The Palace Square, one of the loveliest squares in Europe, offered an unrestricted view of the Tagus, as did the ruins of St. George's Castle on the heights. Begun as an Iron Age settlement, occupied by Romans, Goths, Arabs, the castle was converted into a royal palace in 1300. And standing at the entrance to the former palace, the whole of the inner city lay at their feet.

When they'd seen enough picturesque churches, palaces, and quaint winding streets, Beau took Serena to the elegant shopping street, Rua Garrett, in the Chiado. At several of the antique dealers his uncle patronized he watched her piquant interest in all the beautiful items on display. He cajoled her into trying on an opulent pearl necklace one of the dealers had on display, but she refused to let him buy it for her. Originally from medieval Saxony, the necklace had been brought to Portugal in a bridal trousseau centuries ago.

"It's too expensive," Serena murmured when Beau urged her to accept it as a gift. And he graciously acquiesced. But she allowed him to buy her a small inexpensive amber brooch with a wildflower suspended in the fossilized stone because she couldn't bring herself completely to give up having a memento from him of their time together.

When they returned to the hotel at twilight, the boxes from the dressmaker had already arrived and Serena's eyes shone as she pulled the silk gown from its wrapping of silver tissue. "Ohhhh ..." she exclaimed, her eyes shiny with tears, the sight of the beautiful dress bringing back evocative memories. Her mother had worn a golden dress in the portrait painted of her shortly after her marriage, her pale beauty glowing from the canvas. How many times had Serena stood before that portrait, talking to her mother as if she were still alive; how many times had she found her father seated before the picture after her mother's death, his face wet with tears.

She swallowed hard, suppressing her sorrowful emotions.

"You don't like it," Beau said, looking up from the glass of Cognac he was pouring, taking note of her tear-bright eyes.

"No. I do like it."

He frowned faintly. "You're crying."

"Because it's so beautiful," Serena softly said.

"You're sure? We could find you something else," he suggested, wondering if Mrs. Moore could put together another ensemble on instant notice.

"No, really," Serena replied, carefully placing the sumptuous gown on the bed. "I like it immensely."

Beau quietly exhaled, the daunting task of obtaining a new gown averted. "We don't have to stay long at Damien's if you'd rather not," he said, taking note of her pensive expression.

"I don't mind," she replied, looking at him across the bed, a tentative smile fluttering over her mouth. "And I really appreciate the beautiful clothes."

"Don't thank me," he amiably said, holding the glass between his hands to warm the liquor. "You're paying for them yourself."

"For your coercion in getting me to Mrs. Moore's." Her smile was warm and familiar again. "And for your amorous entertainment at the dressmaker's," she sweetly added.

"Entertaining you is one of life's great pleasures, lollipop," he said, his voice velvet soft.

"So you don't mind me tagging along to Italy."

"Try to get away."

"I suppose you say that to all the women."

Her words triggered a disconcerting moment of introspection because he never had, his possessive impulses toward women nonexistent. And at the risk of denying his well-developed sense of indifference, he said, "No, never," because he felt a rare pleasure in her company. But he drained his Cognac in one swallow afterward, as if such renegade emotions required fortification.

Not realizing the full import of his admission, Serena lightly said, "Perhaps you might change your mind if I become too sexually demanding."

His dark brows lifted, a mild derision in his gaze.

She laughed. "Have I touched your rakish pride?"

"I have a reputation to uphold," he drawled, cheeky and unabashed, his expression amused. "I'm pained you should question my zeal."

And she saw him suddenly en mode: a handsome, teasing, profligate young nobleman playing at love. "It's just a game, isn't it?" she quietly said.

He didn't look away, although she thought he might. "Sometimes," he said.

She held his gaze. "And is it now?"

She'd never been aware of such quiet. The intensity seemed to exert physical pressure on her eyeballs and eardrums, force the air from her lungs.

His expression was shuttered as he carefully placed the glass on the liquor cabinet. "It's different," he murmured, his voice suddenly cool.

She never should have asked such a question, she realized. Any woman of reason would have devoutly avoided such tactlessness. "Forgive me," she apologized. "How very gauche of me."

Her apology raised a half-smile. "I don't mind your asking if you don't mind my not answering."

Falling back on the bed with a great theatrical sigh she tipped her head back to gaze at him with an impish grin. "I've so much to learn about amorous repartee."

Moving around the bed, he stood beside her dangling feet, her worn brown gown oddly enhancing her glowing beauty. "Don't bother," he quietly said, her bright spirit captivating, refreshing.

"With what?" she asked, bewildered by her seriousness.

"Learning fashionable repartee ... like all-" he paused, mentally eliminating a number of unsuitable phrases.

"The others?" Serena murmured.

"I was going to say like all the femmes fatales," he discreetly finished. "I like you the way you are."

His words conferred on her a glowing happiness, the sensation so blissful, she wondered at the power of so simple a phrase. And even while she cautioned herself to beware of charming rogues, she longed for his affection. "Do we have to stay at the embassy long?" she asked, abrupt and breathless, nervous she'd overstepped her prerogatives again.

But his eyes sparkled with amusement and his smile curved upward slowly as if in anticipation. "Do you have something in mind?"

Crossing her arms beneath her head, she gazed up at him with bland innocence. "I thought I'd test your zeal."

"I warn you," he said with a lazy smile, thinking how delicious and flaunting her breasts were with her arms raised high, "I'm regarded as the most zealous of the London rakes."

"So I should be entertained by the very best then."

"Modesty forbids me," he said, grinning.

She stuck her tongue out in playful rebuke.

His dark lashes lowered marginally. "Let's just say I haven't had any complaints."

Their dressing turned out to be leisurely, for bathing took on an entirely new dimension in foreplay and a lengthy interval passed before they were attired in their evening finery. A hairdresser had been sent for, an artistic young man who styled Serena's hair into a fashionable Grecian coiffeur while Beau lounged in a nearby chair, drinking.

He found himself in extreme good humor-the day, the evening to date, the entire last week one of unique pleasure. How often had he waited like this for a lady to dress but always in the past with restless discontent, annoyed with the tedious process of a woman's toilette. He was enjoying the quiet languor tonight, with Serena's image in the mirror occasionally smiling at him, touching him with a novel feeling of intimacy.

"Do you like this hairstyle?" she asked, putting a hand out to stay the hairdresser for a moment. "Tell me if you don't."

"It's perfect," he answered, wanting to dismiss the man, discard Serena's new gown, tumble her hair down, and make love to her for a decade at least.

"You're sure?" She spoke the way women did when they wanted to be told they were beautiful.

"You could launch a thousand ships tonight, darling," he said, lifting his glass in salute.

"Is it fine enough for the embassy?"

Setting his glass aside, he murmured, "Perhaps one thing more." Slipping his hand into his coat pocket, he rose from the chair.

"I knew the embroidered ribbon was wrong," Serena fretted, gazing into the mirror. "Should I try the gold cord instead?"

"The ribbon's exquisite. Thank you, Barcelos." The dismissive undertone in his voice was clear. And as the hairdresser bowed his way from the room, Beau drew the Saxony pearls from his pocket. "You, need this to make your ensemble fine enough for the embassy," he said, slipping the necklace over her head, placing the pearls around her neck.

"You're supposed to do what I tell you," Serena scolded, looking up at his image in the mirror before her. But there was pleasure in her voice and in her eyes; the strand of creamy pearls and diamond pendant was splendid.

"I might when you start doing what you're told," he softly retorted, clasping the diamond latch. "Tell me you like it."

"Of course I do," she said with a wistful sigh. "It's absolutely exquisite, but-"

He stopped her protest with a gentle finger on her mouth. "No buts ... it's the merest bauble."

"For you maybe. For anyone else it's a ransom in pearls."

But he convinced her to wear it that night, half promising to return it in the morning, and when they arrived at the embassy and Serena was introduced to Emma, the necklace immediately caught her eye.

"How lovely," Emma said, "and it's perfect with your gown. In the Van Dyck portrait of Marie-Louise de Tassis in Damien's study she wears a necklace very like that one."

"A Van Dyck?" Serena breathlessly repeated. "His eye for detail is unparalleled."

"Would you like to see it?" At Serena's instant assent, Emma waved the men toward the liquor cabinet and took Serena by the hand.

She was chatty and cordial as they made their way through an enfilade of rooms to Damien's study, talking of the various embassy functions that took place in the rooms they traversed, mentioning Beau's last visit in regard to a dinner given for the Portuguese royal family, discussing the St. Johns as though Serena were part of the family.

"Damien was worried to death after hearing from Captain Soares," she added. "I hope you've forgiven him for barging in on you."

"Of course, and Beau's so casual about ... everything," Serena said with only the merest hesitation, for Emma was making her feel very much at home. "I'm sure he didn't notice in the least."

"The St. Johns do have a penchant for ignoring the world," Emma pleasantly noted. "I grant you, my own disregard for convention isn't so well refined."

"Nor mine," Serena said, blushing.

"We should perhaps take a page from their primer." Emma graciously put Serena at her ease, her own unconventional position with Damien well known.

"I'm attempting to ... that is ... once I reach Florence I intend to make my way as an artist."

"So Damien told me and I knew you'd enjoy the Van Dyck even if your necklace hadn't been such a remarkable twin. The other artwork here is lovely of course, but more contemporary. Although I must show you my favorite Gainsborough. His Ann Ford is delectable."

"A Gainsborough too?" Serena softly exclaimed. "I adore his style. My teacher in Gloucestershire once worked with him."

"You'll appreciate his technique then."

And while Serena studied the two paintings in Damien's study, Emma studied the young lady Beau had brought to dinner. Since he'd never brought a lady to dinner before, she contemplated the beautiful Miss Blythe with a fine regard. Neither did he travel with ladies, she understood, so this pretty woman must hold enormous appeal.

Before Serena was finished viewing the paintings, the men came into the room carrying their drinks. "Beau is finding me dull company," his uncle teased. "He expressed an interest in Van Dyck."

"Do come and see it, Beau," Serena said, excitement in her voice. "His way with skin tones and hair and, well, everything is wondrous."

The image of Beau standing before the small portrait, closely examining Van Dyck's brushwork caused his uncle a decided start of surprise. While Beau understood art, he participated casually, to see and be seen at the exhibits, to be au courant in his dilettante world. "Is this deep interest in painting recent?" Damien murmured to his cousin-in-law.

"Very recent, I suspect," Emma softly replied. "Miss Blythe appears to be a remarkable young woman."

"Without a doubt. He didn't care to stay in the drawing room once she was gone."

"I see," Emma quietly said. "Then we should announce dinner soon. He won't care to visit long."

"Or at all unless he can talk of her. She apparently tried to kill this Horton fellow herself and has been making her own living under despicable conditions for the last four years. He's quite taken with her."

"She doesn't cling."

"No. And he had to cajole her into wearing the necklace he bought for her."

"She doesn't take gifts?" Emma's brows rose. "An extraordinary woman in Beau's world."

"Frankly uncommon," Damien murmured. "I'll have to send word to Sinjin of his son's newest attachment."

Dinner was hurried for, as Emma anticipated, Beau was restless, his gaze almost exclusively for his companion, his conversation reduced to minimum answers on subjects other than the merits and attributes of Serena Blythe. It was a revelation for his uncle to see such a transformation in his normally nonchalant nephew.

He ate swiftly or not at all depending on the courses offered. His companion in contrast thoroughly enjoyed all the various dishes from the shellfish bisque to the leite creme dessert. The company talked briefly of the incident at the Betty Lee but taking note of Serena's paleness at the mention of Horton, Beau abruptly changed the subject to one less fraught with emotion.

He mentioned they'd run into Tom and Jane Maxwell, which brought the conversation to a number of other neighbors of theirs in Yorkshire. And before long Serena's color returned. Shortly after, they retired to Damien's antiquities cabinet, where they had tea and brandy and Serena and Damien perused the various sculptures and artifacts.

"Another brandy?" Emma inquired as Beau swallowed the remains in his glass, his impatience barely restrained, his gaze following the leisurely pace of Serena and his uncle through the old patined marbles on display.

"Yes, thank you." He turned back to her, half distracted still, his easy smile a reflexive courtesy.

"I'm afraid Serena and Damien have forgotten we're here at the moment," Emma said with kindly tact, refilling his bumper. "I've seen it so often when lovers of the antique find a kindred spirit."

Settling back in his chair, Beau visibly relaxed, recognizing the evening might be extended. "I'm pleased Serena is so well entertained."

"Even though you'd rather be somewhere else?" Emma teased.

He looked up with a start, wondering if she could read his thoughts, realizing a half second later that her remark was meant in the most general sense. "As long as the brandy holds out," Beau said with a grin, "they're more than welcome to continue talking of dead civilizations. She's enjoying herself."

"She's most unusual in her education. I heard her tell Damien she spoke Greek and Latin."

"She shoots like a man as well and alarms me with her skill at cards," he said with a lazy smile. "She's a fascinating woman." He spoke the last statement in a very low voice, half to himself, and he was watching her again, unaware of Emma.

"Papa's collection had one of the rare copies of Ptolemy's Geography from the Basel edition," Serena was saying to Damien as they stood in the book alcove, her fingers gently gliding over the tooled leather cover of a well-preserved edition of Geographike Syntaxis. "He had the entire oeuvre of Palladio as well. But he preferred treatises on Greek architecture," she went on, looking up at her host, her smile amiable, like a friend of long standing. "When Lord Elgin bought the library, it comforted me to know Papa's library had found such a good home."

"His collection never actually went on the market, did it?" Damien said. "I didn't hear of it."