "Goodness me! Are you quite, quite sure about the Scottish fiancee, Garret darling? I mean, that she's the daughter of a vicar?"

"Alas."

"Well, I shall do my best," Felicia told him. "I shall inform everyone. But you know how it is!" she tittered. "Once a rumor starts, it's impossible to stamp out. It's not as if we know this Scottish girl, after all."

Mayne moved behind her. One hand slipped down her throat. "You blind me,"

he said softly. "Truly, you do." He bent over and kissed her cheek. This was the tricky bit; Felicia might well take offense at his presumptuousness.

"I invited them to your ball," he said softly.

Was that the tip of his tongue touching her throat? Felicia swallowed.

"You did what?" she asked quaveringly.

"I took the enormous liberty of inviting the Scottish miss and her fiance to your ball," Mayne murmured against her throat. His hand had wandered down and was tracing the shape of Felicia's breast. "They will be accompanied by the Godwins, naturally enough."

"Her fiance," Felicia said, trying vainly to keep rational. "Godwin's brother."

"He is a vicar himself, if you can believe it," Mayne said, tasting her skin as if she were made of the finest cream. "The brother, I mean."

Felicia noticed that he had a white streak on his cheek from the rice powder she had shaken over her bosom. But he didn't seem to notice the taste on his lips.