And last spring he had finally found her.

Pen thought about what she knew of Glasbury's character. She saw that country house with its

servant-slaves. She saw his expression while he hurt her in the cottage.

Could he have done it? Arranged someone's murder?

Her mind wanted to reject the idea, but her heart knew the truth.

"Julian, when you negotiated with Glasbury to get me free, what did you say to him?" "I spoke of his misuse of you and the servants, especially the girl. I said that if he did not release you that you would divorce him and that it would all come out, what occurred there and the crimes he had committed." "Did you specify what those crimes were, besides his use of Cleo?" "It was not necessary. He understood. He knew that a man cannot have slaves in Britain, either in the law or in practice. He knew that he would be publicly scorned if that little plantation he had created in Wiltshire became known." Would that have been enough? What if there had been other crimes, bigger ones, that would bring down more than scandal and scorn if known? What if Cleo had seen far more than the Countess of Glasbury had?

She walked away so Julian would not see the horror her thoughts were provoking.

Glasbury had killed Cleo. She was sure of it. He may have been looking for her for years, since it all started, so that he could. Cleo had been lured here in Julian's name and murdered. Pen felt horribly vulnerable suddenly, in a way even Julian's presence could not shield. She experienced no panic, however. No terror. With a calm certainty, she realized what she faced now.

Either Glasbury would succeed in forcing her back, or he would kill her, too. There would be no continuation of the agreement. She would win no divorce on her story. As for provoking him to divorce her She looked back at Julian. A visceral fear clutched her. If Glasbury discovered what had happened last night What would it be? A fall from the cliff walk while Julian visited the cottage? A riding accident when he galloped out to Hampstead? She had been concerned for Julian's reputation and livelihood. She should have been worrying for his life.

Chapter Fifteen.

I have made my decision, Julian. I know what I should do."

She found the courage to broach the subject back in Grossington, after their supper in the inn's private dining room.

Catherine had eaten quickly, then retired, claiming a headache. Pen suspected that her companion did not sleep soundly at all, and knew about the leaving and entering last night. She now wanted to give the lovers some time alone.

Julian made a gesture dismissing the servant who waited to see to their comfort. When they were alone he took her hand. "What decision is that?"

There was no expectation in his manner, but she sensed it anyway. Her heart swelled with sad longing. This morning she had been sure that last night had not been a mistake, but now she realized that it had.

Not only because of the danger to Julian from Glasbury. She had not realized how close to him she would feel, and how hard it would be to deny what they had shared.

"I must go away, Julian. As I first planned. If Glasbury was so diabolic with Cleo, if he drove her to her death, he will not be fair with me. We are not dealing with a man who acts or thinks in the normal way, or whose honor and conscience create the normal restraints."

She expected an argument. Instead he just looked at her hand while his thumb gently stroked its back. That touch contained everything they had ever known. She focused on it so she would never forget the sensation. Every minute of their friendship was emblazoned in that discreet caress.

"Bianca has spoken of friends in Baltimore. I will go there and ask for their help until Laclere can arrange something for me."

"I will not allow you to do this on the hope of charity from people you do not know."

"It is not for you to allow or not allow, Julian," she said softly.

She saw a flicker of anger in his eyes. A slight possessive pressure changed his touch, as if saying he had no rights was an insult.

That was another reason why last night had been a mistake. She did not think men could give honest advice to women who were their lovers, even if the union had been framed by friendship instead of romantic love.

"Pen, if what happened with Cleo has made you fear Glasbury more, that is understandable. I said I will never allow him to hurt you, however, and I meant it."

"I know that, Julian. I still think it would be better to go away." Because you would protect me, even if it imperiled you. Not only because of last night, but because of all the years of friendship and the duty you think they created. Because of those afternoons when we were children at Laclere Park.

And if Julian Hampton stood against the Earl of Glasbury now, the earl would remove the nuisance.

"If you are resolved, then that is how it must be. However, you will not go penniless. On this I must stand firm. Tomorrow I will hire a post chaise and ride to London. I will bring you back enough to live on until formal arrangements can be made. I must insist on this, Pen. It will delay you only a few days."

He had promised to let her make the decision, and he was doing so. Her heart wished he would not accept it so calmly, however. She wished he would try and dissuade her, even if he could not.

She held in the confusing disappointment that was muddling her emotions. At most, there might have been an affair of convenience if she were not leaving. A temporary illusion, to force the earl's hand. If it ended after one night instead of twenty, that really made no difference.

Only she would have gladly had the twenty. The apprehension in her soul said that leaving would be hard in many ways, but especially because it meant not seeing this dear friend ever again.

"A few days should not make a difference, I suppose."

"You can remain here, or stay with Mrs. Kenworthy, whichever you prefer. I think that you will be safe either way."

"I would like to visit with Mrs. Kenworthy if she will have us."

Catherine's breaths timed the passing seconds and minutes as Pen lay in bed that night.

She was remembering again. Not about Cleo or Glasbury. That dragon lurked in deep shadows tonight.

Knowing she would sail far from its lair lessened the sense that it waited to devour her.

Tonight's thoughts were different ones. Beautiful and sad ones. Memories of Julian from years ago and from last night. The sight of him at a party when she would face society's scorn, lending reassurance with his quiet strength. Standing in the library at Laclere Park, as familiar to her surroundings as a vase or chair.

Looking down at her with his face transformed by passion, so masculine and severe and gentle and warm all at once.

He had said and done nothing to suggest that they should repeat last night's indiscretion. He had allowed her to retire without any special comment or look. He had accepted that last night had been what she offered and no more, one night to comfort and distract her.

In the morning he would leave for London and not even know that it was their final farewell.

She sat up in bed. The silence of the sleeping inn hung around her. Catherine's breathing remained steady and deep. Last night had been a mistake for many reasons, and should not be repeated. She knew that. But her heart grieved so badly that she had to at least be in his presence tonight.

She slipped from the chamber and took the few steps to Julian's door.

The faintest light leaked out in a thin line all around three sides. It was slightly ajar.

She pushed the door a bit wider.

He stood near the fireplace, arms taut as he braced them against the mantel and looked down into the low flames. Their light made reflected patterns of gold on his shirt.

He appeared very romantic, and so handsome and unsensible without his coats and cravat, his dark hair mussed and his eyes dangerously intense.

She entered and closed the door. The small sound made him straighten. His arms fell from the mantel.

He turned and looked at her.

"I did not think you were coming."

"I wasn't sure that you wanted me to."

"I will always want you to."

He did not approach her. He just stood there, looking so wonderful that her heart pounded.

"I am not so afraid tonight." She spoke to fill the silence that had begun pulsing with a demand, for.

..something. "Making a decision has freed me more than I thought."

"I am glad. Did you come to tell me that?"

"I do not know why I came."

"Don't you?"

Yes, she did, even though it would only make tomorrow harder.

He held out his hand.

She took the few steps to place her hand in his. As soon as they touched, his cool restraint cracked. He

pulled her to him and wrapped her with possessive arms.

There was little of last night's gentle care in his passion. His kisses did not lure, but demanded. His

caresses claimed her body in a way that permitted no denial. His heat blazed into her. Within moments she was gasping, first from astonishment and then from the savage arousal that burst in her. No words. No requests. No illusions like last night. They were not young, tasting this for the first time.

They were a man and a woman overwhelming each other. She abandoned herself to the delicious pleasure. She welcomed the consuming kisses on her neck and mouth and the confident strokes of his hands over her body. She swam within the primitive fury, secure that she was safe despite the danger. She wanted him badly. Almost viciously. She used her mouth and tongue and hands to tell him so, which only intensified their fervor. She pulled at his shirt, anxious to remove it so she could feel him. Somehow he got it off in the midst of their clutching holds and biting kisses. She pressed her palms to his chest, and then her lips, too, and let their heat brand the taste and feel of his skin on her memory.

He held her, looking down at what she was doing. The power did not diminish in that interlude. She felt it in him, thundering, crashing, making him grasp her against him. He slid off her nightdress and kicked off his garments until they were both naked in front of the fire. She reached between their bodies to touch the tip of his arousal. As if that had been a challenge, he caressed to where she throbbed and made that hungry pulse tremble through her whole body.

She became crazed and desperate and lost hold of the world. She wanted him inside her, nothing more and nothing else. In her madness she must have whispered that, but she did not hear herself speak.

"Soon," he murmured.

She expected him to move her to the bed. Instead he turned her so that she faced the warm glow of the dying fire. He embraced her from behind while he pressed hot kisses to her neck, provoking incredible shivers that made her arch her bottom against him and languidly writhe within his arms.

He caressed her freely, wonderfully. His hands moved in slow, sweeping strokes over her breasts and stomach, her hips and thighs. Luxurious pleasure lapped through her in delicious waves. It felt so good she almost could not bear it. It increased her impatience, even as she never wanted it to end.

He lifted her hands to the mantel and pushed her hair over her shoulder. She realized what he was going to do. Her astonishment was eclipsed by a deeply erotic excitement that had her body trembling.

He caressed down her back and over her bottom. "You are so beautiful. You make my heart stop." His hands grasped her hips.

He entered slightly and paused, barely joined, creating a tantalizing fullness that teased her until she was crazed. She closed her eyes as that taste of fulfillment became the only reality. She felt him so distinctly. Her flesh throbbed from the exquisite torture. The sensation became too powerful to bear.

Finally he thrust, deeply. The perfection made her moan. He reached around her body to where her breasts tingled, sensitive to the air and fire's warmth. He lightly caressed the tips, sending intense pleasure down to where they were joined.

She could not contain what it did to her. Clutching the mantel, arching her back, she submitted totally to the crescendo of sensations carrying her to the bliss of pure pleasure.

She snuggled against him in the bed. He had carried her here some time ago, but the daze of their passion had only now lifted.

She drew little lines with her fingertips on the arm that wrapped her. "How many sophisticated affairs have there been before me, Julian?"

He thought it an odd question. Perhaps she wanted to fill in the big gaps in her knowledge from when he was Mr. Hampton.

"I suppose some men keep a count, but I did not. There was none who truly mattered to me, nor I to her, however."

The devil of it was that he had tried to make it matter. As a young man he had even convinced himself there were great passions. Eventually, too soon, he would admit in his soul that he was lying to his lover, and to himself.

It was during moments like this that the emotional vacancy of those affairs could not be denied. There was an essential dishonor in taking a woman and then having as your first clear thought that you wished it had been someone else.

"You had frivolous affairs, then, not only sophisticated ones," she said. "We have something in common."

"Not entirely."

"True. I did not really have affairs."

That was not what he meant.

"Is that why you never married? Because none truly mattered to you?"

He was not sure he wanted to have this conversation with her. "After your brother wed, I considered

marrying. It seemed it was time and I was established. My interest could not be sustained long enough to do the deed. I concluded that I was not made for marriage."

It was true, every word. Just incomplete.

"I do not remember you on the marriage mart. I never saw you surveying the girls. Nor did you have your friends make any introductions."

"It happened, only not in your society. Solicitors seek their brides in other circles." Lower circles. The daughters of viscounts were not for them. That was so accepted, so well known, that it never had to be said.