She thought again of his kiss, which she must not allow to be repeated. And of his attentions, which she must not encourage.

And she remembered warm strong arms tight about her, and a strong-muscled chest against her cheek, and a strongly beating heart against her ear. And she thought of waltzing with a partner who twirled her about with a firm hand at her waist and whose cologne had been a part of the beauty of the night.

She burrowed her head farther beneath the blankets.

THE FOLLOWING DAY CONTINUED WET. The duke rode out in the afternoon with two of his more hardy guests to call upon some of his tenants. When they returned, too late for tea, it was to discover that the entertainment for the evening had been arranged already. Everyone was tired of charades, Lady Underwood informed him, meeting him in the great hall. They were going to dance in the drawing room.

aIndeed?a he said. aAnd who is to play for us? Miss Dobbin?a aShe is quite willing to do so,a Lady Underwood said, abut Walter insists that she be free to dance at least some of the time. Have you noticed that he is quite smitten with her, Adam? And have you noticed that I am less than smitten with Philip but have to make do with him in order to avoid dreadful boredom, you annoying man?a aWell,a he said with a smile, ayou will have dancing to entertain you for this evening, it seems. Who is to play when Miss Dobbin is dancing?a aOh, the governess,a she said. aIt is all arranged.a aIs it?a he said. aAt whose suggestion, pray?a aMatthewas, of course,a she said. aHe claims to have a slight acquaintance with her. I believe it is considerably more than slight, but only time will prove me right or wrong on that. Anyway, she is to play. Do tell me you will waltz every waltz with me, Adam. You do it so divinely.a aI will be honored to dance the first with you,a he said. aPardon me, maaam, I must change out of these wet clothes.a Did Fleur know how her evening had been organized? he wondered. Had she been consulted? Had she been told or asked? And did she think him responsible again for making use of her talents? He winced at the possibility. She was employed as Pamelaas governess, not as entertainer for his guests.

He wondered if anyone had thought of such details as having the furniture moved back in the drawing room and the carpet rolled up and music brought from the music room. He would wager no one had.

FLEUR HAD BEEN LOOKING FORWARD to a quiet evening with her embroidery in Mrs. Laycockas sitting room. But just after lessons had finished in the afternoon she had been handed a hastily scrawled note from her grace, summoning her to play the pianoforte for a dance in the evening.

She was not unduly upset. She had been half-expecting some summons from Matthew, and while this might well be it, at least she would be in the drawing room in company with all the guests. She would not be alone with him.

A line of footmen was still busy rolling the carpet when she arrived in the drawing room. She walked back to the hall to wait until the room was ready for her. And she looked about her at the magnificence of it all.

She looked up to the dome, shadowed in the gathering dusk, and at some of the gilded carvings on the walls between the columns. Winged cherubs blew into slender pipes, their cheeks puffed. Violins were crossed with flutes.

aIt was designed to be a place for music,a the duke said at her shoulder. aThe gallery was made to be used by an orchestra. Unfortunately we have not had a grand concert or ball here for more than a year.a Fleur turned toward him. His face was caught by the shadows of the hall, his eyes blacker, his nose more aquiline, his scar more noticeable than in the light. He was standing close to her, his hands clasped behind him. And she felt breathless and very aware that a solid Corinthian column was at her back.

aYou have consented to play for us this evening?a he said.

aYes, your grace.a aTell me,a he said, awere you asked?a aHer grace sent me a note,a she said.

He grimaced. aI promised this would not happen again, did I not?a he said. aI was from home this afternoon. Miss Hamilton, will you do us the honor of playing? You are quite at liberty to refuse. This is not part of your duties as governess.a aI will be pleased to, your grace,a she said.

He treats his employees more like family than servants, Mr. Chamberlain had said of the duke the night before. Her grace had summoned. He had asked.

aYou may wish to dance when you are not playing,a he said. aI am sure there will be several gentlemen who will be pleased if you do.a aNo,a she said. aThank you, but no, your grace.a aAnd yet,a he said, ayou appeared to enjoy dancing during the ball a few evenings ago.a aThat was quite different,a she said.

aAllow me to escort you to the drawing room,a he said. He did not offer her his arm.

The drawing room looked somehow larger and more magnificent with the carpet rolled up and the white-and-gold chairs, upholstered in painted silk, moved back against the walls. The pianoforte too had been moved into one corner.

It was one of the most beautiful rooms in the house, Fleur thought, looking about her, unself-conscious because none of the guests were yet present. The walls were a pale blue, the coved ceiling blue, white, and gold. Great sheets of mirror made the room seem larger than it was and multiplied the effect of the crystal chandelier.

aThe paintings are from Europe,a his grace said, seeing her interest, athough I have tried to gather works of our own artists in some of the other rooms. These are by Philipp Hackert and Angelica Kauffmann. Would you like to look through the music?a She settled herself at the pianoforte and looked through the pile that someone must have been assigned to bring from the music room. All of it was music suitable for dancing. Many of the pieces were waltz tunes.

During the next two hours she grew increasingly more relaxed in the task she had taken on. Except for Sir Philip Shaw, who came up to the pianoforte and kissed her hand on his arrival in the drawing room, everyone else took remarkably little notice of her, calling to her only when they wanted a particular tune or type of dance. The waltz was an overwhelming favorite. Miss Dobbin appeared to have forgotten that she was to play for part of the evening, and Fleur willed her to continue to forget.

But the time inevitably came when she looked up between dances to find that Matthew was leading Miss Dobbin her way.

aMiss Hamilton,a she said, ahow well you play. I am wishing now that I had played first so that I would not have to follow you.a Fleur protested that she really did not have to play at all, but Miss Dobbin insisted that dancing was not her favorite activity and she had done enough of it during the ball and the last couple of hours to last her for the next month.

aBesides, Miss Hamilton,a Matthew said with a bow, ahow am I to dance with you if you are to sit at the pianoforte all night?a aI am not here to dance, my lord,a she said, abut to provide accompaniment.a aAh, but you will dance,a he said, smiling at her. aPlease, maaam? Because it is I who ask?a What would he do if she refused? Fleur wondered. Turn to the company and denounce her in a loud voice? Expose her as a murderer and a jewel thief? She thought not. He would embarrass himself by such an exhibition, and that would not serve his purpose at all.

But of course it was an academic question. The truth was that she would not put it to the test, and Matthew must know her well enough to know that she would not.

aA waltz, if you please, Miss Dobbin?a he asked, holding out a hand for Fleuras.

Matthew waltzed tolerably well. But of course she could not give herself up to an enjoyment of the dance. She was a servant in this house, and her cheeks burned at the impropriety of her dancing with the company in the drawing room despite the permission his grace had granted her earlier. She looked about nervously to see how the duchess was reacting at sight of her, but her grace was absent from the room.

And of course she could not forget the last time she had waltzeda"on the deserted path south of the lake, her eyes firmly closed. His grace was dancing with Lady Underwood, she could see out of the corner of her eye.

The music drew to an end, but Fleur was given no chance to seat herself behind the pianoforte, as she had planned. Sir Philip Shaw was bowing over her hand.

aAh, but Miss Hamilton is faint from her exertions at the pianoforte,a Matthew said with a smile. aI was about to take her into the hall, Shaw, for some air.a aWhat a lucky devil you are, Brocklehurst,a Sir Philip said, looking Fleur up and down with lazy eyes. aI donat suppose I can remind you of a prior acquaintance too, Miss Hamilton, can I?a Fleur set her hand on Matthewas arm and lifted her chin.

He took her into the hall and up to the high gallery beneath the dome. He must have found out the staircase during the daytime hours. She had never been up there before.

They seemed much higher up than the gallery had looked from below. And yet the dome still seemed to soar high above. But they were not there to sightsee.

He held her against the inner wall with his body and kissed her: her face, her throat, her breasts through the fabric of her dress. He fondled her breasts with his hands, pushed one knee between her legs. He opened his mouth over hers, prodded at her closed lips with his tongue.

She stood quiet and passive.

aYou have never given me a chance, Isabella,a he said. aYou have disliked me just because my mother and my sister have always treated you rather shabbily, and perhaps because my father was too lazy to intervene. And because I did not notice you when you were a girl. But I was never openly unkind to you. Was I?a aNot until recent years,a she said quietly.

aWhen have I been unkind?a he asked. aOh, I suppose you will throw Booth in my teeth again. I was doing you a kindness if you only knew it, Isabella. He is not the man for you.a aAnd you are?a aYes,a he said, aand I am. I love you, Isabella. I worship you. And I could teach you to love me if you would give me the chance, if you would not close your mind to me.a aPerhaps I could have liked you,a she said, aand respected you too if you had shown me some respect, Matthew. But you have always been like this, grabbing me and protesting your love for me. In the past, of course, I was always free to fight you. Now I am no longer free. I cannot create a scene in this house by screaming, as I would like to do. I am a servant and you are a guest. And I cannot demand that you leave me alone. I have no particular wish to hang. But if you loved me, you would not play this cruel game with me. And you would not force on me attentions that you know to be unwelcome.a aIt is because you will not give me a chance,a he said.

But he looked behind him at that moment and covered her mouth loosely with his hand. There was the sound of footsteps below, and both of them could see his grace crossing the hall slowly, looking about him. It seemed that he was down there many minutes before he walked on to the long gallery and through the doors.

aLooking for you?a Lord Brocklehurst asked, turning back to Fleur and removing his hand. aHe is something of a watchdog for you, is he not, Isabella? Rather strange for a duke with a lowly governess, wouldnat you say? Do you grant him what you deny me? Have a care if you do. If I find it to be true, you will hang by the neck until you are dead. You have my promise on it.a aWords of love indeed,a she said.

He kissed her fiercely, cutting the inner flesh of her mouth against her teeth.

aWords of a jealous and frustrated lover,a he said. aI love you, Isabella.a She would have gone to her room when he finally brought her down from the gallery. Her mouth felt swollen, her hair disheveled. She felt dirty. But he had a hand on her elbow. And she had agreed to play at a dance for the evening, however long the evening lasted.

She was relieved to find on her return to the drawing room that Mr. Walter Penny hailed her with some eagerness. He wished to dance with a reluctant Miss Dobbin.

Fleur seated herself at the pianoforte and resumed her playing. She wondered just how late it was. It felt as if dawn must surely be lighting the windows. But it was not.

THE DANCING HAD BEEN A GOOD IDEA, THE DUKE of Ridgeway thought. Most of the guests appeared to be enjoying themselves, and it was certainly preferable to another evening of charades. The music was lively. Miss Dobbin was competent and Fleur Hamilton good. And the latter had not seemed to resent at all being asked to play.

It would have been a good evening if everyone had stayed in the drawing room to enjoy the dancing and one anotheras company. But as always seemed to happen during balls and dances, however informal, couples inevitably disappeared.

He would not worry his head over Mayberryas having withdrawn with Mrs. Grantsham, though it angered him that people could behave with such impropriety in other peopleas homes and under the knowing eyes of other peopleas servants. But he would worry about Sybil and Thomas, and about Fleur and Brocklehurst too.

Sybil and Thomas had been gone for half an hour. And he was torn between the desire to stay in the drawing room to talk and smile with his guests and dance with the ladies and his need to pursue them and bring them back before gossip settled irrevocably about them.

But perhaps that had already happened. They were certainly making no great secret of their preference for each other. And was that his chief concerna"gossip? Was he willing to watch all the signs of the resumption of an affair between his wife and his brother provided they were discreet?

And then Fleur Hamilton left the room with Brocklehurst, and his mental battle was intensified. He had promised her that she was safe on his property and under his protection. But was she being harassed? She had been smiling when she left the room, and there had been no evidence that she was being coerced. Perhaps she was glorying in the chance of mingling with the company, dancing with one of them, being singled out for even more marked attention.

But there had been her terror the first evening she had set eyes on Brocklehurst. There was the fact that both of them claimed only a slight acquaintance, and yet he had called her Isabella. There was the fact that he was the owner of Heron House and she had lived at a place called aHera".a He watched the gentlemen take their partners for a quadrille, made sure that no lady who appeared eager to dance was without a partner, and slipped from the room.

There was no one in the great hall. The footmen had been withdrawn for the night. And yet he heard voices as he entered it. From behind one of the pillars? From the arches leading to the staircases? He strolled about quietly, but there was no one to be seen. And the voices had ceased. Perhaps he had imagined them. The doors into the salon and the long gallery were closed.

But of course, he thought at last, standing in the middle of the hall and resisting the urge to look up. The old hiding place, which he and Thomas had used countless times as boys, lying flat to observe new arrivals, snickering over the conversations of the footmen when they had thought themselves alone, making owl noises in an attempt to frighten the same footmen.

It would be Thomas and Sybil. Should he look up? Call to them? Climb the stairs to confront them? Give them time to come down of their own accord and return to the dancing?

The confrontation would have to be made. But he would prefer to postpone it to a time when he did not have to return to entertain the guests immediately after.

And what of Fleur Hamilton and Brocklehurst? They had been in the long gallery the last time they had been togethera"that night with its ghastly aftermath. He crossed the hall to the gallery, opened the door, and stepped inside.

One set of candles halfway along the long gallery was lit. The room was almost in darkness, heavy shadows spreading outward from the central source of light.

They were at the far end, in close embrace. They had not heard him come in. And he had to make the instant decision of whether to leave as quietly as he had come or make his presence known. She was not struggling. Perhaps she would resent his intrusion on a romantic moment. Or perhaps she needed him.

He walked slowly along the gallery, making no attempt to hide in the shadows or dull the sound of his footsteps. And when he was a little more than halfway along, they broke apart and turned to look at him.

Sybil and Thomas.

The duchess turned sharply away to stare out of a window into darkness. Lord Thomas met his brotheras eyes in the near-darkness and smiled.

aI was seized with the urge to renew my acquaintance with our ancestors,a he said. aBut alas, this is not quite the time of day to come picture-gazing. I shall have to do it again in the daylight.a aYes,a the duke said. aI will be wanting a word with you in the morning, too, Thomas. But not now. Now there are ladies in the drawing room who would appreciate your offer to partner them in a dance. Sybil and I will see you there shortly.a Lord Thomas turned to look at the back of the duchessas head. aDo you wish to return with me, Sybil?a he asked. aOr with Adam?a aShe will return with me,a his grace said quietly.

The duchess said nothing.

Lord Thomas shrugged. aOh, well,a he said, aI know that when you drop your voice that low, Adam, fisticuffs are not far in the future if I argue. And we must not present bloody noses to your guests, must we?a He touched the duchess on one shoulder. aYou will be all right, Sybil?a Again she said nothing. He shrugged once more and made his way alone along the gallery.

The duke waited a long time, until he heard the door close finally as his brother left.

aWell, Sybil,a he said quietly.

She turned to him. The faint light from the candles was gleaming off her blond hair. Her face was shadowed. aWell, Adam,a she said, her sweet voice shaking a little. aWhat are you going to do about it?a aWhat do you want me to do about it?a he asked. aHow far has it gone? I suppose you love him againa"but then, you never stopped, did you? Are you lovers?a She laughed shortly. aWould you divorce me if I said yes?a she asked. aWould you, Adam? It would make a wonderful scandal, wouldnat it?a Her voice was shaking almost out of control.

aNo,a he said. aI would never divorce you, Sybil. I think you know that. But you made me certain promises when we married. You owe it to both of us and to Pamela and all those dependent on us to keep those promises, I believe. Thomas is irrevocably in your past. You made it irrevocable when you married me.a aWhat choice did I have?a she cried passionately. aWhat choice did I have? I would have been ruined forever, and you had sent him away never to return. And you kept coming and urging me to accept your protection before Papa discovered the truth. I had no choice at all. You are an evil man, Adam.a aPerhaps,a he said. aBut you have not been exactly the ideal mate either, Sybil. We must just make the best of what we have done with our lives.a aDo you blame me,a she said, looking at him with deep revulsion, afor not wanting you to touch me? They would have been kinder to you, those people, if they had left you to die. You are only half a man.a aWe had better return to our guests,a he said.

aAnd you talk about my keeping my promises,a she said, her voice petulant as it frequently was during their arguments. aCan you honestly tell me that you have kept yours, Adam? Can you tell me that you have never been unfaithful to me?a He looked at her without answering.

aDo you think,a she said, athat I do not know the reason for your frequent journeys to London? Do you think I do not know why you suddenly decided this time that Pamela needed a governess? Donat talk to me of marriage vows. If I have given in to my love for Thomas, it is because I have been driven to it by your debaucheries and your cruelty.a She felt about her for a handkerchief and finally took the one he held out to her.

aNow, that,a he said, ais a good deal of nonsense, as you are very well aware. Dry your eyes, Sybil, and blow your nose. We have been away from our guests for long enough.a She turned in silence and began to walk along the gallery. When they reached the doors, he opened them, took the handkerchief from her hand, and drew her arm through his. Distasteful and hypocritical as it might seem, he thought, looking down at her beautiful face, the blue eyes lowered, and at her silver-blond hair, there were appearances to consider.

And she, of course, realized it too. She sparkled again as soon as they stepped inside the drawing room. Almost everyone was dancing. Fleur Hamilton was playing the pianoforte.

FLEUR WAS THE LAST to leave the drawing room. The dancers had all drifted away to bed, and a few servants had come in to roll out the carpet and set the room to rights again. She sorted through the music and decided to return it to the music room before going to bed herself.

It was very late. She felt tired. But she did not want to go to bed. She preferred her thoughts when she was somewhat in control of them. She did not want the nightmares that so frequently disturbed her sleep.

She set the branch of candles she had brought with her on top of the pianoforte in the music room and put the music away neatly. And she reached out a hand for the candles again.

But the pianoforte, so much larger and more mellow in tone than the one in the drawing room, drew her like a magnet. She ran her fingers lightly over the keys, not depressing them. And she played a scale, slowly and softly. She seated herself on the stool.

She played Bach, a crisp, fast sonata, her eyes closed. She played rather loudly. Perhaps if she concentrated hard enough, played briskly enough, she could drown out her thoughts.

Perhaps she could drown out Matthew.

But inevitably the music came to an end. She must open her eyes and go upstairs to her bed and accept whatever the remainder of the night had to offer her. She sighed. Last evening with Mr. Chamberlain seemed such a long time in the past already.

aI wish I had enough command of the keyboard to be able to work out my frustrations in that manner,a a voice said from behind her.

The Duke of Ridgeway! Fleur leapt to her feet.

aI didnat mean to alarm you,a he said. aI couldnat resist coming a little closer when I heard the music.a aIam sorry, your grace,a Fleur said. aI brought the music back. I could not stop myself from playing just one piece.a aAfter playing all evening?a he said with a smile. aI must thank you for that, Miss Hamilton. I am very grateful.a aIt was my pleasure, your grace,a she said.

He walked a few steps closer to her. aIt was you up in the gallery?a he asked. aYou and Brocklehurst?a She felt herself turn cold. aYes, your grace.a aDid you go with him freely?a he asked. aDid he force you?a aNo, your grace.a She watched his dark eyes. Was she about to be dismissed?

aAnd this.a He indicated her slightly swollen upper lip. aIt is cut on the inside?a She did not answer him.

aIt was with your consent?a he asked.

aYes.a She cleared her throat when no sound came out. aYes, your grace.a His lips thinned as he looked up to meet her eyes. And he passed a hand over his eyes and shook his head. aCome into the library with me,a he said, afor a nightcap.a He moved toward the library door without looking back to see if she followed. But he did look back when he opened the door, his eyebrows raised. Fleur crossed the room and preceded him into the library, where candles had been lighted.

He poured her some sherry, and brandy for himself. He indicated the comfortable leather chair at one side of the fireplace and handed her her glass before taking the chair at the other side.

aHereas to good health, Fleur Hamilton,a he said, raising his glass to her, aand to happiness. An elusive something, that last, is it not?a He drank some of his brandy.

Fleur sipped her sherry and did not answer. He was sprawled on his chair, relaxed, comfortable, informal. She sat straight and tense on her own.

aTell me about yourself,a he said. aOh, nothing that will uncover the mystery in which you like to shroud yourself. Who taught you to play?a aMy mother,a she said, awhen I was very young. My guardian hired a music teacher for his own children and me after that. And at school.a aAt school,a he said. aWhere did you go? No, you will not wish to answer that, I suppose. How long were you there?a aFor five years,a she said. aIt was Broadridge School. I told Mr. Houghton.a He nodded. aA long time,a he said. aDid you like it, apart from the music and dancing lessons?a aI believe I had a good education there,a she said. aBut discipline was strict and humorless. There was very little warmth of feeling there.a aBut your guardian continued to send you?a he said. aWas there much warmth of feeling at home?a She looked down into the sherry in her glass. aWe were a wonderfully happy family while my parents were alive,a she said. aNothing could appear very warm with them gone. I was too young. I daresay I was difficult to manage.a aYou were the orphan spurned, I take it,a he said. aDid they not try to marry you off young?a Fleur thought of the two gentlemen farmers, both over fifty, who had offered for her before she reached even her nineteenth birthday, and of Cousin Carolineas fury when she refused both.

aYes,a she said.

aBut you resisted. I suspect you are made of stern stuff, Miss Hamilton,a he said. aStubborn to a fault. Is that how you were described by your guardian and his family?a aSometimes,a she said.

aFrequently, I would imagine,a he said. aHave you never met anyone you wished to marry?a aNo,a she said hastily. And she thought about how Daniel had been in her nightmares lately, his image fading in and out with the dukeas.

aAnd did he wish to marry you too?a he asked.

She looked up at him sharply and down into her glass again.

aHe was ineligible?a he asked.

aNo,a she said dully.

aIt was spite, then?a he said. aYou were not allowed to marry him? Do you have a dowry?a aYes.a aBut you have no control over it until you marry or reach a certain age, I suppose,a he said. aAnd your guardian decided to cut up nasty. Why did you run away, Fleur? Would your beau not elope with you? Was the money more important to him than you were?a aNo!a she said, looking up at him fiercely. aMy fortune was of no interest to Daniel at all.a aDaniel,a he said quietly.

She swirled the dark liquid in her glass. She did not think she would be able to raise it to her lips.

aDid you love him?a he asked. aDo you love him?a aNo,a she said. aThat is all a long, long time in the past.a Like something from another lifetime altogether.

He downed the brandy that remained in his glass and got to his feet. aDrink up,a he said, his hand stretched out for her glass. aItas time for bed.a She took one more sip and handed him the half-empty glass. He set it with his own on a table beside her chair and offered her his hand. She looked at it, at the long, well-manicured, beautiful fingers, and set her own resolutely within it. She watched his fingers close about hers. And she got to her feet.

He did not move. aYou wonat confide in me?a he asked. aYou wonat let me help you? It was not of your own free will, was it? This was not consented to, was it?a He ran one finger lightly along her upper lip.