Discreetly making their escape, they walked hand in hand back to the Palazzo Palagonia through the Reale gardens, a sliver of moon lighting their way.

"Forgive me if I spoiled your evening," he mockingly drawled, swinging her hand, "but you wouldn't have liked Karl anyway. His sexual repertoire's without finesse."

She glanced up at his profile and saw his smile flash in the semidarkness. "So you saved me from a dull evening of uneventful intercourse."

"More or less."

"But then I never intended to bed him anyway," Serena sweetly said.

"Really." His voice was mild.

"You must be thinking of the other women you know."

"Really," he repeated, a hint of astonishment flavoring the word.

"The general was very pretty but too empty-headed, darling. And he kept calling me Miss Blight. You've quite spoiled me, Rochefort," she playfully murmured, "for other men."

"Really," he said once more, this time so softly she didn't hear. And for a man who considered sexual congress as a benign form of social intercourse, strangely, her words warmed his heart.

The Siren left port very early the next morning in the event Serena might change her mind about the general. But if asked, Beau would have said it was necessary to lift anchor that early in order to catch the tide.

17.

On March 5, the same day the Siren sailed for Leghorn, Bonaparte at last disclosed his plans to his generals. General Massena, the commander-in-chief of the Army of Italy, received the following directive: I am collecting a Reserve Army at Dijon, which I shall command in person. In eight or ten days I shall send you one of my ADC's with the plan of operations for the coming campaign, when you will see that your role will be important and within the means at your disposal. During March and April, if I were in your place, I should have four-fifths of my force, say 40,000, in Genoa. Then I should have no fear of the enemy capturing Genoa. The months of May and June are another matter, but by that time we shall have started our campaign and the instructions which I send you in ten days will serve as a guide.... Finally, I repeat, I feel you are in a strong position. Make the most of it. In the positions we hold, we cannot be beaten if we really want to win. Remember our great days! Fall on the enemy with all your force as soon as he makes a move.

The French invasion plan of Italy was en train.

18.

On their voyage to Leghorn, Serena felt as though time were precious. She found herself gazing at Beau with a more discerning regard, wanting to remember exactly how he looked as he stood or walked or lay, how he smiled, how his strong hands gripped the wheel of the Siren with the same grace as when they moved over her body, how he gazed at her with affection, with passion. She needed the memories to sustain her in the wilderness of her coming solitude.

She'd touch him at odd times to comfort herself and he'd glance at her and smile and her heart would ache with sadness. Too soon ... too soon-he'd be gone from her life.

And when the busy port finally came into sight on the second day, she was overwhelmed with despair.

Could she speak politely at the end when he took his leave? Could she be civil and dispassionate as expected, as required of a discarded lover? Could she behave with obliging good grace?

The sight of Leghorn occasioned unusual emotions in Beau as well, his feelings curiously discontent, restless, without clear motive or explanation, novel sensations for a man who always bid farewell to his lovers with relief. He'd really miss Serena, he reflected, mildly surprised-and not just her lush, wanton body. In minutes he'd be leaving her, a not altogether satisfying thought until sudden inspiration struck him-motives of personal gratification suggesting a reexamination of his options. "Would you like me to ride with you to Florence?" he asked, wondering even as he spoke if he might still be drunk from last night, his conduct so out of character.

"Oh, yes," Serena answered, her gloomy world suddenly taking on a golden glow. "I'd like that very much."

"Good," Beau succinctly said, gratified-no, exhilarated, a sensation he didn't question beyond its carnal implications, his mind already contemplating the nearest inn with a large bed.

The sixty-mile journey to Florence took several days, the country inns so much more tempting than the carriage and dusty road, making love so much more tantalizing than saying good-bye. Neither was quite reconciled to ending their agreeable liaison.

But eventually, even at their laggard, sybaritic pace, they arrived in Florence and on reaching the Castellis' address discovered that Serena's hosts were away in Rome for two months. The neighbor was sympathetic but without the means of ingress to their apartment. She was very sorry ... perhaps the landlord could be persuaded to allow Serena entrance, but he too was in Pisa at the moment visiting his daughter.

"They weren't expecting me until July," Serena said with a sigh, gazing up at the shuttered windows, her thoughts sober as she contemplated the next months alone in a strange city. But even more lamentable than loneliness, without the Castellis' she was denied access to the ateliers and workshops where she wished to study.

"We'll have to find you lodgings," Beau briskly said. "Which side of the Arno would you prefer?"

"At least I can afford lodgings," Serena declared, smiling faintly, Beau's energetic reaction bolstering her despondent mood. "Thanks to you."

"No-thanks to your skill. And I'd suggest the north side-you'll be closer to everything." Taking her hand, he gave it a squeeze of encouragement. "I'll tell the driver to wait for us at the Piazza della Signoria while we look for an apartment." The hired carriage, piled high with luggage, almost completely blocked the narrow street. "And I was thinking maybe I'd stay a few days more until you're settled."

"Would you?" Serena breathlessly replied and then realizing how gauche her response to a man overfamiliar with clinging women, she more circumspectly added, "Although I'm afraid I'd be taking terrible advantage of you."

"Let's not consider who's taking advantage of whom or I might be forced to recognize I have a conscience," he said, smiling. "As for my staying, I'd enjoy it." Glancing down the cobbled street, he surveyed the buildings crowding out the sun. "Now tell me what you think you can afford?" he added, careful after their argument over the dresses to be more heedful of her finances.

Three hours later, after climbing countless stairs and navigating their way through residential blocks and narrow byways, they stood in the salon of a sunny apartment facing the Arno, a stupendous view of the goldsmiths' bridge to their left, the afternoon sun glinting off the gently flowing river below, the green hills on the horizon framing the picturesque scene perfectly as if arranged for their delight.

"I can't believe this apartment is so reasonable," Serena happily said, twirling away from the windows to survey her new home. "After all the other much smaller ones we looked at."

"I think the landlady liked you-or liked having an English lady in her building." Beau stood behind her, pleased that she was pleased, the money he'd given to the landlady overcoming her disinclination to rent the apartment for only two months. "Why don't I pay you for the entire year," he'd said as Serena was investigating the small kitchen in the back. "Would that be helpful?"

It was.

And when Serena emerged from the back hallway, she'd been greeted by the landlady's beaming countenance and a rapid flow of directions to the nearby markets, churches, and shops. Because Serena's Italian was flawless and the landlady was much pleased with the donna inglese who spoke with a Florentine accent, their discussion eventually included a lengthy interrogation concerning Serena's mother's family.

"She certainly seems to know everyone north of Rome," Beau remarked once the landlady departed. "You at least won't lack for someone to talk to," he added with a grin.

"She might even be able to help me find out a bit about my mother's family. Papa knew so little."

"A fault of men," he said and in that vein dismissed any further interest in family antecedents. "I'm off to bring the carriage and luggage back. Why don't you decide where you want your easel? And think about rearranging the bedroom; I'm going to see if the landlady has another bed."

"You don't like the bed?"

"If I was a foot shorter I might like it."

"Are you staying then?" Her mood was buoyant.

"At least for a few days and I don't care to suffer."

She didn't suppose the Duke of Seth's glorious son had suffered much in his life. And she also understood more practically that the small bed wouldn't suit him. "Ask the landlady where we can eat too."

"If you get hungry have some of that bread and cheese we bought at Badia. And I'll bring back something for dinner. Ciao, darling," he said, blowing her a kiss.

Serena wandered through the rooms, pleased with the arrangement and size of the apartment. The salon was large, with a diminutive balcony overlooking the river; a small parlor suitable for an office or sitting room opened off the salon; the bedroom was more than adequate for her needs; the kitchen had a little porch, the scent of lilies rising from the garden below. She could paint in the salon; the light was wonderful. This was her first real home since Fallwood and alone in a strange land, she was more happy than she thought possible. Or not quite alone, she mused, which no doubt accounted for her good spirits.

As for the future, she wouldn't allow herself to think of Beau's leaving.

He came back two hours later, running up the stairs, shouting he was home, making her heart sing with happiness.

He'd said "home."

And even knowing better, she relished the intimate word.

Several porters followed him upstairs, bringing sections of a bed he'd found, the luggage, flowers, and vases.

"This bed isn't from the landlady-it's new. I can't afford it," she softly said, wishing there was some way on earth to keep him.

"Fight with me later," he murmured, his dark eyes sparkling, "when the bed is set up. I'll let you win."

"If I win, will you take it back?"

"If you win, I'll let you buy it from me."

"With what, pray tell?"

"I thought we could barter ... something," he said, wicked and lecherous and charming still.

"Do I have a choice?"

He pretended to consider for a second and then grinned. "Actually, no. And before you get all wrathful," he gently added, noting the flush rising on her cheeks, "I brought back food for supper."

"Am I not allowed to argue?"

"Not until the bed's assembled." His voice was equable, a half-smile on his face.

"You're impossible," she said. "Like a battering ram." And then she exhaled in a breathy sigh. "You're going to avoid discussing any of this, aren't you?" It was impossible to be angry with him. He utterly disregarded her resentment, his good cheer and impertinent charm unimpaired.

"Let's talk about it after we eat," he pleasantly offered.

But he wouldn't and maybe she was a fool even to consider resisting his largesse.

While they ate and drank wine and watched the sun drift behind the low hills surrounding the city, the workmen set the bed in place.

"If you stay around long enough, I'll become spoiled again," Serena remarked, "waited on like this."

"Time enough for you to work when I leave."

The word "leave" strummed in the air between them, her sudden feeling of abandonment shocking, incomprehensible considering she'd always known his company was transitory.

"But I'll stay for a time...." he murmured, sensing her discomfort, his own emotions in flux. "If you don't mind."

"I'd like you to," Serena quietly replied, because she couldn't be modishly coy or unsusceptible even if the Earl of Rochefort might prefer less feeling in his amours.

"Well then." He inhaled as if he'd run a great distance, and smiling at her, he said, "What should we do tomorrow?"

He stayed for another week and they strolled for hours each day through the streets of the Renaissance city, spending leisurely hours viewing all the art treasures of note, climbing to the top of the Duomo and campanile to see the city spread out before them, walking through the endless corridors of the Pitti Palace and the serpentine paths of the surrounding Boboli gardens, marveling at Ghiberti's sublime doors to the baptistry, standing in awe before Michelangelo's David-the eyes so lifelike the marble took on a warm humanity. The Palazzo Vecchio imbued with hundreds of years of Florence's history reminded Serena of how fleeting life was, as did the Uffizi, awash in masterpieces collected by the Medicis, men of great passions and power, room after room filled with works of art so precious, she was speechless before them.

They often rode outside the city too, taking in the Etruscan and Roman ruins at Fiesole as well as the monastery Michelangelo had designed in the hills north of town. And they ate and drank and made love in their hours of leisure as lovers have done since the beginning of time, completely engrossed in each other, preoccupied with all the variations of pleasure, basking in the lush world of sensuality.

Late one night, Serena's monthly courses began and Beau, sitting up in bed after she left his side, lit a candle and silently watched her wash the blood from her thighs and deal with the necessary procedures. She slipped on a nightgown when she was finished and lay down beside him again, her mood reserved, strained.

"Does it hurt?" He drew her into his arms.

"A little."

"Would you like a brandy?"

She murmured no and then subsided into an unnatural quiet.

"Did you think you might be pregnant?"

"I was concerned." She spoke softly but brusquely, grudging the words.

"After ... well-after so long," he obtusely said, "I thought you might be pregnant."

He'd noticed, she thought. And would it have mattered, she sullenly mused. "As you see"-she forced herself to smile-"you're quite safe."

"Since we weren't always ... practical," he said, euphemistically referring to their occasional intemperate lapses in contraception, "it's fortunate."

"Extremely fortunate for me," she coolly noted, wondering how many times Beau St. Jules had had to extricate himself from the responsibilities of impending fatherhood.

He heard the repudiation in her voice. "I would have taken care of you," he softly said, "if there'd been a child."

"I imagine you would. You're a very generous man."

Her tone implied volumes more. He'd heard that pitch and resonance and implication before-not over a child, for he was normally cautious, but over his numerous departures from women's boudoirs and lives.

He didn't answer. He knew how useless words were at that stage. But he held her in his arms because he wanted to and she allowed him. A curious sense of sadness filled his mind as if he'd lost something, and the feeling was impossible to ignore even for a man who ordinarily ignored emotions having to do with ladies and amour.

She should have felt relief her courses had come, Serena thought, lying in Beau's embrace, and in the rational portion of her brain she did. But in the wishful, unreal part of her mind where longing and need overlooked practicalities, she grieved for the baby she might have had. She might have had his child to love when he was gone from her life. But she wouldn't now. And her tears were real.

He felt the dampness on his chest, heard her small muffled sobs, but he wasn't certain he wished to know the reason for her tears, suspicious, overcautious after too many adventuresses in his life.

Beau's indifference hurt deeply, his silence speaking more powerfully than words. Her tears erupted in a deluge, and abruptly pulling away, Serena scrambled from the bed. Realizing almost too late that she intended to leave, Beau grabbed at her, his hand closing on her wrist just as her feet touched the floor. "What did I do?"