It accomplished both. Serena had been overwhelmed.

Further down the hall was a feast for the eyes, with landscape paintings in soft greens and blues, a thick carpet running its length. There was a library filled with alcoves of books, a sunny yellow breakfast room, and a gallery with family portraits and valuable works of art. The main drawing room was done in sapphire blue and gold. The ballroom boasted a huge domed ceiling. And in the back was a well-hidden kitchen.

Upstairs Drake had been eager to show her the master bedchamber and the deep four-poster bed with heavy velvet curtains. It was a dark, private world inside those walls of fabric and Drake had been more sure of himself there under that silk counterpane, had shown her things he seemed to have forgotten across the sea.

As smooth as water running over a rocky outcropping, that was Drake's manner now, and as powerful as a waterfall. Serena marveled at how well it fit him. She no longer wondered at his black moods and stony silences of the past-all was explained in the reclaiming of his ident.i.ty. This man, so sure, so confident, but now with a hard-won kindness and new appreciation for those things beneath his notice before . . . this was the man she had married. If she thought she loved the shadow that Drake had been, she was ensnared, spellbound by the real thing. Gorgeous

. . . powerful . . . confident . . . he was any woman's fantasy.

And he was in love with her.

She had no doubt of his love. He proved it a hundred times a day since they had moved into the brownstone bearing the ducal seal above the front door. Each day held new surprises, planned and executed with exacting care-all for her. Today she would be fitted for a new wardrobe, then take a curtsy cla.s.s, something she'd only been convinced was necessary by a detailed description of her presentation to the queen. A short rest time would be followed by an intimate dinner with Drake. That evening they were to attend an opera at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane. Serena had never even seen a play, and tonight she was going to the opera and sitting in a private box with her husband, the duke.

It was all as in a dream.

SERENA DESCENDED THE stairs a little breathless, still trying to get used to the confining stays and tight bodice of her evening gown. She felt as though she'd been transformed into someone else while she was sleeping. She wasn't sure she liked it-or more accurately, was afraid she liked it too much. What kind of woman wore finery such as that in which she was draped? What kind of woman wore her hair elaborately coiled, with one long, provocative curl dangling over a shoulder.

She gripped her heavy skirt with one hand, lifting it above the stairs and grasped the railing tight with her other hand. So intent on traversing the stairs, she did not see Drake standing at the bottom, awaiting her. When she finally reached the landing, she looked up and gasped.

"Thou frightened me!" She laughed and then looked down, feeling suddenly shy. "Thou hast been waiting long?"

Drake stood speechless. Admiration-and something else Serena could not quite identify, pride perhaps-showing from his eyes.

"Turn around," his deep voice commanded softly. "I would see all of you."

She turned slowly, holding back a delighted laugh. Her gown was gold, the color of the amber flecks in her eyes, with a green-and-gold-striped underskirt and matching puffed sleeves. Emeralds hung from her ears, swaying provocatively and catching the candlelight from the wall scones. A choker wrapped around her neck and tiny tear-shaped jewels sparkled from her hair. It had taken the combined urgings of her personal maid and the housekeeper to convince her it was acceptable to wear such a low-cut gown in public. Elegant gloves covered her arms to the elbows with an emerald and gold bracelet on one wrist and a Chinese fan dangling from the other.

"I knew you would be beautiful dressed as my d.u.c.h.ess, but Serena, I am speechless. The men will adore you and the women will envy you." He spoke the last in an underbreath, as though to himself. Then he held out her deep-black satin cloak with ermine fur trim and continued. "There are a few important instructions I would give you before we enter the theatre."

"Instructions?" She turned toward him.

"Nothing to fret about. I shall explain in the carriage."

The night air was brisk, but Serena barely had time to feel it before she was ensconced in a well-sprung carriage complete with fur lap robes. Drake slipped in next to her, seeming too big, too alive to be confined in such an enclosed s.p.a.ce, even one so richly appointed as this.

As soon as the carriage swung into motion, Drake turned to her with a smile. "Serena, dearest, what I am about to tell you may seem odd . . . wrong even, on some level, but let me explain marriages of the n.o.bility."

Serena nodded, listening and vowing to follow his instruction to the minutest detail.

"I shall introduce you as Serena Weston, d.u.c.h.ess of Northumberland. When asked about your parentage you should reply that you were born in the colonies and lived in Pennsylvania. No need to mention that you are Quaker-that shall be discovered soon enough. Also, very, very important. Do not refer to me as Drake or your husband." He smiled at her. "Always refer to your husband as 'the duke,' such as, 'the duke and I met in Philadelphia,' or 'the duke is a most generous husband.'" He winked at her. "And this is very important, Serena. We shall go to social functions together and sometimes even sit together, but it is not fashionable for husbands and wives to be affectionate or even overly friendly with one another in public."

"But-"

Drake took hold of her hand and kissed the back of it. "I know it seems dreadful, but we shall make up for it in private. Just treat me as . . . a brother, perhaps, when we are with others."

"A brother? That is preposterous. However will I do it?"

Drake just laughed. "It is not so hard. Watch the others, my dear; you will soon see what I mean. And if in doubt, then just remain silent and observe. For the first weeks, that will probably be wisest."

Serena nodded. She had been tutored in the basics of comportment since arriving on their London doorstep, but she still had much to learn. Best to lean upon Drake in the treacherous social waters of the ton.

The theatre was magnificent, complete with columns and a domed ceiling with a tiered gla.s.s chandelier seemingly suspended in midair from a great height. Light sparkled from wall candelabras and sconces, showering glittering raindrops of light on the people and their elaborate costumes.

Drake ushered her into their private box, her eyes slowly adjusting to the darkened theatre. They had an excellent view of the stage, curtains still drawn as the opera had yet to begin. Below them were crowds of people. Serena was hard pressed not to gape in astonishment as she spied a scantily clad girl selling oranges and being pawed at by overzealous men. The woman seemed not to mind the attention as she took their coins and giggled. Ribald comments flew back and forth between the men and women, whose bosoms all but fell from their low-cut gowns.

Drake leaned close to her ear. "Serena, I would like to introduce you to someone."

Pulling herself from the sights, she stood and turned. An older gentleman with kind eyes and a ruddy face stood at the entrance of their box. Advancing, he bowed, taking up Serena's hand.

"May I present Lord Albert Radcliff," Drake said with a smile.

"My lord, it is so very nice to meet thee." She saw his surprise at the "thee" and wondered if she shouldn't have said it. Should she perhaps drop the Quaker speech-if she could, so ingrained in her it was. No, such silly thoughts! She wouldn't change her speech for Drake or anyone. She had changed enough as it was.

Some of her joy fled as shame filled her. Yes, she had changed. Had she already strayed so far from The Way? Was her soul in jeopardy?

Albert apparently read her stricken features and tried to smooth things over. "How delightful. Drake, you did not tell me she was a Quaker." He nodded, jowls shaking. "Highest regard for the Quakers . . . yes . . . such solid people."

"Thank thee, sir." Serena decided she liked him. "I hope thou art not the only one in London to feel so."

Before Albert had a chance to respond, three men and a beautiful woman entered their box. Serena watched Drake's face for clues as to their ident.i.ty. She wished later she had not been watching quite so closely. Recognition flashed in his eyes as he saw the blond woman. It was not the kind of look one wanted to see in a husband's eyes for another woman. He recovered quickly, though, and made the introductions.

He pulled Serena close. "May I have the honor of presenting the d.u.c.h.ess of Northumberland."

The woman, Maria Louisa Chamberlain, bowed, as befitted Serena's station, yet disdain dripped from her as thick as the diamonds she was wearing. With her blond hair and flashing blue eyes, she captivated the other men in the box with a skill Serena could only marvel at. When the woman addressed her, Serena was hard pressed not to stutter in response.

"Fresh from the colonies?"

Gathering inner courage, Serena offered a sweet smile and nodded. "Yes, Philadelphia."

The woman glanced at Drake and then back at her. Serena was shocked to see pity in her eyes. "It must be difficult, being newly married and the duke having stayed-"

Drake interrupted her with practiced smoothness. "I am doing my best to keep her entertained."

Serena jumped at Drake's interruption. There was an almost threatening undertone to his statement that Serena didn't understand, but apparently the woman did, for she gave him a conciliatory look and a short "I see."

Serena knew there was much more being said than what she had heard. Attempting to draw the woman's attention back toward herself she asked, "Thou hast been friends with the duke for a long time?"

The woman's eyebrows raised. "I would hardly call us friends." She glanced at Drake and smiled a slow smile. "But I am on more . . . intimate terms with other members of the family." Turning back to Serena, she tossed her head and smiled. "You will find many among us jealous of the time your stay in London affords you with those others."

Serena felt as if some other language, some code perhaps, was being spoken. Her confusion must have shone from her eyes as she looked to Drake, for he was quick to step in.

"Sheath your claws, Maria. The d.u.c.h.ess is unused to such frays, and you would do well to make some allowances."

Maria pouted at him and then shrugged a nearly bare shoulder. "You cannot blame me. It is so very easy."

"All the more reason for restraint." He sounded like a stern father lecturing a child.

Maria turned to one of the gentlemen who had entered with her and, with a bored sigh, indicated her desire to leave. The three men gathered themselves in response, bowing to Serena and telling her outrageous lies-how ravishing she was and how they should like to call on her and take her riding in the park. Confused at such offers when they knew she was married, she could only smile and nod and remain silent.

When they left she leaned against Drake's arm for a moment, then looked up into his eyes. "Whatever did all that mean?"

His warm laugh washed over her as he turned her to her seat. "You will get used to it. Now, let us sit. The opera is about to begin."

During the performance, Drake watched Serena from the corner of his eye. The glow from the stage bathed her face in creamy light, lending an aura of luminosity to her skin. Her delight in the production only added to his enchantment.

Stop it, you fool!

He forced his gaze back to the actors. He mustn't look at her like a lovesick calf! The world, his world, believed she was his stepmother . . . and it was going to be harder than he thought to pull it off. One thing was made certain tonight: He would not be able to keep her in society long. The women would eat her alive and have her believing all sorts of things about him-some true, but many exaggerated. He'd never really cared before, but now he suddenly didn't want her hearing the worst of his past. He rather liked her devotion.

How long do you think that devotion can last in a climate such as this? The thought plagued him, his mouth pressing together in a tense line. He pushed the unsettling question away, doing his best to convince himself there was no reason for worry. Nothing could diminish Serena's love for him.

He only prayed he was right.

Chapter Twenty-One.

Drake attempted to immerse himself in his old lifestyle, taking fencing lessons, managing vast estates needy from his long absence, visiting his club, and escorting Serena to very select social engagements-those with limited conversation, where his need to leave her unattended was unlikely. While all this kept him busy, he was, still, somehow restless. In fact, were he honest with himself, he'd have to admit it was all . . . empty.

Rather than relishing his position and wealth as he had in the old days, now, when he rode in the seedier parts of town, he noticed the wretched urchins, the beleaguered mothers, and the downtrodden men who found escape in a bottle of spirits. Just yesterday he had shocked his valet by inquiring if the man had

a cold after he had sneezed several times.

Had he changed so much? After all, he still felt the satisfied rush of accomplishment when he received, earlier in the week, news of a successful shipping venture. It was as if he had become two men, and he didn't know how to reconcile them into one whole.

Frustrated, he redoubled his efforts in the one direction he was sure of-Serena. He had promised to show her his world, and now he did so with the grandeur of his dreams. There were flowers overflowing from every vase in the house, jewels that were exclaimed over as if they were the first she had ever seen, clothes and furs and every bauble and delicacy he could put his hands on.

He knew she loved anything he gave her, but lately she looked a little perplexed when some new trinket arrived, as if she sensed the dam was threatening to break and flood waters about to flow, full force, upon them.

Drake feared it was so as well.

It was the strain of it all, he told himself as he leaned his head into his hands at the desk in his library. They had to be so careful. He had to be so careful, forever on guard, fielding questions and comments about the duke, smoothing any blunders Serena unknowingly made. Furthermore, she had yet to conceive. It was perplexing at best, fast becoming alarming.

He had asked a time or two if she'd thought it possible she was with child and received only shy smiles and a shake of her head. They both wanted it, and he knew she was pleased that he seemed to be antic.i.p.ating it. But it wasn't happening fast enough for his purposes. Everything hinged on her getting pregnant.

Picturing her face made his stomach do an odd twist, a reaction becoming more and more frequent of late. That Serena had not yet become suspicious was nothing short of miraculous. There had been many occasions when his explanation of some flippant comment made by a man or woman of their set had sounded absurd even to his own ears. But she always believed him.

She was so naive and so very trusting.

And you are so very deceitful.

He couldn't have imagined a year ago that he would experience even a pang of guilt in this situation. He would have stayed the course with single-minded determination and no consideration of how Serena might feel when the truth came out. But now . . . he was haunted by it.

Someday it was going to all come crashing down around him, and Serena, wife of his heart, would no longer look at him with those trusting, adoring eyes.

But someday wasn't now and so he continued the tightrope act, playing the dutiful stepson in public, the doting husband in private.

If he could just get through the next week. The social season and the trials it brought were almost over, thank heaven! One more ball tonight, and then he could whisk her off to Northumberland and Alnwick Castle.

Home.

He glanced down at a pamphlet about the latest innovations in agriculture and cultivation and tried to make himself concentrate on it as he had meant to do this afternoon. But naught stilled the voice whispering in his heart. A voice of concern . . .

And conviction.

SERENA'S HANDS TREMBLED. She dropped the letter as if it were on fire and sat down. She couldn't believe what she had just read. How old was this letter? Did Drake know of its contents? Why was it still here, in this desk that had belonged to Drake's mother?

She scanned it again, trying to make sense of it. It was a love letter. One of the most eloquent expressions of love she had ever read. And, dear heavens, it was from a Richard Weston to Helena, Drake's mother. She concentrated, trying to remember every detail Drake had told her of his family. She remembered him saying his mother had died when he was a young boy. Hadn't he also said she was sickly and sad? Yes . . . and no wonder if she had loved her husband's brother, as this letter suggested.

Richard Weston. Very little had been told to her about him other than the fact that he was the youngest of the three brothers and now lived in Bristol. She picked up the delicate parchment and opened it, scanning the lines: As to the child, he should remain of that household and become the next Duke of Northumberland. We must be brave and strong for him, for his future inheritance. Nothing can be proven and my brother will have little choice but to accept him. Dearest, we must endure for his sake as together we could give him nothing.

Was Drake the son they spoke of? Her head swam with the implications. Did he know? And then another question gripped her: Should she show him the letter? Were there others in the desk that may be less cryptic? She had found this one while searching for paper to write a letter home. The top drawer had stuck, and after giving a mighty pull, she had jerked the entire drawer out into her lap. As she lifted it to put it back in place, she discovered a secret compartment in the back of the drawer. After a little prying, it opened. Inside lay this lone letter.

The desk was a treasure of hidden drawers, false backs, and lovely workmanship, but though she rummaged through it with frantic thoroughness, looking for anything that might shed more light on Drake's family, she found nothing. If there had been other letters, they were hidden in another place or destroyed long ago. She would simply have to question Drake about his family.

Perhaps, together, they could discover the truth.

A LOW SHRIEK jolted Drake awake and into a sudden sitting position. The foggy haze of the intense nightmare surrounded him, leaving him unsure for the moment what was real. His heart was pounding as if he had run the length of London and his body shook in a cold sweat. What had made that sound? He realized it must have been him.

Serena sat up and touched his arm. "What was that sound? Was it thee, Drake? Art thou all right?"

He wasn't sure if he could answer. He had to get some air. Pulling back the coverlet and then the bed curtain, he climbed out of bed, his legs weak as a baby's. The chill of the night air hit his naked body like a bucket of cold water, helping to pull him back into reality. Hurriedly, he pulled on his dressing gown and finally attempted to answer her.

"Just a dream. I'll go down to walk it off. Go back to sleep, Serena."

The moonlight fell into the room through the tall windows and into their coc.o.o.n, revealing the worry on her shadowed face. "Art thou sure? I could get something for thee."