She glanced at the duke to note the contrast between the two and found him watching his brother talk to Lady Pamela with that dark expression that was so characteristic of him. She shivered. How could two men look so much alike and yet so very different?

And her eyes strayed beyond his graceas shoulder to another gentleman, shorter too than the duke, fair-haired, inclined to stockiness. He was looking very directly at her, a gleam ofa"what?a"pleasure? amusement? triumph? in his eyes.

She looked down hastily at the carpet between her feet and felt her heart and every pulse pump the blood painfully through her body. The room about her, the loud buzz of voices and laughter, the reason she was therea"all fled from her consciousness, and she was aware only of a strawberry-red rose in the pattern of the carpet. It had a dark green stem and brown thorns.

There was no air in the room. Her hands felt thick and vibrating, as if the blood could not force its way through them. She was losing control of her hands. There was no air to breathe.

There was a door next to her. She reached out a hand to turn the knob, could not find it, bumped her knuckles against it, grasped it, could not control it, and then blessedly jerked the door open.

She fled along the hallway, hesitated when she reached the staircase, fled into the great hall, wrenched open one of the front doors without so much as glancing at the footmen, and fled down the horseshoe steps.

Fresh air. And darkness. And space.

She ran.

She was among the lime trees when pain and breathlessness forced her to stop. She grasped a tree trunk with both hands as the breath sobbed into her lungs, and she doubled up against the pain in her side.

God. Oh, please, dear God, let it not be so. Please, God.

Matthew. He had found her. He had come to take her away.

She stumbled slowly on. When had he come? Why had she not been summoned and arrested immediately? Why had everyone in the drawing room not turned to stare accusingly at her when she brought Lady Pamela in? What sort of a waiting game was he playing?

She leaned against another tree trunk, her cheek against its rough bark, and hugged it with her arms.

What would happen? Would he take her back alone, or would there be someone else to guard her? Would she be bound? Chained? She had no idea how such things were done. How long would she be in prison before being brought to trial? How long would she be in prison after the trial before a?

Oh, please, dear God. Please, dear God.

There was no point in running any farther. He had tracked her this far. There would be no further escape. There was no point in running.

She stood where she was for a long time before pushing wearily away from the tree and making her slow way back to the bridge. And she stood leaning against the parapet, looking sightlessly down at the moonlit cascades, and listening without hearing to the rushing and splashing of water.

She knew for several minutes that there was someone coming, though she did not turn her head to look. Matthew. It would be Matthew. Expecting that she would fight him again? Try to run again? She wondered that he was coming alone. He had not been alone the last time. She had killed his companion then.

Or perhaps he had seen from her face in the drawing room that there was no fight left in her. She was tired of fighting, tired of running. Tired of living.

He stopped at the end of the bridge.

aWhat is it?a he asked her.

It was not Matthew after all. It was him. The thought crossed her mind that under almost any other circumstances she would have been terrified, as she had been two nights beforea"alone with him like this in the night, far from the house. But there was no point in feeling terror. Only the one inevitable end could hold terror for her any longer.

aNothing,a she said. aI wanted some air.a aAnd abandoned Pamela in the drawing room?a he said.

She turned her head to look at him. aIam sorry,a she said. aI did not think.a aWhat is it?a he asked again. aWas it my brother? Do you know him?a aNo,a she said.

aLord Brocklehurst, then?a aNo.a He walked slowly along the bridge toward her. aWas either of them a customer of yours?a he asked.

aNo!a Her eyes widened in horror.

aI am the only man to be feared in that particular way, then, am I?a he asked.

She turned away to look down into the foaming water.

aWas it me, then?a he said. aAm I the one you were afraid of? Were you afraid that I would maneuver just such a meeting as this? Were you afraid of a repeat of two nights ago?a aI was not afraid,a she said. aI was just weary and faint. I needed air.a He leaned an elbow on the parapet beside her and stood looking at her. aYou are such a mystery,a he said softly. aI do not know you at all, Miss Hamilton, do I?a Her chest was tight with pain. aYou donat need to know me, your grace,a she said, and could hear her voice shaking. aI was your whore and now I am your daughteras governess. You do not need to know me in either capacity. I merely exist to provide a service to you.a aI wish you could know that I am not your enemy,a he said. aI think you need a friend.a aMen do not make friends with their whores and servants,a she said.

aIf you are a whore,a he said, aI am an adulterer. We are equal sinners. But you at least had good reason for doing what you did. For one night you were a whore. Donat let it blight your whole life. You survived. That is what matters.a aYes,a she said bitterly, asurvival is everything.a She felt his fingertips resting lightly against the back of her hand on the parapet. Revulsion sizzled up her arm and into her throat. Her first impulse was to snatch away her hand and back away from him. But she was so alone, so much without hope, so utterly in the grip of despair.

She kept her hand where it was, though she knew that it was trembling beneath his fingers. She wished it were anyone but him. She wished she could take the two steps that separated them and lay her body against his, her head against his broad chest. Oh, she wished it and despised her weakness. She had always stood alone, ever since the death of her parents and her realization that she was not wanted by the strangers who had come to live in their home. She had always been proudly independent and had never allowed self-pity to destroy any chance of happiness that she might have.

She wanted Daniel. She closed her eyes.

His fingers slid across her hand and curled beneath hers. He held her hand in a warm claspa"with those long fingers that had touched her and held her. She could not prevent her deep shudder, and yet she did not pull away. She leaned against the parapet and kept her eyes closed as she had when they had waltzed together.

And he lifted her hand until she felt his lips, warm and still, against the back of it.

God. Oh, dear God.

After a few moments he turned her hand and held her palm, first against his mouth and then against his cheeka"the unscarred cheek.

aI know that I am the last person in the world to be able to comfort you,a he said. aI know that what I did to you and my appearance make me deeply revolting to you. But if it ever comes to that, Fleur, if there is ever no one else to whom you can turn, then come to me. Will you?a aI can stand alone,a she said. aI always have.a aHave you?a he said. aEver since the death of your parents when you were eight?a She was silent. And aching with the sound of her name, the first time anyone had called her Fleur since her parents.

aCome back to the house,a he said. aYou are cold.a aYes,a she said.

And she allowed him to draw her hand through his arm and lead her slowly and silently on the long walk back. And she wished and wished he were someone different. She longed to lay her head against the broad shoulder beside it, to turn into his arms, to beg him not to leave her alone that nighta"her last night of freedom. If only he were Daniel.

And she thought with bleak humor of how Daniel would react to such an invitation. He would be shocked and hurt and sorrowful.

The duke stopped when they reached the upper terrace, at the foot of the horseshoe steps.

aI meant what I said,a he said, one hand over hers as it rested on his arm. aI was angry at my own weakness that night, Fleur, and I used you crudely and cruelly. I have much to atone for. I would like to do you a kindness.a aYou already have,a she said. aYou fed me and paid me more than I had earned, and you gave me this post.a He said no more, but only searched her eyes with his for a long silent moment in the darkness until she felt terror welling in her again.

But she remembered the greater terror facing her inside the house and drew herself free of his grace in order to climb the steps unassisted. She hoped she would not be chained, she thought, and began to run. She hoped she would not be carried or dragged from this house the next day in chains. And she hoped a She opened one of the doors herself without waiting for the duke to come up beside her. And she fled across the great hall and through the archway to the staircase as if all the hounds of hell were in pursuit of her.

THE DUKE OF RIDGEWAY WATCHED HER GO, HIS face impassive for the benefit of the footmen who stood in the hall.

Was it he from whom she fled? And yet, though he had felt her shudder when he touched her, she had fought her revulsion and mastered it just as she had when they had danced. Had she feared that he would suggest taking her to her room or to his?

But no, she must know that he had not had seduction on his mind, that he was deeply concerned about her.

What was the unknown terror that had sent her fleeing first from the house and then back into it?

He felt so very responsible for her, as he did for all his servants and all those under his care. But more than that with her. He was the one responsible for changing her life irrevocably, and that in a manner designed to fill her forever with horror.

He had not kissed her or held her or fondled her. He had merely seated himself and ordered her to remove her clothes, and had watched her every movement. And he had ordered her to lie down while he undressed in front of her. While the candle still burned in the wall sconce, he had pulled her into the position he wanted, the position in which he could demonstrate his mastery over her and all women, and then he had demonstrated that mastery without subtlety or gentleness.

And yet he had taken her to that inn wanting to soothe himself with feminine compassion and warmth. Her very silence and self-possession had inflamed him, angered him. He had wanted her to reach out to him as no one had reached out for more years than he could recall, and she had looked at him with steady acceptance of what she must do to earn her living.

He cursed softly and turned from the hall to rejoin his wife and their guests in the drawing room. And he found himself looking curiously at Lord Brocklehurst, who was conversing quietly and amiably with a small group. The duke joined that group.

aYes, she is sleeping,a he assured Lady Mayberry, who asked about Pamela.

An hour passed before he found himself almost alone with Lord Brocklehurst and uncertain whether he or the other had maneuvered it so.

aYou have a fine daughter, your grace,a Lord Brocklehurst said with a smile.

aYes, indeed,a the duke replied. aShe is very precious to my wife and me.a aThe prospect of marriage is appealing when one thinks of acquiring a family of such pretty children,a the other said.

aYes, indeed,a the duke said. aYou are betrothed?a aOh, no, no, not yet,a Lord Brocklehurst said with a laugh. aOf course, it must be a worry to have children and the responsibility of giving them all that is the best. How does one choose a worthy governess or tutor, for example? Your governess seems like a quiet young lady. She has been with you long?a aQuite recently acquired, actually,a the duke said. aWe are well satisfied with her work.a aIt must be time-consuming to check the references of such an employee,a Lord Brocklehurst said, ato make sure that one is not being deceived in any way.a aPerhaps,a his grace said. aI employ a secretary for such a purpose. You know Miss Hamilton?a aOh, no, no,a the other said, athough the name is familiar. And the face too, a little, now that you mention it. I believe I know her family. Perhaps I met her once.a aAh,a the duke said, aMiss Dobbin is to play the pianoforte, I see. I shall draw nearer. Excuse me, Brocklehurst?a So, he thought, crossing the room to stand behind Miss Dobbinas stool, it was definitely Brocklehurst. And the man was being as secretive about the whole connection as Fleur had been.

Or was he overreacting? Had she merely been embarrassed and distressed to see a man who might recognize her and see her in the lowly position of governess?

Who was she? Who and what had she been? At first he had not been particularly curious about her. Her story had seemed plausible enough. But she had lied to him about her parents. If her father had died in debt, it had certainly not happened recently. But something had happened recently.

And why did the not knowing matter to him? Had he ever wondered about Houghtonas past or that of any of his other servants? Fleur Hamiltonas past was her own business.

But why had she lied about her father? Why had she lied about not knowing Brocklehurst? Equally intriguing, why had he lied about his acquaintance with her?

His wife, he saw without looking, was paying court to both Shaw and Thomas.

FLEUR WAS IN THE music room early the following morning, playing Beethovena"not at all well. She had not tried any of the new music that morning, but had only tried to steady herself, lose herself in the old. But the magic had deserted her. She stumbled, played mischords, forgot her place.

She would have banged her hands in frustration across the keyboard if the door to the library had not opened earlier as it usually did, but as it had not the morning before, to reveal briefly the figure of his grace.

She had not slept at all. Though she must have done, she reflected, or there would not be the remembered nightmaresa"the dead face and staring eyes of Hobson, the discomfort of traveling in a coach with her wrists bound in rusty chains at her back, the trapdoor and the knowledge that below it was emptiness and a waiting coffin, the scarred hawkish face above her and the long-fingered hands beneath her buttocks to hold her steady, Matthew with a strawberry-red rose across his dead face, blood running from the puncture made by a thorn.

Yes, she must have slept.

How long would it be? How much longer did she have?

Was she playing Beethoven or Mozart?

She heard the door from the hallway open, though it happened very quietly and the door was behind her. She took her hands from the keyboard and folded them in her lap. She knew who it was. She did not have to look around.

aAh, Isabella,a a familiar voice said. aNo, I beg your pardon. Fleur, is it not?a She got up from the stool and turned to face him. He was smiling, as Matthew so often was. She placed a finger over her lips and pointed in the direction of the open door into the library. He nodded his comprehension. And she led the way from the room.

aThere are lawns at the back of the house,a she said. aI believe it has stopped raining.a It seemed appropriate that the long spell of warm, sunny weather had broken sometime during the night. The clouds were heavy and low and the grass glistening with the drizzle that had fallen on it, she had seen in a glance from the window of her room earlier.

And it seemed strange now to hear her own voice and to note that it sounded just as it usually did.

aA few questions revealed to me your morning habits,a he said.

aYes,a she said. aThey are no secret.a She took him to a back entrance, avoiding the great hall. She did not go for a cloak, though it was chilly outside. But she scarcely noticed.

aI will come quietly,a she said, walking on ahead of him past the kitchen gardens to the lawns beyond, leaving him to catch up and fall into step beside her. aI donat know if you brought assistance. I donat know if you plan to put fetters on me. I donat know what the law is. But you will not need them. I will come quietly.a Even the clouds were beautiful. Even the wet grass soaking its moisture into her shoes felt wonderful. And she remembered her first sight of Willoughby and her first weeks there. She remembered her buoyant feeling of hope and happiness. She remembered the visit to the Chamberlains and their return visit. She remembered walking this very lawn with Mr. Chamberlain, the children rushing on ahead with a ball. She remembered playing with the puppy in the paddock. And she remembered waltzing on a lantern-lit path.

aMurder is a hanging offense, Isabella,a he said.

aI know.a Her pace unconsciously quickened. aI also know, as do you, Matthew, that I am no murderer. What happened was an accident caused when I acted in my own defense. But of course that will be an irrelevant point when we both speak in court.a aPoor Hobson,a he said. aHe was merely stepping up behind you to prevent you from tripping over the hearth yourself, Isabella. It was unfortunate that you were in such a temper because I had been forced to admonish you for your own good. He would be alive now.a aYes,a she said, ait sounds convincing even now, Matthew. And I was foolish enough to panic and runa"the actions of a guilty person. What is the procedure? Am I to be bound?a He chuckled. aYou seem to have done well enough for yourself,a he said, athough you might have come home, Isabella. There was no need to lower yourself to become a governess. His grace seems pleased with your services, though. And so he should be, if he was willing to pay his man to sit at a certain employment agency for four days before he found a suitable candidate.a She looked at him for the first time. He was still smiling.

aYou are his mistress?a he said. aYou looked high indeed, Isabella.a aI am his daughteras governess,a she said. aOr was. I am your prisoner now, I suppose.a aAnd yet,a he said, ait would break my heart to see that lovely neck with a rope about it, Isabella. And perhaps it is true and you misunderstood the situation and thought self-defense necessary. Who am I to judge your motives? Perhaps it was an unfortunate accident after all.a aWhat are you saying?a She had stopped walking and stood looking directly at him.

aThe simple truth,a he said. aI want to give you the benefit of the doubt if I possibly can. You know I love you, Isabella.a aI could play this game out to the end,a she said. aBut I believe I understand you very well, Matthew. You will agree that Hobsonas death was an accident if I consent to be your mistress. Am I right?a He held his arms out to his sides. aWhy the harsh tones? Do you see a pistol about me?a he asked. aChains? Ropes? Do you see a constable or guard lurking at my shoulder? Do you think I have searched for you all this time just in order to see you executed? Do you know me so little, Isabella?a aSpeak plainly with me,a she said. aFor once in your life, Matthew, speak plainly. If I refuse to be your mistress, what then? Give me a straight answer.a aIsabella,a he said, aI am a guest here. I came with an old friend of mine, Lord Thomas Kent, to spend a few weeks on an estate I have always wished to visit. It is quite splendid, is it not? You are a governess herea"a happy coincidence. And of course we must speak of that unhappy death, whose mystery still has not been cleared up because you fled immediately after it. But there is no need to say everything that needs to be said between us at this very moment, is there? You are not going anywhere for the next few weeks, and neither am I.a aNo,a she said. aI did not think you would be persuaded to speak plainly. But I understand you very well for all that. I have, after all, known you for much of my life. I am to live with a threat hanging over my head. You will dangle me like a puppet on a string.a aYou have heard, I suppose,a he said, athat the Reverend Booth was, ah, disappointed in you? I believe it is the elder Miss Hailsham who is currently the fortunate recipient of his smiles.a Daniel! Fleur lifted her chin.

aWhen we leave eventually, Isabella,a he said, aI think it would be as well to do so without airing our dirty linen, so to speak, before the duke and duchess, wouldnat you agree? And I am quite sure that you would not wish to cause his grace unnecessary disappointment when you leave by raising false hopes in the intervening weeks, would you? You will, of course, be coming home, where you belong.a aDonat worry, Matthew,a she said, athere is no affair to put an end to.a He smiled. aHe makes a habit of strolling the back lawns in the early morning, then?a he said.

Fleur turned her head sharply to find that indeed his grace was walking toward them.

aGood morning,a Lord Brocklehurst called. aI find that your park has as magnificent prospects at the back of the house as before it.a His grace was carrying a cloak over one arm. He shook it out and set it about Fleuras shoulders without a word to her.

aMy grandfather hired the best of landscape gardeners,a he said. aI trust you had a good sleep, Brocklehurst?a aIndeed, yes, I thank you,a the other said. aAnd as you must have guessed, your grace, my feeling of last evening was quite correct. Miss Hamilton and I have a slight acquaintance and have been inquiring into the health of each otheras relatives.a aMiss Hamilton,a his grace said, turning to her, aI will be giving Pamela her first riding lesson this morning directly after breakfast. You will bring her to the stables, if you please. You are dismissed for now.a aYes, your grace.a She curtsied without looking at either him or Matthew and turned to hurry back to the house.

There was to be some reprieve, then. It was not to be quite as bad as she had feared all night, and for two months before that. He was prepared to give her her freedom in exchange for what he had wanted for three years past. Except that in the past she had been able to treat his attentions with scorn. Now he must feel that he had a hold on her.

And who was she to say he did not? It was all very well now, in the relief of knowing that it was not to be today, to tell herself that she would throw his offer in his face when he told her finally that it was time for them to leave. It was well now to imagine herself telling him, her head thrown back, contempt in her eyes, that she would take the noose rather than him.

But would she when the time came?

And it was quite like Matthew, of course. It amazed her that she had not thought of it as a possibility before. He had wanted her badly enough. Was it likely that he would give her up to the gallows any more willingly than he would have given her up to Daniel?

Of course. She was foolish not to have thought of it.

She unbuttoned the cloak absently as she climbed the stairs inside the house. And then she looked down at it with awareness. It was her own cloak. It had been hanging in her wardrobe.

He must have sent a maid upstairs for it. He had brought it out to her and wrapped it about her shoulders.

And he had ordered her to bring Lady Pamela out to the stables to him after breakfast.

There was to be another day, then. Not chains and a long carriage ride and a dark prison cell at the end of it. Not yet, anyway.

Her step lightened and quickened. There was to be another day.

IT WAS STILL TOO EARLY for breakfast when the Duke of Ridgeway came inside with Lord Brocklehurst. There was still time to accomplish one more thing before eating and going back outside with Pamela.

He sent a servant to summon Lord Thomas Kent to the library if he was up. He must talk to his brother. Somehow, he could not take the cowardas way out and just say nothing.

He thought grimly of the night before. Unable to sleep himself, he had done something he rarely did. He had gone into his wifeas room very late. He had half-expected to find the room empty and the bed unslept in.

But she had been both there and awake. And feverish and coughing. She had watched him listlessly as he approached the bed.

aYou are not well?a he had asked, touching his fingers to her cheek and finding it dry and burning. He brought her a cool cloth from the washstand, folded it, and laid it over her forehead.

aIt is nothing,a she had said, turning her face from him.

He had stood looking down at her for a long silent moment. aSybil,a he had asked quietly, ashall I send him away? Will it be less painful for you if he is gone?a Her eyes had been open. She had been staring away from him. And he had watched one tear roll diagonally across her cheek and nose and drip onto the sheet. aNo,a she had said.

Nothing more. Just the one word. He had turned away after a while and left the room.