Egyptian's arms. "I'm sorry."One side of his mouth lifted in an ironic smile. He looked at her steadily. "Sorry forwhat? That I made it after all?"

"Of course not. I'm sorry that you were hurt. And I thank you for-what you did for me."

He frowned. "You should not have been there," he said in a rough tone.She gathered Elizabeth tight against her. "I had no desire to be there, you may besure! It was you-"

"Because you lied to me." He thrust himself to his feet, his mouth drawn taut. 'Theway you're lying now, damn you. Lady Winter! The perfect mother! My parents sayyou're devoted." His lip curled. "My God, you're so damned good at it," he saidviciously. "I don't even know you."

Elizabeth wriggled restlessly. "Hush," Zenia said, "you're frightening her with such a

voice!"Elizabeth grabbed Zenia's skirts and crawled out of her arms, sliding to the floor.She toddled happily to her blocks and began to stack them.

"Perhaps it's you I'm frightening," he said softly. "Lady Winter."

She rose, ringing for the nurse. "You don't frighten me. I can take Elizabeth and goto my father if I wish. He promised me a home with him.""No," he said instantly. "You can't take my daughter.""You can't keep us prisoners here.""Leave if you like. You don't take my daughter.""Perhaps she is not even yours!" she exclaimed wildly. "How can you be sure?""She's mine," he said."She does not look at all like you.""She's mine.""Yours! She doesn't belong to you, like some possession!"He turned on her. "Are you saying that you've been with other men?"Zenia took a step back at the blazing violence in his eyes. "No," she said, "of course not.""Then she's mine, isn't she? Because you've damned well been with me!"They stared at one another. Zenia's lips parted. She saw his glance go to them-and vividly, intensely, she remembered him over her and inside her.

For an instant, she thought he would come to her. That it would all change, and this angry constraint between them would dissolve.

"I missed you," she whispered suddenly. "I grieved for you."

She astonished herself. She had not known until that moment what she had felt. All of her mind and heart had been occupied with Elizabeth. But before her daughter had come into her life, she had ached with loss.

"Did you!" he said, lifting his brows. "Which one of your many manifestations grieved for me? Not this one, I think." His eyes held a strange expression, wary and angry as a wounded animal. "Perhaps it was Selim." He gave a short laugh. "Selim might have missed me a little."

The nurse scratched at the door. Zenia dropped her eyes and turned to open it. "You will be wanting to dress for dinner, my lord," she said, careful to cover the hurt of his cutting answer by an expressionless tone. "I must do so now. The nurse will tend to her."

She held the door open to the hall, inviting him to leave.

He did not. With a sideways smile, he said, "This is my apartment, I am informed."

Zenia felt her heart contract. "No," she said, mortifyingly aware of the nurse's presence as she bent over Elizabeth. "You have misheard-"

"Do you object to my sharing with you, Lady Winter?" he asked. "My father tells me that all the other chambers are closed for renovation. Quite thick with deadly paint fumes."

Zenia stared at him, sudden understanding washing over her.

"Heavy-handed, isn't he?" Lord Winter commented. "He is in full cry after a male heir, you know."

"Oh," she said stupidly, unable to think of anything more sensible in front of the nurse.

"It will be a trifle overcrowded, I daresay. Please do not suppose that I will disturb you until you're finished with your toilette, my dear. Elizabeth and I will entertain our selves here, and then I can take my turn." He smiled, his eyes glittering. "Very civilized, you see."

Candles in the chandelier reflected back from huge gilt mirrors on the dining room walls. Arden had known he would require silk knee breeches for dinner at Swanmere. His parents always dined formally. Usually there were numerous guests, but tonight, with none, the table seemed even more huge than usual. Absurdly so, with his mother at the foot and his father at the head, and Arden face to face with Zenia across a snowfield of white damask.

The only concession to dining enfamille was the absence of a towering silver centerpiece sprouting fruit and candles. He rather regretted that. There were only sets of candelabra at intervals down the table, so that nothing hindered his view of the woman who played at being his wife.

She wore black again. It seemed to place her at a cold distance, emphasizing her perfect beauty. Her dark hair curled smoothly about her throat, diamond earrings glittering against her skin. He could see her profile in one of the mirrors, pale and untouchable as she sipped delicately at the consomme with a silver spoon. The flatware that bore the Belmaine crest seemed too heavy for her hand.

He could think of nothing to say to her. All of his words stopped in his throat, sounding idiotic and churlish. Did you miss me? he wanted to ask, like an uncertain ass-to make her say it again, to listen instead of throwing it away. To hear how she said the words, if she meant them, if it was true. It changed everything, and nothing.

Did he want her? He had seen his daughter sitting alone in the middle of the floor, her head down-and he had instantly felt a powerful connection, a soul-deep amazement: he had not blamed her for her doubtful reception, only been shocked to the center of his heart by her smile. The woman in black across the table seemed a stranger, but Elizabeth was infinitely familiar, as if he had known her for all of her short life and his own. Already he was thinking of tonight and tomorrow and the day after, all the things he needed to do with her and know about her.

It did not take much sensibility to perceive that Elizabeth's mother disliked his regard. He felt it was a certain crack in her facade. He was not sure that she told the truth when she said she had grieved for him, but he was entirely sure that she had meant it when she said she could take Elizabeth and go to Bruce if she wished.

So. Let her mean it, he thought, setting his jaw. She would find that she had put herself in an untenable position. If his father did not explain it to her, Arden certainly would.

"I have been considering what would be suitable to make your return known to our acquaintances," his mother said over an oyster pate. "Nothing with dancing. Would you prefer a light supper or an afternoon nuncheon, Arden?"

"Whatever is shortest," he said.

"Lady Winter has not yet been formally introduced," Lord Belmaine said. "Perhaps a dinner, to do so."

"If it is what you would like," his mother said indifferently. "For a dinner, anything under a fortnight is impossible. Three weeks, really, at this season."

"The night before Epiphany, perhaps. That will give Lady Winter time to have a gown made in color. I must admit, my dear," he said to Zenia, "that I would like see you out of blacks, under the circumstances."

"Very well," Lady Belmaine said. "Perhaps something in bottle green-a satin, with jet trim to match her eyes."

"Her eyes are blue," Arden said. They all looked at him. He turned downward to his plate, taking a bite of the pate. "Dark blue."

"Indeed! You must pardon me. I'm afraid I have been unobservant," his mother said.

"Not nearly as unobservant as I was." He gave his "wife" a mocking smile.

She lifted her lashes. In the candlelight, her eyes seemed as dark as his motherthought they were."She should wear blue," he said. "Like the afternoon sky. And gold. Not diamonds."They were still looking at him, as if he had lost his mind."I'm afraid azure is woefully out of season," his mother said."And silk slippers," Arden said, ignoring her. "Something pretty. She looks like a blasted ebony shrine. Make her something . . . pretty.""I've never known you to take an interest in female adornment," his father said with a touch of amusement. "But perhaps Lady Winter has her own opinions on thesubject."Lady Winter was staring at her food as if she had never seen it before. "I should like blue," she said in a barely audible voice. "And gold.""I do think you will be sorry with such a choice," his mother said."No doubt whatever you wish can be arranged, Lady Winter," his father countered."How people will talk," Lady Belmaine said. "Azure in January!""Will they?" Arden lifted his hand for another glass of wine. "Then let her wear the green. You must forgive my interference in matters that don't concern me.""You will admit that you know nothing of the mode, I believe, Arden.""Yes," he said. "I will readily admit that.""You would not wish your wife to be a laughingstock.""No. I don't wish for it.""I truly think you will be more satisfied with the bottle green."He took a deep swallow of wine. "If my satisfaction with the bottle green will put an end to this topic, then I certainly shall."

Lady Winter picked at her turbot and said nothing. She seemed to eat very little. Notthat he blamed her; dinner with his parents would damp the keenest appetite.Do you dislike the fish? he found himself wanting to ask. It must not be a very familiar taste for her. But he was not going to start any more conversation. He satthrough the second remove, mechanically eating roast pheasant and stewed hare.

"What do you think of Miss Elizabeth?" his father asked.Arden put down his fork, gazing for a moment at the Belmaine crest painted on hisdinnerware. Then he looked up at the earl. Over the long distance between them, hesaid, "Thank you, sir." He held his father's eyes steadily. "Thank you for bringingher here. Thank you for taking care of her."

Nothing changed in Lord Belmaine's expression. His long fingers tapped thetablecloth. Arden had never spoken so emotionally to him, except in anger. He felt strange, his throat tightening on his next breath as he waited for the answer.

Before his father spoke, Zenia said, "Lord Belmaine has been very generous, but I could have taken care of her perfectly well myself."

She was sitting very straight in her chair, Arden's expectation turned to annoyance and a queer disappointment. He picked up his knife and cut pheasant into small pieces.

"You are an estimable mother, Lady Winter," the earl said, surprising Arden with his approving tone. "I do not doubt you for a moment."

She gave his father a small smile and flashed a defiant look at Arden. "I would do anything for Elizabeth."

"Very proper feelings," his mother said. "I hope Arden will learn from your example. With a child, it is time and past that he gave up his heedlessness and remained at home attending to his responsibilities."

"Not at all," Arden said lightly. "I'm leaving for Siberia tomorrow, and taking Beth with me. We'll have a jolly time driving a troika."

"You will not!" Zenia gasped. "I forbid it!"

If she had not risen so seriously to such small bait, he wouldn't have lashed back. But her outrage, his parents, the surroundings, the prolonged torture of this meal at which he was the outsider, always the outsider-they all compounded and coalesced, sparking an old, old, unhappy anger. "And what have you to say to it, Lady Winter?" he asked, tossing back his wine and fixing his gaze on her. "You are merely my wife. The mother of my child, over whom I have complete authority and dominion. Has no one informed you of my lawful rights as your husband? You cannot take Beth away, as you have already threatened, not if I deny you permission. On the other hand, madam, I can take her wherever I wish, without consulting you at all in the matter. If you find this an undesirable situation, then you have only yourself to blame, don't you? We have a saying in English, Lady Winter-perhaps your mother taught it to you; she certainly knew the meaning of it. You cannot have your cake and eat it too."

She was utterly white, her lips working. Suddenly she pressed her napkin onto the table beside her. "Excuse me, I must see to Elizabeth." She rose and ran out so quickly that the footman just coming in the door had to make an abrupt step back, the silver vegetable dish rattling in his hands.

Arden did not look at his father or his mother. The vegetable dish appeared at his side-he could not have said at the moment if it was boiled carrots or cauliflower. He took a spoonful and then sat staring at it, revolted.

His father waited until the footman retired: When the servant had closed the door, he said, "I hope, Arden, that you will not regret those words."

It was the mildest comment he had ever made on one of his son's reckless follies.

* * * * * The Earl Belmaine let himself softly into the carved library, where a distinguished and soberly dressed man stood up, barely visible amid the dark wainscoting and portraits and books.

"Good evening, Mr. King." The earl spoke with a small, wry twist to his fine mouth. "I fear that tonight will not be an auspicious moment for any meeting. My daughter-in-law is indisposed."

"I'm sorry to hear it, my lord," the attorney said, with an efficient nod of his head.

"Sit down. A little refreshment?" The earl poured wine from a decanter into one of the four glasses that stood ready.

"Thank you, my lord."

"Tell me," the earl said, measuring out a thick, greenish liquid from another bottle and sitting down with the cordial, "we are not so Gothic in these latter days that a wife and children are still considered the legal property of her husband?"

"Well, certainly not his property, my lord. We do not countenance slavery in the common law, I am happy to say. But the wife's legal existence is subsumed in the husband's. In return for his duty to support and comfort her, he has full rights to her property, and of course absolute paternal control over his minor children. Within the unbroken marriage, the husband represents the sole acting legal entity."

The earl nodded thoughtfully. He was staring at a portrait beyond the lawyer, a painting of his son, in which the artist had caught with full impact the arrogant, awkward solitude of a sixteen-year-old irritated beyond bearing by the hours of sitting motionless in formal dress at his father's command.

Lord Belmaine had never favored the portrait, though it was very like his son. It always distressed him in a vague way, but it was the only one he had. He had put off having a painting made of mother and young child in anticipation of his second and third and fourth children, envisioning a family grouping. But the others had never come, and by the time he had fully faced the realization that they would not, his son was an angry, sly, uncontrollable boy who eluded his governess for whole days. Arden had been utterly fearless, scornful of physical punishment; secretive and rash and defiant. By the time he was seven, Lord Belmaine had developed his sole permanent ailment: the very thought of his only son's disobedience and dangerous recklessness made him feel as if he had swallowed a burning rock that lodged just beneath his breastbone.

The doctors prescribed stomach elixers and special cordials. Lord Belmaine sipped at the latest, subduing a grimace. For some time, the pain had not bothered him, but the jolt of learning his son was still alive had smashed the strange sense of glasslike suspension that had held him since his granddaughter's birth. For the past two weeks he had endured strong pangs, and Arden's behavior at dinner had been of such a piece with his whole destructive childhood and youth that Lord Belmaine felt his ulcer fully inflamed anew.

"I had hoped that this would be no more than a formality, Mr. King," he said. "But I am afraid I was too sanguine."

"Indeed, my lord?" The attorney looked grave. "The couple has an objection to renewing their marriage vows under English law?"

The earl smiled. "We have not got as far as discussing it, Mr. King. But my son has taken pains to point out to Lady Winter her legal disabilities as his wife. In particular he has emphasized his unconditional authority over her child. I fear this has not gone down well. In point of fact, Mr. King, at the moment I rather wish the Mohammedans had butchered him after all. It would spare me this singular desire to strangle my own son."

"It is a delicate situation, my lord." Mr. King lowered his eyes. "Do I understand, then, that Lord Winter seeks to convince the lady that she would be unwise to submit herself to a legal confirmation of matrimony?"

"I do not have the slightest notion of what Lord Winter seeks or wishes. He is the most perverse creature of my acquaintance. I have never understood him, nor pretend to."

"Perhaps, sir, the case is not so bleak as it appears. Whatever Lord Winter's personal feelings, if he attempts to convince Lady Winter to make the objection, it seems likely that he feels unable to do so himself. Else why go to the trouble to goad her? He could simply deny the union."

"The devil take him if he does," the earl said savagely. "What next will he put us through?"

Mr. King maintained an expression of calm. "Marriages celebrated beyond the seas are more or less exempt from our stricter laws regarding licensing and recording, as your lordship and I have very frequently discussed with reference to your son and his wife, but as I have also advised you, my lord, these undocumented unions are anathema if it ever comes to a question in the courts." The attorney shook his head gravely. "For a widow, we agreed that this was a tolerable situation, since there was no remedy-the child's legitimacy being countenanced by her baptismal certificate and the only important common law issues at stake being the wife's dower and the child's claim to her inheritance. Both of which we addressed in a routine and unexceptionable manner in your own will, my lord, entirely outside of any question of the validity of the marriage."

"Yes," the earl said, staring broodingly into his cordial before he turned back his head and swallowed the whole at once. He made a scowling face. "But he's here. And I do not understand him. I can't predict him."

Mr. King took a sip of wine and cleared his throat. "As we have also discussed, my lord, since the glad news of Lord Winter's life being preserved, the entire lack of evidence or witnesses makes the union and offspring vulnerable to attack-the greatest threat being a subsequent marriage conducted in a legal manner by either partner. In that situation, I could not be easy appearing before the bench in defense of this undocumented union. I was once privy to a case regarding an undocumented Gretna Green marriage, and it was a most unpleasant action. The law is full of anomalies and uncertainties in such instances-the outcome is no more sure than a throw of the dice. This is why I have strongly advised a prompt exchange of vows, extremely private but properly witnessed and recorded, and an acknowledgment and guardianship of the child by Lord Winter. The union will then be unassailable."

"And until then?"

"Until then, sir, we must fear that your son, or even Lady Winter herself, could act as unmarried persons, with the only recourse being a proof of the improvable in the courts. Not a happy thought. If your son is unwilling to confirm the marriage, there is definite cause for concern."

Lord Belmaine leaned forward, resting his jaw on his spread hand, his other arm pressed against his waistcoat. "He wants the little girl. I think-I believe he has an ardent interest in Miss Elizabeth."

'That is better news, my lord. I can with perfect authority explain to him that he has no rights in her at all if he repudiates the marriage and a guardianship."

The earl lifted his lids. "See that you do so outside of Lady Winter's hearing, or it will be she who does the repudiating."

"Dear me, it is not to be supposed that she would actually contemplate such an unwise course."

"My son has done his best to precipitate it."

"I cannot believe he will be successful. There are not many ladies who would be so careless. It is true that she must submit to certain legal disabilities in marriage, but these are hardly such as to cause real affliction to the natural sensibilities of the female sex. Quite the reverse, in the opinion of most ladies. Certainly nothing so malignant as making a bastard of her own child and destroying herself by an open denial of her marriage."

"That, Mr. King, is to be your line with her if she balks." The earl sat up. "I had envisioned a meeting of all parties with you, but I believe that we must speak to them each separately. I hope you will find it convenient to remain a few days."

"Very good, sir. I shall be happy to oblige."

CHAPTER 15.

Arden had always made it a point to charm the housekeeper. An endless succession of Mrs. Pattersons-they were all called Mrs. Patterson, no matter their real names -had hidden cold meat and bread tied up in kerchiefs or left plates of cakes and scones inside a huge dictionary that Arden had carefully hollowed out with a penknife at the age of eight. It had sat for years on a solemn podium beside the door in his room, its mild secret never discovered.

It sat there still. He had seen it when he went into his old bedchamber-the one she now occupied-to change for dinner.

He had coaxed a peace offering out of the present Mrs. Patterson, after a certain amount of fluttering fidgets at the invasion of her domain by the infamous son of the house. But he felt, as always, reduced to a scapegrace chub at Swanmere, so his old habits and stratagems came back easily to him. By the time he left, with a fork in his pocket and a hefty slice of plum pudding slathered with hard sauce balanced on his hand, Mrs. Patterson thought him a poor starveling who had never been fed properly in his life.

He went up the back stairs two at a time. He wouldn't have minded wolfing down the pudding himself-his appetite at dinner had not been precisely hearty. But he had not procured it for his own hunger.

He stopped before the door. It had occurred to him, as he paced the misty grounds until nearly ten o'clock, that the former Selim might be uncomfortable eating her fill in company. The courtesy and discipline of the desert demanded voluntary restraint, deliberate deprivation in the sight of others. She had eaten lightly even before he had said anything that could have upset her-and then he had driven her from the table with his biting words.

And he remembered that Selim had always daydreamed of plum pudding.