fare."

"I doubt I'll get much rest, Dr. Breeden," said Nicholas. "Once I've had a word with Mills, and given my lady time to settle down, I shall keep an eye on her apartments from the green suite... Just to be sure."

Sara's door seemed open a little wider than she recalled having left it, when she and Mills reached the tapestry suite. She was too overset to tax her brain over inches, however. Besides, everything seemed in order when Mills poked his head in and glanced about.

"Where is Nell, my lady?" he asked.

"I excused her for the evening," she replied. "His lordship has dismissed Peters. He was her sweetheart, and she has fallen into the dismals. It was the least I could do."

"His lordship will not be pleased," said the valet.

"I do not particularly care if his lordship is pleased, or not, but I'm sure you'll go running off to give

account."

"We are only concerned for your welfare, my lady."

"Then go tell him what you will, and leave me to my rest. Believe me, I have had enough adventures for

one day."

"Yes, my lady," said the valet. Sketching a bow, he turned to go, and had nearly closed the door behindhim, when she called him back."Wait, Mills," she said. "If I were to ask you a question, would you tell me the truth?""I make it a practice always to tell the truth, my lady," he replied."Is his lordship's illness serious... I mean really serious?"

"We are hoping not, my lady," said the valet. "Dr. Breeden is a celebrated healer. We must put our faith and trust in that, and let him do his work unhindered."

He had replied without answering. The man was a study in diplomacy. Was there no one in the house to speak the truth in a firm and direct manner?

"What I want to know, Mills, is whether or not his condition is cause for alarm. I am no milk-and-water miss. I do not come to pieces in a crisis, and I could be of help if needs must."

"His lordship's condition has been with him since a child," said the valet. "It is hardly a cause for alarm. It is... unpleasant, and he is in hopes that the doctor's treatments will make it easier to bear. There's really nothing you can do. I will, however, pass on your concern, and your kind offer of assistance."

"Thank you, Mills," she said, as he bowed again and shut the door between them, ending the conversation.

Sara turned away. Despite Nicholas's eloquent oration, she would still have to unravel the coil herself. It wasn't that she didn't believe him. She couldn't shake the feeling that he was holding something back- that they all were.

She yawned and stretched. It was fast approaching midnight. It had been a long day. She was just about to enter the bedchamber, when she remembered the door, and crept back to leave it ajar for Nero. That done, she snuffed the candles, and passed through the bedchamber door only to pull up short before a pile of her clothing strewn about the carpet, and a visitor on her bed.

"Nero!" she scolded. "Did you make this mess? What a naughty dog. Come down from there. That is my bed, not yours." It was a playful scolding, and the animal didn't move. Reclining on her pillow, he continued to watch her cross the room. "I see the armoire door is open. Nell must have left it so. Did you pull all this down from inside? You must have done. Shame on you, Nero! This isn't like you at all."

Sara ventured nearer, standing arms akimbo. His leg looked better. Maybe that accounted for his arrogance, or maybe he was just exhausted and out of sorts from his labors on the beach. There was no evidence that he had been down on the strand now. His shaggy coat had dried, and it didn't smell as clean as it might have if he'd just come in from the salty air.

"I wonder if you understand me," she mused. "Sometimes, you seem as though you do, and then on other occasions, like now, it is as though you've come from the wild. I don't know why that should surprise me, considering the way you are ill-used in this house."

The animal blinked, then continued to stare: "Well, I shan't desert you," Sara said. "You can count upon my protection even more now. He means to kill you, Nero. He's carrying a pistol-I saw it. He intends to shoot you. You must take care in coming here." She dropped her hands to her sides. "Oh, what am I saying, you're only a dog. You don't have the slightest idea of what I'm talking about, do you, boy? No, of course you don't. Well, you cannot spend the night in my bed. You shouldn't be prowling about, either. It isn't safe. You shall have to go wherever it is that you do go, before you are caught out. I would feel dreadful if it were my fault. I shall probably be leaving Ravencliff soon, and when I do I shall take you with me, but not tonight. Get down, boy."

She took a step nearer, but when she reached to nudge him off the counterpane, he stood and hunched his back. Hackles raised, he curled his lips exposing fearsome fangs, and loosed a guttural snarl that stopped her where she stood. Glaring eyes bore down upon her, glowing red. Sara's breath caught in her throat. He looked ready to spring.

Fear spread gooseflesh over her skin, and her hands began to tremble. This was the second time he'd turned on her. He hadn't been the same since Alexander Mallory shot him. She could hardly blame the poor animal, but there could only be one alpha, when it came to a dog and its master. She had enough experience with dogs to know she had to keep the upper hand. There was a porcelain basin and pitcher of water on the dry sink beside the bed, and she snatched the pitcher just as the animal lunged at her, and emptied its contents full in his face as he sprang. The snarl died to a whimper, and he bounded off the bed and streaked out through the foyer door, shaking himself as he went.

Sara's hands were trembling. The echo of his sharp teeth clacking against the porcelain pitcher just inches from her fingers still rang in her ears. She set the pitcher down, and stripped the wet counterpane from the bed. It would dry beside the fire with no one the wiser. Had she taken command? She wasn't sure. For the moment perhaps, but there needed to be another gesture of her disapproval so that there be no question, and she locked the foyer door. Just for tonight. Then, when Nero was calm, and she had beaten back her fear enough to face him without him smelling it, she would unlock the door again.

The room was a shambles, but she dared not wake Nell and explain what had happened. She set about ordering it herself. The last articles of clothing she picked up were the peach silk nightdress and wrapper she had worn the night Alexander Mallory tried to molest her. They had been laundered, the bloodstains removed, and Nell had set them out for her before she retired. By the look of things, Nero had dragged them about the room and marked them just as he had the carpet, and she tossed them into the fire. Seeing them again brought it all back, and she shuddered, took another gown from the chiffonier, and readied herself for bed.

Snuffing out the candle, she climbed into the four-poster. Across the way the dying embers in the hearth had sprung to life again, fed by the cloud of peach silk she'd consigned to the flames. She sighed, trying to forget the images of that other night, of the terror she'd felt beneath Alexander Mal-lory's demanding body, of the fetid odor of strong liquor on his breath, and the words he'd whispered in her ear: "You left the door ajar for me, just as I knew you would, didn't you, my lady. You won't be sorry ..."

Her eyelids began to droop, but those words wouldn't fade away. Again and again they echoed across her memory, giving her no peace until all at once she vaulted upright in the mahogany four-poster, her heart pounding in her ears.

"How could Nicholas possibly know Alexander Mallory told me that... himself?" she murmured.

Chapter Nineteen.

P revio us T o p N ext The weather turned fair at the end of the week, and dispositions improved somewhat. Sara kept to herself, dividing her time between her apartments and the vast Ravencliff library during the day, perusing what tomes she found there that might offer insight into Nicholas's mysterious condition. Dr. Breeden resumed his treatments, and Nero made no more visits to Sara's apartments, though she'd left her door ajar since the morning after the incident. She was beginning to worry that her punishment had been too severe. No one had seen Nero in days. It was as if he had vanished in thin air.

Sara finished her menus for the duration of the doctor's stay, which was more than half over. Her ultimatum, as far as she was concerned, had not been met. Nicholas was holding something back; she was certain of it. If he didn't give her credible explanations in the next few days, she would be forced to keep her word and leave Ravencliff, something that would break her heart to do. It would also break her heart to stay as things were between them-loving him, and wanting him with no hope of fulfillment. She had gambled with drastic measures, and failed, unless he chose to yield to her de-mands and tell her what was really wrong with him, and why he wouldn't make love to her, when it was obvious that he longed to take her in his arms and consummate their marriage.

Also in question was why he wanted to harm Nero. It was one thing to want to be rid of a dog by finding a home for it elsewhere, but Nicholas meant to kill the animal, which she would not let him do. She would take Nero with her if it came down to it, but she couldn't take him if she couldn't find him, and time was running out.

When Smythe came that afternoon to tell her Nicholas wished to see her in the study, Sara collected her menus and followed him below, assuming it was those he wanted to see. She found him pacing before the unlit hearth. For the first time since she'd entered the house, the weather was warm enough that fires could be dispensed with during the day, though she'd been warned that at night, and in dirty weather, she might expect hearth fires all through the summer to chase the dampness in the old house.

"Please be seated, Sara," he said, gesturing toward the lounge.

"I've brought the menus," she said, laying them on his desk before taking her seat.

"That's what I wanted to speak with you about," he said. "We shall need several more... more than several, come to that. The doctor will be staying on awhile."

"How long a while?" She had been expecting something like this, and it proved her theory. There was something he was keeping from her. If his condition couldn't be addressed in a fortnight, it was serious indeed.

"He has consented to stay on until he is satisfied that he has done all he can do for me, and until this business with Alex is resolved."

"What is this 'business' with Mr. Mallory, Nicholas, and what has it to do with Dr. Breeden?"

Nicholas hesitated. He wouldn't meet her eyes, though she inclined her head until he had no choice but to face her, or turn away, which is what he did. It was a simple enough question. Why was he struggling so with it?

"Dr. Breeden has kindly consented to remain until Alex is found," he said. "Nero bit him, if you recall. He will need tending once he surfaces."

"The bite was hardly serious enough to detain the doctor, Nicholas. I saw it happen. It wasn't all that deep."

"Any dog bite is serious," he returned.

Sara's heart leapt. Was he afraid that Nero might be rabid? Her mind reeled back to the animal's behavior of late. That might explain his strangeness, and Nicholas's as well. Could that be why he tried to kill Nero, why he was going about armed? She couldn't bring herself to believe it, much less address it.

"And you expect me to put my life on hold indefinitely for all this?" she said.

"You made a bargain, Sara."

"So did you."

"And I have kept it," he sallied, spinning to face her. "I told you what you wanted to know, and I asked you to trust me."

"What is really wrong here, Nicholas?" she murmured. "And how is it that you haven't found Mr. Mallory in all this time? In a house full of servants with precious little to do, how is it that someone hasn't turned up something? Are you even looking?"

"Of course we're looking," he snapped, "and the servants in this house have much to do. A house this size hardly runs itself."

The look in his eyes was devastating. There was something under the surface of that hooded gaze that grabbed her heart like a fist. He wore no waistcoat or jacket, though his neck cloth was tied to perfection beneath modest shirt points that framed the shadowy cleft in his chin. His breathing was rapid and audible, the rise and fall of his well-muscled chest stretching his Egyptian cotton shirt to its limit. Her eyes drank in the rest of him-the hands fisted at his sides, the skintight black pantaloons that left nothing to the imagination, tucked into polished Hessians. He looked like an animal about to spring, just as he always did during their encounters. She wanted to rush into his arms, to feel them, strong and warm around her again, clasping her fast to that magnificent body denied her, making an end to her longing for more of him. If only he'd never touched her, if only he hadn't let her taste what she could never have, but he had, and she would never forgive him for it. She rose to her feet, and fought against the burning ache in her heart and loins with her tongue, edged like a knife blade.

"Well, the staff evidently isn't looking very hard," she said. "Perhaps they need help. I would be only too glad to assist-anything to have this unfortunate business over with. Let me see," she said, tapping her chin with her forefinger, "you paint Mr. Mallory as an elbow-bender. Do you have a wine cellar?"

"Of course we do," said Nicholas.

"Has it been searched?"

"I'm sure it would have been first on the list."

"But you don't know for certain," she said, answering her own question. "Very well, we shall leave that for the moment. It seems to me that I heard Mr. Mallory tell of the many passageways and secret hiding places in the house. He seemed to have knowledge of them-even to a dungeon below stairs. He went on and on about it on our way here from Scotland. I suppose they would have been 'first on the list,' as well?"

"Sara-"

"Come, come, my lord, these are not difficult questions. It is only the answers that seem difficult for you, which I find quite telling. Why is that? Could it be that you don't really want to find Mr. Mallory, or could that be a moot point? For all I know, shut up in my rooms with no more freedom than I had in the Fleet, he could have been found and dealt with long since, sir. Can it be that you are using him as an excuse to keep me here? That's it, isn't it? You don't have to answer. I can see it in your eyes. Well, it won't work. None of this was part of the bargain I made with you when I arrived here, but you are not going to kill that poor animal! I am taking him with me, Nicholas. You want to be rid of Nero? Consider it done." She turned to leave, but his raised voice arrested her.

"Where will you go, Baroness Walraven?" he said. "A baroness cannot go into service, and you cannot return to the Fleet. I paid a staggering sum to free you from that odious place. Have you no care for that, madam?"

"You are an enterprising fellow. I'm certain you have friends in high places, connections that might recommend your petition to the Archbishop of Canterbury or the Court of Arches, or some such to affect an annulment. Perhaps you could approach Parliament to grant a divorce since our 'marriage' is a sham, so that I might take a position as governess, or companion, or perhaps marry a proper husband and eventually pay back your 'staggering sum.'"

"Such things take time Sara-years. I don't even know if-"

"And as to where I shall go while all this is accomplished," she cut in, not giving him a chance to answer, "I am not entirely bereft, sir. I have a distant cousin in Shropshire, the widow of a vicar, a poor relation on in years, whom I haven't seen since a child it's true, but I am quite certain she would take me in gladly, and welcome the company."

He reached her in two strides. "Don't leave me, Sara," he murmured, crushing her close in his arms. His hot, moist hands were trembling, and the misted eyes riveting her were pleading and sad. "I'm asking only for time-just that, a little time."

"You've had time, Nicholas," she said, struggling against the very arms she ached to hold her. "Let me go, you're only making matters worse."

"I will never let you go. You are my wife, Sara. There is no other 'proper husband' for you-ever!"

"Don't you see the hopelessness of this?" she said, pushing against his hard chest, with both her hands. His heartbeat thumped against her fingers, and her hands slipped against the soft cushion of hair beneath his shirt, the shadow of its blackness visible through the fine cotton. She remembered the silky feel of it against her flesh. His scent was all over her, his salty, feral essence laced with whatever spirits he'd fortified himself with for this encounter, but she was the one who was foxed. He possessed the power to inebriate with a look alone. His touch was exquisite agony.

"Just a little longer is all I ask," he murmured close in her ear. His hot breath on her hair and skin sent shivers of icy fire through her blood. Her heart and mind were racing, pulling in opposite directions. He was all she ever wanted in a man, except for this secrecy, this barrier that kept them apart. He was otherwise above reproach. The man exuded honor, strength, and kindness-all the qualities that fostered love, but what drew her to him more than all the rest was a glimmer of tragic vulnerability about him, a mystique like that of the warrior-poets of old. It melted her heart. But this she dared not let him see... at least not yet.

"Sara, please... ?" he whispered.

"Odds fish! Now, I've done it!" said a remorseful voice from the threshold.

It was Dr. Breeden. Sara hadn't even heard him knock.

Raking his hair with a shaky hand, Nicholas let her go. Uttering a groan that echoed every battling emotion raging through her body, Sara spun on her heel, and fled.

"I am sorry, my lord," said the doctor. "I did knock, and I could have sworn I heard you invite me to enter." They had repaired to the library, where Nicholas was showing him some of the volumes he'd collected over time that might prove relevant to his malady. They had already gone through two-thirds of the collection, exhausting the most informative first. What remained didn't hold much promise, but Nicholas was determined, and the doctor was willing to peruse anything remotely associated with his chosen field.

"It's all right, Dr. Breeden," Nicholas said. "You may have done more good than harm. She wants to leave, and I can't say as I blame her, but I cannot let her go-and no, I cannot tell her," he added, answering the doctor's look. "Don't even ask it. She thinks I'm using Alex's absence as an excuse to keep her here. She doesn't think we're even looking for him. How can I tell her that we aren't looking for him, but for the wolf he has become?"

"That's all we're apt to find, my lord. It's been too long."

"I shall have to pass the word soon that I've dismissed him, and call off the search, except for you and Mills, and myself, of course. I have already told that tale to the guards. I've been holding off here because of Sara, but I can't forestall much longer. She also thinks I mean to shoot Nero, and I cannot refute that, either."

"Nero has not visited her lately?" said the doctor.

"No... if I could only be sure, but it's still too soon. We are making progress-at least, we were until just now. It very nearly happened in that study. If you hadn't come in on us when you did, she would have come face to face with her beloved Nero forthwith."

"I'm sorry to hear that," said the doctor, his posture deflated. "I was so encouraged. Perhaps a stronger cordial is what's wanted; I shall see to it at once."

"She is everything that I have denied myself all these years," said Nicholas, "everything I've always wanted. What I admire most is her indomitable spirit. I think I fell in love with that before her body tempted me, because we are so alike in that regard. We fight for what we want, for what should have been ours, but for circumstances beyond our control, and through no fault of our own. I reached for that kindred spirit long before I reached for the sweet flesh that houses it. Despite the shocking indignities she endured in that place, she has not lost her poise and grace. She has not come from it hardened, or sour for the experience, only grateful to be shot of it."

"She is a lady, my lord."

"In every sense of the word; I knew that from the first. A lightskirt would have jumped at my proposal, taken me for all I possess and been only too glad to take a lover for what remained, settling in quite content to be indifferent to me. Despite her fears, for she did have them-Sara was like a frightened rabbit at our first meeting. She accepted me to save herself from being sold into the brothels. I represented the lesser of two evils, and while she took the challenge eagerly, she was anything but resigned when she arrived here. The hellish thing is, I never expected her to fall in love with me, or that I might fall in love with her. That wasn't part of the plan. Ours was to be a platonic, congenial, mutually beneficial relationship, which would put paid to the ton hounding me. It was to address my loneliness for the basic elements of human companionship in this accursed exile, and in return she would have my eternal gratitude and all her heart could ever desire. I was a fool to imagine that the physical aspect would not enter into it with the right woman. Hah! I never expected to find the right woman shut up in this tomb, and I am not prepared for it. Needless to say, my experience with the opposite sex has been mostly abroad, and with a different sort of woman-one who made no demands of a personal nature, only a monetary one. There was never a risk of falling in love."

"What did you do to avoid conception on those occasions?"

"It wasn't a concern. You're a physician. You must know that Birds of Paradise are well skilled in the art of contraception. They handle that themselves, their livelihood depends upon it."

"And there were no transformations during those intimacies, my lord?" the doctor queried.

"No."

"Then, why do you fear it so now?"

"There is never any pressure or angst when heart and loins are disjoined," said Nicholas. "The sex act was nothing more than a clinical bodily function-a form of release that in a way helped the situation as I see it, like drawing off water from a spigot. This is different. This is an all-consuming fire that ignites the madness, and if it can cause the change to come upon me without consummation, I shudder to think what the results might be, were I to take that magnificent creature of a wife to my bed."

"Could part of that fire not be in the anticipation?" said the doctor. "Mightn't the risk of it-the fear of the change occurring and frightening her out of her wits-be the catalyst-the tinder, if you will-that ignites it?"

"And... if it were?"

"You need to tell her, my lord. All roads come back in that direction."