"It did... this time. But it can't continue," he delcared with husbandly firmness.

"Oh, but it will," she declared just as firmly. "It's part of the bar-" she could have bitten her tongue, "-gain."

"What?" he came to life, pushing up onto one elbow and staring at her, feeling his skin tightening all over. "Bargain. What bargain? Blessit, Whitney, I'll not have you dealing and interfering-what bargain?!" She felt his hands clamping on her waist and arm and realized he was teetering on the brink of real anger.

"Well... it's not quite a bargain exactly. More like a nudge. Ezra liked you and he wanted so much to be part of the distillery again."

"So you arranged it." His jaw flexed as he pinned her with his gaze and watched her squirm. "Ezra gets to work at the distillery again and what do you get?" he demanded.

"Well, actually..." she swallowed hard, watching his eyes silvering above her. "It's you who gets it." Her voice went craven on her and dropped to a squeak. "Your grandpa's ten percent."

He twitched, his eyes narrowed furiously, and he sprang from the bed to pace violently back and forth. He stopped once, twice, running his hands through his hair with raw frustration, and then turned to stare at her in the firelight. She was sitting up in the bed with the sheet pressed against her breasts, her eyes great luminous pools of uncertainty that tugged at both his higher and lower inpulses. She'd done it for him... she'd wheedled and bargained his grandfather's percentage, so he'd be one step closer to controlling Townsend Companies!

"I don't understand," she said simply. "I thought you wanted it-"

"I wanted to earn it," his arms flexed impotently, "not have it bartered for me by my wife!"

"Oh, but you did earn it, you and your urges!" She came to her knees and inched forward on the bed.

"My what?" He stomped toward her, confusion mounting.

"Ezra said he always liked a man with urges. He says sometimes a man has to follow his urges in business as well as in a woman's bed. He thinks you'll make a good head of the companies. All I did was give things a little nudge," She bit her lip and watched him struggle with it visibly.

"Blessit, Whitney!" he roared, looking like he was ready to explode. And after a losing struggle, he did explode-straight at Whitney, knocking her back onto the bed on her back and pinning her there with his big naked body. He was heaving, coiled, roused. "No more nudges... dammit!"

She watched the need billowing in him with a sense of relief and smiled the sort of smile women have been giving absurd male limits since the dawn of time. She slid her silky arms around his neck.

"You'll make a wonderful distiller."

Garner watched the devious flicker of desire rising in her and knew in his marrow that no husbandly edict would withstand her for long. She would interfere and wheedle and "nudge" and bargain until her dying day. It was one of the things he couldn't help loving about her. He eased against the softness of her sweet curves and gave himself over to her.

"The old boy says I have the senses for it."

"I could have told you that. You have a very keen nose." Her voice flowed over him like warm honey, stirring things inside him. He felt her seductive undulation. "And a marvelous tongue."

The next afternoon, Ezra made another of what were to become daily treks to the Townsend Distilleries, with Whitney's and Kate's assistance. Whitney watched the excitement in his face and the lively glow of his faded eyes with a deep sense of pleasure. Garner now had fifty percent, and a grandpa to boot. Her thick lashes lowered in concentration. Now all she had to do was figure out what prickly little Madeline wanted.

The Hancocks' Ball was always the most celebrated event of the winter in Boston's elite society. There was heated discussion when the formal invitation arrived and Garner surprised everyone, especially Madeline, by suggestion that it would be an excellent opportunity for Madeline to be introduced socially for the first time. He pointed out that she'd had few social opportunities and would soon come of age. That unexpected bit of consideration put Madeline firmly on Garner's side, for a change. And despite thinly veiled hints that certain members of the household and their "guests" would feel ill at ease and out of their depth socially, the invitation was accepted on behalf of the entire Townsend family and one lady guest.

A strong current of curiosity about Garner Townsend's new wife ran through the gathering as they arrived, rumors of her beauty and background having circulated freely. None were disappointed when the pair was announced in the candlelit drawing room of the Hancock Mansion that evening. Garner was splendid in his best black-velvet coat and evening breeches, his chest full of starched linen ruffles and his corded neck bound by an elegant gray cravat. But it was Whitney that captured their eyes.

She was gowned in a silk the color of precious jade, which was embroidered with a web of lacy gold thread. Both her high-waisted gown and her unusual burnished ginger hair shimmered in the warm candlelight, drawing attention to her curvy form and perfect skin. And when she felt the reassuring pressure of Garner's hand over hers, she eased so that her eyes began to sparkle and her cherry lips turned up in a smile that cast an intriguing aura of woman and warmth about her.

Byron watched with a certain pique Garner and Whitney being besieged by Boston's elite. He was stung when Ezra, escorting the exasperating Kate Morrison, drew more notice than he had. Then when he watched numerous male heads turn to follow the striking, elegantly gowned Kate, he was seized by an unholy urge to bash every one of them. But he was unable to tear his eyes from her provocative roundings and the gentle sway of her bottom.

Pulling down his waistcoat firmly, he led Madeline out for her first dance, then hastily turned her over to a younger gentleman, the son of a business acquaintance. He followed Garner and Whitney and Kate about the first floor of the Hancock Mansion like a brooding shadow and was appalled when a business acquaintance led Kate out for a dance. With hawklike intensity, his eyes followed her graceful steps, absorbed the impact of her lush smiles, and narrowed at the way everyone else seemed to be watching, too. Had the woman no shame at all- displaying herself in that flimsy gown, inviting the attentions of strange men? As soon as the last strains died, he was in motion, set on a course to interdict her flagrant behavior.

"The next dance, Mrs. Morrison?" Byron planted himself before Kate with a heated bronze glow that forbade all answers but the one he sought.

She agreed with a demure nod, but a wary glint crept into her eye as he led her stiffly to the farthest corner of the floor. She saw the words working their way up his neck and into his stubborn jaw before his mouth opened.

"Give a care, Mrs. Morrison," his lips scarcely moved from his forced half-smile as he towered above her. It was an expression meant for onlookers, not for her. "You may not concern yourself with your own reputation, but there are others here who may suffer from your behavior."

"My... behavior?" she murmured, indignation billowing as she realized he'd sought her out to reprimand her. "How dare you presume to censure my behavior, sir. Look to your own sad manners." She turned to go and he caught her arm to stay her.

"I presume, madame, because you are a guest in my home and here under my auspices. Your flaunting of yourself is a dread reflection upon myself and my family."

"And just how have I flaunted myself, sir?" she demanded with reined heat, turning to come face to face with him. "Just what have I done to outrage decent sensibilities?"

"Promenading and parading yourself all about," he charged.

"Walking!" she steamed quietly. "I was walking."

"Rushing onto the floor with the first man who casts an eye on you," he snarled.

"We were properly introduced, sir, by our host!" she hissed.

"Flaunting yourself... laughing openly and conversing in a loose and untoward manner-"

"L-loose-?!" Kate sputtered, just managing to realize that every time she'd glimpsed him in the last hour, he'd been staring at her with the same dark intensity he wore now. She straightened and raised her chin defiantly. "You have taken pains to catalog my faults, Mister Townsend. But I think fault, like beauty, often lies in the eye of the beholder. If watching me offends you so, then why do you apply yourself to it so strenuously?"

Byron twitched as if she'd slapped him. Why indeed... except that beneath his professed distaste lay an intensely personal interest? He had "applied himself because she was beautiful and spirited and warm... too. damned warm! And she had a way of making a man feel very much a man when she looked at him... dammit! His jaw turned to Townsend granite and he released her arm only to take hold of her shoulders, ignoring her tugs of resistance. She was so warm and soft in his hands, and every time he met her eyes they were littered with glowing sparks threatening to burst into true flame.

Kate felt the odd tenor of his arrogant stare: it was almost... proprietary. She wriggled her shoulders discreetly, but was strangely unable to pull free. More than his hands held her. There was a force, a potency in the aristocratic bronze of his handsome features, a dangerous heat in his gray Townsend eyes. The warmth of his hands seeped through the ladylike silk of her fitted sleeves and flowed toward her middle. It was the strangest sensation... all fluid and trickling... as her eyes focused on the bold sweep of his sometimes cynical mouth.

Half of the couples on the dancing floor were standing stock-still, waiting for the music to begin and watching the exchange between them. Byron held her captive only inches from his taut body and something was certainly passing between them. Their faces were flushed, their eyes shone with an unmistakable luster. The music began and a discreet cough and the reluctant motion of the dancers around them jolted them back to reality. Kate wrenched free at the very moment Byron would have withdrawn his hands in horror. Each flushed a deep, angry crimson, and turned the opposite direction and fled through the crowd.

In the cool privacy of the upper hallway, Kate sagged against a doorframe and pressed icy hands to her burning face. Never in her life had she stared at a man like that... into his eyes... with that strange, hot, trickly feeling in the middle of her. The wretched beast-he'd made a bloody spectacle of her in front of half of Boston society!

It would have been little consolation to her, but downstairs, Byron was in similar turmoil. A bloody debacle-he groaned internally-grabbing her, holding her bodily, in front of half of his peers in the financial world! It was those damned eyes of hers. And the satiny skin. And the enticing way she swung her... he got near her and he began to feel things, stirrings he hadn't felt in twenty years! It was like something was uncoiling in him. D-dammit! By morning his respectable name would be on the lips of every tawdry gossip in the city, linked with that female!

Elsewhere, Whitney was actually enjoying her first grand evening in society. Powdered faces and rustling silks, perfumed hands and admiring winks all ran together after a while. But it was an exceedingly pleasant blur, with Garner always at her side. He led her into a country dance that proved remarkably like something she'd done in Rapture's rowdier celebrations, and squired her discreetly through one cup of wine-punch. Thus, the rumors of her strange preferences in drink were summarily debunked, as were the whispers regarding her bizarre frontier upbringing. Anyone with two eyes could see she was a lady, bred to the bone.

Later in the evening, Whitney excused herself with Kate to go to the ladies' rooms on the upper floor. Kate chose to remain a bit longer and, since Whitney was eager to rejoin Garner, she left Kate and retraced her steps toward the stairs. Pausing at an unexpected junction in the hallway, she chose the wrong path and soon found herself approaching the end of an empty hallway. Something caught her attention as she turned, and she slowed, senses alert. It was voices... coming from a partly opened door. She wouldn't have listened, except the hallway was very quiet and something seemed very familiar.

A moan. That's what it was. Whitney's cheeks pinked. It was the kind of moan she identified with physical pleasures, a hungry, male sound. And on its heels came a very familiar female voice... with words that became increasingly audible.

"No... we don't have to go... not yet."

It was Madeline! And the full, husky quality to her voice widened Whitney's eyes. She was here, in what was probably a bedchamber... with a man who was moaning? Alarm galvanized her.

"Really, Madeline..." the fellow's voice was clearer, "if someone were to come, you'd be-we'd both be compromised. Ohhhh... minx... you're much too young for such... ummmmm..."

"I'm not too young," Madeline countered with a sultry whisper. "Do it again... please, Carter..."

Outside, Whitney vibrated with shock. Do what again?! She strode into the room, slamming the door back and startling the embraced couple. They stood, fully clothed, against a windowseat on the far wall, with arms about each other. Whitney nearly wilted with relief.

"Oh-OH!" Madeline reacted slowly to her presence and the young blood pushed Madeline behind him, set to take the brunt upon himself, muttering, "Good God!" Every nerve and muscle in the room froze as Whitney scrutinized the twosome. Hardly a ruffle disarranged, she observed frantically, trying to decipher the best course. There was probably no major harm done.

"Madeline, your grandfather is calling for you," she drew herself up and managed a remarkable level tone. "I suggest that we not keep him waiting." Her heart thudded expectantly as Madeline peered around the nattily dressed fellow, her eyes now crackling with displeasure.

The scarlet-faced young gentleman seized the chance Whitney was offering them and turned to take Madeline's hand. "Miss Townsend," he muttered with a pained nod, then gave her hand a sharp tug to send her on her way.

Madeline huffed and glared at him, then at Whitney, and lifted her skirts to sail out with her young cheeks aflame. Whitney stayed only long enough to offer the fellow a bit of advice. "Madeline is very young. I suggest you listen to your own good sense in the future."

She caught up with Madeline in the main hallway and pulled her bodily into an elegant bedchamber. "What on earth did you think you were doing back there?"

"Kissing!" Madeline jerked her arm from Whitney and huddled back, snapping like a cornered vixen. "He was kissing me. Surely you know about kissing-you and Cousin Garner do it often enough!"

"How do you..." Whitney reddened, but refused to allow Madeline to distract her. "Garner and I are married; that's quite a different matter from stealing off to a secluded place with a man and allowing him to... to..."

"Kiss me," Madeline provided defiantly, crossing her arms. "I wanted to learn how it was done and so I got him to do it to me. And it was going splendidly until... how dare you barge in and embarrass me and ruin everything!"

"A great deal more might have been ruined if I hadn't come when I did," Whitney said, coming forward, eyes flashing. "One kiss leads to another and several kisses lead to other things, things between men and women that you're not ready for. Things that would ruin your reputation and disgrace your family."

"D-don't be absurd."

"Absurd, am I?" Whitney's eyes narrowed, and she wondered just how much proper little Madeline actually knew about a proper bargain between a man and a woman. "It starts with kisses, long, open-mouthed kisses. Then everything gets very hot and his hands start to roam, inside your dress, then under your skirts. If I'd come twenty minutes later, would I have found you buff naked and him sprawled over you on the bed?!" Her thrust found its target and Madeline's hazel eyes flickered briefly with uncertainty.

"And what would have been wrong with that?" Madeline brazened, determined to conceal how Whitney's words had shaken her. "Do you know who he is? He's Carter Melton, probably the most eligible bachelor in Boston." She lifted her stubborn little chin. "Who better to be 'compromised' by?"

Whitney's jaw dropped. Apparently Madeline had already considered the possible ramifications of her behavior, and embraced them! She wouldn't have minded being compromised and caught, she had decided, with a rich, handsome fellow who was coveted husband material!

"Why, you little Delilah!" Whitney rasped, stunned by the sheer deviousness of it. Prickly little Madeline obviously harbored a few untapped desires beneath all that Townsend superiority. "You get an itch and are bound to have it scratched no matter who gets hurt in the process! Well, did you ever consider the pain your little plan might cause? The disgrace, the disruption of futures, the anger he'd feel toward you after you've forced him to violate his own judgment and exposed him to disgrace? He seemed a decent enough sort-maybe he has affections for someone else already! Did you ever once think about that?!"

She was shouting, stalking Madeline furiously, her eyes ablaze. The girl tried to hold her ground, but Whitney's height advantage and outrage forced her back with a draining countenance.

"Let me tell you, Madeline Townsend, there are two kinds of women in this world," she shook a furious finger near Madeline's paling face,"... decent women and Delilahs. Delilahs have fleshly desires and pleasureful cravings, just like men have. And those desires can make them do things they regret later. But let me tell you, just because you're a Delilah and have desires doesn't mean you have to act on them. You can choose not to. You don't have to tempt and betray a man to get what you want. You can choose to act decently and honorably. Because if you don't-if you choose your desires over the wisdom of your head and your heart-things go wrong... people get hurt."

She ground to a halt, shaking, her own words rumbling in her head and in her heart. It was true. A woman might be born a Delilah, but she still had a choice as to whether or not to act like a Delilah. It struck her that she'd had that choice, too. When bargaining Garner Townsend out of Rapture didn't work, she had chosen to plant herself in his bed. And that moment in his bed when he spoke of a proper bargain between them, she had chosen that as well.

Madeline stared at Whitney with wide and suddenly very girlish eyes. After that first flush of Townsend defiance, she was beginning to realize the full impact of her behavior. What if what Whitney said were true, about kisses and where they led? She recalled the way Carter kept opening his mouth against hers, the curious hot flushes she'd felt, the furtive way his fingers had slid over her chest and dipped under... She went perfectly ashen as Byron's face sprang up in her mind, glowering at her, denouncing her, branding her a tart and a disgrace to the Townsend name.

"You're not going to tell them... are you?" There was an uncharacteristic waver of anxiety in her voice.

That look and that question produced a heady unexpected rush in Whitney's blood. Her eyes began to glow with Daniels light as the trader in her heard the call and sprang to life. This was it, a voice inside her crowed deliriously, something little Madeline wanted! Her silence. Whitney took a deep breath and smiled a crafty Daniels smile. Everything had its price.

"Well, Madeline," she struck one of her subtler trading poses and looked little Madeline straight in her anxious green-brown orbs. And she stopped dead. The girl was biting her lip, beginning to tremble visibly. She'd never seen Madeline like this; small and vulnerable, devoid of her usual Townsend arrogance and hauteur. She was acting like a naive young girl of sixteen. Perhaps somewhere inside that Iron Madeline persona, there was a lonely young girl who'd been raised by Iron Townsend men to seem older, prouder than she really was.

Whitney took a step back, clasping her hands to still them. The trader's fires damped in her eyes as the ramifications of it multiplied within her. The sight of Madeline's girlish anxiety and her own startling realization of moments ago somehow merged in her mind. Just because she knew what Madeline wanted, didn't mean she had to strike the deal. Everything had its price, she'd been raised to believe, and her experience had proven it true. But was it possible that there were some things that just shouldn't be bargained or bought?

She turned toward the door and Madeline's voice halted her halfway. "Whitney... a-are you going to tell them?"

Whitney turned back to settle a thoughtful look on her. "You'd better find your grandpa and stay with him. I... haven't decided yet."

Halfway down the wide main stairs, Whitney paused. She undoubtedly had found the key to Madeline's cooperation. Why was she so hesitant to use it? She bit her lip as she noticed Garner coming to fetch her with a loving smile on his handsome face.

Now she was a Delilah, with another choice on her hands.

Late the next afternoon, when the family had recuperated enough to gather in the east parlor for tea, all were astonished to see Madeline offer her cherished dominion over the tea tray to Whitney. There wasn't a single drop of condescension in her tone or expression. Whitney paused, searching the girl's subdued manner and the rare and tenuous offer running beneath her words. It was an offer of acceptance, a very Townsend sort of apology, and a bit of a plea, all at the same time.

Everyone watched as they faced each other, and all witnessed the hallmark Daniels grin that was born on Whitney's face. Madeline managed a wavery, unaccustomed smile that said she was grateful for Whitney's silence. But only Whitney understood the full ramifications of the decision she'd made. For the first time in her life, Whitney Daniels had walked away from a loaded bargain.

Chapter Twenty-Two.

Two days after the dance, boots stamped and scuffled on the marble floor and the muffled metallic rattle of blades in scabbards whispered through the center hall. Three soldiers, resplendent in gold trimmed, royal-blue coats and true white breeches, eyed the polished elegance of the hall as they waited for their message to be delivered. Edgewater reappeared with a satisfied expression, showed them into the west parlor, and saw to it that a warming fire was laid.

Half an hour later, near sunset, Garner and Whitney returned from a walk on the commons to find Garner's family, Kate, and the military envoy awaiting them. They paused in the doorway, hand in hand, their eyes bright and their faces polished from the cold. The precise, military rise of the soldiers generated a rippie of expectation.

Byron rose with great dignity and introduced the blue-clad captain and his juniors, attached to- "Maryland Division," Garner provided, nodding tightly. His entire body tensed with expectation and, without looking, he knew the same was happening to Whitney. Her grasp on his hand was suddenly deathlike as he ushered her forward. "I confess, I am surprised to see the Maryland Division still active."

"Until the trials are finished and the danger of a resurgence is past, some troops are being kept on active duty, sir," the young captain intoned. "I am here to deliver this to you with the compliments of President Washington." He removed a sealed document from the official dispatch pouch his lieutenant carried and handed it to Garner with a smile that bespoke admiration.

Garner released Whitney's hand to take the parchment, then turned it over, noting the presidential seal set in crimson wax. He tried to detach from the emotional tension the sight of it built inside him. Byron took two hurried strides toward him then stopped for the sake of dignity.

"Well, don't just stand there," Byron said, fidgeting, eying the parchment eagerly. "Open it. God forbid you should keep the President waiting!"

Garner slid his thumb under the seal, then unfolded the parchment, knowing what he'd find inside. The script was bold and flowing, illuminated at key points with intricate scarlet and gold scrollwork. His eyes skimmed the lines, catching relevant phrases that might have come from his family's archives... "commendation," "highest honor," "service," and "gratitude." Five months ago it would have been the answer to a fervent prayer, the key to his future. Now it was just grand words, prettily done on parchment.

"Well?" Byron drew nearer with compressed excitement. "What is it?" Garner held it out to him.

Confusion flickered through his aquiline features as he took it and began to read. At Ezra's prompting, he continued aloud: "...do hereby issue this Special Commendation to Major Garner Adams Townsend for his outstanding performance of duty in the expeditionary force of October, 1794, into the western counties of Pennsylvania." His voice increased in volume and excitement. "While in command of a force of militia, Major Townsend quelled uprisings of grievous treason and high crimes against the sovereignty of this nation, acquitting himself personally with bravery and highest honor. For such exemplary and distinguished service to his country, he has earned this Special Commendation and the irrevocable and undying gratitude of his commander, his government, and his countrymen. Signed... George Washington... President and Commander."

There was awed silence for a long moment, then the captain came to attention, drawing his men erect with him to salute, though Garner was un-uniformed. "Congratulations, Major Townsend, on this great honor. It is indeed a privilege; I understand there were precious few issued." The junior officer and sergeant ventured their hands and Byron rushed forward to grasp Garner's arm and shake his hand firmly.

"Damnable fine work... a Special Commendation!" Byron beamed. "Think how it will look in the Gazette! This calls for our best French brandy-Edgewater!"

In the flurry of admiration and questions that was unleashed, Garner remained silent, looking down at his hand, gripped tightly in his father's. All he could think was that it was the first time they had touched in years.

Whitney had moved to Kate's side and watched Garner's rigid back and telling silence as Byron read the commendation. Her eyes flew over his broad, responsible shoulders and his aristocratic features, and she was torn between a deep well of pride that his stubborn sense of honor and duty was at last being recognized, and a twinge of pain that it was secured at the cost of her father's freedom. But this honor meant a great deal to him and to his rightful place in the family. With that understanding and the painful remembrance of her pa's parting words to her, she pushed her personal conflicts aside.

When his gaze found her, she blinked back a trace of moistness in her eyes and sent him a proud Daniels grin. Garner stared at her stubborn smile and darkening eyes, reading fluently the pride and love she was determined to show, and the pain she was determined to hide. An empty feeling began to open in his middle and he forced an approximation of pleasure onto his face as he accepted the long-awaited plaudits from the Iron Townsends. Their praise was like the feel of deep winter sun, dazzlingly bright but strangely devoid of warmth.

"Sir-there was yet another part to our mission," the captain recalled, producing a second document from the dispatch pouch.

" 'By the authority of the Federal Court of the United States,'" he skimmed," 'Major Garner Adams Townsend is hereby subpoenaed to appear in the Federal Court in Philadelphia, beginning April First of this year, to give testimony as to activities and events pertinent to the examination of one Blackstone Daniels, on the charge of high treason against the duly constituted government of these United States.' I am instructed to return with confirmation of your appearance. The first of April, sir... will that be convenient?" Garner's smile faded abruptly as he stared dumbly at the paper the captain handed him.

"We'll make it convenient," Byron stepped in to assure the captain, sending his son a dark look. "Townsends have always extended themselves in service to their country. A trial for treason, you said?"

"One of the leaders of the rebellion, sir." The lean-faced captain turned warily back to Garner. "Apparently your work netted a prize, Major. Lord knows we can use one. Bradford's armed band escaped into the Ohio territory and Sheriff John Hamilton and the Reverend John Corbley, who were prominent among the rebellion's leaders, were both acquitted for lack of evidence and proper witnesses. They'll take no chances with this one. Your testimony is critical."