Christopher. He was asking her about Christopher. Her breathless answer was immediate. "No . . . never . . . no."

Drake spun from her, walking in long, angry strides toward the back of the house. Serena put her hands to her hot cheeks, tears welling up in her eyes. Christopher would never make her feel as Drake did. Christopher never made her feel anything very much at all. But what of all her mother said? What of her life as a Quaker and brown-cloaked knights? Yes, Drake promised her much-not the least of which was a lifetime of such kisses. She could have it. Have him, a life with him. She only had to do one thing.

Give up everything.

Chapter Eleven.

Standing in the moonlight alone, awash with feelings Drake had stirred to life, Serena found another new emotion coursing through her.

Anger. Pure, white-hot anger singed her heart.

How could Drake leave her like that? Alone with whirling emotions, with feelings that wanted to fly?

Whatever he was, whatever he proved to be. He would not get away with it!

With determined steps, Serena made her way to her old bedroom. She didn't stop to think-no more thinking-about anything. She turned the k.n.o.b and walked into his room, shutting the door behind her with a soft click. She leaned against the solidness, her heart thudding in her chest so that she knew he must be able to hear it.

A shaft of moonlight spilled across the bed outlining his movements as he sat up. "Serena, is that you?"

She nodded, unable to move, and heard, more than saw, him get out of bed and slip into his pants.

"Come here." Though a whisper, his gentle voice commanded her.

She walked to him, her eyes adjusting enough to make out his frown.

"What are you doing here, Serena?"

She lifted her hand to his face, touched his cheek, running her thumb on the rough stubble of his jaw-then dropped her hand to her side. "Thou canst not just leave me like that."

He caught her hand in his, his gaze searching her eyes in the moonlight. "You cannot be here, love. Your parents are mere steps away."

"And deep asleep."

He chuckled deep and low. "Temptress. What did I do to deserve this test?"

She knew he wasn't asking her, which was good. For she had no answer for him. "I love thee, Drake." It was the hardest-and yet the easiest-four words she had ever spoken.

He groaned, dragging her into his arms. His chest came up against the wool of her plain, gray dress. "I fear I am forbidden fruit," he sighed into her hair. Her hands grasped him in answer.

"I would know such fruit. For always."

"Oh, sweetness, you know not what you are saying. It can be so dark here, with me."

"I'm not afraid."

Even as he gave up and kissed her, he murmured a warning. "You should be. You should be."

SHE WAS DRIVING him mad.

Drake pulled off the cap she always wore and threw it far into the darkness where it lay, glowing like a talisman. He unraveled her heavy hair from its knot. Long, more golden than red in the moonlight and to her waist, it swirled around them like a living thing, more glorious than he dared dream, silkier than he had imagined.

The light made the rose of her lips stand out, begging to be kissed. Drake could not resist the invitation. Just a few moments of this pa.s.sion and then he would stop it as the madness it was and send her back to the attic with her sisters. Where she belonged. Safe from him.

He could not, much as he might want to, take Serena to the completion of this folly, most a.s.suredly not in her parents' home. He would not betray Josiah's trust in him, even if, as he looked at this woman's ethereal beauty, it felt a slow death to deny them both.

But he knew she deserved so much more than an illicit affair. When the time was right, he would make it perfect for her. Somehow, he would make a perfect life for her.

He kissed her, letting his mouth linger over hers, then broke off the exquisite contact. "Tell me what you want from me, Serena."

She looked up at him, her gaze saying more than any string of words could.

"You love me?" He needed to know for certain that she understood what that would cost her. "More than anything?"

She pounded her fist on his chest, angry now. "Thou knowest I do!"

He cupped her head in his palms, running his fingers through the silky strands of hair. "You would give up this life? For a bondservant's?"

"Yes!"

He stopped her from trying to kiss him again, intent that she fully understand. "I have so little to offer." His thumbs caressed her cheeks as if to ease the roughness of his tone. "But I would freely give you what I have."

"I only want thee." Her breath was a soft whisper on his face. He allowed himself to be submersed in her, the feel of her skin so pliant under his searching fingertips, the soft sounds escaping her throat, the feel of her lips. His hands found the delicate bones at her collar, stroked the slim shoulders and then down her back.

He inhaled deeply, wanting to make this magical feeling last, so thoroughly did it chase away the blackness that engulfed him. His hands spanned her waist, outlining her ribs, feeling the rise and fall of her breath, feeling her delicacy and appreciating the form of a woman in a way he never had. So feminine and sweet.

"Like none other in all creation," he murmured into the curve of her neck. He felt her smile.

His lips had just found the hollow in her throat when the door burst open and light intruded upon the room. A sinking sensation brought him crashing back to the tiny bedroom. Serena was still too dazed to yet realize what had happened, but he knew the moment comprehension dawned. She stiffened and moved back from him, her hand to her mouth. He turned, ready to accept responsibility-and meet a father's righteous wrath.

At least he still had his pants on.

Her mother, mouth gaping, stared at the two of them. Her father looked like the grave.

"I see thou hast made thy choice." He directed this at Serena, apparently knowing his daughter's heart and the part she'd played in this scene. Before she could reply, he turned to Drake. "Thou wilt take responsibility in this."

Drake nodded. "Of course. We will be married."

Serena stepped forward. "It was my doing, Father. I came to him."

Leah stared at Drake, slowly shaking her head. "Do not marry her unless thou truly loveth her. We can forget tonight and find thee other work."

Drake knew what she wanted from him. A promise, a rea.s.surance. This was a mother, a woman who knew what committed love looked like. "Have no fear, madam; I shall cherish her all of my days." Some of the old sarcasm had crept into his voice, but he wished it hadn't. He meant it to the best of his ability to believe it was possible.

Serena smiled into her mother's strained face, her happiness apparent in her shining eyes. "Thou must not worry."

Josiah sighed. "From the looks of things, we must make haste." He turned to his wife. "How soon can they be wed?"

Leah lifted her hand, the gesture hopeless. "We must seek a clearness committee concerning matters. Serena, upstairs with thee." She nodded to Drake. "Good night."

Drake bowed his head and realized he meant it out of deep respect, not to be perfunctory. "Good night, madam."

They closed the door taking the candle-and the light of his heart-with them. Drake turned toward his empty, rumpled bed, waiting for the despair to come . . . but it did not. Serena would be his wife! For better and worse, she would know him, the good and the evil.

For the first time in a long time, maybe ever, he prayed.

A whispered plea in the darkness. "Do not let me hurt her. Please . . . G.o.d, do not let me hurt her."

AS SOON AS the girls had left the breakfast table the next morning, Josiah asked Drake the question that had kept him and Leah up all night. "Drake, what feelings dost thou have for the Friends?"

Drake gave himself time to truly consider his answer. He did not want to respond lightly to what he knew was a serious inquiry. "I have the utmost regard and respect for them, sir. I have met few people in my life who are as kind, honest, and selfless as the Quakers I have met here in Philadelphia." He sat back in his chair and continued with feeling. "I have watched you help the poor, the sick, the dest.i.tute, the prisoner and the slave. I know firsthand your kindness and I know it saved my life. You live, instead of preach, what you believe. Living among you has given me . . . new sight." He smiled a little sadly. "I was brought up to believe the world owed me grat.i.tude just for being born into it. In the short time that I have known you, sir, you have changed how I look at humanity. 'Tis no small thing, I a.s.sure you. And I am grateful for it." Nodding at Leah, he included her. "I must apologize for taking advantage of your trust in me last night. The responsibility lies solely with me."

"No, not thy fault alone, Drake." Serena put down her heavy silver spoon and looked to her father. "I went to him. He did not invite me there."

Her father nodded. "I am not surprised. Thy feelings have been clear to us for some time, Serena." He focused again on Drake. "I am glad for thy admiration for the Quakers. But I would like to ask thee an important question. The commitment is not a light one, and I would not voluntarily ask it except that my daughter loves thee. She has chosen to make thy life her own."

He glanced at Serena, a mist glistening in his eyes. "If thou shouldst choose a different life than that we have chosen, I fear, in the end, we will lose her. And so I ask thee, Drake, wouldst thou join the Society of Friends and embrace our life?"

Drake stared at the man that he would be honored to call father. A man he felt more respect for, in their brief acquaintance, than he'd ever felt for his own father. A man he wanted to please . . . but was destined to disappoint.

"I am sorry." He put as much sincerity into the words as he could. "I have thought about this, and find I am not ready to commit to a particular religious belief. I feel there are many unanswered questions that I must discover on my own, not by another's opinion or even most excellent example. But be a.s.sured in this. I will continue to seek out G.o.d. And I will not let the life I choose hurt Serena." Even as he said it he knew it was a promise that he should not make. How could anyone predict the future? His own had been so certain, and now look where he was . . . what he was.

With sudden clarity he realized he wasn't being fair or truthful with Serena. She didn't know him, all that he had done in his life. And he couldn't tell her. Would never tell her.

She didn't even know his real name.

Yet he was asking her to give up everything-her family, her friends, her way of life-for a stranger. He looked at her in concern. How could she still love him if she knew everything there was to know about him?

"Serena, I know my decision makes yours difficult, impossible perhaps. I will leave, find another situation, if that is what you wish."

Josiah reached out his hand across the table for Serena to grasp. "It will be hard. I wish I could take the excommunication for thee, but if thou choosest to marry an outsider, thou wilt be asked to leave the Society of Friends."

Serena grasped his hand, looking from her father to Drake, and then back at her father. "I . . ." She looked down. "I know."

Leah spoke up, her voice tight. "Josiah, they have spoken their convictions with truth. We cannot ask for more. Come, we will leave them alone to discuss it."

Serena's parents left the room and shut the door behind them. Drake stood and walked around the table. Taking the seat next to Serena, he took her hands into his and squeezed lightly. "Love, there are things you don't know about me. Things that might not please you."

She looked into his eyes. "I know there are secrets hidden in thy heart. I had hoped thou wouldst tell me." She gave him a wavering smile that melted his heart. "But I must say this: I would not force thee into marriage because of my recklessness last evening. Do not take me as thy wife out of duty."

Drake wavered. She was giving him a way out, and a part of him screamed that he should take it. Not for himself, but for her. What kind of life could he provide for her? "I am not a Quaker, Serena. Nor am I a silversmith. I am . . ."

"Yes?" Her eyes urged him to confide in her.

"I am a man between lives." He shook his head. "I feel I am without purpose really. I could take on your Quaker beliefs, but I know that would be wrong. I would wake up years from now and be miserable and perhaps even resentful. I cannot do that to either of us."

"Thou must not want me then." Her voice was flat. Her eyes full of pain.

"The only thing I know for certain is that I want you." He gripped her hands. "If it had not been for you, I wouldn't have survived the fever. Death was beckoning me and you came, you gave me hope. I owe you everything. But I have nothing to give you . . . except my body and the sane part of my mind. My heart and my soul, they are . . . shattered I fear, but they are yours also, if you want what is left."

Serena's face reflected all the innocent love she felt for him-and the confusion. "I want nothing more. But to leave the Friends . . . my family . . ."

Drake released her. "You must consider it all. You have to decide." He closed his eyes and kissed the top of her head, then rose. He allowed himself one last lingering look, taking in the way her neat, plain cap fit her head so well, then he left her there, alone.

It was the hardest thing he had ever done.

Chapter Twelve.

Serena watched him go, wanting nothing more at this moment of confused distress than to paint his tall form.

She rose and went upstairs to gather her paints, her thick canvas, and the wooden frame that she would stretch it over. The walk to the sh.o.r.e of the river seemed short, the gra.s.sy patch she always went to when she needed to be alone was easy to find and waiting for her, like a comfortable spot on the earth made just for her. She sank down, arranging her supplies just so. A flat, square board served as her palette.

She tilted her head to one side as she mixed her paints, enchanted as always with color, how it blended and changed into precisely the shade in her mind's eye. She knew just the shades she would use, even though she was still unsure of the subject. Sometimes it came to her like this, an explosion of color, of mood, but no real idea what to paint until she lifted the brush to begin. Today she would have blues, lots of blues, from robin's egg to deep sapphire. She mixed the paint, slowly adding purples and reds as they beckoned to her. A deep green. Some orange and several shades of bright yellow. And then brown. A big glop of brown in the middle of her board.

She gazed out at the river, its gray-green tones and the gray-blue of the sky . . . not right and painted so many times before. Turning from that, she looked at the buildings on the wharf, whites and blacks, stable and solid and so . . . man-made. No. Not today. Closing her eyes she beckoned her imagination . . . and saw Drake. Saw his face and then his back. With a sudden breath, she knew.

Taking up her brush, she began. It took shape quickly. Men's coats and women's skirts, all brown, all with their backs toward her, the backs of their heads showing some small color of skin under somber hats and bonnets. So much brown, she had to replace the glop on the pallet several times. Then came the black. Stark outlines surrounding the browns, so harsh and so hard, it was easy. It was known.

Cleaning her brush, she felt a lingering pulse of anger and wondered why and how it should be. She'd never felt anger toward the Friends before. Taking up the brush she dipped it into the richest hue of blue, the one screaming decadence. With small, delicate strokes she made another coat. Long, strong lines of color filled one side of the canvas. Purple, deep and bright, edged the blue, then some red, here and there, so loud against the other.

It was taking the shape of a man.

His face was unclear and she struggled, wanting to capture Drake, but unable to see how his face should be, what he might be feeling. She wanted his face to be as bright as the coat, but it wouldn't come. It was only a soft blur on the canvas . . . handsome . . . dark . . . but shrouded, half-turned away from her. She stared at it. Why couldn't he be everything she believed him to be? Bright, full of life, and loving her . . .

But it wasn't to be.