'And you've known quite a few,' murmured Helen sleepily, reaching up to link her arms about his neck.

'Some,' he agreed honestly, submitting to her demands. 'And don't do that, my darling, or my dear mama may come back and find us in flagrante delicto.'

'Do you mind?' Helen was still bemused from his lovemaking, and he drew back to give her a wry smile.

'No,' he conceded, 'I don't mind. But I think discovering we are planning to get married is enough of a shock for one night, don't you? And in any case, you've got to finish your packing. We're leaving as soon as I've explained.'

'She's going to be surprised,' murmured Helen as he released her. Then, sliding reluctantly out of bed, she paced over to the mirror. 'Hmm, you know I used to wish you'd made me pregnant, so you'd have to marry me,' she admitted provocatively. 'Now I'm glad you didn't. You might not love me if I was fat.'

'I'd love you whatever you looked like,' retorted Heath, getting out of bed to come and join her, drawing her back against his muscled body so that their reflections mingled. 'Remember, I've known you in pigtails and braces, as well as you are now.' He brushed her hair with his lips and then pushed her away from him. 'So-put some clothes on, will you? Go on, do it. Or I won't be held responsible for my actions!'

She and Heath were married on the twenty-third of December, and spent Christmas in London with Marion and Greg Marsden and their family before flying to Nice, and Heath's villa on the sh.o.r.es of the Mediterranean. It was a rather grey Mediterranean at this time of the year, but they were not particularly interested in their surroundings. The privacy of the villa was all they required, and only occasionally did they venture out to walk along the sands at low tide.

Heath's mother had attended the wedding, somewhat reluctantly, before joining a conducted tour of Egypt, which she and some of her cronies had arranged. She had taken no part in the organising of the wedding, she had left all that to Heath, but she was quite prepared to stand beside them at the reception, and receive everyone's congratulations for Heath's having found himself such a beautiful bride.

'I really believe she's quite relieved to see me married at last,' Heath remarked one morning, as they lingered over the leisurely breakfast which Clothilde, the elderly maid, had prepared for them. 'I think she'd suspected for some time exactly what was stopping me.'

'Me,' murmured Helen mischievously, cupping her chin on her hand and surveying him with unconcealed satisfaction. 'Perhaps she was afraid I might seduce you.'

He regarded her tolerantly. 'With good reason, as it happens,' he remarked drily. 'I didn't stand a chance.'

'Are you sorry?' She arched her dark brows.

'Are you?'

'Oh, yes-' and at his look of disconcertment, she gave a soft laugh. 'I'm sorry we didn't do this a year ago,' she finished huskily. 'But you didn't answer my question.'

'What do you think?'

'You tell me.'

'What?' The green eyes, which had once been so unpredictable, narrowed caressingly. 'That I love you more than I thought it was possible to love another human being? That I was crazy for ever thinking I could live without you?'

'That will do to be going on with,' she said breathily. 'Let's go back to bed, hmm? I don't feel like getting dressed just now, do you?'

Heath's smile was sardonic. 'You can't still be tired,' he remarked provokingly. 'These last few days-'

'Stop teasing!' Helen reached out and captured his hand, carrying it to her lips deliberately, keeping her eyes on his as she did so. 'Don't you feel the tiniest bit lazy?'

'With you around?' He grimaced, but his eyes darkened as emotion stirred in spite of himself. 'All right,' he said unevenly, 'let's go back to bed. We can talk later.'

'All the days of our lives,' agreed Helen, as he swung her up into his arms, and Heath did not disagree with her.

Harlequin Plus.

A ROMANCE CLa.s.sIC.

Anne Mather's hero in Green Lightning is Rupert Heathcliffe, a man with a famous-perhaps we should say infamous-surname. For Heathcliff (without the "e") is the name of the handsome, but strangely menacing hero of Wuthering Heights, a famous romantic novel by Emily Bront published in England in 1848.

Wuthering Heights is the story of the beautiful Catherine Earnshaw and the orphaned Heathcliff, brought into the Earnshaw household as a child. As he grows up, Heathcliff is cruelly tormented by Hindley, Catherine's jealous and petty older brother. Catherine is Heathcliff's protector-and kindred spirit, because they share a love for the eerie desolate beauty of the lonely Yorkshire moors. Only Catherine can still the turbulent angry emotions that smoulder behind the troubled Heathcliff's dark eyes.

Eventually Catherine marries a prosperous neighbour-an act Heathcliff cannot accept. He refuses to forgive her and accuses her of destroying him.

After Catherine dies in childbirth, Heathcliff challenges her ghost to haunt him, crying, "Be with me always-take any form-drive me mad! Only do not leave me in this abyss where I cannot find you!"

So blinded is Heathcliff by his obsessive love and his feelings of betrayal that, like the Devil himself, he swears revenge and spends many years slowly and methodically destroying the lives of everyone around him. And, still haunted by Catherine, he begins to wander the moors, searching for her.

He looks forward to his own death-to his deranged mind an hour of triumph -and when it comes, his spirit joins Catherine's, and they are united again at last.

end.