allowed myself to get all swept up in what was going on here-" She pointed to her heart. Focusing on Andrew again, she asked: "Are you in love with Liza, Andrew?"

Emotion crossed his face and the skin around his eyes appeared to tighten. "Yes," he finally declared in a tight voice.

"Your parents are aware of your... relationship. They've demanded that Maxwell send her away. They want her gone so you can marry properly and beget children who look like opossums. What are you going to do about it? Answer me, damn you!" The words bounced off the walls and caused the hovering hummingbirds to dart away through the trees.

His face bleached gray as the walls. "What can I do-"

"She's expecting a child."

The hat dropped to the floor where it stirred up a puff of dust and caused a leaf to startle. He stood

there, stock-still for a long moment, in the cool blue shade of the rafter overhang, looking out the door at the still, wild tangle of trees and brush and tall wild flowers that crowded the rotting gallery floor. A dragonfly hovered in the air between them and she watched the sun catch the spectrum of colors on its wings as it whirred, hovered, then streaked out through the window in a blur. Finally, Andrew closed his eyes. "Oh my God," he said... just before Chantz moved up behind him and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck.

?Fourteen.

Juliette gasped. "My God, Chantz, what are you doing here?"

Andrew turned, stumbled back, crunching his hat underfoot.

Twisting his fingers in Andrew's coat, Chantz said through his teeth, "I've got several good reasons to beat the hell out of you. One is standing yonder looking like she's been in a cat fight. As I recall, I forbade you to bring her here. The other is Liza. You've put a baby in her, Drew, now I want to know what you intend to do about it."

"Chantz, please... let him go," Juliette pleaded.

"It's all right," Andrew declared, his gaze fixed on Chantz. "Chantz has every right to throttle me. It wouldn't be the first time, I assure you. I recall as boys we spent more time rolling on the ground bloodying each other's noses than we did talking or fishing."

"I'm not in the mood to reminisce, Drew. My leg is hurting like hell and I'm about two blinks away from passing out- or dying. Either way I'm going to hurt you-"

"I'll take care of her, Chantz. You know I'll take care of them both."

"How?"

He clutched tighter, jerking Andrew closer so they stood nose-to-nose. His hands shook and the pain that splintered through his lower leg made breathing impossible for a moment.

"Tell me how you're gonna keep her off the auction block when your daddy discovers she's about to deliver him a quadroon grandbaby. How are you gonna keep that child from experiencing the ache of rejection and the hunger for acknowledgment when he lies in his shanty mattress and looks out at the big house wondering what it would feel like to go to bed with a full belly and a fond good night from his father?"

Andrew shook his head. "I don't know, Chantz. I've got to have time to think."

"You should have done your thinking long ago, Drew. Before you ever decided to fall in love with her."

"Don't go climbing on your high horse with me, Chantz. You're not exactly an example of good judgment. Fact is, you're here right now because your jealousy and suspicion got in the way of your common sense. Look at you, for God's sake. You can barely stand up. You look as if there isn't another drop of blood in your body and sweating so fierce you might have just climbed out of the damn river."

Chantz eased his grip on Andrew's coat and stepped back.

Andrew smoothed his lapels and bent to retrieve his hat. He glanced toward Juliette as he situated the Panama on his head. Dark color blotched his cheeks and he forced a tight smile.

"Chantz will see you back to Holly, Miss Julie, if he doesn't die first. I'm sure you won't be bothered, will you?" He gave a dry laugh. "Of course not. I suspect that stupidity is as rampant around here as the mosquitoes are blood-thirsty. At least when I burn in Hell I won't do it alone."

Andrew's footsteps rang on the old floor as he exited the house. Chantz stared after him, a reluctance to refocus his attention on Juliette an annoyance that fisted low in his belly. The son of a bitch was right, of course. Considering what was going on in his heart and mind- not to mention his body- in that instant he had no room to throw stones at Andrew.

Through the paneless window, Juliette watched Andrew fight his way through the brush. "You were very cruel," she said. "You had no right, considering..."

"Considering what?"

Her head turned and her eyes held him. The thought struck him that those eyes had never looked so green, green as the ivy climbing the wall at her shoulder, greener than the lizard sunning in a streak of light on the sill.

"That you risked your life and Phyllis's reputation on an affair that was doomed from the very beginning, of course."

She moved toward him, passing through shafts of yellow sunlight that made her hair blaze with color. His discomfort increased and he turned his face away, into a shadow that felt slightly cool upon his sweating cheek.

"I'm coming to the conclusion that love and commitment are less a state of heart than they are of mind," she said in an oddly sleepy voice- as if she were weary. "Take my father, for instance. Had he married a respectable woman, demure, plain, vaporish, he would undoubtedly be alive today. Belle Jarod wouldn't be little more than a worthless pile of rubble."

"There wouldn't be a Belle Jarod," Chantz pointed out as he leaned against the doorpost and closed his eyes, made breathless by pain. "Nor would there be a Juliette," he finally added, thinking: And that would be a crying damn shame.

Her arm brushing his, she gazed across the foyer strewn with damp leaves and shadows. "You won't let Maxwell send her away, will you?"

He looked down at her arm next to his. "I can't stop him, if that's what he decides to do."

The staircase curved up into a fallen wall of charred wood. Chantz caught her wrist. "It isn't safe-"

She turned on him. Her eyes blazed and her chin quivered. "I only wish I had done this years ago. Seen for myself what sort of complete destruction of a man's life my mother accomplished. What dreams she razed. I suppose it wasn't enough that she shattered his heart..." Her voice broke and she drew in an unsteady breath, turned to look up the staircase. "Please, Chantz. Let me go."

Sunlight spilled in hazy shafts through wide holes in the ceiling where blackened beams thrust toward the sky. There were animal nests in the joints. Honeysuckle formed a sweet cloud of red, yellow, and white blooms that tumbled in streamers from the highest peak.

Her shoulder brushed the honeysuckle streamers, sending a flurry of butterflies rising into the air. Like a wraith, Juliette moved through the streaks of sunlight, to the threshold of the nursery- the room Chantz himself had fought to reach through the flames in order to save her those fifteen years ago.

The fire had eaten its way through most of the floor, the ceiling, even the cypress timbers in the walls, leaving odd breaks in the plaster where plants had taken root and sent long green tendrils climbing toward the sunlight. As she walked to the tall window opening, the slanting rays of sunlight limned her body as she gazed out at the distant lily-covered lake.

There were no swans, of course. They were long gone.

Limping, Chantz moved up behind her- not quite touching. Wouldn't be smart. Too damn weak. His control felt as fragile as the lacy web fluttering from the near rafter. He should insist that they leave now, before the afternoon shadows lengthened and dusk settled amid the bones of the old house. Darkness came swiftly beneath the copse. Yet, all he could do in that moment was stand near her enough to feel the heat of her body on his, the vibrancy of her presence, and fight with all his remaining strength not to reach out to her. If he did... he would regret it.

Then she leaned back against him, as if her legs would no longer hold her.

A heartbeat passed before he slid one arm around her waist, felt the trembling in her body that worked up her throat in a painful little cough. Turning his lips into her hair, he breathed in the moist fragrant heat of her and closed his eyes. Ah, the surrender. More blood letting than his injuries. If he died now, he would, at least, be happy.

She sighed. "I was foolish, believing there might be something left. Something worth saving. I wonder if she ever loved him? My father, I mean. Just for a day. An hour. A moment. What madness could take over a woman and make her sacrifice all this?"

"Love is illogical. It makes a man believe in the impossible. Makes him a damn fool."He should know.

"It wasn't all fantasy, was it? There were swans."

"Twelve of them." He smiled into her hair.

"The heat in my dreams... fire. This fire. I wish I could remember."

"What's done is done, chere. The memory won't bring your parents back or rebuild these walls."

"It's who I am, Chantz, and what I was. I don't want to repeat the mistakes..."

She sank closer and he felt the length of her body along his, warm supple curves beneath the thin cotton of her dress. The slow pulse beat began in his groin. Slivers of pain spread through his belly and thighs in threads of heat. "I intend to love only one man," came her whisper. "And I'll give him everything I am and all that I own... on one condition."

"And what is that, chere?"

Turning, her body still pressed against his, her head tipped so she could look up into his eyes with an intensity that winded him. Her vermilion lips curved and her lashes lowered, just slightly, so the green of her eyes was slightly shadowed. "That he love me in return, of course."

Sliding from his arms, she left him staring out at the pool of brackish water. An egret hovered with white outstretched wings, long leg extended as it grasped a turtle from a log and lifted again into the air.

Her footsteps bounded down the stairs, and, forcing his body to move, he followed, knocking aside the spray of honeysuckle as he stumbled against the doorpost, hands clenched as he willed back the pain.

She hesitated briefly as she searched for the clearest path to the distant kitchen, then struck out at a trot, forcing Chantz to grit his teeth and lengthen his stride to keep up.

Chantz threw his weight against the kitchen door before it sprang open, releasing a rush of hot air. He moved clumsily into the deeply shadowed room before her. Mice scattered. An opossum, hanging from an overhead rafter by its tail, blinked at the sudden burst of daylight and scrambled for cover.

Various shaped bottles, the colors bleached by years of dust, lined the shelves on the walls. There were iron pots and long-handled utensils and several tables similar to that on which Rosie had spooned the pralines yesterday morning. The high ceiling remained solid as did the fireplace that took up the entire north wall, along with the ovens.

Juliette turned round and round, searching every nook and corner. "It's perfect. It needs cleaning of course and minor repairs. I'm certain the mortar will need replacing here and there, those tables refinished."

She moved up beside him, her body close as her gaze swept the grounds, the distant outbuildings; the storehouse, stable, smoke-house, the line of slave shanties that were little more than gray, precariously leaning roofs peeking out from under tall brush.

"What are you thinking?" he asked, taking her arm to add emphasis to his question, knowing as he did so what touching her would do. He drew away, back against the doorpost, and waited for her response.

Yet, without responding, she pulled away and ran back toward the house. By the time he caught up to her she was back in the living room sweeping her hand over the settee cushions, allowing color and pattern to emerge.

"It was red. The settee. I remembered. And that chair, the one by the window, I'll bet it's green." She gave it a kick, sending a fresh cloud of dust into the air. A flurry of moths rushed up, causing her eyes to brighten.

"It is green! There used to be a table there with a pink marble top." She dashed into the dining room and back again through the door, the lamp table scraping the floor, leaving narrow trails through the dust. She placed it by the chair before facing Chantz again.

"You're a mess, chere." He shook his head. "Come here."

He moved to the mirror on the wall, rubbed enough dirt away so she could see her face streaked by dust that frosted her hair and eyelashes. Then she lifted her hand and enlarged the circle to include Chantz. How dark and hard and weathered he looked beside her. Like that rusty old kitchen pot set next to a Dresden figurine. She was sunlight and he was shadow. She was silk, and he was burlap.

Turning away, he ran his callused hand over his face. The heat rose again- not the simmering air in the room but the fire inside him. He felt angered by it.

She touched his back. "Chantz."

"Damn place is a wreck," he said, shifting from her hand. "Might as well tear it all down and start again. That's gonna take some doing. And money. Which brings me back to what I said before.

"Best you marry a wealthy man, Julie. It's gonna take a king's fortune to repair this house and those grounds. As I recall your daddy owned close to two hundred slaves. Hell, you'd need twice that to reestablish Belle Jarod."

"The house is livable," she replied. "Or most of it."

"Maybe now." He moved across the central hall and into the remains of the library. Sun poured down through the charred rafters, forming a butter yellow pool of light on the floor. He stepped into it and lifted his face into the sun. Its heat oozed through him, dulling the pain in his leg but doing little to alleviate the ache in his heart.

"You'll be thinking otherwise come winter and rain. Young woman like you who doesn't know what it's like to be cold or to watch the rain pour through your roof will have your sensibilities offended the first time your toes get so cold you can't feel them."

Looking over his shoulder at her, he added, "If I were you, I'd sell Belle Jarod. Take that money and go back to France where you belong."

"I belong here, Chantz. Belle Jarod is my home."

Juliette wandered out onto the gallery. A breeze moved the shadows and scattered leaves around her ankles. Dandelion tufts lifted in the air and caught within the coils of her hair as she eased down the steps and picked her way through the wildflowers and weeds. Buried amid the tangle of growth peeked the blood-red blooms of Cherokee roses. Juliette touched the silken petals carefully, as if they might shatter.

"Was your home," he told her with an edge of the rawness he could feel in his chest. "Back when your mama dressed you up in bows and bonnets and paraded you around like you were a princess. When you tried to do handstands in that parterre yonder. When you chased butterflies and hummin'birds and believed, if given the opportunity, that you could ride swans off into the clouds. Back when you stole ho'hound candy from young men's pockets and believed night fairies sprinkled dust in your eyes to make you sleep."

She turned, slowly, and regarded his face. Her cheeks bloomed with color as deep as the rose petals at her fingertips.

"In case you're not aware, Juliette, you're not a child any longer. Time to see this world through an adult's eyes. And the reality is, you're nineteen years old and you have no money. Your only means of support is Max Hollinsworth until you're twenty one, or marry. You're gonna be just as penniless at twenty-one as you are now. What then? Unless you're willing to sell your body and soul to a man with a great deal of power and money, Belle Jarod and you don't have a future together. Unless, of course, you're willing to settle for this." He nodded toward the rubble.

Juliette walked toward him, her step slow, never shifting her eyes from his. "And if I sold my body and soul to a man with great power and money that would make me no better than my mother, wouldn't it?"

"Oh, I don't know, chere." Touching one fingertip to a smudge on her cheek, he traced it to the tip of her mouth. "If you're lucky you might actually fall in love with him."

Fingers curling into a fist, he shoved his hand into his pocket and drew in a breath. "I imagine he'll consider your body and soul a very nice investment indeed. A man might believe he's purchasing himself a fine plantation by wedding you, but in reality, it'll ultimately be your heart he'll desire more than all the

sugarcane in Louisiana."

Her lips curved. "Or I could end up like my mother and Phyllis Buley. Married to one man and loving another." Placing her hand against his chest, she said softly, "It was you, wasn't it, Chantz?"

The touch burned. He frowned.

"It was you who saved me that day from the fire. You were here. Those features in my dreams- never

clear enough to see them, they were yours. Do you know how many times I reached out for you these last years? You offered me comfort, Chantz, and security. If it hadn't been for you-"

Backing away, he turned on his heels and reentered the house.

"Why were you here, Chantz?" she called, following hard on his boot heels, her fingers plucking at his

shirt. "You saw it all, didn't you? You saw everything that happened-"