"She didn't give a button for that." Arden smiled bitterly. "She's full of pluck. Maybewe'll run away together and join the gypsies."Lord Belmaine leaned on the fence and gazed at his son's profile. The wind blew the viscount's dark hair across his forehead. He looked tired and angry, his mouth sethard, as if he endured a physical pain.

"I had hoped," the earl said slowly, "that you would not run away this time."A muscle in the viscount's jaw twitched. He did not take his eyes from the mare."I'm here," he said. And after a moment: "I will try. I am trying."

How hard? Lord Belmaine wanted to ask ironically, but he held his tongue. He wasdetermined to remain on speaking terms. He never knew what would set his son off,and he was well aware of how often he wanted back the words that had done it.

"I would like you to speak to our attorney," the earl said. "Mr. King. Would that beamenable?""Perfectly amenable."

"He is awaiting your convenience in the map room.""Fine." His son leaned down and hefted the saddle onto his hip, grimacing slightly atthe move. He walked away.

The attorney said nothing that Arden had not already surmised himself. He sat expressionlessly, listening, his gaze focused past Mr. King and his papers, out the windows draped in green damask and gold fringe.

"There need be no great inconvenience to it, sir," Mr. King said in a dry murmur. "With proper arrangements, the thing can be done with extreme privacy in the chapel here. His lordship and I, after considerable examination of the matter, feel that this would be the prudent and reasonable course. Do you agree?"

"Yes," Arden said.

The attorney, he saw, very nearly gave a sigh of relief. "Excellent. I shall put the matter in train, then."

"And if she doesn't agree?"

The man carefully pushed his papers into a perfect stack. "It would be extremely unusual, sir, for a female to be so misguided in her own and her child's interests."

"But if she were so misguided?"

"Lord Winter, these are merely formalities-I am informed that you have made a marriage to Lady Winter overseas, but have no proof of it that would be acceptable to the courts should the issue be brought before them for any reason. Which of course we must hope will never occur. We deal only with eventualities."

"What eventualities?"

"Ah. Should you or Lady Winter pass away, for instance."

"I already did pass away, Mr. King," he said mockingly, "and apparently that created no great difficulty."

"It created some." Mr. King cleared his throat. "But let me be blunt, Lord Winter. The main eventuality that must concern us would occur should either you or Lady Winter, some time in the future-regret your marriage. Seek a separation, judicial or private. Or perhaps-it has been known, I am sorry to say, that a married person wDl sometimes evince a desire to wed elsewhere. I am forced to say that the way might still be open even to that. And the guardianship of Miss Elizabeth is not as settled as I would like."

"What is my position as guardian now?"

"If it came before a court-and no marriage can be proved-" A small shrug. "Nonexistent, sir."

Arden's mouth tightened. "Have you spoken to Lady Winter about this?"

"No, sir."

"Do not," he said grimly.

"It would be foolish of her-foolish in the extreme, sir-to openly reject your legal relationship merely because it is possible to do so."

"She's a woman, isn't she? What's reason got to do with it?"

"She would bastardize the child. I cannot conceive that she would intentionally do so. I understand she is a most devoted mother."

Arden gritted his teeth. "Extremely devoted." Very faintly, in the dead silence, they could hear the hysterical screams of his daughter far away in the house. "Shockingly devoted."

"She can only hurt the child if she attempts to live in an unmarried state."

"You said she could marry someone else." Arden shoved himself out of his chair. "My God, she's so bloody beautiful-she could find someone to marry her, and bedamned to scandal!"

The lawyer was silent for a moment as Arden leaned his hands on the window frame, staring out unseeingly. Then Mr. King said, "May I ask you to be perfectly candid with me, Lord Winter? Do you see this as a credible possibility?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. I don't know her at all."

He could feel the lawyer looking at him. This painstakingly maintained fiction that there had already been a marriage "overseas" must be as transparent as water.

"I see. If the guardianship is your sole concern," the attorney said carefully, "it is possible that could be dealt with outside the issue of marriage."

Arden looked around at him, his hand gripping the window frame.

Mr. King rustled his papers. "It is conceivable that you can simply adopt the child- become her guardian-without confirming the marriage. If-ah-the mother opposed this, I'm not certain of the difficulty. A child born out of wedlock is legally afilius nullius, without relatives, but unquestionably in the mother's custody. I would have to inquire into it more deeply."

"I thought that's what I'm to do anyway-adopt her."

"Well, I use the word adopt, but of course since there is a marriage-" He gave Arden a penetrating glance. "-and the child was born within it, we are merely making absolutely certain that the lack of record can never develop into a difficulty by instituting a formal guardianship. But if, for instance-and I speak entirely theoretically, my lord-if you had arrived and declared that there was never any marriage at all ... then I'm afraid Miss Elizabeth would be afilius nullius in the eyes of the law."

"So I have choices," Arden said sardonically. "I can marry her, or I can toss her out and make a bid for my bastard daughter."

"That is to put it in a very ugly manner, Lord Winter."

"And her-she can marry me-or take Beth away, find another man to give her bed and board, and fight me through every court in the land to keep me away from my child."

The attorney lowered his eyes to the desk. "I think it more probable in that case that she would take the little girl abroad, rather than deal in the courts."

Arden felt as if something was pressing on his throat. Abroad, he thought, with a rising sense of panic.

"Give me some time." He shook his head, leaning it down on his arm. "For the love of God, don't tell her this. Give me some time."

"There is no particular limitation as to time, although the sooner a ceremony confirming and recording the marriage can be held, the better to feel easy about the matter. Your father has asked me to speak to Lady Winter of the legal advantages to such a course. I shall confine myself to that topic. I see no need to confuse a lady with the difficult forensic details."

CHAPTER 17.

It was the most violent fit Elizabeth had ever had. She had rejected every overture; nothing Zenia could do seemed to appease her, not even the toys or the songs that she loved. It seemed to go on forever-just as Zenia would get her calmed, stroking the hot little forehead, Elizabeth would realize that she was falling asleep and burst into frenzied cries against it. The worst was when the door opened to let the nurse in or out: Elizabeth lunged for it, and once fell so hard against the rail of the crib that she shrieked with pain. Both Zenia and the nurse tried to pick her up and walk with her, but she would twist and shove so angrily that it was impossible.

The nurse said tentatively, "If you would leave her to herself, ma'am, perhaps-"

Zenia turned savagely on her. "I would not leave her!" she snapped. "Go and fetch some cool water! And then don't open the door again!"

The woman turned as red as Elizabeth. She lowered her face and curtsied. "Yes, ma'am," she said, barely audible over Elizabeth's screams.

Zenia glanced out the window. She had lost track of time.

It seemed as if the fit had gone on all day, but it was still bright, the sun high. As the door opened, Elizabeth's head turned toward it. She began to shriek so frantically that she stopped breathing, her face going from red to blue, her mouth open wide and her body arched back, so that Zenia was terrified she was going to choke herself.

She tried again to pick her up, but Elizabeth's rigid limbs fought, her body rolling away. Elizabeth drew a strangled breath and screamed again, the sound ringing in Zenia's ears. Zenia tried again to sing to her, but her voice failed. Tears filled her eyes.

"Oh baby," she whispered, leaning over Elizabeth's frantic form, "oh baby, please baby. Don't cry. Don't cry."

She was vaguely aware that the door still stood open; she didn't look up, but wiped angrily at the tears that dripped off her nose as she turned to close it.

Lord Winter stood in the doorway. His daughter arched and screamed, oblivious to everything now but her hysteria. And suddenly, before Zenia knew what he was about, he strode across the room and lifted Elizabeth from the bed.

She writhed, her eyes closed, her howl increasing to a pitch Zenia had not known it could reach. She fought for an instant, but he hoisted her easily in spite of it-and then suddenly she opened her eyes. She was swinging upward, her small mouth open. Before she could draw breath for another scream, she was perched atop his shoulders. He turned to the door, ducked through, and walked away down the hall.

Zenia hastened after. Elizabeth was crying, but softly now, more hiccups than weeping. He went down the stairs with Zenia at his heels. By the time they reached the first floor, Elizabeth had ceased even her hiccups. She was silently clinging to her father's hair as he deliberately tilted her to one side and then the other, walking down the long hall.

At the great staircase, he descended in bouncing steps that had Elizabeth bumping up and down like an india rubber ball. She began to giggle.

He stopped at the foot of the stairs, turning to look up at Zenia. Elizabeth's tearstained face was wreathed in smiles. "Do you want her back now?" he asked coolly.

Zenia took a step down, reaching for her. Elizabeth's eyes widened. Pink flooded her face as she drew a breath to scream.

Zenia dropped her hands. She sat down on the staircase and put her forehead down on her knees. The absence of Elizabeth's screams was such a relief that she could not bear them to start again.

Arden looked at her huddled on the stairs. He set his foot on the lowest step and leaned over, catching her hand, exerting a pull. "Come. Let's take a walk."

She lifted her face, resisting. "I don't want her to go outside," she said quickly.

"We won't go outside."

She let him draw her to her feet. Elizabeth made a pleased sound. He walked across the echoing hall to an alabaster statue of a draped shepherdess. His daughter reached out and touched the marble fingers, making a surprised "Gun!"

"Yes," Lord Winter said. "That is a girl."

Zenia could have informed him that everything was "guh," if it was not "mama" or "pa" or "g'dow." But she did not. She felt as if she were resting in a calm after the storm. She actually felt-rather grateful.

Lord Winter walked through the great house, pausing at anything that drew Elizabeth's attention. He let her touch things that Zenia would not have dared to touch herself: silver urns and Chinese porcelains, gilt-and-enamel clocks. When Elizabeth tried to pick up a crystal vase, Zenia hurried forward to pluck it out of her hand.

Elizabeth drew a threatening breath. Her lips quivered for a moment, but Zenia said firmly, "No," and put the vase down as Lord Winter moved out of reach.

"If you let her touch, I fear she'll break something," she said, following him in anxious haste.

"It's just a lot of pretty rubbish," he said casually.

Zenia glanced around at the grandeur of tall pediments and draped windows, the polish of inlaid marble tabletops and silver candelabra. It came sharply home to her, for the first time, that he had been brought up to this. It was so familiar to him that he thought nothing of letting a baby play with a golden box from the carved mantelpiece -though he did move suddenly to catch it in his palm as Elizabeth let go.

He had appeared so stiff and distant here, so unlike the easy friend and protector he had been in the desert-he had not seemed to belong to the place.

And yet it was his. These were his possessions, his family's house that would belong to him after his father. Zenia caught a silver candlestick before Elizabeth could overturn it, amazed at his indifference. She would not have brought Elizabeth into these rooms if her life depended on it. She had let Lady Belmaine guide her in how to act and what to wear, learning to sit gracefully and straight, to pour tea and accept a cup. But he walked through the house with the negligent ease of ownership, introducing his daughter to Swanmere.

In the slow procession of high-ceilinged rooms and luxurious color, of footmen who opened doors and closed them silently, Elizabeth's eyes began at last to droop. In the long gallery she fell asleep, her cheek resting on Lord Winter's black hair.

He walked on a little way, and then turned his head. Her plump fingers hung against his cheek, small and pink on the hard angle of his face. "It pains me to tell you, Lady Winter," he said, with a sideways smile that creased the tanned skin beneath her hand, "that your daughter snores."

Zenia reached for her, but he eased down in a window alcove. Elizabeth woke a little, only to make a faint complaint and cling to his neck as he lifted her down onto his shoulder.

"I'll take her upstairs," Zenia whispered, leaning to reach for her.

He caught her elbow. "Sit down," he said.

She hesitated. He looked at her steadily, such blue eyes-surprising color, like the blue beads that fell in the dusky caravan tracks, broken from a thousand years of camels' woven fringes. His lashes were black as kohl.

"Sit down," he said again.

Elizabeth snuffled at the soft, deep vibration of his voice. With a hiccup, she nestled into his neckcloth.

Zenia gazed at them a moment. There was still the jealous, upset part of her that wanted to snatch Elizabeth away. She swallowed, looking at her daughter resting against him so trustingly. Zenia had slept that way once- next to him. Knowing he was there. Knowing she was safe.

She perched on the edge of the window seat. "I had not realized you were clever with children," she said awkwardly.

He gave a short, dry laugh. "I don't know a bloody thing about children."

Zenia entwined her hands, looking down at them. "She has these-fits. Sometimes, I don't know how to stop them. But you-" Her voice trailed off.

"Don't care for female blubbering," he supplied. "Next time I'll just turn her upside down and shake her."

Zenia looked up quickly, but he had that crooked smile, and she could see that he didn't mean it.

"I'm sorry that I frightened you this morning," he said. "Zenia."

He pronounced her name carefully, as if it were difficult for him to use.

"I'm sorry that I-said what I said." Zenia pressed her lips together. "But you must not take her outside."

"I won't forget the cap next time, you may be sure."

"No! No, I truly mean it, you must not take her out of the heated rooms. It is much too cold and damp. Even here there is a draft. I hope she may not take ill from her exposure today."

He scowled. "Is she inclined to take ill?"

"Oh no, she enjoys perfect health," Zenia said, allowing herself a touch of pride. "I take every precaution."