When Simon swore, Sara said crossly, "Don't be an idiot, Simon. Max wouldn't abduct me."

"Then what is he doing?"

They had reached the carnage and Max, with Sara held high against his chest, turned to face Simon. The glint in his eyes had turned into a steely-eyed glitter. "What I am doing," he said, "is taking my wife on our honeymoon. Do you have any objections?"

"A honeymoon!" said Sara. It was the last thing she expected.

"Do you have any objections?" Max asked her in a different tone.

She looked up at his smiling blue eyes and forgot that she'd been on the point of saying that it would be nice to be consulted. "No," she said. "None at all."

"Open the door, Simon," said Max.

Simon opened the door. "What about the Stoneleigh Fair?" he demanded.

Max deposited Sara inside the carriage and followed her in. "What about it?"

"I've entered you in the boxing contest. You told me I could."

"That's not till Sat.u.r.day. We'll be back by then."

Simon shut the door. "See that you are!"

It was only as the carriage moved away that he thought to ask Max where he was taking Sara, but either Max did not hear or he didn't want to answer.

Martin strolled up just then. "What was that all about?" he asked.

Simon kicked a pebble and sent it flying into the shrubbery. He was still scowling. "They're going on a honeymoon," he said.

"Oh." Martin looked quickly at Simon's thunderous expression then looked away. "Do you know what I think, Simon? I think Anne is right. I think Max is in love with Sara."

"In love?" Simon forced a laugh. "You gullible fool! Does a man who loves a woman rush her into marriage before the lawyers have had a chance to draw up marriage contracts?"

Martin had started to bristle. "How do you know they haven't done that already, before they came here?"

"Sara would never do anything behind Drew Primrose's back. She'd want his advice, wouldn't she? And he's not here."

"I never thought of that."

They turned and began to walk back to the house.

"Look," said Simon, "I know perfectly well that whoever Sara married wasn't likely to give us a share of Father's fortune. After all, we're only the stepsons. But what galls me is that this courtesy-t.i.tle upstart will bilk Sara of every penny she has."

Martin shrugged. "There's nothing we can do about it."

"Perhaps not. But I'd like to see him take a fall." Suddenly, Simon threw back his head and roared with laughter.

Martin eyed him uneasily. "Simon, what have you done?"

Simon put one arm around his brother's shoulders and grinned. "You'll just have to wait till Sat.u.r.day to find out."

He was taking her to the coast, to a small village on the estuary of the river Test. It was only a three-hour drive away, and as the miles slipped by, Sara found herself relaxing. Max was impossible; his laughter was contagious. They were taking time out for themselves, he said. This was the only honeymoon he'd ever had or was likely to have, and he refused to have it ruined by meddlesome relatives who begrudged them their happiness. For three days and three nights they were going to enjoy themselves. They were going to forget about their troubles and think only of the present moment. He was going to love her as she'd never been loved before.

The vise that was never far from Sara's heart tightened fractionally, and blinding tears stung her eyes. If only it could be this easy. She kept her head averted, because she didn't want to spoil Max's pleasure. She was becoming such a watering-pot, she who never cried, that she couldn't stand herself anymore.

Max's lips brushed her nape. "Three days, Sara. Can't you empty your mind of everything but us for the next three days?"

Three days. It sounded ominous. She wanted this to last forever.

"Well?"

She turned to look at him. The blinding tears turned into a blinding smile. "Empty my mind? Max, don't you know that you're all I think about now, you and what we do in our bed? Is that what you want me to forget?"

When he bent to kiss her, she pushed at the hard wall of his chest with her splayed hands.

"What?" he asked.

"If you ever bestow that special smile of yours on another woman, I'll ... "

He grinned. "Yes?"

I'll kill you. She suppressed a shudder. "I'll make you sorry you were ever born. That smile belongs to me. Do you understand?"

His grin faded. "What were you going to say? Sara, tell me."

She was able to give him a sultry smile. Her hand dropped to his thigh and brushed higher. "What do you think?" she murmured.

He kissed her then, as she meant him to, and when the kiss was over, she asked him to tell her how he came to be the publisher of the Courier.

He gave a long sigh, but he followed her lead all the same.

The room they were shown into over-looked the estuary and beyond that the gleaming city of Southampton. The window was, in fact, a French door and opened onto a tiny wrought iron balcony. Sara was captivated.

"How did you find this place?" she asked.

Max was directing the inn's footman who had brought up their boxes. It registered on Sara's mind, but only vaguely, that this adventure wasn't as spontaneous as she had thought. The carriage, the boxes containing their clothes and toiletries, must have required some forethought on Max's part.

Max waited until the footman retired before he answered her. "I spent many summers here when I was a boy, recuperating from an inflammation of the lungs. That's why my father insisted I take up sports, and boxing in particular. To make me stronger. And it worked."

She couldn't imagine Max as anything but strong and vital, and it gave her quite a pang to think of him as mortal, just like anyone else.

"Anne wasn't very strong when she was a child," she said. "She spent much of her time in the sickroom too, reading, writing poetry, that sort of thing."

He shrugged out of his coat and threw it over a chair, then he undid her spencer and sent it the same way. His hands ran over her arms and fisted in her hair. He loved the way her lids grew heavy and her b.r.e.a.s.t.s rose and fell.

"I used to write poetry," he said, "when I was a boy."

Her arms went round his waist. "You did? I can't imagine you as a poet."

"Would you like to hear a sample?"

"Mmm." She was breathing in the scent of him.

"Now let me see. Oh yes-"

There was a young lady of Farnham Whose ... uhm ... baubles were larger than cannons But when she disrobed, they were found to be frauds And her husband ... "

"Stop! You call that poetry? That's nothing but a crude limerick. Even Simon and Martin can do better than that."

"I didn't say I had any talent."

Laughter bubbled up, slowly at first, then gathering momentum until her shoulders shook with the force of it. Her lips were twitching, her eyes had turned several shades lighter. It was what he wanted for her, what he wanted from her. He was going to show her that life was meant to be enjoyed.

One step took him to the bed, but he had to drag her that one step. His eyes crinkled at the corners. "What's the matter, Sara?"

She gestured to the open window. "Do you know what time it is? It's still daylight."

He rugged on her hand. "I said I would pounce on you every chance I got, and that's what I'm going to do. Give me some credit. I spared you in the carriage."

Her jaw went slack. "In the carriage! You mean ... "

He nodded. "Not that I've ever tried it, you understand. But with you, I could be tempted."

She rarely blushed, but she could feel a tide of color rising in her throat. He was going to have her now, she could see it in his eyes, and the familiar weakness began to invade her bones.

When he suddenly pounced on her, she shrieked, and went rolling with him on the bed. They were both laughing when he kissed her. He raised her head, and his smile gradually faded. She shifted restlessly.

"Why do you always study me, Max? Why do you stare at me like that? "

"Because I want to know what's going on inside your head. I want to know what you're thinking and feeling."

"You already know."

"Do I? I wish I could believe that."

She didn't know how to answer him, but no answer was required. He sighed into her mouth and kissed her with an urgency that made her forget everything but him. He took her quickly, without removing their clothes, and she found the desire beating through her blood to meet whatever he demanded of her. There was no one like him. There was nothing else in the world like the feel of his lean muscular body moving on hers. She should be happy, but when the climax came, she felt as though her heart had shattered as well.

It was impossible to be unhappy for long around Max. He set out to charm her, and she was in the mood to be charmed. He made her laugh; he taught her how to play again. Much of the time she was in a sensual daze. Max saw no reason to confine their lovemaking to their bed. If they went walking on the beach or in the woods, he could always find a secluded corner where he could make love to his beautiful wife. What shocked Sara wasn't the knowledge that Max was a l.u.s.ty, demanding lover. It was her own capacity for love, her own s.e.xual appet.i.te that stunned her. All it would take was a sideways glance from Max, and the blood would start to pound at every pulse point in her body. Until she met Max, she hadn't known such feelings existed.

When they weren't making love, they talked, but they tried to avoid anything that might cast a shadow on their happiness. She learned a little more about his family. He was an only child, he said, and one day he would inherit his father's t.i.tle.

They were eating dinner on the little balcony outside their room, and Max studied her as he took a sip of wine. "Don't let it alarm you," he said. "My parents live very quietly at Castle Lyndhurst. My father spends his time managing the estate and my mother is a great help to him." He saw the leap of fear in her eyes, and he went on casually, "We don't mix with royalty or the Prince of Wales's set. You'll fit in very nicely with my family, Sara."

"I don't fancy living in a castle, Max."

"You won't have to. I'm a newspaperman. We'll live in London."

"Do your parents know about me?"

"I sent a letter to them by express when I saw the bishop about a special license."

She leaned forward slightly. "Do they know my name? Do they know who I am?"

"Sara, I dashed off a note. And there's only so much one can put down on paper. They'll know soon enough when I take you to meet them. They're in Derbyshire, right now, and won't be back in Hampshire for several weeks. Then you'll meet them."

Meet them. She hadn't thought that far ahead. Where were her wits? What was she thinking?

His strong fingers tipped up her chin, bringing her eyes up to meet his. "I know they're going to love you," he said, "but whether they do or not doesn't matter a d.a.m.n. Look at your family. If I listened to them, I would tie a millstone around my neck and throw myself into the sea."

She couldn't help smiling. "They are atrocious, aren't they?"

He patted her cheek. "That's better. Just remember, we made our vows to each other, not to our families. Now, if you're finished eating, I thought we could hire a couple of horses and ride along the seafront before it gets dark."

She looked at that irresistible smile and surrendered. "I would like that," she said.

The three days slipped by too quickly, then there were no more days left to share, and they were on the road again, making for home. The nearer their carriage came to Longfield, the more quiet Sara became. Her thoughts began to circle: William; the dower house; the notes that could have come from anyone.

She heard Max sigh. He reached for her and drew her across his lap. His irresistible smile was nowhere in evidence. He looked serious.

"I wouldn't take you back to Longfield," he said, "if I thought I couldn't protect you. I'll be there. Peter Fallon will be there. No harm will come to you."

"I've been thinking about that," she said. "Max, what's to stop us from going on a proper honeymoon? I've never been to Ireland, and I hear it's beautiful. Maybe Anne would like to come with us."

Just as she loved his special smile, she loathed his special stare. It was probing, searching, and the only way to evade it was not to be caught in it at all.

"Sara," he said quietly, "you're not keeping something to yourself, are you? Something I should know?"

She made her eyes go blank and she told him the truth, but it wasn't the whole truth. "You want to find out who has been sending me those notes, and who attacked me when I was out walking. But I'm. not sure that I want to find out. And now that I'm married, I think all that will stop. Can't we leave it at that?

At least for a little while?"

"Maybe. Let me think about it."

She made to move off his lap, but he drew her back. "Let me love you," he murmured.

She looked around the coach's interior. "Max, it isn't possible. There isn't enough room."

"I can manage, if you help me."

This was another look she was coming to know: his eyes were heavy-lidded; his nostrils were slightly flared; his lips were parted and his breathing was becoming audible.

It started the slow beat of blood in her own body. "Max," she shook her head, but she allowed him to position her so that she kneeled over him with her thighs straddling his lap. He kissed her slowly, wetly, and his hands cupped her bottom, his fingers flexing in her soft flesh. He rained kisses down the long line of her throat and his mouth fastened around one distended nipple through the fabric of her gown. "Max," she said weakly, and her hands curled around his shoulders to steady herself.

He adjusted their clothes, and she mewled like an animal in pain as he filled her body. He smiled briefly, a lover recognizing the sounds of his mate's arousal. "You're so ... giving," he said through clenched teeth, "so perfect for me. I'll never let you go."

The coach's swaying, the slow rhythm Max imposed on her, his boldness-the pleasure was too intense, and her body began to shudder in reaction. She called his name in a keening cry of distress, then she buried her face in the crook of his shoulder as the pleasure overwhelmed them both.