Isabel ran a hand through her tumbled locks. "Yes," she said tiredly.

"How much does he know?"

"He can't prove anything and, if I hadn't lost my head that first day and given him money and had brazened it out instead, he would have gone away. I think." She sighed. "But once I had given him money, he was like a jackal scenting a tiger's kill: he knew there was something in the wind; all he had to do was keep circling around until he found it."

"But he has no proof of anything?"

She sighed again. "Not that I know of. The locket is the closest thing to proof, but in and of itself, it proves nothing." Her eyes met his. "But I didn't know what he had and I couldn't take any chances." Her eyes pleading for understanding she added, "But even without the locket, even if he couldn't prove anything, all he would have had to do was to plant suspicion and speculation in other people's minds about Edmund's legitimacy and Edmund's life would have been blighted and the baron's peace destroyed. The circ.u.mstances of my unexpected marriage to Hugh caused, I'm sure, a great deal of gossip here at home. And when the announcement of Edmund's birth arrived at Manning Court, I don't doubt there were some raised eyebrows when certain people counted on their fingers and realized he was an eighth-month child." She laughed bitterly. "Of course, it was probably no more than anyone expected of me, but if anyone had been paying attention, they'd have realized that Hugh wasn't even in the neighborhood when Edmund had to have been conceived." Wearily, she added, "While Hugh was alive we always worried about that, but there was no reason for anyone to look farther or to actually try to prove that Edmund wasn't anything beyond what we claimed: Hugh's and my son." Her hand closed into a fist and she threw Marcus an appealing look. "But if Whitley were to start asking questions, poking about, offering idle speculation, it's possible, though unlikely after all this time, that someone might uncover the truth. I could not take that chance."

Marcus cast his mind back to those painful months after Isabel had run away and married Hugh. Too well did he remember the gossip and speculation; even more did he remember the sly looks and smug smiles exchanged between several old tabby cats when the baron, delighted and proud, talked of his grandson, Edmund. He should have realized the reason behind the looks at the time, but he had still been reeling from the knowledge that Isabel was lost to him forever...and that she had borne a son to her husband. Even now, he felt the knife-edge of black despair he'd suffered then. He shook himself. That was over. Isabel was his wife now. A fierce, satisfied smile crossed his face. And she had never been Hugh's....

He studied her wan little figure, aware that it didn't matter too much to him what lies or half-truths she and Hugh may have concocted around Edmund. All that mattered to him was that she was here and she was his wife. His wife. Not Hugh's. Never Hugh's.

Marcus tried to feel remorse over the intense pleasure that knowledge gave him, but it was beyond him. He wasn't, he thought wryly, that n.o.ble. Reminding himself that there were greater things at stake here than his personal gratification, he forced himself to concentrate on the lies surrounding Edmund's birth. Putting aside the right and wrong of it, she'd borne this burden alone for over a decade and, while he might have been furious that she had never given him the chance to share that burden, he was keen to hear the truth.

He glanced around the feminine room and grimaced at the two dainty chairs. It was going to be a long night and he sure as the devil wasn't spending it sitting in one of those fairy-sized chairs.

Abruptly, he said, "Come to my room. There's a fire." He looked at the teapot, shuddered, and muttered under his breath, "And something considerably stronger to drink than scandal broth."

Isabel was grateful for the interruption and she said nothing when he took her hand and fairly dragged her from her bedroom to his. Only after he was ensconced in a burgundy mohair-covered chair near the small, cheery fire and had shoved a snifter of brandy into her hand did he say, "Now tell me. All of it."

Chapter 13.

Isabel looked around the comfortable room lit only by a pair of tall, silver candlesticks on the wide, carved oak mantel, gathering her courage and trying to think how to start. For too many years, she had lived with the fear that someday the events surrounding Edmund's birth would be made public and everything she and Hugh and Edmund's mother had tried to do would be destroyed. Not so many lives would be ruined now-Edmund's mother and Hugh were dead-but Edmund and Lord Manning were very much alive and it was for them that she had lived the lie. She glanced over at Marcus's hard face. A lie that was no longer hers alone...Stalling for time, she sipped the brandy. The liquor warmed a path from her throat to her belly and, knowing the moment could not be postponed, she took a deep breath and said, "Her name was Roseanne Halford."

Marcus started. "Not Ham-Handed Halford's only child?" he asked incredulously.

Isabel shrugged. "I don't know, but probably. Roseanne came from a very well-connected family." Leaning forward, she said fiercely, "She wasn't just a little n.o.body. Her birth and family was as good as yours and mine. Her father had even arranged her marriage to the heir to a barony, although it was never publicly announced."

Marcus frowned, recalling some old gossip about Halford and Lord Brownleigh, known to be great friends, and the possibility of a match between Halford's daughter and Brownleigh's heir. The unexpected death of Halford's daughter while touring in Italy had cut up both families and ended any hopes of the two families uniting. If Roseanne Halford had died in India, the direction Isabel's tale was going, then it appeared that Halford had done some altering of the facts surrounding his daughter's death.

When Marcus made no reply, keeping her eyes on the fire, Isabel said softly, "Hugh met her when he was traveling in the north of England and when..." A knife-blade of pain sliced through her as she remembered that awful day. She took a deep breath and pushed on, saying, "And when she died, I wrote to a Mr. Halford at Vyne House in Bellingham to tell him that his daughter had died." Her face hardened. "I didn't tell him how she died, only that she had been visiting some friends in Bombay and had taken ill and died suddenly."

"Vyne House is Halford's country estate," Marcus said quietly. "So his daughter and Edmund's mother are one and the same." He hesitated, waiting for Isabel to take up the story; when she did not, he prodded, "She and Hugh met and...?"

Tiredly, Isabel said, "They fell in love. Hugh offered for her, but her father turned him away." She flicked a glance at him. "At that time, Hugh was not in line to inherit the t.i.tle and Mr. Halford informed him that he had a better match in mind for his only child."

Marcus nodded. "Halford was ambitious."

"And his ambition killed his daughter," Isabel said harshly. "If he had allowed her to marry Hugh, she might still be alive." Sadness overcame her and she muttered, "Even Hugh might still be alive. He...he was so unhappy after she died that he stayed away from home as often as he could. If it hadn't been for Edmund...and me, I don't doubt he'd have lost himself in the jungles." Her hand closed into a fist. "If it had been Roseanne waiting for him at home, he wouldn't have been sleeping in that wretched hut in the middle of the jungle where he was bitten by a cobra."

Attempting to distract her, Marcus asked, "Hugh and Roseanne, uh, antic.i.p.ated their vows?"

"They were in love," she said dully. "They didn't mean to, but..." Her eyes daring him to say otherwise, she declared pa.s.sionately, "Hugh was an honorable man. He intended to marry her. He would never have deserted her. When her father crushed their hopes he begged her to run away with him, but at the time she was too timid to defy her father. Hugh left Bellingham with neither one of them having any idea that she was already carrying his child."

Isabel rubbed her forehead and said painfully, "And then I met him by the lake and ruined everything by convincing him to marry me." She raised tragic eyes to Marcus. "It is all my fault! If I had not badgered him into marrying me out of hand none of this would have happened."

"You didn't get Roseanne pregnant," Marcus said dryly.

Isabel bit back an unhappy spurt of laughter. "No, but I created an insurmountable impediment to their happiness."

Discovering a streak of selfish single-mindedness, and not too interested in Hugh and Roseanne, Marcus asked with suspicious idleness, "Since you and Hugh were married, how is it that the marriage was never consummated?"

"I know the match was my doing," she admitted, "but if I could have undone it, I would have. It all happened so fast, there was no time to think, to reflect...to come to my senses. One moment I was sitting beside the lake begging Hugh to marry me and take me to India with him and the next we were at the Manning townhouse in London and married." She bit her lip. "Almost immediately, though we said nothing to each other at the time, we both realized that we had made a horrible, horrible mistake." Her expression miserable, she added, "We spent a horrid afternoon together, trying to pretend that we were thrilled with the marriage. And that evening..." She swallowed. "And that evening when he came to my bedroom, I locked him out. He was my husband, but he was a stranger and I was frightened. I spent the night huddled in bed terrified. Hugh went downstairs and got roaring drunk."

Marcus tried to feel sympathy for Hugh and failed, but he had no trouble applauding Isabel's actions. "And the next morning? What happened then?"

"Hugh was very kind. He said that we were both under a great deal of strain and that we had all of our lives together; there was no need to rush. He was sailing for Bombay within two days and we had much to do before he left. He said that we could put off any intimacies until I had arrived in India. He swore that he would court me as I should have been courted before we married, and only when I was comfortable would we consummate our marriage."

Marcus couldn't fault Hugh's reasoning. "But I take it Roseanne appeared before this admirable plan could be put in motion?"

"Yes. Hugh made all the arrangements for my sailing to India on a ship that was leaving two weeks after his. He hired a companion for me, Mrs. Wesson, and had spoken with a young colleague of his, Mr. Akridge, who was sailing on the same ship that I was, to act as my escort. Before he left, he set up accounts for me to draw on and made a list of purchases I was to make-or rather, his man of business in London, Mr. Babb, would make." She smiled faintly at Marcus. "Hugh was very capable and he made certain that I had nothing to worry about."

"Until Roseanne showed up on your doorstep. Which is what I presume happened?"

Isabel nodded. "Yes. Precisely one day after Hugh sailed. She was terrified her father would find her and exhausted from the desperate journey to reach Hugh before he sailed. Meeting me devastated her." Isabel shuddered. "I'll never forget the look on her face and the horror in her voice when she cried, 'His wife?' and fainted dead away at my feet."

"Couldn't have been very pleasant for you."

"No, it wasn't! By the time she roused, I had ordered William, the butler, to take her upstairs to one of the bedrooms and had summoned a physician. He had just begun to examine her when she came to." She shook her head. "Poor Roseanne! She was so confused, so startled and frightened when she woke in a strange bedroom with a strange man bending over her. It took us several moments to calm her down and a.s.sure her that she was safe and that we meant no harm."

Isabel took a sip of brandy, her gaze on the fire, her thoughts far away. Finally she shook herself and looked over at Marcus. "She was a very sheltered, sweet girl and she would have been perfect for Hugh." She smiled faintly, memories rushing through her mind. "Roseanne was biddable and agreeable and so very willing to please that one couldn't help liking her."

"You apparently did."

She nodded. "By the time she died I loved her dearly and I would have done anything for her. I know you'll find it hard to believe-she and I only knew each other little more than six months-but in that short time, she became the sister I never had. There was no jealousy between us; I didn't love Hugh, had never been in love with Hugh, and more than anything in the world, I wanted them to be together-as they should have been. I blamed myself for the situation we were all in, but Roseanne"-her eyes filled with tears-"Roseanne blamed herself and tried to comfort me!"

"I would remind you that it wasn't your fault. Hugh had no business running away with a chit just out of the schoolroom! If anyone is to blame," Marcus said grimly, "it is Hugh. Not you. Not even Roseanne."

Isabel smiled sadly. "I think you are forgetting how determined I can be when I want something. I gave Hugh no chance to think about what we were doing. I pushed him into the marriage."

"You were seventeen!" Marcus said furiously. "He was a man of thirty or more. He should have known better."

Isabel waved a dismissing hand. "It doesn't matter now. What matters now and what has mattered all along is Edmund and his fate."

Marcus took a grip of his unexpected show of temper and muttered, "Yes, yes, of course. Tell me the rest of it."

"Once the physician and everyone had left us alone, in her fear and despair, Roseanne blurted out that she was pregnant with Hugh's child. I was horrified because it changed the whole situation. It was no longer just a case of not being able to marry the man she loved, but there was a child at stake now. She would have been ruined, but worse, the child would be branded a b.a.s.t.a.r.d, just another by-blow of a well-born gentleman. From the beginning, Roseanne and I were united to prevent that from happening, and fortunately, so was Hugh."

Marcus's grandfather, the Old Earl, was noted for cluttering the English countryside with his b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, so Marcus was well able to understand and sympathize. He'd always been appalled by his grandfather's numerous illegitimate children, even if the Old Earl had carelessly acknowledged and provided for them, but even the Old Earl's blessing never took away the stigma of illegitimacy. The ranks of the ton were closed to them and their position in life was not always easy. Hugh had tried to act honorably and Marcus would not fault him on that even if he blamed him for the situation. Finding Isabel staring expectantly at him, he said, "So you and Roseanne sailed to India together to lay the problem at Hugh's feet-where I might add, it belonged."

"Yes. I dismissed Mrs. Wesson and subst.i.tuted Roseanne in her place. I ordered Mr. Babb to make the necessary arrangements and to buy the extra items we would need." She looked down at her robe, unconsciously pleating and unpleating a section of it. "The trip to Bombay was ghastly. Our quarters were cramped, the food toward the end nearly uneatable. It took over four months and Roseanne was sick through most of it. Her const.i.tution was not robust and I feared she might die or lose the baby. I was terrified the whole time."

"I a.s.sume you kept Mr. Akridge in the dark?"

"Oh, definitely. We hardly ever left our cabin." Isabel looked guilty. "I suppose even then I was thinking of a way to protect Roseanne and her child, and the idea of pa.s.sing the child off as mine with Roseanne acting as his nursemaid had already crossed my mind. There were several difficulties but none that I didn't think we could overcome. I was certain that Hugh would agree to it. The main problem would be the timing of the baby's birth." She glanced at Marcus. "Edmund is actually six weeks older than everybody believes."

"I'd already worked that out." He took a long swallow of his brandy. Seeing his snifter was empty, he poured himself another and, standing by the fire, his arm resting on the mantel, he looked across at Isabel and asked, "So how did Hugh react when the pair of you showed up on his doorstep?"

"Oh, Marcus!" she breathed, her eyes sparkling. "You should have seen his face when he saw Roseanne. It was as if the brightest light in the universe had illuminated it. And the love..." She choked back a sob. "His whole face, his entire being radiated his love for her. He was overjoyed to see her." Her voice thickened. "And then his gaze fell upon me.... It was dreadful. The worst moment of my life."

"Good G.o.d! The b.a.s.t.a.r.d surely didn't blame you?" Marcus exclaimed, outraged at the notion.

Isabel shook her head. "No. Never! It was just that one moment his dearest dream appeared to have come true and the next he realized what a nightmare we were all in."

"One of his making," Marcus snapped.

"Perhaps," Isabel agreed, not wanting to argue with him. "And despite the difficulties that lay before us, he was beside himself with joy at the news that Roseanne was carrying his child."

"I suppose none of you considered an annulment?" he demanded sarcastically.

"Yes, Hugh did. But time was not our friend. Obtaining an annulment in India was out of the question. By the time I could return to England and the annulment could be secured, the child would have been born." She stared off into s.p.a.ce. "If Roseanne had lived, I'm certain that we would have faced the scandal and found a way to end the marriage-provided the child could have been protected." She looked up at him, pleading for understanding. "All three of us were determined to save the child-and Roseanne, too-from a life of disgrace and shame. We hadn't thought out all of the ramifications, but we all agreed that as far as the world was concerned I was the one who was pregnant. Within days of our arrival in Bombay, I wrote the letter to the baron telling him that I was with child."

"Yes, I know," Marcus said tightly, remembering too well the fury and pain he had felt at the news. The baron had been so happy, laughing and constantly talking about his coming grandchild, and Marcus had walked around wanting to smash his fist through a stone wall. He took a deep breath. "He even chided Robert for being a laggard in producing an heir."

"You do understand," Isabel said earnestly, "that at the time we had no idea that Edmund would end up being the heir? We all a.s.sumed that Robert and his wife, Georgine, would have children. Even after Hugh died and Edmund and I returned to England, though they had been married for several years, everyone, myself included, still expected Robert and Georgine to have children." She smiled in memory. "I remember how excited we all were when Georgine announced that she was pregnant. Edmund was looking forward to having a cousin to play with and, of course, the baron was delighted at the prospect of another grandchild and hoped for a boy, Robert's son and one day, his heir." She sighed and shook her head. "No one ever expected that Robert and Georgine, along with their unborn child, would die in that yachting accident, leaving Edmund next in line for the t.i.tle."

Considering everything, Marcus suspected that-G.o.d forbid!-if he had ever found himself in Hugh's position he would probably have done the same; done everything within his power to see that his son didn't suffer for his father's mistake. Or that the woman he loved was not shamed before the world. He didn't blame Hugh for wanting to protect Roseanne and to insure his son's position in the world. As for Edmund becoming the next Lord Manning? Isabel was right: none of them had been prepared for the deaths of Robert and Georgine. Scowling, he stared down at his bare feet showing beneath the hem of his robe. He wanted to rage against someone; wanted to vilify Hugh, for all the lost years, but he could not. Isabel might have lived a lie, might have pa.s.sed off another woman's son as her own, but had any real wrong been done? Roseanne Halford would have been an eminently acceptable bride for Hugh, and if they had been married, Edmund would have been Lord Manning's legitimate grandson, the legitimate heir to the barony. Was anyone going to be harmed by allowing the lie to continue?

For a moment, he considered the implications for Garrett Manning, then shrugged. Garrett was wealthy enough on his own; he didn't need Lord Manning's estate or money. And while Garrett might have enjoyed a t.i.tle, from what he knew of the man, Marcus imagined that it didn't matter much one way or another to him.

He took a swallow of brandy. There wasn't much of a decision for him to make, he realized. He'd already made his choice the moment he had destroyed all evidence of Isabel's virginity. He smiled wryly. Besides, he was hardly going to complain that his wife had been a virgin.

Her gaze fixed painfully on his face, Isabel asked, "What are you going to do?"

He smiled gently at her. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing. As far as the world-and myself included-is concerned, Edmund is your son."

Isabel burst into tears. "Oh, Marcus! Thank you! You cannot know how I have feared..." Her voice suspended by tears, she could only stare at him, relief from the terror of discovery that she had lived with all these years suddenly overwhelming.

Marcus bit back a curse and setting down his snifter, jerked her into his arms. "Hush," he murmured. "Hush." He shook her gently. "You little goose! How could you believe that I would ever do anything that would harm you or Edmund?" He caught a tear on one fingertip. "I love him, too. I would never want him to suffer the stigma of being labeled Hugh's b.a.s.t.a.r.d, or watch the joy die in the old man's eyes."

Gulping back sobs, Isabel buried her head against his chest. In a m.u.f.fled voice, she sniffed, "I did trust you, you know. It was just that it had been my secret for so long that I d-d-didn't know what to do. Everyone else was dead and there was no one I could talk to about it." With tear-drenched eyes she looked up at him. "I promised Hugh and Roseanne," she said thickly. "On the day Roseanne died, we swore together that no one would ever know the truth. And Hugh and I vowed that as far as the world knew, Edmund was our child."

Marcus kissed her on the forehead and, settling down with her in his arms in one of the chairs by the fire, he asked quietly, "Roseanne died in childbirth?"

He felt rather than saw the nod of her head. "It was a difficult, difficult birth." She trembled and his arms tightened around her. "There was so much blood and she was in such pain and so frightened. There was a physician, Mr. Evans, but he could do nothing. It was a long, hard labor and she was exhausted by the time Edmund was born. We laid him in her arms and she kissed him, begged me to swear that I would never reveal the truth, and then just slipped away from us."

"How did you manage to hide what was going on? Surely you met Hugh's friends and colleagues, such as our friend Major Whitley?"

Isabel shook her head. "No, not until after Edmund was born. Once we all agreed that Edmund was to be my son, within days of our arrival in Bombay, Hugh removed us to the high country where we would have more privacy and not have to worry about the British residents in the city. During those first months, Hugh discouraged visitors, giving out that I was sickly and unable to receive visitors, but that as soon as the baby arrived, I'd be back in Bombay and eager to meet everyone." The worst of her tears over, she nestled her head on his shoulder and said, "Roseanne's death devastated Hugh. We buried her very quietly near the house where we lived; Hugh owned several hundred acres there. After she died Hugh informed everyone in Bombay that my companion that had accompanied me from England had died from one of the fevers. It was horrible for him. He had lost the love of his life, yet he had to pretend that everything was wonderful and that he was joyfully antic.i.p.ating the birth of his first child." Her gaze far away, she murmured, "When we buried her, his grief was so new and raw, I was terrified that he would throw himself into the grave with her. I know that only the fact that Edmund was alive kept him from doing so." She sat up a little straighter and brushed the tears from her eyes. In a stronger voice she went on, "Evans's knowledge that the baby's mother had died terrified us, but we could do nothing about it. He was a taciturn man and kept to himself and seldom left the area where we were. Even if he spoke out, it would be our word against his and why would I claim as my son another woman's child?" She sighed. "His knowledge gnawed at us, but we didn't want to make the situation worse by offering him money to keep his mouth shut. We just had to trust that fate would help us."

"Rather risky, wasn't it?"

"Terribly. But at the time we could think of no way to lessen the risk."

"You don't think that Whitley talked to him? And what he learned from Evans isn't what set him on your trail?"

She shook her head. "No, I'm almost positive it could not be. Evans drowned the following year during the rainy season trying to cross a river, and to my knowledge Whitley and Evans never met each other."

Evans's knowledge of the truth bothered Marcus, but he suspected that if Whitley had actually talked to the man and knew that it was the companion who had given birth and not Hugh's wife, he would have been bolder in his attempts to blackmail Isabel. His actions smacked of a man without a very strong hand.

Breaking into his thoughts, Isabel said, "We kept Edmund's birth a secret for nearly six weeks and then Hugh had to pretend that his son had just been born, all the while mourning Roseanne's loss. And because Edmund was supposedly born six weeks later than he really had been, I had to remain in seclusion for several more weeks before I could return to Bombay with my one-month-old child." She smiled reminiscently. "For the first year of his life everyone marveled at how big he was for his age."

"You didn't resent the position you were put in?" Marcus asked with a lifted brow.

Isabel shook her head. "I loved Edmund from the moment he was born and I loved his mother. I made a promise to her to always protect him, but it was an easy promise to keep."

"I notice you said that you loved Edmund and Roseanne, but you didn't mention that you loved Hugh. Didn't you?" As he waited for her answer, jealousy clawed in his chest and he was ashamed of his emotions.

"I did love Hugh," Isabel admitted, "but more as a big brother. He was always kind and considerate of me." She looked at the fire, her thoughts far away. "I can't say what might have happened if he had lived. I would never have been the love of his life and he would never have been mine, but we might have managed to make a pleasant life together and make our marriage real eventually."

Marcus didn't like the empty hole in his gut that her words caused. He might have studiously avoided her this past decade but there had always been a part of him that had been glad that she had been living at Manning Court, a part of him that had been tantalizingly aware that she had no husband....

"What about the locket?" he asked abruptly.

"It was Roseanne's. If you study the face of it, you can see in the midst of all the filigree work, her initials, RH." She frowned. "I have no idea how Whitley came across it. I can only a.s.sume that Hugh had kept it, unable to destroy it as we did everything else of hers, and that Whitley, with his constant snooping around, found it."

Marcus nodded. "That would make sense." He glanced down at her. "Are you ever going to let me see what is in the locket?"

She flushed. "Of course! Would you like me to get it for you?"

"Yes."

Isabel scrambled from his lap and, trailed by Marcus, walked quickly into her bedroom. She walked up to a dainty desk that had come with her from Manning Court. Opening one of the drawers, she removed it and, reaching into the back of the desk, found the spring that opened the secret compartment. Reaching into the compartment, her fingers found the locket and she brought it forth.

Looking at Marcus, she said, "I thought of just putting it in my jewelry box and having Lord Manning keep it in his safe, but I feared..." She shrugged helplessly. "This was the safest place I could think of to hide it."

She handed him the locket and, for a moment, Marcus just held it, staring at the filigree work. Isabel was right. If one looked hard enough and, he thought wryly, knew what to look for, one could make out the entwined initials of RH. With a flick of his finger, he opened the locket. On each side of the locket was a beautifully painted miniature; one of a man, the other a woman. He recognized Hugh Manning immediately. The woman, he a.s.sumed, was Roseanne Halford.

He glanced at Isabel. "Hugh and Roseanne?"

"Yes. Hugh had the portraits commissioned and bought the locket just before her father denied his suit. He had meant the locket to be a betrothal gift-one of many. When Roseanne's father rejected him, Hugh gave her the locket anyway, hoping that..." She sighed. "I don't know what he hoped, but he gave it to her just before he returned to Manning Court and prepared to sail to India."

Marcus studied the portrait, thinking that Roseanne had been a pretty girl and he understood now how strangers could mistake Isabel and Roseanne for each other. Like Isabel, Roseanne had red hair; it was not the vivid red of Isabel's glossy locks, but a lighter shade of auburn. Someone who knew the two women would be unlikely to mistake one of them for the other, but they shared enough similarities to fool the unfamiliar. Roseanne's eyes were blue and her features lacked the vitality and verve that characterized Isabel's, but again, a pa.s.sing acquaintance could be forgiven for mistaking the two. Marcus smiled to himself. Of course, he was probably prejudiced-never in a million years could he have mistaken Roseanne for Isabel.

He looked at Isabel and asked, "Was she similarly built?"

Isabel nodded. "She was perhaps an inch or two taller than I am, but you wouldn't notice it unless we were standing side by side." Reluctantly, she admitted, "Roseanne was also more, er, rounded than I am."

Marcus walked across to her. Tipping her chin up, he said huskily, "My sweet, you are round enough to please any man." He brushed his lips across hers. "Your, er, roundness certainly pleases me."