"Most certainly, milord," the modiste replied, her smile in place, already contemplating the extravagant sum she'd charge.

Stop three. The jeweler didn't take long. Beau settled on diamonds.

And then to the embassy, where he needed to explain Serena's insecurities to his uncle and Emma.

He found them at breakfast in their sun-filled garden room.

Damien refrained from saying, You're up early, and instead exchanged bland comments with his nephew on the state of the weather while Beau filled his plate from the food arranged on the buffet. They briefly discussed the condition of the street under repair outside the embassy as Beau settled himself and waited for the footman to finish serving his coffee.

"That will be all," Damien said, dismissing the servants, his nephew's extraordinary appearance at eight o'clock likely to be a private matter.

Cutting through a thick slab of ham, Beau looked up and said, "Do you have any event planned at the embassy tonight?"

The ambassador cast a glance at Emma, who returned an amused, knowing smile before Damien turned back to his nephew. "An assortment of consul-generals are coming to dinner," his uncle said, "along with a handful of local government officials and a few regimental officers-and their wives too, of course. Are you interested in joining us?"

Swallowing a bite of ham, Beau nodded. "Serena's never been to a ball, so I promised her one. Yours, as a matter of fact." Concentrating on his food again, he speared a piece of kipper. "I hope you have some good musicians."

His uncle concealed his surprise with effort. "Emma, who are we having play tonight?"

"Your favorites, dear," she replied, anticipating the evening ahead with a new and piquant interest. "The group with the virtuoso violinist. The violinist's a young girl and quite accomplished," Emma explained to Beau. "Somewhat of a child prodigy at ten."

"How nice," Beau casually replied, stirring sugar into his coffee, immune to the merits of child prodigies. "But I need dancing music," he declared. "Is that possible?"

"Of course; their repertoire is extensive. Give us a list of requests if you wish."

"I'll leave that up to you, dearest Em," Beau murmured, his smile one of gratification. Turning his gaze on his uncle, he added, "By the way, I'm about to lose that Brook's wager tonight. I expect Monty will find good use for an extra five thousand in his pursuit of Miss Gambetta."

"Really." Astonished, Damien was at a loss for words, Beau's wager having been persistently put to the test by enterprising females in the past-without success.

Shrugging, Beau added another spoonful of sugar to his cup. "Serena was fearful of appearing in proper society so I offered to dance with her. Ease her discomfort," he casually noted.

"How kind of you," Emma murmured, looking forward to teasing Damien unmercifully.

"I was thinking ... could she be some family connection of yours, Em?" Beau mused, lifting his coffee cup to his mouth. "She's apprehensive and nervous and all in a dither about being cut if she appears as my, er, well ... friend." His brows rose and fell in self-deprecation over the rim of his cup.

"I'm not altogether certain we aren't actually distantly related," Emma said, reassuring him of her cooperation. "My steppapa's aunt married a Blythe years and years ago."

"There," Beau exclaimed with satisfaction. "I knew you'd agree." Leaning back in his chair, he set down his cup, his smile beatific. "We'll come 'round early for drinks. Before all the boring, gold-braided diplomats appear."

And he talked then about the diamonds he'd just purchased for Serena, asking Emma's advice on the best approach to take in offering them to her. "She's reluctant to accept expensive gifts. There's a change," he added with a grin.

"Apparently she's not interested in your money," Damien ironically noted.

"Apparently not," Beau ruefully admitted. "I'm playing with a new, perplexing set of rules. Tell me what to do, Em."

"If it would help, you could tell her I'll be wearing my diamonds. Although she doesn't have to wear jewelry," Emma said. "She's quite lovely without it."

"But I want her to," Beau said with an unabashed grin.

"In that case," his uncle interjected, "we'll expect to see Serena's new diamonds tonight."

Damien wrote to Sinjin shortly after Beau left, informing him of his son's newest attachment. I thought you might be interested to know, he wrote, that Beau intends to dance tonight. He described Serena in a few deft phrases: her beauty; her background; her unusual education; her charming manner-and then briefly outlined the unhappy events of her recent years. As you may understand, he went on, she's quite out of the ordinary and has captured Beau's interest enough that he's willing to overlook his conspicuous wager with Monty. Damien lapsed into rather strong wording to express his surprise and shock at Beau's infatuation-if that indeed was all it was, he unnecessarily commented, his letter by definition expressing his doubt. While he'd been skeptical the previous evening, he explained to his brother, the morning's events seriously altered his previous assessment. The boy would be dancing tonight, he wrote, underlining the word to emphasize his amazement.

The young couple was traveling on to Italy soon, he finished, and then he didn't know what more to say. Was this all cause for alarm or celebration or in the end irrelevant? he wondered and, scribbling a few more words a propos his uncertainty about even sending such a curious letter, he wished his brother and his family well.

He signed it Damien and Emma for the first time.

The paint supplies had been delivered to the hotel by the time Beau returned to their suite and Serena was already stretching a small canvas. Still in her sleeping gown, kneeling on the floor of the sitting room, she was systematically easing the canvas tightly over the wooden frame.

"I adore you," she said, casting a radiant smile at him as he entered. "How did you think of these? And the colors! They're the very best ones! How much did they cost, because I want to pay you for them. And you're sitting for me today, aren't you?" she gaily went on. "Out in the garden, I think, where the light is good."

Leaning against the door, he smiled at her elation. "I'm at your disposal, darling."

"Perfect. Come here and hold this side while I tack it."

She was totally absorbed in her endeavor, the light from the windows outlining her slender form through the sheer white fabric of her nightgown, her golden hair pushed behind her ears to keep her unruly curls out of the way, her bottom lip lightly clamped under her upper teeth in her concentration.

The vision of her voluptuous body so delectably displayed brought to mind other activities than tacking canvas, Beau reflected as he moved toward her, his body responding automatically to her sensuality.

"Why don't you pose nude for me?" Serena said, looking up at him from under her lashes as he approached.

"My thoughts exactly. Although painting wasn't in my equation."

"I'm serious."

"You wouldn't get any painting done if I was nude."

She stopped in her activity, the flat pinchers arrested in her hand. "Are you saying I can't resist you?"

"No, I'm saying I can't resist you."

Her smile was both heated and sweet. "Am I that adorable?"

"Sexy, I'd say."

"And you can't resist me."

"Would you like it in writing?"

"Hmmm ... that sounds official. Could I use it someday to blackmail your wife?" she facetiously queried.

"I don't intend to have a wife."

He didn't, she suddenly realized, her romantical dreams evaporating on the spot. "You might want a wife some day."

"Yes, I suppose I might," he said, aware of the abrupt change in her demeanor. "But not today, is that all right?" he gently asked.

Her expression changed as if the curtain had gone up on a new act. "My apologies. How rude of me, dear Glory, to importune you like all the other women. You must be quite weary of it." And she went back to tightening the canvas.

"Let me help you," he said, dropping onto the floor beside her. "You tell me what to hold."

She was sweet and amiable as they worked the canvas together, careful not to move into subject areas of a personal nature. Beau told her of his visit to the embassy that morning, telling her that Emma was pleased to call her a relative.

"In truth," he said, "some stepfather's aunt married a Blythe, and she's certain there's a connection."

"How curious. Are you sure?"

"Ask Emma tonight. She'll explain it all." He was careful not to mention the new ballgown or the diamonds, hoping a more opportune occasion would arise later.

In her present disquieted frame of mind Serena decided against painting Beau in the nude, opting instead for a safer composition of the colorful terrace garden. Lying in the sun, Beau drank while she painted, half dozing at times, entertaining her when he was awake with stories of the ton. She made a sketch of him stretched out on the chaise while he slept, working swiftly in broad strokes on a scrap of canvas, and then tucked it away in a bureau drawer. She could roll it up in her luggage when it dried-a souvenir of their days in Lisbon, her own visual memory of a glorious time.

They were both on their best behavior that day, careful of their words, courteous, gracious, Serena telling herself it would never do to weave unlikely fantasies concerning Beau St. Jules and love, Beau attempting to repair the damage he'd done by speaking so forthrightly of wives. But the strain of such cautious restraint cracked when the ballgown was delivered at four.

"What's this?" Serena coolly inquired as the numerous silver boxes were deposited in the sitting room.

Beau was standing in the doorway of the garden, his tall form outlined by the setting sun. "You needed a ballgown for tonight."

"I can't afford one. Take these back," she instructed the manager who was overseeing the delivery.

"That won't be necessary, Ramos," Beau calmly said, walking into the room. "We'll manage now. Thank you." He guided the manager to the door.

"Look at the dress at least," he told Serena after shutting the door.

"I can't afford another gown, especially a ballgown."

"You didn't mind my buying the paints."

"I needed them," she flatly said. "And they're not a fraction of the price of a ballgown. I can pay for those."

"Good god, Serena. Who the hell cares who pays for what?"

"I care," she sharply said. "I'm not your mistress or your latest cyprian or any of the other terms used to describe a kept woman."

"Lover?" he softly said.

"That's different. And I consent to that gladly." Her voice suddenly went hushed. "The subtle distinctions probably don't matter to a man like you but they do to me." She turned away from him and stared out the window, her emotions in tumult. She wanted him without reservation and had to fight to maintain some hold on reality, wishing she didn't have to think about the price of a gown or the price of her reputation or the price of trying to hold a man like Beau St. Jules.

She heard him come up behind her, the scent of him sweet in her nostrils, his presence filling her senses, and she wondered once he left her how long it would take to forget the shivering lust his nearness precipitated.

He stood very still behind her for a moment and then gently touched the tips of her fingers. "Could we compromise?"

Yes, she wished to say, yes, I'll do anything, but she knew she couldn't and still regard herself separate from the women she professed not to be. "I don't know," she quietly said, her gaze unseeing on the half-shadowed garden.

"I don't want you unhappy," he murmured, tugging gently on her hand to turn her back to him. "Let's talk about this."

"So you can have your way?"

"So we can meet somewhere in between. I don't think of you as anything other than a woman I adore. When I buy you things, it gives me pleasure, that's all; it's not meant to belittle you or your circumstances."

"I wish I weren't so poor. Maybe if I weren't it wouldn't bother me if you bought me the Italian papacy."

He smiled, just a little smile. "Since Napoleon carted away most of the papal treasures, I probably could afford to buy it for you now."

"I don't want the vestments," she said lightly. "Only the Apollo Belvedere."

"Too late," he said with feigned regret. "The Apollo's in Paris. Would you settle for a ballgown?"

Serena gently sighed.

"It's just a present," he said. "People give presents to those they love all the time."

He noticed immediately as did she.

The word "love" shimmered between them for the briefest moment.

And then as impulsively he overlooked its implications.

"Take the dress," he said. "Please, I picked it out for you at seven-thirty this morning."

"Mrs. Moore must have been surprised."

"Grateful, I'd say, that I hadn't wakened her any earlier."

"What if I don't?"

"I'll understand," he said, trying to comprehend the incomprehensible.

"Should I just give up completely and let you have your way?"

"It would solve several more, er, imminent problems."

"Such as?"

"The diamonds I bought you."

"Beau!"

"They're perfect with the dress and Emma's wearing diamonds and all the diplomats will be awash with jeweled decorations."

"I won't. No. Absolutely not."

"Should we compromise on that then? Keep the dress, don't take the diamonds."

"Are you manipulating me? Are the diamonds a ploy to make me take the dress?"

"No, I really bought them."