"Oh, dear," Anne said, the words very soft.

"I'll go to him," Ian offered, beginning to rise.

Before he could get to his feet,Pilar had already risen, looking at the man at the head of the table. At least the mockery had been wiped from his eyes, she noted with satisfaction.

"He's right," she said. "This is not your concern. It's not the concern of any of you, whether you are his family or not. Whatever Sebastian has told you about me..."

The memories of everything that had happened since her father's death bombarded her. And suddenly she knew that she couldn't possibly make these people understand the evil of someone likeJulian Delgado.

Here in the safety and splendor of thisLondon town house, his depravity seemed almost unreal, even to her, who had lived through it. They had probably never in their sheltered lives been exposed to the kind of evil of whichJulian was capable.

"Whatever he told you, it won't have been the whole," she finished quietly. "The judgment you make or have made about your brother's actions-- or about mine--is flawed by your lack of knowledge about the kind of opponent we faced."

No one responded. And the guilt she had expected to see in their faces over the lack of understanding she had just accused them of didn't appear.

The gap that lay between their lives and what she and Sebastian had faced inSpain must indeed be too wide to be breached by mere words, no matter how well chosen. Having reached that conclusion, unconsciously she raised her chin, defying them to judge either her or her husband.

Then, with the breeding and culture of a thousand years behind her,Pilar straightened her spine. She lifted her skirt in one hand and swept from the room like the daughter of a Spanish grandee she had been since birth.

"I assume," the Countess of Dare said into the equally stunned silence that had fallen afterPilar departed, "that was exactly what you intended when you began this."

"Slightly more spectacular than I'd anticipated, I confess. It seems our brother has met his match," the earl said, no longer bothering to hide his amusement.

"I have a feeling life in that household will never be dull," Ian suggested with an answering smile.

"Do you think someone should explain to them..."Anne began, and then she hesitated, her eyes troubled.

"Someday," Ian said."But not tonight."

"Definitely not tonight,"Elizabeth agreed. "There will be time enough for explanations when they have had a chance to comfort one another. There's nothing like opposition to force two people together, united against the world that doesn't understand them."

"How well you know me," her husband said. "By the way, I have offeredDonaPilar the position of governess to our son or daughter. I hope that meets with your approval."

"Given the Sinclair propensity for attracting excitement, I had rather been hoping to introduce a calming influence into the nursery. Your father must have employed a series of Amazons as wet nurses."

"Then ifPilar accepts, we shall simply be carrying on a family tradition. What could be better than that?"

"Nothing short of employing the entire Mongol horde,"Elizabeth said with a perfectly straight face.

The logical place to seek a man who had just announced his intent to leave home would probably have been in his rooms, where he might be expected to be engaged in gathering together his belongings. For some inexplicable reason, that wasn't wherePilar went to look for Sebastian.

And as soon as she stepped out into the moonlit garden, she knew she had not been mistaken. The faintest scent of tobacco smoke was carried to her on the night air. She lifted her face, breathing in the smell of it as if it were some exotic Eastern perfume.

When she lowered her eyes, they had adjusted enough that she could see him standing where he had stood this morning, his figure shadowed by the same oak. She watched as he brought the cigarillo to his mouth, the tip glowingredly in the darkness. She started toward him, knowing that he would recognize the paleness of her cream-colored gown long before he could distinguish her features.

"My apologies for my brother's rudeness," he said as she approached. "He fancies himself the family patriarch. And I, as you may have guessed, have been cast in the role of the willful, prodigal son."

"I imagine yours is no different than most families."

She wasn't sure on what basis she had made that judgment, never having had siblings of her own. With Anne's eager friendship, however, for a little while it had almost seemed as if she had.

"It isn't that I haven't provided them with ample justification for assigning me the role," he admitted.

"And if one didn't understand the situation we were in, then what I did inSpain might very well seem the same kind of reckless behavior in which I've indulged in the past."

"What choice did you have?" she said, offering the question as condolence.

"I suppose I could have left you inFrance along with the other women."

Despite his previous anger, it was obvious from his tone that he was teasing her.Or perhaps...

He was flirting again, she realized. And at the thought, her heart began to beat a little faster.

"I find that I'm very grateful you didn't."

"In spite of tonight?"

"Are they always like that?"

"Like what?" And when she didn't answer, afraid of giving offense, he added, "I would really be interested in your impressions. I don't know if it's the time I've been away or the fact that I've become accustomed to not being treated as anyone's little brother, but I feel almost a stranger among my own family."

That was undoubtedly her fault. They couldn't have been pleased to have been presented with this questionable marriage as a fait accompli.

"The earl seems...a trifle controlling."

Sebastian laughed."To say the least."

"I'm sure it's natural that they would want some say in the choice of your bride."

Malfordhad suggested that theSinclairs were both extremely wealthy and extremely influential at court.

Still, even successful families welcomed the influx of money that came with marriage settlements. That was one way they remained wealthy and influential.

TheSinclairs were doubtless disappointed that the youngest brother's wife had brought them nothing.

And that was probably why Dare was so set on investigating the legality of the marriage himself, she realized belatedly.

"Perhaps they had hopes that you would marry someone who could...add to the family's prestige."

She had amended that thought at the last moment. It would be better not to mention the financial aspects of what she had been thinking. After all, these were his brothers. While he might feel free to criticize them, he would resent anyone else painting such an unflattering, money-grubbing portrait of them.

"You think they're regretting your lack of dowry," he said accurately, his voice mocking.

"My lack of a dowry.My lack of title.My lack of everything, I should think."

"I know it must seem like that to you, but despite Dare's performance tonight--" He stopped, the crease forming again.

"What is it?"

"My brother never does anything without having thought through all the consequences. That's probably why he believes me to be impulsive--because he never is. And I've been trying to imagine why he would bring this subject up at what was supposed to be a celebratory dinner."

"And have you?"

His lips pursed and then tightened. She waited, knowing he was trying to decide about his brother's motives, something she obviously couldn't help him with.

"Not yet," he said finally, "but the more I think about it, the more sure I am that that was a performance. Dare may occasionally be rude, as he was to you tonight, but it's always deliberate."

"Deliberate?"

"I assume you confided in him privately that you wished to leave. Making that information public wasn't, I assure you, a slip of the tongue."

"I asked for his help in securing a position."

"Doing what?"

She knew, even before she told him, what his reaction would be. "I asked him if he knew of anyone who had need of a governess."

His shout of laughter was less subtle than Dare's mockery, but the import of both was the same. It seemed neither believed that to be suitable employment for her.

"A governess?"Sebastian repeated disbelievingly when his laughter had died away. "And what didDare say to that?"

"His initial reaction was the same as yours, I'm afraid. And then he offered me a position in his own nursery."

There was a great deal of satisfaction in telling him that, at least until he laughed again.

"Now that I should like to see," he said.

"Indeed?" she said stiffly.

It seemed he couldn't imagine her caring for children. The truth of it was she never had. Except forMagdalena 's baby, she remembered.

As she had held that solid little body cradled in her arms, his rosebud mouth had made suckling noises as he had nuzzled fruitlessly against her breast. And it had felt wonderful.

"What is it?" Sebastian asked. Like his voice, his eyes had softened.

Embarrassed, she shook her head, knowing she could never confess what she had been thinking.

"You were thinking about something just then.Something that seemed to transform your face."

Again she shook her head. "It doesn't matter," she denied, her voice unexpectedly husky. "You're right, of course. I suppose it's amusing to think of someone like me presiding over the earl's nursery. I've never cared for a child, but I couldn't think of any other position for which I might be even remotely qualified. It seems there aren't many things a woman can do to support herself. Not even inEngland ."

A woman such as herself attempting to seek employment inSpain would be far more unthinkable.

Women of her class went from being daughters to being wives. There was nothing else.

"Women aren't supposed to have to think about supporting themselves," Sebastian said, his voice still lightened.

"We're all supposed to marry, of course."

Dare had said that as well, she remembered. Husbands were supposed to provide for their wives.

"But surely there must be those who, for one reason or another, don't marry," she said. "What do they do?"

His answer was so long in coming that she wondered if he had never before considered the question.

"Live with relatives, I suppose. Become companions, hired or otherwise. Or governesses," he conceded. "Some may even end up as shop girls, depending upon their station."

"Companions?" she asked, never having heard the term, at least not in any context that made sense of what he seemed to be suggesting.

"Women who provide companionship, mostly to older ladies.They read to them. Fetch their shawls when they feel a draft. Run endless errands. As I said, some are hired and some are simply poor relations forced by their circumstances to assume the position."

A far more distasteful way of singing for one's supper, but beggars couldn't, after all, be choosers.

"Would you find it less amusing if I sought a position as a companion?" she asked.

"I can think of no one less suited to that role."

"Then--"

"Is that what you really want?To fetch and carry for some irascible old woman?Or to spend your life wiping the noses of someone else's children?"

"My situation would be worse inSpain ," she admitted.

She wasn't thinking ofJulian . She could never go back to that. It was only with the heady freedom of the past few days, as full of peril as they hadbeen, that she had realized the reality of that.

No matter what happened, she would never again exist in that kind of bondage. And as for making her own way in the world, her chances of doing that were much better here.

"There are other alternatives," he said.

The word reverberated."Alternatives other than finding employment or returning toSpain? If so, what are they? I would like to hear them. After all, I really can't live with your family indefinitely."

"As my wife you could."

"The marriage--"

"The marriage" he interrupted, his voice raised to override hers, "is whatever we choose it to be."

"I'm not sure what that means."

"I understand your religious concerns, but you've admitted that those vows meant something to you when you made them. They did to me as well. It seems that should be the important part."

"And if it turns out that those so meaningful vows weren't legal?"

"Does that really matter? If we both consider them to have been morally binding?"