And he watched his servants dance and help themselves to refreshments and generally enjoy themselves. He made a point of speaking to as many of them as possible.

He stayed away from Fleur Hamilton. She was looking extremely lovely, the simplicity of her dress and hair succeeding only in making all the other ladies look overdressed. Her hair glowed golden in the light of the lanterns.

And if his wife sparkled, then Fleur glowed as she danced with Houghton, with the vicar, with Ned Driscoll, with Chesterton, with Shaw, and with Chamberlaina"twice.

He would stay away from her, the duke decided, for if he had learned one thing about her since his return to Willoughby, it was that she feared him and was repulsed by him. And her feelings were understandable. Only he could expose her for what she had been on one brief occasion. And her memories of that occasion and of the part he had played in it must be less than pleasant for her, to say the least.

He strolled to the tables to talk with Duncan Chamberlain during one break in the dancing. They had never been close friends as boys, as Chamberlain was almost ten years his senior. But they had become friends in later years, particularly since his own return from Belgium.

aWe all feared that you would not return in time for the festivities,a his neighbor said, extending his right hand. aIt would not have been the same without you here, Adam.a aHave I ever missed one of my own balls?a the duke asked. aHow are you, Duncan? Is Miss Chamberlain here? I have not seen her.a aOh, yes,a the other said. aAnd has danced every set.a aI thought perhaps you had left her at home with your children,a the duke said. aAre they all well?a aIf tearing a nursery to ribbons and wearing a poor nurse to a shadow and murdering our ears every living moment of the day with whoops and shrieks is a sign that they are well,a Mr. Chamberlain said, athen I would have to say they are in the best of health, Adam.a The duke grinned. aI remember last year,a he said, athat when your other sister took them for a month, you were like the proverbial fish out of water.a His neighbor smiled sheepishly. aYes, well,a he said, aI suppose our ancestors rather missed the Vikings, too, when their raids finally ceased. Where did you find your governess?a The duke had a flashing image of Fleur standing quietly in the shadows outside the Drury Lane Theater.

aIn London,a he said. aHoughton hired her. He is worth his weight in gold. I am pleased with her. I think she is good for Pamela.a aI know it,a Mr. Chamberlain said. aShe brought your daughter visiting when her grace was indisposed, and did not even blanch when I told her the dogs were probably jumping all over the children. Of course, at that moment she had not yet seen the dogs to know that they resemble young horses more than they do their peers.a aShe took Pamela?a the duke said. aI am glad.a aAnd so am I.a Mr. Chamberlain grinned. aYou can send her anytime, Adam. You donat even have to send Lady Pamela along to chaperone unless you insist.a aAh,a the duke said. aIt is like that, is it?a aEmily says I need a new wife,a his neighbor said. aI am not at all sure she is right, and I am certainly not sure I could find any woman saintly enough or insane enough to take on my trio and me into the bargain. But I am considering the idea. It is an interesting one.a aI would not take kindly to losing a good governess,a his grace said.

aAh, but for friendshipas sake you would make the sacrifice,a his friend said. aExcuse me. The orchestra sounds as if it means business, and I have asked her to dance again.a aFor the third time, Duncan?a The duke raised his eyebrows.

aCounting, are you?a his neighbor asked. aThis is no London ball, Adam. I think Miss Hamiltonas reputation will survive three dances with one partner. And this is to be a waltz.a The duke stayed where he was and helped himself to some food. No lady was noticeably without a partner. He would take a rest.

Fleur Hamilton and Duncan Chamberlain. Duncan was handsome enougha"slim still, his dark hair graying only at the temples. They made a good-looking pair. He wondered how she felt about her partner. But she had accepted a third dance with him. And she was smiling up at him with that sparkle that looked so much more genuine than Sybilas.

How would she receive a marriage proposal from Duncan? he wondered. Would she tell him the whole truth? Or find some other way to explain her loss of virginity?

The duke turned away. He regretted more than he could say the fact that he had not questioned her on that night before doing business with her. He should have realized from her appearance and from the quiet way she had soliciteda"or not soliciteda"a customer that she was no experienced whore. He certainly should have guessed the truth from the way she had stood in that room, not moving until he had told her what to do, and then removing her clothes quietly and neatly with no attempt to make his temperature rise as she did so.

He might have saved her before her character and future were in shreds.

But he did not stay turned away. He found himself watching them as they danceda"no, watching hera"and marveling that she could possibly be the same woman as the thin, lusterless whore whose services he had solicited and used only a little more than a month before.

God, he thought. If only he had realized. If only he had not been so thick-skulled. It was no wonder that she shrank from the mere sight of him and shuddered uncontrollably at his touch.

God! He turned away again, in search of a drink.

FLEUR WAS ENJOYING HERSELF IMMENSELY. There was something unutterably romantic about the outdoors at night, colored lanterns swaying in the trees and reflecting off dark water, beautifully dressed people talking and laughing gaily, music setting toes to tapping and hips to swaying.

She had decided earlier that she was going to enjoy the ball, and she was doing so. Life had been such a nightmare for six weeks, and still and for always the threat would hang over her head that it could be so again, and even worse. But for now she had been given this precious gift of peacea"perhaps not forever, perhaps for only a week or a day. But she would not think of forever. She would think only of this night.

She had hoped to dancea"Mr. Chamberlain had, after all, more or less asked her in advance. But she had not expected to dance every set of the evening, and with a variety of partners. Even some of the visiting guests danced with her and learned that she was the governess of the house.

Mr. Chamberlain danced with her four times in all, and he talked to her whenever the figures of the dance did not separate them. His conversation was light, amusing, as befitted the occasion. He raised her hand to his lips after the fourth time, told her with a smile that he must restrain himself from dancing with her again and depriving all the other gentlemen of the loveliest lady of alla"words spoken with a winka"and led her a little away from the dancing area to where the Duke of Ridgeway was standing and talking with an older lady.

Fleur wished he had taken her anywhere else. The one blight on the evening, the one detail that had threatened all night to ruin her joy, was the constant presence of his grace. She had not once looked at him, and yet she had found that at every moment she knew where he was and with whom he danced or talked.

He looked somewhat different from all the other gentlemen, dressed in black evening clothes and snowy white linen that sparkled in the lantern light. And of course his height and his coloring emphasized the darkness that was him.

He looked quite splendid, Fleur supposed, if one saw only the right side of his face and not the terrifying scar of the left side. Though why a scar acquired in battle when fighting for oneas country should terrify her, she did not know. Perhaps even with the disfigurement he would look splendid to someone who had not watched him walk into the shadows of the Drury Lane Theater, tall and dark and menacing in his evening cloak and hat, to ask if she was looking for a nightas employment.

She tried not to cling too tightly to Mr. Chamberlainas arm. She tried to keep her smile intact.

aMrs. Kendall,a Mr. Chamberlain said, ahave you met Miss Hamilton, Adamas governess? Or Lady Pamelaas governess, I suppose I should say.a Fleur smiled at Mrs. Kendall as the introductions were made.

aA splendid evening, Adam,a Mr. Chamberlain said. aI donat know when one of the Willoughby balls has been better. Ah, a waltz. Maaam?a He bowed and held out a hand for Mrs. Kendallas.

They were gone almost before Fleuras mind could register dismay.

aMiss Hamilton?a The dukeas dark eyes were glittering down into hers, she saw when she looked up at him. aWould you care to waltz?a She stared at him, at his hand outstretched for hers, long-fingered, beautiful. And the nightmare was back. Not even this night was to be hers.

She watched as his hand closed upon itself.

aLetas take a stroll instead,a he said quietly, and he clasped his hands at his back, turned onto the path that followed the shore of the lake, and waited for her to fall into step beside him.

aYou have been enjoying the evening?a he asked. He was following the south shore, the one less frequented, more heavily wooded than the other, though a string of lanterns extended its entire length.

aYes, thank you, your grace,a she said.

aWilloughby has always been famous for its grand entertainments,a he said. aAnd I have always been proud of that reputation. When one has been granted the privilege of inheriting all this, it seems only right to share it with others to some small degree, does it not?a No one else was walking on this particular path. The wider paths and more open lawns on the north and west sides were crowded with guests. Fleur felt far more terrified than she had felt when walking beside him away from the Drury Lane Theater. Then she had not been terrified at all, only resigned to what must be.

aYou dance well,a he said. aI have watched you a few times. You have had practice?a aA little, your grace,a she said.

aBut you have never been to London for a Season, have you?a he said. aI have never seen you there.a Only on one occasion, Fleur thought, when she had very obviously not been a part of the social whirl of the Season.

aNo, your grace,a she said.

She was aware of his eyes on her as they walked, and she had to concentrate every effort of will on setting one foot before the other. If she was forced to scream, would she be heard? The sounds of merriment coming from the dancing area and the refreshment tables were loud across the water.

aWhere did you learn to dance?a he asked.

aAt school,a she said. aWe had a French dancing master. The girls used to laugh at him because he liked to wave his arms about, a handkerchief always in one hand. And he was more dainty on his feet than any of us.a She smiled at the memories. aBut he could dance! I have always loved to dance. I have always loved to express music, whether with my fingers on a keyboard or with my feet on a dance floor.a aYou do both well,a he said.

aSometimes aa She was looking across the water to the back of the pavilion and to the shimmering reflections of hundreds of lanterns. aSometimes I think that without music, life would have no sweetness or beauty at all.a The waltz music coming from the pavilion was part of the night and the beauty and the hope. She had forgotten her fear, forgotten her companion for the moment.

aLetas dance here,a he said quietly, and she was brought jolting back to reality as she spun to face him. He had stopped walking. His left hand was extended to take hers. His face was in darkness, the row of lanterns behind him.

Her right arm felt like a leaden weight as she lifted it and placed her hand in his. She swallowed as she watched and felt his fingers close about it and she felt her heart thump painfully against her ribs and her eardrums. He set his other hand behind her waist, firm and warm. She lifted her left hand to his shoulder, broad and firmly muscled as she remembered it.

She closed her eyes as they danced, slowly at first. And she felt the rhythm of the music and gave herself up to it. The man she danced with led well. He was one with the music and took her into the flow of it and whirled her about, his hand firm at her waist so that at one moment the tips of her breasts brushed against his coat. She would not remember until it was over with whom she danced, who had become a part of the music with her.

But they had walked for several minutes before dancing. There was not a great deal of the music left. It ended finally and far too soon.

aYou have music in your very soul, I believe, Fleur Hamilton,a a deep and quiet voice said.

And she was aware again of the hand clasping her own and the other spread at her back. She was aware again of the broad shoulder beneath her other hand and of the warmth and smell of him. She opened her eyes and took a step backward, dropping her arms to her sides.

aIt is quicker to go back than to walk all about the lake,a he said. aShall we return? Are you hungry?a aNo,a she said. aThank you, your grace.a aI understand that you took Pamela to visit the Chamberlains,a he said. aThat was kind of you. She sees so little of other children.a aI believe she enjoyed the outing, your grace,a she said.

aIam sure she did,a he said. aYou have danced with Chamberlain a number of times tonight. I believe he is taken with you.a Fleur turned icy cold. But he did not need to warn her. She was quite capable of doing that for herself.

aHe has been kind,a she said, aas have several other gentlemen, your grace.a aKind,a he said. aYes. Miss Chamberlain is at the punch bowl, I see. Would you care to join her?a aYes,a she said. aThank you.a A minute later, when she stood beside Emily Chamberlain and the duke had wandered away, she found herself forced to smile at the footman behind the punch bowl and assure him that she was not thirsty, though indeed she was. Her hands, she feared, were shaking too badly to reach out for a glass.

aIs it not a glorious evening, Miss Hamilton?a her companion said. aI am so glad that the weather has held for the occasion.a THE DUKE OF RIDGEWAY HAD MADE SOMETHING of a habit since his return home of spending part of his mornings in the schoolroom, quietly observing the lessons there. Very often he would take Pamela afterward to the stables to play with her puppy before luncheon. Fleur had forced herself to accept the situation.

There were no classes the morning after the ball, Lady Pamela having had a late night. In the afternoon, Fleur took the child along the upper corridor before going into the schoolroom, showing her the paintings, pointing out a few important details. On the whole, though, she just hoped that Lady Pamela would absorb the beauty and perfection of the paintings without being burdened with too much technical detail, and want to try harder at her own. She had an eye for form and color, though a natural impatience of temperament always made her rush too much when she painted.

The duke appeared at the top of the staircase and walked toward them before they were finished. Fleur sighed inwardly. She had hoped to avoid seeing him at all that daya"her grace and most of the guests, she knew, had gone outside strolling in the park. She hated to remember her encounter with him the night beforea"her terror as she walked with him along the deserted path, her feeling of nausea when she had been forced to touch him and allow him to touch her, the strange and unexpected magic of waltzing with him on the path, her eyes tightly closed, shutting out the knowledge that it was with him she danced.

Try as she would all through the night, it had been that dance she had remembered of all the magical moments of the eveninga"until she had drifted off to sleep and he had been bending over her and hurting her and telling her that she did it because she enjoyed it.

Lady Pamela smiled and took his hand and lifted her face for his kiss.

aTimothy Chamberlainas birthday is next week, Papa,a she said. aI have been invited, with Miss Hamilton. A letter came this morning. Will Mama let me go? Will you come too?a aThat sounds like a rare treat,a he said, as Fleur turned away and entered the schoolroom. aI am not sure Iall be able to come, Pamela, as we have guests here to entertain. Iall see what I can do.a He sat quietly through the afternoon lessons until Fleur dismissed Lady Pamela early.

The duke stood up. aYou are going to Nanny in the nursery?a he asked.

aShe is going to wash my hair,a the child said, pulling a face. aI would rather visit Tiny with you, Papa.a aWe already did so just before luncheon,a he said. aIf Nanny says your hair needs washing, I donat doubt that it does. Off you go.a She went, dragging her feet.

Fleur busied herself putting books away and tidying them on the shelf. She had thought that he would go with his daughter, as he usually did.

aThe paintings upstairs are limited in number and scope,a he said. aYou should show Pamela the paintings downstairs if you believe she is interested.a Fleur said nothing.

aHave you seen the long gallery?a he asked.

aYes, with Mrs. Laycock, your grace,a she said.

aAh, with Mrs. Laycock,a he said. aShe is always the first to admit that she is not very knowledgeable about the works of art at Willoughby. Her talents run to more practical matters. The portraits in the gallery would give you material for a whole series of history lessons. And a child is never too young to learn about her family. Are you free?a Fleur could only turn from the bookshelf, which she could no longer pretend was still untidy.

aWe will go there now,a he said. aI shall introduce you to my ancestors.a She walked beside him in silence along the corridor, down the stairs, and through the great hall, past immobile footmen, except for the one who sprang forward at his nod, and through the doors into the long wing that was the gallery. It was flooded with afternoon sunlight.

aI love this room,a he said, pausing just beyond the doorway. aEven if there were not a single canvas here, I think I would love it.a She followed his glance up to the ceiling with its intricately carved circles of plasterwork leaves and fruit.

aIt is a good room to use during persistently rainy weather,a he said. aOne can get at least some exercise promenading here. We used to spend hours in here as children, my brother and I. I believe there are still skipping ropes and spinning tops and games of spillikins and checkers in the lower cupboards. My wife and Nanny have always preferred to keep Pamela on the upper floor. Perhaps you will enjoy bringing her here occasionally.a They walked to the far end of the gallery, and he spent the whole of the next hour describing the paintings, naming their painters, and giving her some history of each painted ancestor. He spoke with knowledge and pride and some humor.

aThere is something,a he said, asome warmth, some security, perhaps, in knowing that one is descended from such a line. There is something about being able to call oneself the eighth duke instead of the first. My nose was in existence even with the fourth duke, you see? So I certainly cannot blame my mother.a But the fourth duke wore a long and curling wig.

His grace was looking at her. She could feel his eyes on her and she had to will herself through careful and steady breathing not to stiffen.

aWhat about your family?a he asked. aDoes it have a long history?a Her parents. Her grandparents, whom she had never known. A few old portraits at Heron House, whom no one seemed able to identify with any certainty. She had grown up with a sense of rootlessness, with a hunger for knowing. Surely, she had thought, if only Mama and Papa had realized how early they would leave her, they would have taught her young, told her something about themselves, about their childhood, about their own parents and grandparents. Or perhaps they had but she had been too young or too inattentive, not knowing that the time would come when she would be hungry for such knowledge.

aWhere are you from?a he asked quietly. aWho was your father? Who are you?a aFleur Hamilton,a she said, wishing they would move on to the next portrait. But Hamilton had been her grandmotheras name, had it not? How did she know that? Someone must have told her once upon a time. aYour daughteras governess, your grace.a And once your whore, of course.

aDid you have an unhappy childhood?a he asked, his eyes still on her. aWas your father unkind to you?a aNo!a Her eyes blazed at him for a moment. aI was very happy until they died when I was eight.a aYour mother and father together?a aYes.a And she bit her lip. She had never been a good liar. Her father was supposed to have died in debt quite recently.

They moved on finally and he resumed his description of the portraits. She had scarcely noticed his own at the end of the line when she was with Mrs. Laycock. Perhaps the housekeeper had been talking of something else at the time.

Would she have known him even then, before his return, if she had looked closely enough? Would she have had prior warning? She looked closely now. A slim young man, very young, dressed in riding clothes, a riding crop in one hand, a spaniel at his side. A young and handsome and carefree man with proud, uplifted head and an unmarred face.

No, she would not have known.

For some reason that she could not begin to explain to herself, she felt like crying.

aMy pre-Waterloo days,a he said. aWhen I thought the world my oyster with a priceless pearl within. I suppose we all believe that when we are very young. Did you?a aNo,a she said. And yet there had been Daniel and her love for him and his for her and the prospect of an endless future in which she would be wanted, in which she would feel needed. aOh, perhaps once, a long time ago.a Was it only a few months? Not a lifetime ago?

aYou had a late night and have had a busy afternoon,a he said abruptly. aYou will want to return to your room to rest for a while.a He opened the door and allowed her to precede him into the great hall. But they arrived there at the exact moment when the front doors were being opened to admit a large number of the guests returning from their walk.

Fleur would have stepped back into the gallery, but his grace was in the doorway directly behind her.

aAh, Ridgeway,a the voice of Sir Philip Shaw said, aand the delectable Miss Hamilton.a aRidgeway, you dark horse,a a jovial, florid-faced gentleman said. aWhile the rest of us have been baking in the sun, you have been entertaining the governess indoors, where it is cool.a aSometimes,a Sir Hector Chesterton said, aI almost wish I had some daughters of my own.a aMay I present Miss Fleur Hamilton to those of you who did not make her acquaintance last evening?a his grace said, a hand at the small of her back. aMiss Hamilton is Pamelaas governess.a aYou are dismissed, Miss Hamilton. Tea in the saloon immediately, Jarvis.a The light, sweet voice was that of the duchess.

Fleur turned and fled without more ado and half-ran up the stairs and along the corridor to her room. How unspeakably embarrassing!

She stood at her open window, enjoying the breeze, unwilling to lie down despite her tiredness. Sleep would only bring the nightmares again.

Once he had been young and handsome and carefree. Once he had thought the world to be his oyster, life a priceless pearl. In his pre-Waterloo days, as he had described them. And yet he had spoken sadly, as if those dreams had proved to be empty, worthless ones. What could possibly make the Duke of Ridgeway less than satisfied with life? she wondered. He had everything.

She still felt like crying, she realized suddenly. Her throat and her chest were aching with a nameless something that made her feel indescribably sad.

aCONFOUND IT,a THE DUKE of Ridgeway said, aI am not going to a royal banquet, Sidney.a aIall be finished in a twinkling if you will just keep your chin from clacking,a his valet said, putting the finishing touches to the folds of his masteras neckcloth. aYou do have guests for dinner, after all, sir.a aDamn your impudence,a his grace said. aAre you finished now?a aAnd thankful to be, sir,a Sidney said. aIall take myself far away from your temper as soon as I have tidied up in here.a aYou wouldnat have to be anywhere near it at all,a the duke said sharply, aif that shell had just bounced three inches closer to you at Waterloo.a aThat I wouldnat, sir,a his valet agreed, turning away to tidy scattered garments and brushes. aBut then, neither would you have had to dress for your guests if your shell had bounced half an inch closer to you.a Sidney wisely ignored his masteras retort. His sensibilities had grown immune to far worse blasphemies and obscenities during his years with the British army.

His grace gazed irritably at his reflection and at the skillfully knotted neckcloth that he was about to display for the admiration of his wifeas guests. He hated to be a dandy at any time and in any place. But in his own home! And for two nights in a row. Last nightas ball had been enough formality to last him a month.

He had neglected the guests during the day. Most of them had not been up before noon, and he had made an excuse about business keeping him at home during the afternoon rather than join them on their walk. Confound it, he had a right to some privacy.

But they were his guests.

Of course, he owed something to Pamela too. She was a child and entitled to his time and company. He had been giving her both while Sybil was preoccupied with entertaining her guests and enjoying herself. At least, that was what he had told himself earlier.

He was going to have to stay away from her more often. Or else he was going to have to take her out morea"it was high time she learned to ride, though she had always shown a reluctance to do so.

What he was really going to have to do was stay away from the schoolroom. If he was strictly honest with himself, it was not justa"or even mainlya"Pamela who was drawing him there, or to the library at the crack of dawn each morning lest he be too late and miss her.

Sidney had commented only that morning, as the duke rose from bed, yawning after the late night, that he must be touched in the upper works to rise so early. Perhaps Sidney was right.

And he had woken up suddenly in the night and caught himself in the act of dreaming about waltzing on a deserted path with a woman whose eyes were tightly closed and whose fire-gold hair was loose and spread like a silken curtain over his arm.

It would not do. It just would not do. He should have had Houghton send her elsewhere. It had been madness to have her sent to Willoughby.

The door of his dressing room opened suddenly, without warning, and the duchess stood there, one hand still on it, looking lovely in pale pink lace and considerably younger than her twenty-six years.

aOh,a she said sweetly, aare you still busy? Is it possible for Sidney to leave?a The valet looked to his master with raised eyebrows, and the duke nodded.

aIf you please, Sidney,a he said, rising to his feet. aWhat may I do for you, Sybil?a She waited for the door to close. aI have never been so humiliated in my life,a she said, looking at him with large hurt eyes. aAdam, how can you do this to me, and in front of our guests, too?a He looked steadily at her. aI gather you are referring to the incident with Miss Hamilton,a he said.

aWhy did you bring her here?a she asked, clasping her slim white hands together at her bosom. aWas it to hurt me beyond endurance? I have never complained about your long absences in London, Adam. And I have always known why you must go there. I have borne the humiliation without reproach. But must I now endure having one of your doxies in this very house? And in close communication with my daughter? You ask too much of me. I cannot bear it.a aIt is a shame you have no audience beyond me,a he said, his eyes fixed on her. aYour words are very affecting, Sybil. One might almost believe that you cared. We were coming from the long gallery into the great hall. Does it not seem peculiar to you that we would have chosen such a very public setting for a clandestine rendezvous?a aIt pleases you to use sarcasm,a she said, aand to walk roughshod over my feelings. I suppose it will please you to lie too. Do you deny that you are having an affair with Miss Hamilton?a aYes,a he said. aBut you have already labeled me a liar, Sybil, so your question was rather pointless, was it not? Would it be so surprising if I did take a mistress?a aIt is what I have learned to expect of you and to accept,a she said. aBut though your love for me is dead, Adam, I thought there would have been some remnants of respect left for the fact that I am your wife.a aWife.a He laughed softly and took two steps toward her. aI would not need a mistress if I had a wife, Sybil. Perhaps you would like to protect your interests more actively.a He set one hand beneath her chin and kissed her lips. But she turned her head sharply to one side.

aDonat,a she said. aDonat, please.a aI didnat think that idea would have much appeal to you,a he said. aDonat worry, Sybil. I have never forced you and am unlikely to start doing so now.a aI feel unwell,a she said. aI still have not recovered fully from that chill.a aYes,a he said, aI can see that you are right about that. And you have lost weight, have you not? Did your visit have any other purpose?a aNo,a she said, her light, sweet voice shaking. aBut I know you are lying, Adam. I know you have been with Pamelaas governess. No matter how much you deny it, I know it is true.a He had a sudden and unwelcome mental image of blooda"on Fleuras thighs and on the sheet where she had lain.

aIt seems,a he said quietly, looking steadily at his wife, athat we are both ready to go to the drawing room to make ourselves agreeable to our guests. Shall we go together?a He extended an arm for her hand.

She laid a hand on his sleeve without gripping his arm at all, and walked beside him in silence. A small and fragile and beautiful woman who looked as innocent as a girl.

It was difficult sometimes, his grace thought, to accept the fact that this was his present and his future, the marriage he had dreamed of as a young man. Except that all the dreams were dead and there could never now be any others to take their place.