without her, maybe... just maybe...

"I spoke with Dr, Breeden as you suggested," she began, "and I'm afraid that I do not find his...

unnatural alternative methods of preventing conception acceptable. May I speak my mind?"

His hands slipped away. "Of course," he said his voice like fingernails drawn across slate. He was steeled against what she was about to say; that was evident. His posture clenched. The muscles in his jaw were pulsating in a stiff, steady rhythm. The sinews in his rock-hard biceps, stretched to their limit of strain, were visible bulging through his cotton shirt, but she had begun, and there was no turning back now.

"I love you, Nicholas," she said, her voice quavering. "And I will never deny you pleasures of the flesh. Ever. But I want to give you children... or at least to try, and I do not believe you have the right to deny me this."

"I have every right, Sara," he responded, surging to his feet. "We've been all 'round this. I cannot conscience bringing another creature such as myself into this world. It wouldn't be fair to it, or to you."

"I have already seen the worst that it could be in that passageway below," she countered. "Now, I will admit that it was somewhat of a shock that first time, but were it to occur before me here this minute, I wouldn't even blink, because I love you-all of you-both of you. What makes you think that our offspring wouldn't find such a mate as you have found in me? What makes you so certain that our child would even be afflicted, when Dr. Breeden is not certain himself? Do you presume to know more than he?"

"I cannot presume to take that chance," said Nicholas. "If he is not sure our child would be affected, he is not sure it wouldn't, either."

"From what I understand, your condition is a lesser form of your father's affliction. It would stand to reason that your child, if it were afflicted at all, would have a lesser strain than you. No matter what, it shan't be the other way 'round."

"We do not know that."

"We do not know anything," she snapped. "That is my point. How can you deny me fulfillment on mere speculation? I call that not fair." She hesitated. What she had in mind to say next could well drive a wedge between them that would separate them for life, or it could turn the tide. There was no way to be sure. He had moved away and begun to pace the carpet. "Don't you want children, Nicholas? My children?" she murmured. He stopped dead and fixed her with his gaze. She couldn't read the message in those eyes, or didn't want to, though she met them bravely. If he were to say no and mean it, it was over. The issue would be put to rest with a word. But if he could not, there was hope, and she held her breath waiting-clinging to that hope-for what seemed an eternity.

"That isn't fair," he said around a tremor.

"How not?" she returned. "You haven't been fair with me from the beginning, and I love you in spite of it. You have lied to me-blatant lies, and lies of omission. You have put my life in jeopardy for the sake of pride, and your stubborn lack of trust. I want to know. I believe I have a right to know. I nearly died out on that strand, Nicholas. When one comes that close to one's mortality, one sees all things from a new perspective. One cannot help but be honest with oneself in such a situation. I am asking that you be as honest with me, as I have been with myself. Can you-honestly now-stand there, before me and before God, and tell me that you do not want children... have no liking, or need, or patience or... whatever, for children-mine or anyone's? That is all I'm asking. It is not a difficult question."

He reached her in two strides, sat back down beside her, and took her in his arms. Tears gleamed in his eyes, glistening on his long, dark lashes, catching glints of reflected light from the dreary day showing at the window. Sara couldn't meet those eyes. Though he blinked back the tears swimming there, they triggered her own.

"I cannot want children, Sara," he murmured, his hot breath grazing her ear, setting it afire. "I cannot afford the luxury of wanting what I cannot have. That is why I closed the door on that prospect early on, and why it was never part of the arrangement."

"There is no more 'arrangement,'" Sara reminded him. "You put paid to that when you consummated our marriage. Everything is changed now, Nicholas. We are one. You are no longer responsible for yourself alone. You have me to consider. You needn't answer now. I realize that you need time to think. What I'm asking is simply this... for the sake of my fulfillment as your wife, would you leave the consequences of our cohabitation in the hands of God, and love me as any woman has the right to expect to be loved by her husband?"

"Sara..."

"You are becoming more and more adept at controlling your transformations with Dr. Breeden's help," she went on, laying her finger across his lips. "Is it that you fear to take the responsibility of teaching your son to overcome his affliction if needs must, just as you have done-because you will conquer this, you know. I feel it and I know it! Can you trust enough... are you brave enough to put our future in the hands of Divine Providence... not for yourself, but for me? That is what I need to know before we go forward. Search your heart, Nicholas... search it deeply, and well. When you can answer that question ... come to me."

Chapter Thirty-one.

Nicholas dragged himself up to the master suite to dress for dinner. Mrs. Bromley's entrance at that critical moment with Sara's dinner tray spared him answering her question, but nothing would spare him Mills's inquiry. Was the man a clairvoyant? Nicholas was beginning to think so.

"Oh, my lord!" the valet breathed. "Has her ladyship taken a turn for the worst?"

"No, Mills, I have," Nicholas snapped. "She wants me to leave this madness in the hands of Divine Providence, and chance having children."

"Yes, my lord."

" 'Yes, my lord?' Is that all you can say, Mills?"

"Yes, my lord," said the valet. "A wonder she hasn't broached the subject with you sooner."

Nicholas stared. "You agree?" he asked, slack-jawed.

"She does have a point, my lord," said the valet, "and it is her prerogative to want children. She is a fine, healthy young woman, who, I strongly suspect, would make a fine mother-just as you would make a capital father, my lord, but for this 'madness.' Do you never long for such a life?"

"Of course I do, or I did... before I put it out of my mind. It isn't possible, Mills. I couldn't bear to pass this on to a child... to have it realize one day-just as I did on the brink of awakening to life and its pleasures-what I have done, and hate me for it-"

"The way you've always hated your father for what he's done to you, my lord?" the valet interrupted.

"Forgive me, but you have, with the help of Dr. Breeden, made phenomenal progress, and will I have no doubt one day be able to control the transformations completely. At least, that is the doctor's prognosis. What you have done, so could your offspring do, my lord, and with less difficulty, since you have already set the example. And it may not even happen. There are no guarantees that your offspring would be as you are. To deny yourself on speculation"-he shook his head-"that is... unfair, to the both of you. You've managed well enough, when all is said and done, my lord. You've found your mate, without ever leaving this prison you've made for yourself. I would hate to see you lose her."

"Lose her? I cannot lose her, Mills. How could I ever live without her now?"

"I think it's time I tell you something that you ought to know, my lord," said the valet. "It concerns the father you hate so for bringing you into this world. Your father, God rest him, never knew what was happening to him-not when you were conceived. Then, he thought only that he had a festering wound left behind by the wolf bite that would not heal. He wasn't driven to get an heir despite his affliction, as you have always accused. He and your mother were very much in love. It surprised me, that, because so many of his peers indulged in social marriages for the purpose of breeding, and had mistresses for their pleasure. He never even knew what malady he had, let alone how it might affect you. If you must hate, hate the wolf that caused all this, not your father. He was its victim, just as you are."

"But I do know, Mills," Nicholas flashed, "and it's within my power to prevent more harm being done."

"The question is, my lord, do you have the right to exercise that power? And if you do exercise it, how will that affect your relationship with my lady?"

How did this subject become open for debate? It had always been a closed issue-the one part of the arrangement that was nonnegotiable. Now it was staring him in the face, and those he loved were against him two to one.

"Things are different now, my lord," Mills went on. "You do not just have yourself to consider any longer. Give your head a rest, and search your heart. Rational thought has thus far gained you naught in this that I can see, save error. If my lady has no qualms-"

"Stubble it, old boy-just stubble it. There are other coils to unwind before we start on that one." The conversation needed changing, and Nicholas was too worn down from his discourse with Sara to stand up to the valet, who was always right-except in this... he was certain. "We have to find Alex. Has everyone forgotten that?"

"I certainly haven't, my lord, and I cannot see how you have, considering that you've haunted the halls of Ravencliff-pistols drawn-for nigh on a sennight now."

"Well, good! Now help me change, so I can eat and continue the haunting."

Sara set her dinner tray aside for Mrs. Bromley. Had she done the right thing, giving Nicholas an ultimatum? There was no way to tell. If only she'd had a few minutes more to plead her case. If only Mrs. Bromley hadn't made her entrance at that precise moment. It had ruined her appetite, and half the food was still under the lids of the silver servers. She hoped the woman wouldn't peek beneath until she left the tapestry suite; she was in no humor for a lecture.

It was odd not having someone hovering. She hadn't been alone since she regained consciousness. She wasn't afraid. The door was closed, after all. It hadn't been left ajar since she'd discovered Nicholas's secret. She hadn't seen Nero since, either, and that saddened her. She knew it was silly, but would she ever see him again, her beloved Nero? To her, they were two very separate entities-her husband, and her pet. She simply couldn't think of them as one. Reminiscing, she sighed, and shut her eyes.

She had nearly dozed when Mrs. Bromley entered. The housekeeper made a beeline for the silver server, and lifted the lid.

"Aw, now"-she clicked her tongue-"how are ya ever goin' ta get your strength back eatin' like a bird?"

"I'll do better tomorrow," said Sara. "Dr. Breeden is going to let me up out of this bed for a bit in the morning."

"Then ya should have put this inta ya tonight," the housekeeper scolded. "Cook is goin' ta throw a fit. Ya

hardly touched a bite."

"Tell Cook I'll eat a big breakfast," Sara said. "I'm too excited about getting up again to eat now... it would only upset my stomach."

"All right, my lady," said the housekeeper, taking up the tray. "I'll just bring this down, and I'll be right back with your herbal tea. You will drink that?"

"I will, Mrs. Bromley. I promise."

The housekeeper waddled into the foyer, tray in hand. When she opened the door, a scream poured from her throat, for the hulking shape of a shaggy black wolf crashed through, knocking the tray from her hands and sending it into the hallway in a clattering racket of metal and china and glass, as the beast bounded past her into the bedchamber.

"Mrs. Bromley?" Sara shrilled, but the woman's desperate screams were receding along the corridor.Before Sara could blink the wolf leaped upon the bed, looming over her, its lips curled back, baringfangs. Drool dripped from its tongue and jowls. Its fur, wet with the evening mist, smelled fetid, of deathand decay, especially in the matted area of the wound on its foreleg. It began to growl. Sara scarcelybreathed. It prowled closer, puffing foul breath in her face, pinning her beneath the counterpane. She couldn't move-wouldn't have, even if she could. Its dilated eyes were full of menace. It was about to spring.

Moments passed that seemed like hours before Nicholas charged through the door. Dr. Breeden was

right behind him. Nicholas waved the physician back.

"No!" he said. "Leave this to me. Fetch Mills. Tell him to bring his pistols and keep the others out."

"My lord..."

"Do as I've said and close that door behind you, he doesn't leave this room alive!"

"Nicholas!" Sara cried.

"Shhh, don't move," her husband cautioned in a voice she couldn't recognize. It was more bark than

voice, something dredged from the finite edge of man and beast. It ran her through with cold chills.

"Whatever happens, do not move!" She couldn't; the animal was practically atop her.

Nicholas pulled off his boots and stockings, then his waistcoat, pantaloons, and shirt, throwing them on the floor. He stripped off his drawers and tossed them down as well.

Sara gasped. "Nicholas, no!""It's the only way," he said. "He's caught us off guard."

"The pocket pistol!" Sara cried. "It's in the sitting room table drawer."

Nicholas shook his head. "I won't chance hitting you," he said. "He's gone mad, Sara. I've got to get him off that bed. I cannot do that in human form... but Nero can."

"And if he bites you?"

"He isn't rabid. It's the wound that's driven him mad. It was never treated. That's probably why he hasn't changed back. He cannot give me what I have already, but he can give it to you. You must do exactly as I say!"

"Mills is coming!" Sara cried. "Please, Nicholas, wait for Mills!"

"If I can't get a clear shot, how will he? No! Not while you're in that bed! Are you well enough to get out of it?"

"I-if I must... Oh, Nicholas!"

"Then do it the minute I get him off you, and get out of this room!"

Before she could protest further, a blur of flesh and fur and sinew streaked through the air, like a flash of molten silver, and slammed against the wolf broadside with such an impact Sara could scarcely tell them apart. They collided hard, but not hard enough to take the contest to the floor, and she drew her knees up out of the way as the two animals engaged in battle at the foot of the four-poster.

She inched to the side of the bed. No longer pinned beneath the counterpane, she slid her feet over the edge. Vertigo starred her vision with pinpoints of white light, and the room swam around her. Behind, the growling snarling ball of tooth and muscle locked together had finally taken the battle off the bed. Blood-speckled drool spattered the linens, and the counterpane was torn. The pillows were leaking feathers. Those floated in the air like snow around the two wolves, who were dancing on their hind legs, locked in mortal combat.

Sara couldn't tell one from the other. If only they weren't moving so fast. If only she weren't so dizzy. On her feet now, she reeled toward the vacant hearth and grabbed a poker. She would not leave the room as Nicholas had ordered. If Nero needed her help, she would be there to give it-but which one was Nero? Both their coats were wet with drool and streaked with blood. She could no longer tell which had the injured leg for the slime that painted them head to toe. Both their eyes were glowing red in the candleshine. Both their fangs were bared, and neither would give quarter.

The dull ache in her shoulder had become a sharp pain again. It didn't matter. Nothing did but making an end to the nightmare once and for all, and she staggered toward them, dragging the poker. It was too heavy to carry.

"Nero!" she cried, trying to force recognition, but it was Mills who replied. She hadn't even heard him enter.

"Stand where you are, my lady," he said, his pistol aimed, his free hand supporting his injured elbow. "Do not move from that spot. Do not draw its eyes. Let me handle this."

"They're killing each other!" she shrilled. "What if you shoot the wrong wolf?"

"Trust me, my lady. I will not."

Sara stood her ground, but it was too late. She had already attracted one wolf's attention. He prowled closer, and the other turned and lunged at her, driving her down on the carpet out of harm's way.

Mills raised his pistol.

"No!" she cried. "Don't shoot! It's Nero!"

If ever there was a human look of desperation in an animal's face, she saw it then in Nero's eyes. He was trying to shove her out of the way of danger, but it put him off guard, and the other wolf jumped on his back.

Rolling on her side, Sara covered her ears in a desperate attempt to shut out the howling, snarling pandemonium of sound reverberating off the walls-the floor-the ceiling.

"Are you all right, my lady?" Mills called over the racket.

"Y-yes... just winded," she responded. "Don't shoot! My God! You nearly killed him!"

"Trust me not to do that, my lady," said the valet. "Please now... stand out of the way! You are in my line of fire! I am at a disadvantage with this deuced arm here."