She reacted as if she were, with surprise and initial discomfort. Then her body relaxed and she accepted him deeply.

It was his turn to be surprised. The sensuality was the least of it. A profound contentment permeated his essence, awing him.

He closed his eyes and savored all the sensations, not moving. He had never before been so totally alive to a moment of existence.

When his lids rose, Pen was looking at him with a worried expression that touched his heart.

"I am fine now," she whispered. "It had been so long that I do not think that you cannot"

"I am not so good as that. I was just enjoying the feel of you."

"Oh. Like the eye of the storm, you mean."

"I expect so." He knew so. Already the winds were beginning to howl again.

He held off the madness as long as he could. He withdrew and thrust slowly, enjoying the delicious sensation and the soft sighs of her responses. He bent her knees high and rose up on his arms so he could see her face and her body and look down at how they joined.

His body would not let it go on like that. The urge for completeness forced its demands. Balancing his weight on one arm, he reached down and slid his finger high in her cleft to caress her clitoris.

It was her storm that guided the rest. Her groans as the pleasure unhinged her. Her moves as the need moved lower and her body tightened to grip him. Her hips rose and fell and shifted as she anxiously sought relief. His own passion turned hard and wild in response and began rising to a peak.

He straightened her legs and pressed them together beneath him. "Do not move." When he thrust the next time her fingers clawed his shoulders as the pressure stroked more effectively.

"Yes," she whispered, beginning her entrancing song again.

She moaned with astonished pleasure the next time. Then little assents exhaled on each breath. Their rise told him how close she was, and he found the control to continue. When she was muffling screams against his shoulder and shuddering with her finish, he finally gave in to his body's demands.

Even at the climax, he never forgot it was Pen that he held. Her presence drenched that bliss just as it had every touch and every pleasure. Somehow, in that glorious cataclysm of being, he managed to keep his promise and relinquish their physical unity.

Chapter Fourteen.

The dragons stayed in their lair all night. Even when Pen left Julian's arms and sneaked back to her own chamber, they did not threaten her.

They only began stirring when the dawn woke her. Even then, the past remained vague and distant. The bad memories could not penetrate her thoughts of the night.

Putting on her cloak reminded her, however. Walking down the stairs to join Julian at the carriage lifted her out of her daze.

In an hour she would see Cleo, and would relive much that she had tried to forget.

She was a little embarrassed when she saw Julian in the light of day. His greeting was formal and proper, but his eyes showed warmth and a hint of playful conspiracy.

He joined her in the carriage, and it rolled out of the town. He sat across from her, saying nothing, as was his way. She was the one who felt compelled to speak of last night.

"I do not know how to behave with you now, Julian. It is all I can do not to giggle."

"I have always thought that was a lovely sound."

"I am astonished with myself. It appears I am more sophisticated than I thought. I suppose my long abstinence accounts for my losing my head last night."

"One does not need a long drought to enjoy a summer rain."

"I was not implying that it had nothing to do with how much with the rain. Still, I am having difficulty accommodating how bold I was. Are you? Have you ever had a sophisticated liaison before?"

"I have had nothing else except sophisticated liaisons, Pen."

"Good. At least one of us knows what to do and what to say the next day."

She waited. After a five count, a slightly bewildered expression passed over his face. Then an amused one, as he seemed to realize she was demanding guidance. "Well, Pen, normally, at some point in the days ahead, some expression of gratitude is made." "Of course. I see. Well, then, thank you, Julian." He scratched his temple while a smile twitched the corners of his mouth. "I am supposed to express the gratitude, Pen, not you." "I assumed we both" "Not normally." That did not help her situation much. She was sure there were expectations of the woman, too. She probably should be clarifying matters, and reassuring him that there would be no scenes. She had known women who misunderstood and built huge expectations on what men thought were casual affairs. "Julian, I want you to know that I will not become childish and demanding and insist on continued attendance. I will not start convincing myself it was other than it was."

His subdued smile did not change, but his eyes assumed penetrating lights.

"And what was it, Pen?"

The question startled her, but he was right; it definitely needed clarification. She sifted through what she

had experienced in that passion, and before and after. She set some of those reactions aside, because

they were not very sophisticated at all. "I think it was one very special night of sharing between two friends, Julian. A momentary abandon to an intimacy that was safe and unfettered so I could ignore the past a while longer. I suspect that such a thing is a rare occurrence between men and women, and only possible because of our long history."

He reached over, lifted her by the waist, and moved her onto his lap. "Extremely rare. But not so momentary that I do not want to embrace you today and enjoy the remnants of that sharing for a little longer."

He held her almost all the way to their destination. She was grateful to be in his safe and caring arms.

Their quiet contentment soothed her agitation about the meeting that waited.

When the carriage turned off a road and followed a lane through some chestnuts, he slid her off his lap.

They stopped in front of a modest house surrounded by extensive plantings.

"What lovely gardens these must be in season," Pen said.

Julian handed her down from the carriage. "Mrs. Kenworthy tends them herself. That and books have been her great passions."

"A bluestocking?"

"She was a friend of my uncle, the vicar, and could converse with him on any topic as an equal."

"Is that why you thought she would take in Cleo?"

There, it was said. The reason they were here. It could not be ignored any longer.

Her heart started beating in a discomforting patter.

"I knew her to be a kindhearted woman, and thought she could help the girl."

The maid accepted Julian's card, then returned to lead them to the gardens in back. They found Mrs.

Kenworthy bending to cut the dead stalks of a herbaceous garden. She wore a man's straw hat atop a

simple cap, and a loose, green dress with no stays.

As they approached she straightened carefully, as if her body rebelled against her activity.

"Now this is a wonderful surprise." Her pale eyes gave Julian a warm inspection much as an old nurse might. "You are rarely in these parts, Julian. It must be eight years now since your uncle passed." "If you are saying that I have been neglectful of old friends, I stand admonished." He introduced Pen. Mrs. Kenworthy's curiosity was obviously piqued. "The countess would like to speak with Cleo," Julian explained. Mrs. Kenworthy's brow knit. "Did you not receive my letter?" "The one in January? Yes, and I replied." "But not the next one? Four months ago?" "I did not, madame." Mrs. Kenworthy suddenly did not appear very stiff and old at all. A vivid clarity entered her eyes. "Come inside. We must talk. If you did not receive that letter, something suspicious is afoot." "What did the letter say?" "Cleo is dead, Julian. She hung herself." "We always knew it was a danger, of course." Mrs. Kenworthy handed Pen a cup of coffee. They sat in a cube of a library stuffed with books and pamphlets. "She was never quite right after she came. She possessed a deeply melancholy nature. Even with me, after all these years, she acted like a dog that was kicked often as a puppy."

Pen remembered that manner. It was as if Cleo tried to make herself small and invisible. She could see her in the earl's Wiltshire house, slinking out of a chamber, head bowed and shoulders hunched.

The news that Cleo was dead had numbed her. "How did it happen?"

"She simply walked away from this property, found a tree, that big old chestnut at the next crossroads, tied a rope, and jumped off a stump. I wrote you about the sad event, Julian. I sent the letter to you through your agent, as you requested. Now I am wondering if he was your agent at all."

"He was not. I have no agent who would have contacted you."

Mrs. Kenworthy sighed deeply. "Oh, dear. I have been most negligent. I fear that poor woman's death is my fault."

"You have been nothing but generous to her, and no fault in this is yours. Please tell me about this agent of mine, however."

"He visited last spring. He said that he served you and that your duties kept you very busy, so you had asked him to handle certain matters in your name. Matters such as this. You had sent him to speak with Cleo, he claimed, to see how she fared. He said that you would continue sending money for her board, but that it would be easier if I directed any requests or news to him in the future."

Pen had not realized that Julian supported Cleo. He had told her that Mrs. Kenworthy had taken Cleo into service here.

"Did he meet with her?" Julian asked.

Mrs. Kenworthy turned fretful. "Yes. I allowed them to speak alone. She was a mature woman, and this was a personal matter. I could see them in the garden from this window, of course. She showed no particular reaction to whatever he said."

"Your judgment cannot be faulted," Julian said.

"I fear you are wrong. It was the next week that she killed herself. I wonder now if that man said something that drove her to it."

An ominous feeling spread through Pen. She dreaded that Mrs. Kenworthy was correct.

That man had come from Glasbury. There was no other explanation. Cleo might well seek sanctuary in death if she feared falling into Glasbury's hands again.

"I would like to see where she was found," Pen said.

Julian shook his head and raised a halting hand in an imperious gesture. "No, madame. It will only distress you."

"I demand to see where it occurred, Mr. Hampton."

She stood under the old tree, picturing Cleo older now but still childlike in her dress and grooming. She empathized too much with the despair that had resulted in this act.

Her horrible suspicions crystallized. "Glasbury knew she could support my accusations, Julian. He wrote that letter to me in Naples saying the arrangement was over right after this happened. He knew she was a threat before I realized it, and comprehended how her death untied his hands."

Julian appeared lost in his thoughts. He did not examine the tree the way she did. He looked at nothing at all. "My God, Julian, we thought we had defeated him, and he was watching her the whole time. Since she left. Since I left."

Mr. Hampton the solicitor stood there, but she knew he was not dispassionate about this. His reserve hid contemplations she did not see, but she knew he was not unmoved by this tragedy. She could not be so silent. Her heart was crying with anger and frustration. "That man told her she would have to go back, and she was too ignorant to really understand that Glasbury had no power to make her do so. That is what drove her to this. He guessed it would. He counted on it. She was born a slave and she thought as a slave. After tasting freedom and safety she would have died before accepting the chains again. I would have, too."

"I do not think that is how it happened."

His tone made her turn to him. He appeared angry now. Dangerously furious.

"That man did not tell her he came from Glasbury, Pen. He said he came from me. He had to, otherwise

the inconsistency might come out when Cleo spoke with Mrs. Kenworthy. Whatever he said to her, he

said in my name."

She feared he was correct. If Julian had sent Cleo a message saying she had to go back, she would have no hope.

Unless she looked at the tree. That big chestnut at the next crossroads. Not just any tree. A big old one, known to the folk who lived in the region.

Why would Cleo have chosen this tree?

A shiver slid up Pen's spine.

Cleo had not come here to kill herself, but to meet Mr. Hampton's agent, who would spirit her away to another place of safety. That was why Mrs. Kenworthy had seen no distress as she watched that conversation.

She had been wrong in her assumptions. Glasbury had not been watching Cleo all these years.

He had been looking for her, however.