UNSPOKEN

Eve Asbury

      Copyright © 2007-2009 Eve Asbury

      All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written consent of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

      The right of Eve Asbury to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

      First Ebook Edition 2007

      Second Ebook Edition 2009

      Second Edition

      All characters in this publication are purely fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.  

PROLOGUE

1883

      “He’s made good on his threat, Nikki.”

      Lady Nicole Holcombe grabbed her friend’s arm pulling her back to one of the fake palms decorating the Elliot’s ballroom. “Who—what has happened?” Her soft brown eyes were searching around for his grace’s spies before turning back to his daughter.

      “Father, of course,” Lady Jessica Rains murmured.

      “He wouldn’t—not now, “Nikki whispered appalled, “Not after giving you eight years to choose a suitable husband. Why! There is not a Peer left in England you have not presented and he has not rejected.”

      “He informed me yesterday that he was calling my bluff. You know how he rants, Nikki? I told you about his obsessive madness over bloodlines.” Lady Jessica shuddered. “I am a womb and veins to him. Since he cut my sisters off, and poor Joseph died, he is grows even worse.”

      Sensing her friend regressing, aware they could not be spotted talking, Nikki urged in a tight whisper, “Tell me all of it?”

      “He claimed that he was well aware that I had been choosing men that would take the Vanlare fortune for their own. He let me be, to see what I would bring home. He said those candidates were blinded by lust of money.”

      Jessica let out a shaky breath, as if she had been holding it in a long time. “I retorted, that since he put it out, that I was his sole heir, and since he insists on draping me head to toe in riches¾ what did he expect? Father admitted that he just toying with me, letting me believe that I had some control, to prove to me that I did not.”

      Nikki slid her arm around Jessica, pulling her to her side for a quick hug. The Duke…How she loathed that man. He was a cold-hearted goat, who put a false face on for society. One could not bring themselves to care for a man so lacking in human decency and respect. Even if he was a father, and filthy rich, he was, in Nikki’s opinion, completely insane!

      But oh, poor Jess.

      No one looked at Jessica Rains, not the woman, the diamonds at her throat hypnotized them, the silks, and rich satins on her body. Old Albert appreciated the fact that men drove themselves mad knowing his fortune was unclaimed as yet. He humiliated the applicants for Jessica’s hand and chose everything his daughter wore himself. His stamp on her was like that on his empire, unmistakable.

      Generations of Vanlare’s had prospered, flourished, because they kept control on their holdings, suffocating their families with rigid rules until they decided whose blood was good enough to produce the next heir. Only in one area old Albert had failed-his own loins. He had cursed himself and his daughter through his obsessions, murdered his family in spirit and his only son in both that and body.

      “So, he has chosen,” Nikki whispered, comprehending that Jessica’s reach for freedom had been lost. Albert would choose a man like himself.

      “He has…and a stranger to me. I do not know his name or title.”

      Jessica looked around seeing the mass of guests preoccupied with dancing and talking. She stood out like the sun at midnight with the shimmer of her gown and dripping in jewels.

      Nikki was saying, “You brought hundreds of men to him over the years. Some of them were connected to his business cronies. What qualification could he possibly have that you have not presented?”

      “Virility,” Jessica choked on the word. “He called the men pathetic, easily manipulated, gamblers and weak mama’s lads. He drapes me to lure them, tempt them…All the while, he abhors them. You know how twisted his mind is.

      Nicole nodded and grimaced. “I wish you could run away like your sisters. They have made good matches one hears, living quiet, normal lives. I doubt they have a care one whit that they were cut off from the Vanlare name.”

      “Father has assured me, since I was sixteen that the end of the earth is not beyond his reach. He said that anyone who gave me aide would pay.” Jessica reminded her, “Only you, are aware of what goes on in our house. The world bows to him, the crown honors him. Vanlare’s have been ambassadors, diplomats, and they have survived where others have been ruined. People envy us. They fawn over him.” She nodded toward the richly dressed guests. “They were set on their ear when each of his daughters ran off. And when he cut them off-despite their good matches- society cut them off too. One cannot imagine why a wealthy deb, a Vanlare daughter, would put her poor father through such a scandal.”

      She went on cynically, “I suppose they would not believe that servants go through my things, every day searching my personal items and chambers, my person. Least I imagine that he does not know my every more, he can read from his little dairy where I went, whom I talked to.”

      Nikki knew all of this; she had heard it for two years. Her own father had married her off to an aged Lord Arthur Holcombe for his title, she had come on the scene scared witless, intimidated. And no one intimidated her more than the aloof Lady Jessica.

      She had heard about the Vanlare heiress, how the woman had yet to find a man worthy of mixing his blood with hers. Oh yes, she had watched her, seen her draped in those one-of-a-kind gowns and priceless jewels. She’d seen the elite drool with envy and whisper. An army of footmen and outriders always surrounded that gilt Vanlare coach; they escorted the heiress everywhere. She had been in awe of such a person, until that one fateful day, when Nikki spilled her drink on the Lady’s diamond encrusted gown. Nikki had been terrified of Jessica too.

      But she had rushed out after Lady Jessica, to apologize, and instead of finding a haughty, enraged, heiress¾ she had found her in the Earl’s library… laughing almost dementedly. Nikki recalled that it was something in Jessica’s eyes when she touched that ruined priceless material, that made her see past the outward trappings and really look at the woman. From that point, Nikki had ignored Jessica’s attempts to be nothing more than social with her. After wearing her down, sensing the isolation, and the tight Vanlare hold on her, Jessica had told her the truth; that her father controlled both her sleep and waking, that since her sister’s ran off, but even before that, he brutally dissuaded any outside influence on her.

      The old man wrote her schedule, chose her clothing. Her every move and word was reported back to him. Jess’s whole life had been lived in a small space, with a crazed man who had to manipulate, control and dictate the very air she breathed.

      But Nikki, whose life with the aged Earl was nearly as hellish, for his family hated her and disdained her, never mind that she had saved them from poverty, she too, had needed a friend. With her father dead, and no other family, her husband now infirm, she also lived from day to day, waiting for everything to turn to ashes.

* * * *

      “Sir John is looking this way,” Jessica muttered pulling pulled herself together. She put on her social smile and stepped away nodding regally to Nikki. In low tones she muttered, “The Park, after the crowds leave, I’ll drop a note out the carriage window. Please, be careful.”

      “I always am,” Nikki answered through her teeth, smiling dipping her head and turning away from Jessica, toward some seating.

      Jessica put out her hand as Sir John came near, uttering something polite. He led her on, to the floor. Though tall and robust as he was, his gaze still honed in on the diamond choker she wore. It glittered sparks back into his gleaming eyes. Jessica could feel his palms going damp, his body tremble. The hot breath pushed out quivering nostrils and fouled the air between them. She knew that smell, and it was greed, lust, blood-boiling coveting.

      Contempt turned Jessica’s eyes to dark olive, however she kept smiling. Though no one saw her face, not one person, they observed only the long lace gloves on her arms and glitter around her wrist, the folds of her fish tailed gown, snug off the shoulder with swags of champagne silk draped back at the hips. They saw glitter of her shoes, the sparkles in her hair. She was obscured and insufficient next to the riches.

      To society, she was the Vanlare fortune, and inside the looming mansion the duke called home; Jessica was the veins, the womb, the obsession of her father; a dying old man who would not loosen his grip ,she realized, even from the grave.

      Before Jessica left the ball, later that night, she cast a glance across the distance, meting Nikki’s eyes. That slight nod was all the extra confidence she needed. Having a new experience with real friendship, she often felt a tremendous amount of guilt knowing what her father could do to those he felt threatened by, or at least, those he could not easily control.

      Too many meetings Jessica had overheard behind his study door. He had no qualms about sending someone to prison or an asylum. Or if he chooses, they found themselves exiled to some God-forsaken Island he owned. It made her feel doubly frightened to ask Nicole’s help, however that one friend, anyone, someone to talk to, was the only thing that helped her function day after day.

* * * *

      Having arrived home, Jessica stepped into the foyer of the mansion. The stained glass overhead transformed the floor to a prism. She ignored the rich pearl-like tile, the walls covered with priceless paintings in heavy gold frames. The house was a museum of expensive art, cold objects, and vases, statuary. Rich blue velvet chairs poised against the silk-papered walls. Vanlare had no interest in their beauty. Jessica did not feel anything visceral. She wasn’t entering a home.

      Up the spiral staircase, to her rooms, she walked on the same polished white treads, the scrolled handrail under her palm breathing a life of its own. In her chambers, she did not acknowledge to the maid as the woman went through her pockets, her purse. She fished into the toes of Jessica’s shoes, making sure no notes were tucked inside.

      She would not lose her dignity in front of the woman. So Jessica ignored her, undressed, slipping on her silk night rail.

      The woman departed after gathering Jessica’s things.

      Jessica slid back out of bed, padding barefoot across the intricate rug before walking to the window. The house loomed higher than the rows of fashionable mansions on their street. It had rooms strictly reserved for Lord Albert’s collections and trophies. He did not amass things out of passion for their beauty, nor of apperception for the skill that had crated them. He amassed them for his self-image, for the sole reason of possession.

      However, she had no awe of the home, nor of the name, definitely, not…of the man. He had all but murdered her poor mother with his demands for male heirs.

      Wearing herself down in her worship of him, Lady Mary had finally given him Joseph; one year after Jessica was born and then laid down and died. Joseph, night and day was drilled, brainwashed, with his legacy, his duty, and his purpose. The frightened boy faded daily, until at aged eleven, he too had died in his sleep.

      After that, Lord Albert’s madness knew no bounds. With his age at eighty, his loin’s empty of seed, he focused on his daughters. Even now Jessica could hear echoes of hundreds, millions, of his furious rants, night and day, over and over. He had never allowed his daughter’s to be close, to bond. He imagined conspiracy at every turn. For his flesh to betray him? It was intolerable.

      Her sisters’, Mary, Susan and Ann were often on Jessica’s mind. She had been fifteen when the three of them had run off that night. Her father had set their schedule, just as he did hers, and sent party of spies to watch them. Only one year apart, the oldest at nineteen, they were blond and, beautiful, and wildly popular, for all the good that it had done them.

      She would never forget the ticking of the clock; the long hours after her father had dragged her inside the study-to wait and wait and wait, until dawn and noon and another night descended. The thick walls quaked with his rage. Somehow, his daughters had escaped!

      It was by accident that she discovered anything of their whereabouts. Anne had wed Viscount David Watkins, Mary, Viscount James Morris, and Susan, Sir Robert Newell. And they, all of them, counted dead by her father, and disinherited, had apparently found heaven somewhere in England, outside the lavish prison where freedom was a priceless dream.

      Jessica did not really comprehend what that must mean, because she had never known it. Within the small part of her mind, she was allowed to keep for herself, in the confines of the body that had never been held or seen or touched, Jessica imagined freedom was opening her eyes, knowing that no one commanded, watched, expected, or controlled her.

      For a short span, Jessica Rains was motionless, at ease, while her eyes touched the damp glitter of rain on the street. Somewhere in the darkness inside of her was that same glimmer, the faint remnant of hope. Although she knew only too well that she was still here, on the inside looking out, still not free, to reach out and touch it. 

      Galen was being blackmailed.

      The Marquis of Kilgore, Maxwell Faulkner eyed his friends where they sat in the smoky gentleman’s club. On his right, the American, Jayce Barrette, was making half the delicate, sallow faced lords nervous. Jayce wore buckskins, a familiar garment on the American frontier. His hair was longer than was fashionable, blond in color. Yet it was the expression on his rugged face that intimidated. Jayce wasn’t partial to the company of high brow gentlemen.

      Max observed with particular attention, The Earl of Blackcove, Galen Wolfe. Because Galen was the reason they were in attendance. The man was being blackmailed, pure and simple.

      Blackcove appeared relaxed, seated in the wine leather chair with his boot propped on a planter, a drink in his hand. Max knew better. The dark, nearly black eyes reminded him of a panther, skimming around the room slowly, circling, scrutinizing and measuring.

      Only Jayce and Max were familiar the details of Galen's life, and they were anxious to see how Galen would handle the current situation. Max would have challenged it legally, dispensed with the threats in his usual arrogant way. Jayce would have shot the man the moment he dare pose a threat.

      It was not their decision, but Galen’s.

      Vanlare might well know enough to blackmail Galen into wedding his daughter and heir.

      Max allowed his gaze to slide over Galen's shoulder length black hair and striking face. His friend had the kind of exotic look that had females squirming; Jayce was fond of saying. Yet Max saw beyond the deep set eyes, strong nose and high cut bones. Galen was not of the big muscle frame like his America friend, nor was he like Max, who was six foot and fit from his boxing and sporting. Galen was honed, lean, sinewy, swarthy and taut. His penchant for wearing black and his slow grace reminded Max of a sleek prowling cat.

      In America, he’d heard hardened men call Galen that, usually standing on the banks of some river, in the early hours of the morning when the fog was thick, and where Galen could seemingly appear out of nowhere, or disappear if needed.

      In their exchanges, over the years, and his trips to America, Max had been trying to talk Galen into returning, claiming the title. It was assumed in society that all the heirs of Blackcove were dead. He had known differently.

      The Vanlare heiress and the elite social crowd had come up in their conversations, too. Yet none of them could have dreamed that Galen’s return would turn out like this. When Galen showed up three weeks ago, him and Jayce, in the middle of a thunderstorm, none of them would have guessed that Lord Albert had known the very ship he’d sailed in on. Nor, that in an amazing short time, the deep secrets that had driven Galen from England to Paris, then to America—would finally reach out from the grave and once more threaten Galen’s freedom.

      The old duke was a man who reminded Max of the great American Industrialist. Indeed, he made his friends among them; they were like gods, icons, becoming eccentric in their wealth and power, and obsessed with it. Vanlare's title was nothing compared to his reputation. His friends were the Vanderbilt's, the Gould's and Rockefellers.

      In England, France, and many obscure Islands, he was like an aged King Midas. However a ruthless one, a man who gained his wealth by making slaves of the unfortunate and replacing bodies with bodies as needed. His factories, his mines, plantations…whatever his grace endeavored to squeeze coin from; he did it like his ancestors, at the sacrifice of human life and dignity.

      “How long do we have to hang around this morgue anyway?” Jayce Barrette muttered looking round at the pasty faced or florid old men. “Don’t you have to go get the kid or something?”

      The kid was Max’s seventeen-year-old sister, Lady Lindy. She had fallen under his guardianship last year when his widowed father died. Lindy wasn’t a cooperative debutante. In fact, she wasn’t even trying to find a husband and put him out his misery. She was a bookish gel with looks hard to discern over her straight red hair and glasses. And, her mind was ten years ahead of her age.

      All said, Max had seen her very few times, having been at school, then doing his tour, which is how he met his only two real friends before filling his role in society. By the time he brought her home from the funeral at their country estate, he had the upsetting knowledge that he was going to have to gag and hide her, or marry her off quickly, before his hair turned gray.

      To Jayce he supplied, “We’re only here long enough to be seen.” His gaze flickered to Galen. It was part of the deal. Galen had to follow the old Duke’s plan. Max would help Galen get seen, become known, and introduce him to Lady Jessica.

      Following a few weeks of escorting the heiress to all of her engagements, a betrothal notice would hit the papers. Not long after that, the trip to Twin Bells in surrey; the Lady’s legacy from her mother and the least ostentatious of the Vanlare homes, the wedding and bedding and begetting would occur.

      “I think we’ve been seen enough,” Jayce cut in again, his chiseled features showing his dislike of being stared at. His curled his lip at a gent with a huge red nose and large ears. The fellow turned nearly purple and hurried away.

      “Galen?”

      The Earl’s eyes flickered just slightly from their flat blackness. He nodded.

      They arose and took their leave.

* * * *

      Galen Wolfe took up the rear of the trio departing the club, stepping out onto the sidewalk. It was sometime in the middle of the night. Drizzles of rain had just subsided. The normal tinge of dirty London air was turning dank, fog rose from the Thames.

      He welcomed the cooler air after the stifling heat inside the scarlet-papered rooms. There were too many memories, too many smells…

      Beside the coach, Max told them, “I’ve must collect m’sister from a ball. You’re welcome to join me. However if you’d prefer, I’ll drop her off then meet you someplace later?”

      Since they were living with Max, but cutting a wide berth around the sister, Jayce and Galen tried to come and go when she was not around. Jayce had no experience dealing with lily-white debs. Out of respect and friendship for Max, he himself had set the schedule to avoid the English girl. And for all Galen was titled, his life and Max’s were on opposite sides of breeding, manners, and privilege.

      “I’m going for a walk,” Galen told Jayce. “Maybe scare up a bottle of whiskey. I’ll meet you back at the townhouse.”

      “I’ll bring it.” Max told them. He climbed into the coach muttering, “I’m probably going to need it after Lindy gives me her version of whatever disaster she’s caused.”

      The coach rolled out. Jayce looked at Galen. “You want company?”

      Galen shrugged.

      They knew each other well enough, after six years, and had enough in common to understand each other without too many words. Smuggling, gambling, and guarding wealthy men wasn’t the most honorable profession, at least, the way they did it. But along with Jayce's brother Josh, they had earned each other’s loyal respect and trust.

      “I’ll meet you later, then.” Jayce flipped up the collar of his buckskin jacket and turned away, the heels of his western boots clicking on the sidewalk as he headed for the docks.

      Galen walked the opposite direction, eyeing the sheen coating the buildings along Marlboro Street, hearing the water in the gutter slog by him. He paid scant attention to the rattle of coaches, the clop of hooves echoing in the dark. He was thinking of the old man with white hair and cruel cobalt eyes, mutton chop whiskers. The Duke of Vanlare had been seated behind his heavy baroque desk eyeing Galen with that smug smile.

      “You’re a privileged young man, Black cove, unlike the dozens of your peers who have left this room wondering what cost them the prize, when it was almost in their grasp. I’m going to tell you why you were chosen.”

      “Don’t waste your breath,” Galen had said flatly. “I came here because you dared threaten me. I’m not interested in your daughter, nor your millions.”

      “You will be.” The old man’s face had hardened. In his muttering madness he supplied, “…My daughter has brought them all to me, Dukes, Earls, viscounts. Still, I realized her game, and I let her play it, because unlike her beautiful but disloyal sisters, I was confident she would not find a man who would snatch her away from me. She chose fools!

      One can forgive the envy of the money, but not a weakness that would allow them wed her and waste it and themselves on useless vices. No! It’s the blood, you see? The heirs! My bloodline, through Jessica, which must be worthy to fill the shoes of generations of Vanlare males. Pah! She would bring me spoiled, pampered fools!”

      “Why don’t you simply pick from the titled that are not? I am sure they are around,” Galen suggested sarcastically.

      “There’s no time for that now,” The old man snapped “A year maybe, it’s all I have left. I have to live to see that first strong seed growing in her belly.”

      “You’re a crazy bastard.”

      Lord Albert laughed. “I’m also very shrewd- and- I'm very used to having my way. In fact, I take all the necessary precautions to assure that I do.”

      Galen had shrugged. He wasn’t going to indulge the man’s opinion of himself.

      “Blackcove.” The duke leaned forward his eyes gleaming in his hawkish face. “I know your past, everything about you.”

      Galen had had gone immobile and turned cold. He said, “So what? I am not afraid of scandal. My parents were self indulgent and immoral…”

      “Yes, they were,” the old man cut him off. “After your father was killed, in that duel by your mother’s lover…then—”

      Galen felt a pain go through his temple. Yet the only sign of his thoughts was the pulsing vein there. “As I said, I did not return to England to win the approval of society. I don’t give a damn, what you know.”

      The Duke sat back, his voice silky, seductive, and sickening “Think of it… millions of dollars, Blackcove; managers, solicitors to run the empire and keep it churning out a profit for every heir you produce. It is a considerably higher stud fee than even those insatiable merchants’ wives paid you…in Paris.”

      “Go to hell!”

      Amusement was his grace’s answer. “Gladly, as soon as my plan is finished.”

      “You’ve not purchased me yet, old man,” Galen had bit out in a seething rage. “I told you. I don’t care what you know.”

      “Ask your friend the Marquis, what the penalty, in this country is… for murder.”

      Galen stared, his black eyes like stone.

      “Go ahead. Ask him.”

      “You know nothing!”

      “On the contrary, Up until one week ago your mother was alive. Though shall we say, not well? She wrote an interesting account of why you fled Paris. Six other witnesses agreed with it.”

      “The bitch lied.”

      “Probably.” The old man shrugged. “No doubt she embellished and twisted the details. Nevertheless, have you anyone to attest to your own truth of it?”

      “You know I don’t.”

      The duke produced a packet from the drawer, which he leaned back and caressed with his fingers while his gaze bore into Galen. “My associate, one inspector in particular, assures me that prosecution of a crime can be activated at any time… with such evidence as I have gathered. Did you know that I travel to Paris often? No? Well, you have not quite erased your deeds their, Blackcove, even after all this time.”

      Galen felt his guts twist. Sweat broke out on his forehead. Hate was too mild a word to describe what he felt for the deranged old man. He heard himself saying, “What’s your deal?”

      “This,” He held up the packet. “For marrying Jessica, getting at least one heir before I die. The solicitor will give it to you—when these,” He held up a stack of contracts. “Are fulfilled.”

      “What are they?”

      “Just my insurance, you might say, the rules that govern our little agreement.”

      He leaned up, his smile feral. “Imagine my reaction when your Paris life came to my attention? There is no uncertainty of your strength, skill, your virility. They say that the underbelly of Paris knows no names…But my boy, you are quite legendary.”

      Galen had arisen then, staring at the duke with eyes equally chilly. His voice had a calm frost. “You’ll get yours, and so will she, but remember… that.” He gestured toward the packet, “is all you have purchased.”

      Now, walking in the dark street, he turned to enter the park, nodded to the watchman, then reached in his pocket for a cheroot and lit it. He sat down on damp, shadowed bench, recalling the contracts and conditions.

      They were lists of events…Lady Jessica‘s schedule. He had Max go over them with his discreet solicitor. Galen wanted no hidden manipulation in the language. He didn’t intend for the man to squeeze his balls any tighter. On the surface it was an unusual marriage contract. It appeared in order to the solicitor, knowing well the eccentric ways of the rich, and having hardly blinked at it.

      Galen's eyes narrowed in the smoke. He clamped his teeth down on the slim cigar. He had plans of his own. No Man or woman would ever control or manipulate him again. He wasn’t a lad anymore.

      Vanlare was just the sort of oily-handed bastard Galen hated the same version he’d worked for in America, same class of snake-different country. They were obsessed old tyrants who treated others like shit.

      He’d smuggled on nights like this, under the cover of chilly fog, amid cutthroats and thugs who had loyalty to no one. He’d guarded and fought for riches that weren’t his. He and Jayce had seen the same breed spring in the west; San Francisco, big port towns. They wanted to use you up and make money off your blood and sweat. And when you bucked, they always had something to hold over your head.

      This time, he was going to come out the victor.

      Galen arose from the bench and nodded to the watchman again. He strode toward a rougher part of town and procured a couple of bottles of Scotch. He then headed back to the townhouse. It was a saturated and heavy night, the perfect kind for breeding something foul.

      People seemed to get chilled, ill, from such dank air. Having the constitution of a horse apparently, Galen never did. Not like Griff…poor Griffin.

      Galen shook his head, reaching in his pocket for one of the bottles. He opened it, taking a long drink. Leaning against a building he looked at the narrow streets. Max believed he’d been running all these years. Jayce accused him of trying to wrestle ghosts he didn’t have to. Neither of his friends understood what it was like to be him, to carry his memories and images around day and night.

      Neither understood what it was like to have thoughts… that you were actually dead, buried…completely cold inside He was walking around on earth, disconnected to the rest of the human race.

      Galen was aware of what men said of him, shadow men whom he encountered in his past. They thought he took risks for all manner of reasons. The truth was, he did because he could not feel.

      He’d decided to do murder… he had shut down something inside. Galen wasn’t seeking to become one of those deep feeling people. The lack of emotion had probably saved his life and kept his head cool when other men panicked.

      He also didn’t look into the future. He did what he decided to and moved to the next stage. That is how he would handle Lady Jessica Rains. Galen decided. She was simply a stone on the path leading to his freedom again.

* * * *

      The following morning Lady Jessica suffered through the usual rituals at the park. Fretful by the time the groom took her mount and she sat in the carriage waiting, biting her lip. She had raised the short netting on her top hat, looked around.

      Nikki was no where to be seen.

      Holding her fixed posture, she let her glance slide to her father’s spies who waited for the carriage to move. They would get suspicious soon. Oh, where was Nikki?

      Just when she was about to give up, a white hanky seemed to be flying on it’s own by the strand of oaks. Jessica focused on it and discovered it was Nikki. She casually sat forward, keeping the note under her gloved fingers, holding to the side of the carriage.

      “You may drive on,” she said. When the slight pull of the vehicle started, she raised her fingers slightly, letting the note fall to the ground.

* * * *

      From the park, Nikki watched, holding the reins of her mare and leaning around the tree. Not until they were out of sight did she mount up and ride to collect it.

      It read: Lord Galen Wolfe, Earl of Blackcove. Currently residing with the Marquis of Kilgore. Find out what you can. Please! Jess.

      Nikki tore up the note and looked around. She spied a muddy puddle of water and ground the paper with her boot heel into it until it was unreadable. Mounting again, she hurried toward her townhouse.

      Her husband was barely lucid now and his family had descended. Though they looked down their nose every time she left the house, they refused to let her near him. With a sense of doom hovering on the horizon, Nikki pushed that aside, wondering how the devil to obtain what Jessica needed?

* * * *

      It wasn’t until she was at a musical later that evening that Nikki spotted the red head, secretly reading behind a Greek column and munching carrots. She recalled Jessica was scheduled to be at the theater tonight, so she picked up the skirts of her brown silk gown and headed toward Lady Lindy.

      “Good read?”

      “Oh. God!” The girl jumped a foot, spit carrots a mile, dropping her book with a thud. Whirling, she held her spectacles and faced Nikki. “You scared the skin off me!”

      “Sorry.” Nikki smiled, then introducing herself while she discreetly plucked carrot pieces from the girl’s bodice.

      “You should try chocolates,” Nikki teased.

      “Carrots are good for the eyes.” The Lady shook her head then leaned down to cram the book in her purse. She checked her straight hair, which was down except for a braided crown, and smoothed her formal gown. “I am Lady Lindy Faulkner“

      “I know.” Nikki took a seat then motioned her down.

      Lindy peered at her. “Oh, I have just recalled you are the poor lady who was wed off to gouty old Holcombe.”

      “Well, I was not poor, I assure you. But yes.”

      “My brother expects I will wed quickly, because I am an heiress. I have no intention of pleasing him.”

      “You don’t?” Nikki studied that face; it was hard to make out with the thick hair and those lenses reflecting everything. She had fine skin, a good set of bones.

      “No, of course not. I will not be sold off like some chattel. I have a very good brain. I certainly do not need a man to complete my life.”

      “You are very fortunate then, to be so confident.” Nicole muttered dryly.

      The young Lady smiled at that and Nikki mused that Jessica would surely like her.

      “Yes. Only… I must humor Maxwell. He is so very arrogant, you know? So much a Marquis. I vow, I will never comprehend how men can be so hypocritical. They shelter and protect their sisters, then take mistresses like Aurora Paxton and the like.”

      Nikki grimaced. “I take it that is your brother’s current ladybird? You should not even know such things.”

      “Oh,” The girl lost her smile. “I thought you were different from the rest.” She motioned with her head toward the crowded room.

      She looked so downcast, that Nikki touched her arm. “I am, but, well never mind that. I hear your brother has guests? An Earl is it?”

      “Yes and an American gent.” Lindy smoothed the beads on her purse. “Maxwell thinks that I am both blind and deaf. If I step outside my door he yells at me. As if I would be so rude or immature as to spy on them or something.”

      “Well, it is an awkward position for him, I am sure. Being a bachelor, housing a young deb.”

      “Oh, he says they are unused to polite society, might express themselves too freely for my delicate ears.”

      The snort made Nikki ask, “You know your way around your brother.”

      “Yes. I see and hear quite a bit. Having men think you are stupid and naive has its advantages.”

      “Do tell-” Nikki settled back with one brow raised. Inwardly she was laughing, because the spunky young lady had just protested that she neither spied nor eavesdropped.

      The young deb talked for more than an hour.

* * * *

      Jessica sat in her father’s box, alone as always. She had recognized one of the men, the spies… she had passed in the foyer. She knew he was in the duke’s pay. She had seen him often enough.

      Trying to ignore the tension in her aching head, she stared blindly at the stage. Her father had instructed the maid on her wardrobe, and again, she was a walking advertisement of the Vanlare fortune.

      Jessica pitied the eyes of envy that looked up at her and detested the fawning smiles that would greet her during intermission. But Years ago she had perfected her poise; it was the only way she could go through her daily life with any sanity. Heaven knew that living with her father was enough to break anyone’s will.

      The cold heaviness of the trappings were like chains draped on her.

      Tonight she had stood as in front of the mirror while Dottie had reverently layered her from the skin out in the finest fabrics. Not reverence to her, of course, the maid touched each garment with such awe that Jessica often had to grit her teeth. From the silk of her sheer stockings to the short satin bloomers and lace corset, she became transformed into the memorial of her ancestors, the obsession of her father’s future.

      The golden gown molded her body, snug to the waist, then draped to the floor. The fabric shimmered to match the topaz twinkling in her upswept hair, around her throat, and wrists. A gossamer shawl of sheer sparkling ochroid floated around her bare shoulders, and rippled over the chair back, webbed finger-less gloves covered her palms and wrist.

      Her face became obscured by the artful application of white powder that was dusted over her exposed skin. The shoes on her feet, velvet covered with stiff gold mesh and glittering heels, to make sure her every step was watched and envied.

      Inside, Jessica was immune to outer layers. Her greatest fear, the reason for her pounding head… was that the once small hope, that marriage might bring her freedom, would instead, demand a grater sacrifice. It would take what little spirit she had hidden and leave her at the mercy of another’s control.

      Sighing, Jessica pushed the thoughts aside. She would dearly love to rub her temples, yet the sparkle when she raised her hand would likely draw every eye. She instead closed her eyes for a just a few moments then braced herself for leaving the box.

      The intermission had begun.

      The press of people in the foyer made Jessica panic. She smiled and fought to attend what the old Duchess of Lansing was saying about some charity. Her back against the wall, she gave the woman an answer before turning to deal with a few others trying to talk over the hundreds of voices.

      Her name seemed to be on every mouth. Jess attempted to sort through the crowd with her usual politeness. It was horribly humid. The sudden clutch of Lord Beagly’s hand in hers nearly did her in. He was a nice old fellow but the scent of camphor was so thick upon his clothing that it was difficult to breathe.

      Jessica had never, in all the difficult years, been unable to handle herself in any situation. Crowds were a part of her life. Yet, her heart suddenly started fluttering, then pounding hard, and sending blood surging to her head.

      She discreetly swallowed, feeling her mouth go dry. An overwhelming sense of alarm gripped her to the point that she trembled.

      The more they came at her, lords, ladies, faces, smiles… the deeper she drowned in the waves that were trying to overtake her.

      Just when Jessica felt blackness approaching, the crowd seemed to melt back.

      Her vision skewed. She saw colors expand, meld, and then float. Leaning her head against the wall, some part of her comprehend they had returned to the play, and that, had saved her from total humiliation.

      She drew deep even breaths, trying to still her trembling limbs. The urge to run, to scream, she pushed that deliberately, slowly, down, until it settled in her belly with the knot that formed there when she was old enough to understand she was as cadged as any helpless animal.

      How long she stood there, she did not know. The drained feeling that came, after the odd reaction, was even less tolerable. Stepping slowly from the wall Jessica searched in her handbag, and then pat her face with a hanky, having gone from perspiring to cold clamminess. Afterwards she reapplied the pressed powder; using the small mirror and trying to ignore the stark look in her eyes. Dear God, she could not lose control, not now.

      Chilled Jessica headed for the box but in two steps realized that she could not hold onto her composure. She stood in the alcove for horrified moments; half hearing the play, muffled sounds of applause and music soon faded back too.

      “Lady Jessica?”

      Jessica straightened and automatically pasted a smile on her face.

      “Lord Kilgore.” She nodded while her gaze went over his formal black and white. He was not one of the men she would ever have chosen.

      Kilgore carried himself with a certain air. There was also something in his aqua eyes, she admitted, that would not have suited her purpose at the time.

      He had close-cropped black hair, very aquiline features. Kilgore was not at all soft, indeed he was broad shouldered and quite athletic. That he supposedly housed the man her father had chosen made her groan inwardly, for she was not in her usual form.

      “Forgive me.” He looked at her face, really looked, not just at the jewels. And, even in the muted light, the Vanlare fortune sparkled. “I did not see you return to your box. Since you have no escort I came to assure myself of your welfare?”

      Jessica dipped her head. “Thank you. I am fine. Just a bit fatigued. In fact, I was debating and had decided to leave just as you appeared.”

      “Allow me to escort you to your coach.”

      She accepted.

      Walking beside the man, Jessica could feel him looking at her. She was relieved when they were out in the night. He held the coach door for her.

      Settled in, she thanked him with a cool smile. She was desperate to leave now, particularly under his close scrutiny. As much as she would have liked to know about the man her father choose, she was barely hanging onto her nerves. She shortened the adieu. 

* * * *

      Max nodded, standing there she drove off, wondering, that he found her looking so opposite than her usual self?

      He had observed her for years, yet he had avoided anything but politeness and she seemed to avoid him. That did not mean he had not admired her somewhat aloof, cool, exterior.

      Among their set, it was difficult to wear the mask at all times, in all moods, he had come to know that she certainly pulled it off. In fact, he thought her a snob. For a split second… he saw something different.

      If Galen had to wed her, Max was not about to let him sabotage the union.

      He had been thinking… and, he knew the game better than Galen did. He wanted to assure himself, as arrogant as it may seem that Jessica Rains was like him, that she had mastered the social game and could play it well enough to serve Galen in the end.

      Max headed back to his townhouse, and marveled at the irony of life. Wishing Galen back here, to take up his impoverished title, half-hoping he would find a rich heiress, maybe someone to dig him out of the grave he was buried in…

      He leaned his elbow on the window, looking out at the night. He had told Galen on that last trip to America that both he and Jayce would end up dead. Like Josh, who had been found stabbed to death by some cheaply bribed floozy. The riverboats, logging towns, hard, eyed clients they worked for was a certain death sentence.

      Yet Max He was forever changed, because he had met them, and they had saved his life. Both men had made him earn their respect before they would stop calling him English in that derogatory way. He had been a smug, rich, young man, fresh out of school and raised with all the privileges that came with being a sole heir.

      Stepping off that ship in America, he thought to visit New York society. He aimed to humor a few of his father’s old chums with a night of his presence. However he’d been dragged in an alley before he could reach the hotel, stripped of all except his drawers while he watched his trunk being drug off, and then his body was being thumped with ham like fists until Jayce, Josh, and Galen had showed up.

      He’d passed out and, woke up in the back room of a river front tavern, and he never did make it to a ball or rout. He left that country a different person—though and it was Galen and the brothers, who had challenged him to do it.

      The coach stopped. Max exited, bid the driver retire, and entered his townhouse, finding both Galen and Jayce in the study. Jayce was just by the garden doors, smoking a rolled cigarette. Galen reclined on the black sofa, one foot resting on the floor. He nursed a whiskey.

      Removing his neck cloth and cuff links, Max tossed them on the desk. He poured a brandy with one handed and removed his jacket with the other. Placing the jacket on the chair back he went round to brace his hips on the edge of the desk. Max took a sip, his gaze resting on Galen.

      Galen slowly eased up into a sitting position, his arm resting on the back of the sofa. “Was she there?”

      “Yes.” Max set his drink aside, casually crossing his arms. “Where did you end up?”

      “Went to see the old man.”

      Max grunted. “Is he still alive?”

      A ghost of a smile touched Galen's mouth. “Unfortunately.”

      “There was something different about her tonight.”

      “Who?” Jayce asked Max, having come back inside now sprawled in a chair.

      “Lady Jessica. She’s always a cool one, composed, unruffled.”

      “Well, she’s a rich woman,” Jayce mocked. “I expect she knows it well enough.”

      Max rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s not a snob, just, aloof. No one knows her. Bloody hell, who can see past all that splendor, right? She’s bloody dripping it. The Duke puts his stamp on things he owns.”

      “So, how come you never made to Vanlare's study?”

      Max looked at Galen who had spoken. “Like he said, I deduce, she picked men with... Shall we say manageable personalities? I must admit, I was bit disgruntled to find myself passed over.”

      Jayce grinned and eyed Max’s formal clothing. “I’ll bet you were, English.”

      “I’m not conceited,” Max defended dryly. “It’s just that if you know how the game works, then I’d be at the top of the list, surely.”

      Jayce was laughing at him, so Max gave up. He looked at Galen instead. “People don’t look at her. She’s not like her sisters. They were…stunning… quite beautiful. I hardly know if she is or not. But tonight I caught a glimpse of something...”

      “Your point in this?” Galen set his glass aside.

      “She’s in the same position you are. That’s my point.”

      “It’s not my problem,” Galen answered flatly.

      Max sighed. “If you must do it, than at least you should consider her part in it.”

      Galen's icy look answered that.

      Jayce cleared his throat then reached over and took the whiskey bottle. He headed out. “Turning in,” he muttered, shutting shut the door behind him.

      “It’s not the same thing Galen, not like…”

      “Isn’t it?”

      “No.” Max eyed his friend’s taut face, the coal black eyes.

      “Explain the difference to me.”

      Max paced a moment. “Your mother and Laparre were using you for the money. You had to do it because he—”

      “The only difference is the amount of the money, Max.” Galen grit out.

      “The fact that it’s mine instead of being spent on drugs my mother craved, or her lover’s gambling. The only difference is, I’m a grown man and he can’t beat me or drug me or…”

      “All right,” Max said quiet, holding up a hand. He couldn’t stand to see that look on Galen's face. He couldn’t hear it all again. “He’s going to die soon. He’ll rot in the grave. You’ll not be under his thumb. There’s no reason why you can’t turn this thing into something advantageous.”

      “Apparently, my friend,” Galen said dangerously, “You have never…” He stopped himself, cursed, then got up and left the room.

      Max went over and sat heavily down on the sofa. He leaned his head back, closing closed his eyes. He could probably fight the old man and get Galen out of it. Yes. He wasn’t all that intimidated by him. But the old man was going to die soon. That kept going through his head.

      If anyone deserved all that hoarded riches and fame, that wedding the Vanlare heiress would bring, it was Galen. Not some fop with his sliver spoon still hanging round his neck!

      Bloody hell. Galen should have been given his birthright. He’d suffered more than a man ought to. That’s what Max kept thinking. He just didn’t know anyway to help Galen untwist his mind and memory. He didn’t know how to make the man feel normal things. They had done a number on him, the Bitch Countess and her lover. They had taken him at sixteen, just the age to skew a young man’s perceptions and they had betrayed him in the worst way.

* * * *

      Upstairs, Galen paced the sitting room. Not fast, he simply walked back and forth. He shouldn’t have left the wide-open spaces of America. But he and Jayce had to face facts; they were going to end up like Josh sooner or later. They were running out of places to go and start over.

      Galen had felt that old surge of rage. He wanted to come back and take the title many times. It was the only rotten thing to show for the life he’d been given.

      He ran a hand through his silky hair. He was going to meet the heiress tomorrow; some formal dinner that was supposed to be so crowded no one would notice him. Right… He knew his grace better than that. Be seen, he’d said—seen with Lady Jessica.

      For all he was an Earl, Galen had nothing the rest of them did; pulled out of school at twelve, he and his twin Griffin had been exposed to fast crowds and debauched, decadent lifestyle. When his parents grew bored, they left. Half the time he hadn’t had decent food or clothing. He only knew the world he had lived in, despite the title, and that world was a twisted and dark nightmare.

      Galen shook his head, walking to the window. He wasn’t going to sink into it. He needed his wits about him. The old bastard was dead serious, he would see Galen hung or in prison. He was just that demented. Vanlare cared nothing for him personally, it was his stud service he needed.

      Galen stood silent by the window then, swarthy skin tense over his cheekbones as he caught sight of his reflection in the glass.

      What it showed was a tall and lean-honed body, wrapped in dark gold skin, broad of shoulder, ridged abdomen, and corded tight hips and flanks, pitch black, straight hair, tucked behind his ears, and reaching his shoulders. There was an arch to his brows, a deep set to his eyes, flair to his nostrils, and a high cut set of cheekbones a slight fullness of his lips.

      Singularly detached as he viewed the image…an image very like his mother. Only his jaw and chin were hard and squared, where hers had been heart shaped, and only the eyes, which the window could not reflect accurately…were eyes filled with cold disdain for the face and body he had been given.      
 
 
 

CHAPTER ONE

      The formal dinner brought a chance for Nikki to speak to Jessica. While guests were still arriving, people milling about, she whispered low, “It’s not good, Jess. “

      Jessica raised her fan whispering. “In a few words?”

      Nikki sighed. “Cold eyes, hard build, handsome, animal, and exotic.

      Jessica absorbed that a moment. “Source?”

      “Lady Lindy.”

      Jessica mentally admitted that was reliable. “Advice?”

      Nikki thought a moment. “Run?”

      Jessica laughed, quietly glancing at her, quite puzzled.

* * * *

      Nikki shrugged and moved away. She hardly knew what to say based on the girl’s information. The deb read entirely too much of the wrong thing. What seventeen-year old was aware of what animal magnetism, erotic appeal meant? Bloody hell, she didn’t know that much herself.

      Jessica hated formal dinners worse than anything did; the long tables lined with people, talking to guests on your left, on your right, across from you. She was invariably paired with the most insufferable bores or the shrill speaking gossips. The only break came when they seated her next to a man with nasal drip. Jessica shuddered inwardly then took her time trying to read the place cards.

      It did not surprise her at all when Sir Voiles pulled out her chair, nor when Lady Tackett scooted in on her right. She smiled at them both, resisting the urge to roll her eyes and groan.

      She assumed they were awaiting their host, standing at the head of the table; the host seemed to be waiting too. Jessica leaned forward and caught Nikki’s eye, who sat a bit down. Nikki nodded her head in a direction… frowning.

      Jessica had no idea what that meant… until she sat down and saw the empty chair across from her, then, she understood. It was her very good eyesight that let her read the place card. Lord Galen Wolfe, Earl of Blackcove.

      “Lady Tackett leaned over demanding in a shrill yell, “Are you well, my lady?"

      “I’m fine.” Jessica composed herself, wondering if she had gasped out loud.

      “You went quite pale.”

      That answered it. Jessica smiled, but it was soon gone.

      A rumble of chatter drifted down to nothing. Jessica could see Lady Tackett trying to peer over her she could not bring herself to turn her head. She sat facing that empty chair...

      Until he sat down.

      She had a general view of black silk before the hostess initiated the start of the meal.

      Barely able to taste, she made herself go through the motions. However, Lady Tackett set her nerves further on edge by whispering over and over, “Who is he?” Jessica did not recall what she said, but between courses, she did the polite back and fourth…until she realized she had to look across.

      He had the wineglass to his lips. His black eyes were boring into hers.

      Jessica felt her face flushing, not deeply, but most unusual for her.

      He lowered the wineglass then simply sat there, looking at her, with those scorching eyes.

      She glanced upward without meaning to, seeing silken black hair that lay to his shoulders, then, back down; a face exotic, swarthy, dangerous, and unique. Jessica made herself meet his gaze again, because, she had better get used to it, something told her. She wanted to make her own deal with this man.

      The one realization came a few moments later… that he had yet to stare at the rubies around her neck, or, in her roan hair. That was surprising.

      Her next un-summoned thought was that he was doubtless reflecting how unattractive she was.

      Jessica frowned and pulled her gaze away.

      She didn’t care. Her father had told her why he had chosen him.

      Yes, she could see it too. One did not have to know the exact definitions of those words, to get the gist of it. She’d seen a statue of a gleaming black panther among her father’s art, had admired it then for its grace and intense stare and predatory eyes. Now, she shuddered inwardly.

      The next few courses could have been dirt for all Jessica knew. She kept thinking, he’s looking at me, he’s looking at me. Me, not the jewels. And he was, he did. Even when she spoke to the people beside her, she could feel his pitch gaze.

      She did not hear his voice at all, until someone asked him a rather loud question. She wished they had not. His tone was deep, smooth, like black velvet. He strung together no more than five words, yet there was something in the timbre and depth that was sensual.

      She waited until dessert to try and catch Nikki’s eye again. It was easy enough. Nikki was leaning back slightly, waiting. Jessica used an old signal; she let her hand fall off her lap, and behind the chair she shaped a word. They worked out code for times like these, and times when the spies where too close for them to speak.

      Nikki almost made her laugh then. For she spelled a curse word, an explicit one she’d no doubt learned from the coachman.

      Jessica took a sip of wine to cover her amused reaction, and made the mistake of looking at the earl.

      He was watching.

      When the end of dinner came, Jessica saw he was walking round to join her. She observed that slow prowl but got herself composed when he reached her.

      “Lady Jessica.”

      “Lord Blackcove.”

      “Call me Galen, or Lord Galen, if you prefer.”

      When he put her hand on his arm to escort her out, she noted that her shoulder came mid point on his upper arm. Jessica also noticed that he was hard, warm. Neither of these things particularly helped her stay aloof.

      A towering, sleek, large, black panther.

      The hostess would play the piano while coffee and tea was served. Jessica followed his lead to the far corner, well off from everyone else. He released her arm and she sat on the plush settee. He too the chair facing her and the room.

      The music suited the drama of her situation.

      It was a vibrant, if not accurate piece that brought to mind stormy seas and hellish nightmares. It was ironic. No one could believe what it felt like to her, to finally meet the man her father had chosen. It felt wretched… absolutely, like watching her last faint hope whither into nothing.

      The dramatic music gave her a mental image of being locked in a cadge with a circling cat.

      Which is why she held her dignified pose and she kept her face blank.

      One could not show weakness to a man like her father, nor she surmised, like the one facing her.

      “You do not care for the music, Lady Jessica?”

      “It’s very nice,” She answered flatly.

      “When you are ready to leave, you must let me know.”

      She glanced at him then. He looked half bored. “I shall leave now, if you wish it.”

      His winged brow rose. “Not at all.”

      Tension in her tightened another notch. The man must know very well what type of father she had? What type of controlled life she’d lived? Did he wish her to be agreeable or not?

      She said carefully, coolly, “If you are ready to leave, Lord Galen then we shall do so.”

      “Very well.” He arose with lazy grace and escorted her to the foyer and placed her black cape over her shoulders.

      It was still fairly early. He signaled coach. She got in. Somehow, it did not surprise her when he climbed in also.

      It was worse, Jessica discovered, in the close confines of the coach.

      There was something predatory about him that kept her off balance. She was not able to relax, nor too much degree, remain collected and cool. Not with those eyes on her so intently.

      He definitely had eyes like she had never imagined. Who could? The rest of him… She was simply not going to try at the moment to put her own names to it. Yet In the vehicle it was obvious that he was tall and honed, with swarthy skin that glowed warmly. The taut trousers made it apparent that all of him was tightly muscled.

      The coach swayed. The clip clop of the hooves echoed in the twilight.

      The open window allowed just enough breezes to cool Jessica’s skin. Dressed in the black and silver gown, she had been too warm in the townhouse. Her hair was done in a twist, with tendrils escaping that blew against her brow and cheek. If he had not been with her, she would have enjoyed the privacy and respite. She looked across. Their eyes met.

      Jessica murmured, “Where are we going?”

      “Wherever you wish,” he answered smoothly.

      The evening light struck his eyes.

      That’s when Jessica realized something else in his expression. It so unsettled her, that she gazed at him for long moments in silence.

* * * *

      “Is something wrong?” Galen watched her eyes turn colors. It was remarkable; unnerving in a way that made him uneasy. They were some shade of green that had darkened visibly, not a trick of the light, something inward.

      Almost vaguely it seemed, she answered, “No. Shall we simply end the evening? I have a full day tomorrow.”

      “Yes,” he agreed. “I shall collect you for your ride at six.”

      “Very well.”

      The silence came again.

      Galen was the one to look away first. He had separated his mind and emotions long before he reached the dinner tonight, with careful and deliberate, mental exercises like an actor playing a role. The man, whom the Duke had threatened was very much present, the other was safely locked away.

      “My father has given you my schedule?”

      He answered yes, thinking that her voice was rich for a woman, smooth. “Did he explain things to you?”

      “My father explains himself to no one.” Her smile was frosty.

      “No?”

      “You will inform me, of course, of what he plans?”

      He shrugged, deciding to tell her a version of it. Galen laid it out as far as he knew… that he must escort her and give the appearance of intimacy between them, whatever it took, for the public to perceive that the choice had indeed been made. Ending with, the wedding/honeymoon trip to Twin Bells.

      She muttered, “I see.”

      Galen watched her eyes change again to a deep olive, and she seemed to grow stiffer. He read her inner tension by the strain at the corner of her mouth.

      When they arrived at the Mansion, he escorted her inside, and then bid her a formal adieu. By the time he was on his way to the Marquis townhouse, he had to acknowledge the fact that Jessica Vanlare was not what he expected. He agreed with Max, she was very good at holding her own.

* * * *

      Jessica made her way to her chambers. She could think of little besides what she had seen in the deep shadow of his gaze. All the while she was undressed and bathed, she kept seeing that abyss of dark treacherous shadows.

* * * *

      In the park, the following morning, Jessica rode beside him.

      They caused a stir.

      Society had been waiting for this for several years. Many of the men turning to stare had been turned down in the worst way by the duke. High bets had been on the books for ages at the clubs. Her own reputation as the ice queen, the snobbish princess, likely added to the speculation.

      No formal announcement had to be made. Society came to the obvious conclusion. Since only Vanlare approved her escorts, it was apparent the groom had been chosen.

      Without looking at him Jessica could recall exactly what he wore, -Black riding breeches, a black shirt, jacket, black riding boots, even his horse was black.

      She had been dressed in her bay colored habit with a white ruffled blouse. Her hat cocked a bit to the side; gloves and boots were a slightly darker shade. Her hair was braided and pulled back in a bun. The habit was the only garment she owned that jewels were not required, beyond the ruby broach in her jabot.

      As they went though the be seen ritual, she noted that he was not overly friendly, nor was he rude, but he managed to keep greetings to a polite nod.

      Jessica supposed that people looking in his expression might well get the message and be intimidated anyway. She certainly noticed that he had full command of the stallion he rode, there was no mistaking that he was a man who remained in control. Having been around her father so often, witnessing his wild rages, she had to admire, albeit grudgingly, that the man had grace and ease, and still managed to be intimidating.

      When they had ridden off the path and came out at a small clearing, Jessica stopped because he did.

      She watched him dismount, allowing his horse to graze. He walked over, standing very close, even laying his hand on the horse’s neck.

      “Would you like to dismount?”

      She did so, not waiting for him to help her down.

      She took the mare a distance away securing the reins then turned.

      He leaned with his boot sole against a large oak trunk.

      Jessica half sat down on high stump, resting her buttocks on it mostly, bracing her booted feet in the dirt. She lazily tapped her riding quirt against her skirt. Looking out at nothing in particular.

      It was a good time, perhaps their only private moment, to speak with him.

      “You did not accept for the fortune. Did you, my lord?”

      “No,” he murmured.

      “My father has something else you want?”

      “…Yes.”

      “So,” Jessica had thought of it all night. She knew her father in some respects. “—He is blackmailing you in some fashion?”

      “Yes.”

      She wasn’t at all surprised. It also took her half the night to think that through. “And will you be free of him—when?”

      “When you carry the first heir, he will have no more hold on me.”

      She turned slowly and faced him, taking up much the same position as before. This time she held the quirt in her hands, rolling it slightly as she considered him.

      “Did he tell you, that he is ill?”

      Galen shrugged. “After a fashion.”

      She nodded. “I should like to make a deal with you also.” 

      Galen was immediately on guard. He scanned her visually, watching a strand of hair blow loose and touch her cheek. There was nothing in her face to read. “Come over here.”

      Her brow went up as she walked over and stood, under the shade of the tree, close to him.

      He moved his gaze over her face, wondering why she wore powder, yet knowing many women who painted themselves worse. One thing he hated was perfume, it turned his stomach like nothing else, and the sharp pungent kind offended him worse. But he smelled peaches when the breeze crossed her. He didn’t know a woman who smelled like fruit.

      He took his time examining her angular face, looking at the shape of her odd eyes. Her mouth was not full, but she held it tense when irritated. He saw the mixed strands of hair under the hat, several colors of bronze and red and white. He visually traced her jaw and chin, the slim nose. She was twenty-four the Duke said.

      “What sort of bargain?”

* * * *

      Jessica let her breath out slow. She’d been holding it while he looked at her. It was a new experience, without her dripping in jewels. She supposed it was easier to see her in the daylight. She’d never felt as exposed as she had in those few moments.

      “You have some mixed blood,” she said absently.

      “Spanish,” he supplied.

      She nodded, able to see it in his bones and skin color. There was still a wholly exotic look to him. His mouth she noted, up close, was not full in a soft way, but in a way that made her uncomfortable.

      She met his eyes instead. “After my father is dead and we have done according to his he wishes, I should like something. And only you can give it to me.”

      He smiled cynically. “I thought I was?”

      She flushed. “The heir is for him, did you not gather that?”

      “Yes. What do you get out of it, from the old man?”

      “Nothing,” she admitted candidly. “Except, that he will finally have what he wants, and will stop ranting about it.”

      “Do you really believe that?”

      “No. Not until he is dead.” Her smile was bitter. “You have to know my father as I do. Even then, he will probably find a way to control things.”

      “Why didn’t you didn’t run off, like your sisters?”

      “He watches me, his spies do, waking and sleep.” She shrugged. “Besides, he emphasized often enough, that the end of the earth would not get me out of his reach. I know that to be true.”

      Galen's brow rose slowly.

      She looked away, and then paced a bit. “He controls everything, what I wear, whom I speak to, where I go. He has the servants search my room, my things. I—” She paused, shook her head. “I tried to find a suitable husband. Eight years, I have tried…”

      “He said they were weak.”

      She looked away. “Maybe they had vices, weakness, but they were not the way he describes them. Any other family would consider them suitable, reputable.” She stopped, looked down a moment in thought. “He wanted someone controlling like himself.”

      “I’m nothing like him.”

      He said it with such loathing that Jessica jerked her eyes to his. Yes, she understood his reaction.

      “You have obviously met him. Yet, it is a small taste of what I have lived with. Do not, for a moment, think his obsession has fogged his brain. He is very shrewd and calculating.”

      “I got the picture clear enough.” His contempt for the man was clear.

      “If there is a way that I can help you, I will,” Jessica told him truthfully, “I have no way out of it. I am his last daughter legally, his heir until the-” she chewed her lip, then went on carefully, “the only way out of his grip for me, is to follow his plan, then when he dies, hope that you and I may deal well enough together, to come to an agreement on our future.”

      Galen said flatly, “You can’t help me. I’ve made the deal with him because he has the upper hand… for the moment. When you carry the first heir. I get my freedom.”

      She glanced at him. “I don’t want the money. I don’t want any of it. I want my freedom too.”

      His brow rose. “Since you must birth the heir, I think that is rather complicated. But understand. I’m not really concerned about what you do, or what your plans are. I realize it sounds cold, but it’s the truth.”

      His eyes pinned her. “I’m not agreeing to anything beyond his stipulations. I told him and I am telling you, though it’s not money he’s giving me, to use an analogy, you get what he paid for, nothing else. I’m not one of those Lords who came willingly to him, blinded by greed. He didn’t mince words with me, and I’m not going to with you. - Don’t try to manipulate me into anything else.”

      “Actually,” she said coldly, disliking his assumptions, and having heard that speech dripping with ice. “I was trying for a bit of honesty between us.”

      She turned to fetch her mare. “I realize as his daughter and a stranger, you may well suspect me of having some of his traits. I assure you, I do not have that luxury.”

      By the time she was mounted, Galen was also getting on his horse. They rode back the way they had come.

      Tension hung thick between them, both their faces set in cold lines.

      They would have to deal with each other later, at the Wheelock’s ball.

      Jessica thought with some seething and frustration, that such situations like these—her father would find highly entertaining. In fact, he doubtless knew it when he chosen the man.

      At least now, she knew for certain… he was unlike the others.

* * * *

      Lady Lindy was in the library. For once, not reading, pondering the things Lady Nikki had shared with her. By now Lindy was piecing things together. It boggled her mind that the old man, after all this time, would choose Lord Blackcove.

      Lindy absently thumbed the pages of the book on her lap. If she did not live under the same roof with them. Perhaps she would not regard it. Well, beyond the fact he was a stranger to everyone.

      Except Maxwell—not knowing her brother all that well, she tried to bring some logical reason to her brain that he should have acquaintances like the American and the Earl.

      The problem for Lindy was that Max was so-Marquis-ish.

      He could be bloody arrogant at times. He was one of the prizes one might say, among the elite. Since Max was constantly harping about her creating a scandal or not coming up to scratch… he certainly would have nothing in his own background to hide… would he?

      That thinking brought her right around to his choice of friends, how they became friends? She simply could not find a reasonable answer.

      She dare not go so far as brand Max a prig. No man with his taste in females could be that. He was blasted arrogant and terribly boorish when it came to ringing a peel over her head. He was constantly imagining she was going to cause some great scandal.

      Pish! Females like herself were hardly interesting enough to society to bother with.

* * * *

      Later that night, she attended a ball with Max. Lindy saw that her brother was about to approach Lady Jessica and Lord Blackcove. He paused, suggesting she get herself some punch.

      She looked up at him though her glasses. “He is going to wed her, is he not? So you had better stop acting as if he is some sort of- well- who knows what you think?”

      Max looked at her, blinking at the glare on the glasses as he hissed, “I am very proud of the few real friends I have.”

      “Then stop acting as if you are not. Let us join them.”

      “The only reason I draw the line at our home is for propriety. “ He narrowed his gaze at her “I have gotten you a companion, and you completely disregard her. Half the time she does not know where you are.”

      “Oh, pooh, you are afraid I will faint if someone says bloody hell in my hearing. Look at me. Do I look like a smashing success? A milk and water miss? A shrinking violet?”

      “That’s hardly the point.”

      “Well, we are not at home now. I wish to get to know Lady Jessica better…so?”

      He apparently gave up approached the couple.

      Max introduced his sister then asked Jessica to dance, because he was aware Galen did not. He gave Lindy a warning glance before he led the Lady out on the floor.

* * * *

      Lindy pushed her glasses up and gazed at the Earl of Blackcove.

      Galen tried to dismiss her gaze. She was nearly at his shoulder, apparently trying to see him better.

      “Why did Lord Albert choose you?”

      “Because of my charm,” he said flatly watching Max and Jessica gliding rounds the floor.

      “Where is your American friend? “

      “Getting drunk.”

      She smiled. “How did you meet Max?”

      “We met when he did his tour.” That was and sounded like, a much-rehearsed answer.

      Lindy turned watched the couple too. She was dressed nice herself tonight with her red hair braided on her head, wearing a lovely cream silk gown with sheer sleeves.

      But who could compare to the Vanlare heiress?

      “It’s most odd, you know? Everyone has already deduced that you have been chosen. It rather upsets those who were not. Most outrank you, very few of them know anything of your background, Lady Jessica and the Vanlare fortune has become like a legend. Eight seasons is a long time to hold out.”

      He looked at her. His brow rose.

      She smiled again. “One can rather guess why you were chosen, in comparison to the others.” She shrugged.

      He looked away. “Can one?”

      “Well of course,” her tone drew his gaze again.

      No one could be more surprised, when she removed her glasses to clean them and glanced up, revealing very beautiful gray eyes surrounded by long red lashes.

      Putting them back on she murmured, “You are the ideal, after all.”

      She walked off then.

* * * *

      Galen stared after her, resisting the urge to shake his head.

      “Thank you,” Max said while he returned Jessica to Galen's side.

      Looking around he asked dryly, “Did you drown m’sister in the punch bowl or did she sneak off to the library?”

      Galen nodded toward a group of younger guests.

      Max sighed. “Excuse me.” He left, heading in that direction.

      They both watched him go and speak to his sister.

      He moved on then, and Jessica watched the females looking at him. It did not escape her notice that many were making a point to come by and speak to Galen too; some of them now waltzing by were craning their necks to gawk.

      She opened her fan and glanced aside at the Earl.

      He wore black of course. But having said that, he stood out. There was something stiff, starched about the men present, some sameness that made them blend. Galen looked relaxed, yet, not the eyes. She was beginning to read them and she could tell that he was very much aware of everything going on in the room.

      She leisurely fanned herself, feeling strands of hair blow against her temple and cheek. Tonight she wore blue; sapphires and diamonds and white lace gloves, white satin shoes glittering. Her hair was waved, pulled back and held by sapphire combs. She was in all the obvious ways, the Vanlare heir. And—standing beside him, the jewels may well have been boulders hanging about her neck.

* * * *

      Galen had noticed it, Not just when she was dancing, the jewels were glittering all over, but when he had collected her from the house. He understood why there were outriders and people watching her. She wore a fortune on her person.

      His long gaze apparently drew a look from her, though she did not stop slowly fanning.

      “There is a card room if you wish to play.”

      His gaze flickered over her face. “Why do you wear that thick face powder?”

      She flushed. “It’s not my choice. Then again, since I am not of the beauty my sister’s were, I would have to wear it to cover my imperfect skin.”

      “No one looks at you anyway.”

      She smiled tightly. “That is an honestly—spiteful—thing to say. You are correct, the jewels hypnotize them.” She flicked her fan toward the crowd.

      The tightness in her voice was evident. Galen told himself he wasn’t here to be nice. He bloody well didn’t intend to forget why he found himself the object of so much curiosity and whispers. He already was beginning to comprehend that anytime he was with her, it was going to happen.

      The old man must be eating it up. Well he damn sure wasn’t. Galen could feel the eyes moving on him in ways that brought back the wrong kids of feelings. He appreciated why she pretended not to notice her every move was watched. There wasn’t a whole lot they could do about it. Particularly since it was obvious he had the duke’s approval.

      The duke planned on putting a formal notice of the betrothal in the papers soon.

      Galen imagined the real bloody circus would start then.

      “I was stating a fact,” he found himself saying.

      “Were you?” She said coolly, “Since I have been me for my whole life, it is more like stating the obvious. I hardly need someone to make me aware of it.”

      He cursed.

      Jessica looked at him.

      He smiled very coldly.

      “You're wasting your time taking your bitterness out on me.” She held his gaze. “As you say, I cannot do anything about it.” She added grimly, “As much as I should like to walk off this very moment, it would be considered rude; moreover, my father’s eyes would see it. He would be most displeased with me. So I shall remind you again, that you may find the card room if you wish.”

      Her eyes had changed colors again, Galen marveled that it was the only outward sign of her emotions. “You may not be like him, but you got your own brand, of bitchiness.”

      Her face warmed. “Excuse me.” She slowly, walked away from him.

      Galen cursed again; wondering if what she said was true. That walking from him was some kind of social breech that her father would find out and be angry? He set his jaw and watched her make her way around the room.

      No one could miss the glitter, nor, that counterfeit smile.

      He frowned and saw her do something odd. She stepped back from a group of people and was apparently having a conversation with a large urn. Since the urn was near some velvet drapes, he was probably the only one that noticed.

      Galen watched this go on for some time before she moved away. He did not watch her then, but the drapes, somehow it was not surprising when a brown haired woman emerged. She was young, about twenty-three, had dark sable brown hair and was somewhat taller than most of the ladies. He vaguely remembered her from the formal dinner.

      He turned to watch Jessica again, she seemed to be converged on by a group of people. She nodded, smiled. He felt a tightening in his guts at the way they almost clawed their way closer. Galen felt suffocated just watching it happen.

      “How is it so far?” Max drew his attention.

      “What?”

      “You and Lady Jessica“

      Galen stared at him. “How should it be?”

      Max sighed. “Figured you would make the best of it. After all, you’ll legally be her husband, father her children you know… that sort of thing.”

      “That’s got nothing to do with anything, but the old man.”

      “Jesus,” Max muttered “do you have to be so cold blooded about this?”

      “That’s what it is,” Galen reminded him. “He’s blackmailing me, remember?”

      “Yeah I do. But it could make all the difference how you handle yourself.”

      “To whom? The outcome is the same. Same reasons, same outcome. I give him what he wants, he gives me the warrants, that's it.”

      “To Lady Jessica,” Max said quietly. “Why make it harder for her, she’s in the same fix?”

      Galen's eyes were flat. “What do you expect me to do, Max, take advantage of the situation and pretend I am a willing suitor?”

      Max looked away. “I don’t why I bother talking to you like this. You don’t want anything to change. You just want to keep on seeing everything through the past.”

      Galen didn’t want to argue with him. “Let it go, Max. You’re starting to sound like an old woman.”

      Max laughed, shook his head. “Must be Lindy twisting my brain up.”

      “What’s the ideal?”

      “What?” Max frowned at him.

      “The Ideal, that’s what your sister said.”

      Max winced. “In what context? I’m almost afraid to ask.”

      Galen told him what she had said.

      Max laughed. “At her age it’s probably something out of a novel, dark brooding heroes with tortured souls.” Max lost his smile and said, “Sorry that was…”

      Galen shrugged. He looked over to where he had last seen the red head. She was talking to the brown haired woman from the drapery.

      They both turned looked at him, which made him uneasy.

      Lady Lindy came toward them, he turned to the crowd to try and spot Lady Jessica.

      Max scolded her for what she had said to Galen.

      Lindy answered, “I thought men liked their ego stroked. By the by, Max. Your mistress was in the park this morning.”

      “All right, brat.” Max took her arm. “I think we are taking our leave.”

      “Oh, goody.” His sister ginned.

      Galen nodded to Max and they left. He started to walk toward the spot he had last seen Jessica. He nodded in much the same formal manner when people spoke, but avoided conversation. He walked almost all the way around before he saw her standing out in the hall.

      He stepped out, in time to see her lean back against the wall in a shallow alcove with a window. She had taken off her gloves and was rubbing her temples.

      He made no sound as he approached.

      Jessica lazily opened her eyes. She pinched the bridge of her nose once, and then lowered her hands.

      “Ready to leave?” His deep voice seemed quiet in the small space.

      “Yes.” She looked away from him and down while she pulled on her gloves.

      Galen did not bother going through the front doors but walked her out a nearby exit, around the walkway, to the carriages. Inside the coach, he studied her face, the light from the street lamps flickered over it.

      “I’m not one of your polite well-breed gentlemen,” he murmured.

      “So I noticed.”

      “I’m not making excuses. Just stating facts. I have a title, end of story.”

      She lowered the window to get air. Her head was hurting. “Nothing is that simple. People’s lives are always more complex than the assumption.”

      He said nothing to that.

      “Max told me you were schoolmates before your parents took you out. He said your life was complicated and different.”

      “Did he?”

      She looked at him. “You needn’t get sarcastic, that is all he said.” She rubbed the side of her head.

      “Why don’t you miss a few amusements or something, you obviously need a break.”

      She almost laughed, “My father decides my schedule.”

      “Since I am your escort, I’ll see what I can work around it.”

      She raised her brow, and then winced, because it hurt.

      “I’m very good at avoiding spies.”

      “Are you?”

      Yes. Even the duke’s.”

      Her sigh was doubtful, but she was too miserable to debate it.

      She laid her head back against the cushions. Bother trying to play the role for him, she thought. Her head was throbbing.

      They did not speak until he told her goodnight in the foyer.

CHAPTER TWO

      Jayce had not gotten drunk.

      He actually walked around London seeing a bit more than the stuffy clubs and elaborate mansions, and found there was quite a bit of fascination with his accent and country, of course his clothing made him stick out like a sore thumb, even if he kept his mouth shut.

      He didn’t tonight; he found the more common classes a sight more interesting than the aristocracy. He spent time talking to shop keepers, dock workers, a few artists who sold their work on the street. He ate at a nice hotel, and then returned to the townhouse.

      He was in the upper sitting room when Galen returned.

      “I thought shindigs lasted till the wee hours?”

      “The Lady had a headache.” Galen went to his chamber, leaving the door open so they could talk, while he changed into nothing but a pair of black trousers.

      He padded barefoot back into the sitting room and sat down on the settee, helping himself to Jayce's coffee. He couldn’t abide tea.

      “What’s news?” Jayce eyed him while he propped his feet on the low table.

      Galen relayed what Jessica had said about the old man controlling her life. He told him what he had said to her at the ball. Jake winced. Galen told him, what Max had said, his little bits of advice and observation.

      Jayce rubbed his finger down his Roman nose, reflecting, “Remember that place we went to in Denver, the one with green silk walls?”

      “Yes.”

      “I saw your face before you went in there, with the woman, is that how it is? “

      Galen took a drink of coffee. “Pretty much.”

      Jayce remembered the woman’s face too, a bit confused and anxious.

      “Maybe it’s just that type, you know? The ones that are all over you before you even see them?”

      “It doesn’t matter anyway.”

      “You know,” Jayce mused, “If we was in America and ran into a man like the Duke; we’d turn the tables real fast and put the fear of God in him. He’d hand over those papers quick enough.”

      “This isn’t America.”

      “She’s not a Paris whore.”

      Galen stared at him. “They weren’t the whore. I was.”

      “Don’t be a sonofabitch, I’m trying to have a conversation here,” Jayce grumbled.

      Galen smiled, but covered it by taking another sip from his cup. “By all means, converse.”

      “You're going through with this for your own reasons. I know you better than Max does. I’ve seen you take the enemy down without a sound.”

      “I killed Laparre.”

      Jayce studied on that. “Yes, I believe you told me once.”

      “He’s got proof, no matter how distorted.”

      “Tell me this, what are you going to do about her? I mean, after the old man dies or whatever ends it?”

      “She’s not my problem.”

      “Legally she’ll be your wife.”

      “She’ll have the money and everything, properties, businesses or whatever. She’ll be set.”

      “I don’t know, Galen. These English ladies ain’t like the ones you’ve had. “

      “She’ll still be a rich heiress, only she won’t have to tolerate the old man. That’s more than she has now, because he controls everything.”

      Jayce studied him. Galen wasn’t thinking the way he was. He still figured the man could get out somehow. It wasn’t like him to submit. He was aware when he was talking to a wall though. “I’m turning in.” He arose and went to his room.

      Galen sat there a moment, and then went to his own chamber. He’d managed to piss off just about everybody tonight…that was pretty much his standard score.  

* * * *

      Galen collected her for the scheduled musical. Except, as soon as they arrived, he led her around the back, into a black hack.

      Jessica was too surprised and said nothing they drove off.

      “How's the headache?”

      “Milder.” She unpinned her hat and laid it in her lap. It felt heavy anyway.

      They ended up at a little cafe for lunch, then walking several blocks before getting back in the hack, and riding to the Marquis house.

      Again she did not comment when he led her through the back garden doors, and into a rear sitting room. Leaving the French doors open, Galen told her to sit.

      She sat down on thick cushioned sofa and shrugged off her light hip length jacket. Her gown was pale rose, fairly light, compared to most of her wardrobe. She watched him roll up his sleeves before telling her he’d be back.

      Jessica looked around the room. The Marquis was wealthy but this room was so cozy, tasteful. The walls were mint green with cottage prints and the fabrics were flowered, with clean lines, no frills. The furnishings were mostly rattans and the air and light from the doors made it seem so relaxing.

      Galen brought the coffee in and poured two cups. He watched her hold the strands of pearls out of the way while she sipped.

      “Why don’t you take them off, put them in your bag?”

      She did. All of her jewelry, until the handbag was bulging.

      Listening to the sound of birds and tic of the clock, Jessica found herself leaning back, relaxing. The scented breeze lulled her and from under her lashes she watched him walk to the open door and light a cheroot.

      Jessica eyed him up and down as he stood with his back to her. Sunlight glinting off his hair, he was broad shouldered, lean hipped, and the snug fit of his trousers make it impossible not to notice again how taut his shape was.

      She looked away from him, frowning at the thoughts creeping in her mind. She would have to be intimate with him. It was inescapable.

      There were things in expression that made her dread it. It wasn’t just that they were virtual strangers, something that made her wish she could uncover more, at least something to expect? If she had some inkling how he would be, she could brace herself, prepare her mind to accept it.

      Her father talked only of the heir, God knew that the instructors and such, who had trained them for society, had not mentioned anything.

      She hated being this old, this ignorant.

      Part of it was, of course, that no one really touched her. Her mother had been too ill to hold her, and too preoccupied to notice. Her father had always been distant and cold. The men she had encouraged to apply for her hand? They had been too polite, and too bothered about offending her, and losing their chance at the fortune, to do anything else. Personal maids stroked the jewels and caressed the gowns, they were very deft helping her dress, doing her hair, and she supposed she was blessed she was allowed to bath herself. But touching and touching, were not the same things.

      Having lived with her father, she could handle not controlling things. She knew what to expect, and nothing he did surprised her. The man across the room from her was entirely different, he made her nervous, he made her angry, he even insulted her…and she couldn’t pin him down, because he also spent much of time, looking at her.

      Jessica thought of Nikki then, wed to her older husband. Nikki had hinted that she was still as pure as the day she wed. She told Jessica that if the family found out it would be a tool for them to use against her. She couldn’t ask Nikki anything. Besides, something told her that no one could figure out what a man like Galen Wolfe was really like.

      He was more aloof than she was.

      Tired of her own thoughts, not wishing to bring on another headache, Jessica closed her eyes and breathed deep to relax her body.

      She wasn’t aware when she drifted off to sleep. Used to being watched over, she didn’t usually nod off in company, but the stress of late had stolen what few hours she did manage to get.

* * * *

      Galen turned and saw her with her head back, her eyes closed and a slight frown between her brows. She was sitting up.

      He walked quietly over and moved her body to a reclining position. She was so limp she didn’t seem to notice. He looked down at her a long while, particularly at her face. Some of the powder had come off on the pillow; there was peach skin with light freckles.

      He raised his brow but walked over to the chair and propped his feet on a low table. He lay his head against the chair back, watched her sleep beneath his thick lashes. Eventually, he too drifted off.

* * * *

      The only one to witness this was Jayce. He was walking the garden path, smoking a cigarette, when he spied the open door. Quietly he walked toward them. Once his eyes moved from the sofa to the chair, he stood there a few moments. He saw the woman roll to her side and dislodge a long lock of hair that slid over her cheek. She reached up and pushed it aside. Her knees bent in a way that made Jayce smile. She tucked her hands under the cushion.

      He looked at her exposed shoes and thought the ankle boots must be tight and uncomfortable. He glanced at Galen, who always slept like he was merely resting his eyes. He wasn’t going to speculate what they were doing here like this. He’d probably be wrong anyway. He turned, walked quietly back the way he had come.

* * * *

      Galen awoke before Jessica did. Opening his eyes slowly, then stared across at the mantle clock. They had slept for two hours.

      He raised his head, glancing at the sofa. She was on her side, most of her hair down and laying half over her face. Her hem was up around her knees, revealing shapely legs in sheer stockings. He arose then padded over, squatting down to awake her, and not knowing how she was when someone did. Some people awoke easy, others jumped.

      He reached to move the hair off her face and push it behind her back.

      It was cool, and smelled of peaches. He studied its mixed color lying on his palm and fingers, strange, like her eyes. It was unique.

      Galen swept her hair back. A strand caught on her lips and he used his fingers to pull it loose and lift it away. Most of the powder was off except for some near her hairline. Her entire face was lightly freckled, the skin was dewy smooth except for tiny lines beside her mouth.

      “Jessica,” he called her name softly.

      Her eyes opened wide revealing light green flecks.

      “Jessica?” He searched her face.

      She blinked several times, and it seemed to him, with each one, that her eyes got a bit darker.

      She finally focused on his visage.” I fell asleep?” She husked, then cleared her throat and licked her lips.

      He nodded and moved to stand. She sat up. Her hands went to her hair. She grimaced and stood searching for the combs and eventually finding them.

      Galen sat back down while she dumped out all the jewels, then she carried everything to an oval mirror. She put the jewels back on and powdered her face.

      “I can’t do my hair,” she muttered, trying to get the shoulder length of it up.

      He arose and walked over to stand behind her.

      Jessica stiffened when he scrapped his fingers through it and lifted it, tucking a comb in, then twisting it, and tucking another. In no time he had a reasonably good style fashioned.

      Their eyes met in the mirror.

      He’d touched her. Her scalp was still tingling.

      Galen's eyes went over her powdered face. “We could eat at the hotel or wait till after the play?”

      She dropped her eyes from his face. “After, I suppose. I’ve no wish to press my luck. There is a coachman still waiting at Lady Greenfield’s for us. I don‘t dare return home and change into something suitable.”

      He smiled, but she didn’t see it.

      They departed, after he roused the dozing hack driver, who was parked at the corner. Dropped off again at a back street, Jessica felt quite silly cutting across lawns, through gardens, until they went round the Greenfield house.

      The coachmen and guards did not look amused.

      “The theater,” Galen ordered, handing her inside before joining her.

      Jessica found he hat in the floor, and worked some of the wired ribbon off that was jeweled. She could see his amused eyes, though he did not smile. Had she not slept so long, she could have gone home and changed without much speculation, as it was, she dare not miss two events on her schedule.

* * * *

      The following week the announcement was in the papers.

      The betrothal was official.

      Both Galen and Jessica read it was some amazement, since it read as if the person had conducted a long interview with the parties themselves.

      The one notable thing about the article was the lack of background on Galen. It merely stated the Earl of Blackcove was home from abroad. He had been born in Dover. It went on to say, that the Earl had been known to Lord Albert for many a year, but that it was not until his return to England, that he had met, and lost his heart… to the Vanlare heiress.

      Jessica winced at this, as she had breakfast. She did not think he would be amused by it either. She almost dreaded him collecting her for their ride. Worse yet, she dreaded the masses that would descend on them now.

* * * *

      Galen had read it. Everyone in the Marquis house seemed to be at the table, lingering over it. Even Lady Lindy, who was not usually there when they gathered, sat between her brother and Jayce reading it.

      “I don’t envy you today.” Max finally put down the paper, and lifted his coffee. “Everyone will be falling all over you. The man who will control the Vanlare fortune! That makes you as lofty in their eyes, as old Albert himself.”

      “It says here,” Lindy cut in. “that there is to be an engagement ball at the assembly rooms.” She looked up, her brows arched above her lenses. “Good God! You don’t suppose the old goat will come himself, do you?”

      “Lindy.” Max scolded.

      She grunted. “Give over, Max. We all know he is an evil old man.” She tossed the paper down and propped her elbows on the table. “You must learn to dance by tonight, my Lord. You will have to lead out at your own ball.”

      Galen looked at Max.

      Jayce was chuckling, until Lindy turned to him and announced, “And you, Mr. Barrette. You must get a formal suit, to honor your friend here. I don’t suppose you waltz?”

      “No.” 
She smiled at him. “I shall be glad to teach you.”

      “Lindy,” Max said again.

      Lindy slowly turned to her brother. “Maxwell, I am seventeen, not four. I would consider it a kindness, if you did not call me down in front of guests, as if I were.” She stood up, shoved her chair back, and then stormed out of the room.

      Max sighed, resting his palms beside his plate. He could feel their eyes on him. “Excuse me, I’ll be back in a moment.” He arose and went in search of his sister.

      Jayce glanced at Galen. Far from a quiet soothing, they could hear slippers running, a door slamming, and Max, apparently beating on it. There was shouting, a bit of cursing, from both of them, and then...it grew quiet.

      “Think he strangled her?” Jayce muttered, “Must be that red hair of hers.” He grunted. He heard Max call for her companion. Who, in his opinion, was less than diligent, more often than not, absent.

      “They provoke each other.” Galen shrugged, finishing his meal.

      Sometime later, Max returned, looking as flawless and fresh as ever. He sat down and filled his coffee cup. “Be in the music room at one, Jayce. And do not be late.”

      Jayce froze in mid bite.

      Those aqua eyes pinned him. “One,” Max repeated, and then told Galen, “I suggest you forgo your morning ride, and collect Jessica and bring her here.”

      “I’m not dancing.” Galen let him know.

      Max simply grunted and finished his coffee.

* * * *

      Lord Albert was in the hall when Galen informed Jessica of the change of plan. She went upstairs, without asking her father first.

      The two men locked gazes for a long time, Lord Albert struggling apparently, with the reality of what was happening. Able to read him perfectly, Galen let him know it. He relished the fact that Jessica had not questioned him, nor had she waited for her father to argue his own prearranged schedule. He wasn’t sure why she did it, but he damn sure used it, to smile coldly, smugly, at the man.

      Finally Lord Albert growled, “Do not have her arrive late at the betrothal ball.” He tossed a box at Galen.

      Inside was an antique thin band that was surprisingly tasteful.

      Galen merely dipped his head before the old man thumped into the study and slammed the door.

* * * *

      Jessica looked around for the maid but did not see her anywhere. She opened the wardrobes and stared at the array of rich clothing. At length she found a white walking dress, with a low square neckline and sheer overskirt. She struggled out of the habit and was half dressed before Dottie showed up.

      The maid looked none too pleased. She finished assisting her, then combed Jessica’s hair and arranged it in a pouf with long strands trailing at her nape, a few wisps by her temples.

      She assisted with the white half boots, and as if she had been dying to say something, the woman groused, “If you wish to make it to the ball on time, you must return by six.”

      Jessica ignored her and collected her purse and hurried below. She was halfway down before she realized that she had not replaced the face powder. She paused, and half turned, then shrugged and went on to meet Galen in the foyer.

      She accepted the band; having seen it often enough, as her father caressed it. There would be a ring with a set upon their wedding, but the betrothal ring meant nothing to either of them.

* * * *

      Galen noticed the lack of cosmetics.

      In the closed coach, the late morning light bathed her face in a manner that was flattering. He had seen too many female faces, and bodies, in his mind to care what was beautiful or attractive. He accepted that most men had a different opinion about it. Paintings were usually of females he did not have a particular reaction to. His mother had been beautiful on the outside, dark, alluring, her inside was corrupt, weak and foul.

      He didn’t remember all the women after he learned to shut down his feelings. However he did have aversions, to different scents and sounds, odd things that brought it up in his subconscious. There were smells; some he had detected in that Bordello Jayce had referred to. It was a mixture of strong sex, stale perfume, and sweat… and it could make his stomach roll.

      It reminded him of countless females, who paid him as a young man, for hours of sex but did not bother to bathe themselves in between, or whose hygiene had been so lacking beforehand, they covered it with strong scent. There was a dank scent of darkness that revolted him because of the cellar apartments they had occupied. …He had only to think of doing it against his innate will and the heavy, cold iron doors inside, came down.

      Jessica turned from looking out the window and glanced at him. He was already able to discern that tension, nervousness, and most negative feelings turned her eyes darker. When her guard was down, her mood pleasant, they got lighter. When she had awakened after sleeping, he supposed that it was the only time in which she was not wearing her social mask, or having to be on alert.

      As if uncomfortable under his gaze, Jessica looked out the window and murmured, “People do not look at me. Why, do you do stare at me so often?”

      “Because I’m rude.”

      She recognized that was a flip answer, so she did not press it, she sighed instead and enjoyed the fact that she was not going to have to face the crowds until tonight.

      Then, in public, she would have to play the fairy tale written in the papers. It was like her father to do that; build some sort of enviable story around it. In spite of the fact that matches were made for practical reasons, he enjoyed anything that showed the world he did not have to follow anyone’s rules but his own.

      Too, it gave the impression that he had indulged his daughters’ wishes—that he had cared if the man had feelings for her. In Jessica’s cynical thoughts she could see him this morning, laughing at the article, relishing that he could make people believe anything he chose to.

      “I watch people, because it’s how I read them.”

      She cast him a quick glance. “It is no doubt how you perfected the art of keeping your own thoughts hidden?” She shrugged and looked back out the window. “When someone else has rigid control over your life, your thoughts are really all you own.”

      She shook her head. “My father thinks he can control even those, by manipulating things like the article this morning. It gives the impression that he wants to give. I wouldn’t hide my thoughts from someone that I could be honest and straightforward with. Someone… who would not use them against me in some way. There are very rare times, with only one person, that I can express what I am thinking or feeling without worry-”

      She met his gaze. “It is very difficult, is it not? To want the other person to speak the truth to you, yet you do not trust them enough or their motives, to do the same? Therefore, you are left to try and read them, as you say, because they have been given no reason at all to have confidence in your motives.”

      “That’s a long way of saying, you don’t trust people.” He shrugged. “His Grace, being what he is, that’s understandable. Don’t try to get into my brain. You wouldn’t like what you find.”

      She smiled, it was empty of humor. “I wasn’t, I was merely trying to say, if people mutually trust each other, neither has to be on their guard.”

      They arrived at the Marquis’ townhouse. He handed her down, and slanted her a glance. “I’m not suspicious of you. I don’t trust your father. “

      She shrugged. “Why do you spend so much time looking at me, trying read me?”

      “Because I’m rude,” he said flatly, and led her through the door.

      Lady Lindy met Jessica in the hallway and invited her above stairs to her sitting room, muttering something about sheet music. Jessica glanced at Galen before going up, while she acknowledged mentally that his answer had been a non-answer.

      He stepped around her and said he would be in the library with Max and Jayce. Jessica watched him walk away in that graceful, easy, stride.

      “Lady Jessica?”

      “Yes.” Jessica turned and headed to the staircase. She smiled. “It appears I am hiding out here until the ball?”

      Lindy looked at her. “What’s different about you? Hmmm… your face. You look so much more-real.”

      “No powders. I forgot them,” Jessica said as they went up the staircase.

      The house was tastefully done the warm woods and solid colors, sophisticated, elegant and easy on the eyes.

      “Well,” Lindy whispered, when they reached the landing and started down the hall. “I think you are much prettier like this. You look like the heiress the other way.”

      “I am the heiress.”

      “The snobby one.” The girl laughed.

      Jessica found herself smiling. “Oh¾ that one.”

      Lindy led her into a wide sitting room, just off her bedchamber. It had bay window and lavender walls with white and dark purple stripped drapes. There was various seating, all comfortable, mixed matched.

      It was like nothing Jessica had seen, warm and cool at the same time, relaxing, with a scarf tossed here over a chair back, a stack of books or a bud vase on a table.

      Lindy left the door to her room opened. “Make yourself comfortable. You are welcome to come in here if you like, but it is at your own risk. My maid has a sniffle. I told Max that I would see to myself until she recovers.”

      She kept on talking and Jessica listened while she pulled off her gloves and put her purse on a side table. Walking around the room, she picked up some small portraits framed in silver sitting atop a table. Obviously her parents. The woman was quite stunning with deep red hair; the man looked very much as Lord Kilgore did now. There was one of Lady Lindy at a young age also.

      Jessica eyed a watercolor on the wall of lilies, a pretty clock on the mantel over a white fireplace. Finally she went to the doorway of Lady Lindy’s room.

      There were clothes hanging over the wardrobe door, stockings draped on the dressing screen in the corner. And Books… Books stacked in lines around one wall, pamphlets sticking out of their pages. The room was a much darker shade of lavender than the sitting room; the furnishings were a beautiful white lacquer.

      Jessica smiled, seeing the Lady with her rump in the air, digging under the bed for something. She walked further into the room liking the bare floor with only a circular rug under the bed. It all should seem cluttered, but it was too full of ordinary life, things attesting to the fact the woman perused her own interests and chose the things to keep around her that pleased her.

      Lindy emerged with a handful of papers, blowing them off, dusting them. “Gad!” She flipped that mass of wine red hair out of her face. “I’ve got to get more organized.” She invited Jessica to sit on one of the chairs.

      Jessica moved the stack of books and sat down.

      “Lady Nikki told me you are not allowed real friends?” Lindy commented as she went to the wardrobe and took down a dark cream dress.

      “No. My father discourages it.”

      “I imagine so.” Lindy undid the buttons down the side of her gown and shrugged it off her shoulders. “She told me the worst of it. Of course, I have heard Max and the others talking. You must not worry that I would gossip about it though. “

      “Thank you?”

      “I actually detest the whole social thing, it’s all so false and shallow.”

      “You do not wear a corset?” Jessica blurted when the girl was undressed, wearing only a short thin slip of silk and sheer stockings.

      “No.” Lindy shuddered. “I think they are torture devises invented by men. Luckily I am thin enough to get by with it. I wouldn’t wear them in any case.” She pulled on the cream gown. “They can very serious medical problems. I believe that the more natural we let our bodies develop, the healthier we are.”

      Jessica’s brow rose, she went over to do the buttons of the gown. It was of linen with a square neckline and lace bodice with silk inset. It did very nice things for the girl’s skin.

      “Thank you.” Lindy smiled then went to the dressing table. She pulled the pens out of her hair, it fell thick and heavy down her back, overwhelming her face and sliding forward. It all but obscured it. Lindy pulled off her glasses she combed it.

      “You have very lovely eyes.”

      Lindy grimaced. “For all the good it does me. I have been wearing spectacles for a dozen years.” She pulled the mass up and back, inserted some combs before gathering it in a net. Meeting her gaze in the mirror Lindy said, “You can relax here, Lady Jessica. I am not at all comfortable with formality myself. I do what I must and that is all.”

      She turned and slid her glasses on. “I don’t suppose your father is going to put Lady Nikki on the guest list?”

      Jessica sighed heavily. “No. He doesn’t know we are friends, but if he did, you can wager he would find a way to end it. In any case, there will only be people of the highest rank and reputation there.”

      “It must feel awful,” Lindy sat on the bed across from her. “Not having your best friend at the most important ball of your life?”

      Jessica stared at her a moment.

      Lindy sighed and smiled dryly. “Oh, all right. I know it is not as it should be. Anyone with a brain can figure out that things are well— peculiar. It does prick my curiosity, I will admit. Still, she is your friend, it seems such a shame…”

      “It is a ritual, for my father, and for society, nothing more.” Jessica arose walking over and holding back the fluttering sheers, looking out the window to the street below.

      Lindy knew that. She was ever so slowly putting the bigger pieces together. The little pieces escaped her however. “I know sometimes I seem very young,” Lindy said quietly and walked over, touching her shoulder. “But it’s my own mask. Do you understand?”

      Jessica looked at the young woman for several moments, studying her face, seeing beyond the glasses. She reached and covered the lady’s slim hand. “I think so.”

      Lindy stepped back, pulled off the glasses, looking out the window and blinking. “My mother was a very beautiful, a very poised and graceful woman. She was exceptionally feminine. My father adored her. Everyone did. Her ease and style just drew people to her. She was incredibly nice to everyone, yet she was a very sophisticated woman.”

      Lindy slid the glasses back on. “I came out of the womb backwards and it has been that way ever since.”

      Jessica grinned. Lindy chuckled.

      “I hardly recall my mother. She had many miscarriages and was very weak.”

      Lindy nodded. “People assume I resent Max. Even Max thinks I am a rebel. The truth is, I have my way of coping, dealing with people who don’t really understand me. Otherwise, I would take everything personal and get my feelings hurt. Besides, I do find things rather amusing that no one else seems to.”

      Jessica noticed that, genuinely liking the young woman, somehow feeling close to her already. They talked a bit about their families and about Jessica’s sisters, the distance between them, because of her father. They talked of Nikki and her dreadful in-laws.

      It was mutually decided in that exchange of confidences, that they were going to be good friends apart from what society expected.

      “Is it awful“ Lindy asked when they emerged in the hall? “To be twenty-four and so controlled?”

      “The years have a way of running together. It’s like… survival. You simply try to get through it, hoping that some day it will be different.”

      They walked down the hall to the landing then heading below, and on to the music room.

      “That is exactly why I will not wed for society sake. Not even to please Max. I know what I must do, yet I have some small hope that I will be fortunate enough, to have what I wish instead.”

      They arrived in the music room. A long rectangular space with a row of long windows made up the outside wall. Sheer curtains blew soft against the polished oak floors. There was a piano and harp, an array of instruments and lecterns, music books to one side. It was bright, with a high white ceiling and warm creamy walls.

      “Do you play?” Lindy asked her.

      “Yes. Do you?”

      Lindy grimaced. “I wouldn’t call it that. It’s more like banging out noise.”

      Jessica laughed then took the music from her hand and went over to the piano. She sat down on the bench and adjusted the music sheets, then began to play the piece, a perfect atmospheric melody that filled the room with light colorful sounds. It reminded Jessica of a spring garden, so alive and natural.

      She glanced up once; to see the curtains fluttering back and peered out at the garden, then simply gave herself up to bringing to life the notes on the page.

      Lindy was leaning against the wall when Max, Jayce, and Galen came in. Her eyes flickered over her brother who wore a slight puzzled smile.

      The America, Lindy noticed, was dressed in his indecent buckskins that laced up the sides, and that almost sheer white shirt that showed his dark hard muscles. He looked like a bloody pirate, or worse, his dark blond hair was as windblown as always, his hard face like something carved out of stone. He really was a large strapping man.

      Lindy mentally shook her head at her own description, and eyed Galen whose raven hair was tucked behind his ears, his shirt unbuttoned at the throat, he stood with his arms crossed casually, and his Vision was honed in on Lady Jessica.

      Lindy tried to see what they must; the lady in a white soft gown, her hair piled atop her head with strands escaping and blowing against her face and neck. The sun was arching in from the far window, bringing out the mixture of roan colors. Her skin looked almost dewy and her mouth held a slight smile. Not, the icy heiress this.

      Lindy could never have played her mother’s piece like that. She knew it. It almost brought tears to her eyes to hear it so beautifully brought to life. She swallowed and looked at Max again. He slowly turned and met her eyes. They shared a smile of understanding. The piece expressed so much of what their mother had been. It was both wonderful, and heart rending.

* * * *

      Jessica felt Galen’s eyes on her and was glad the last trailing notes were sounding. She sat there a moment to let the echo ring naturally, then turned on the bench, watching Max and Lindy stroll over to her.

      “That was Beautiful,” Max told her, touching her shoulder.

      She flushed. “It was a lovely piece.”

      “Our mother wrote it.”

      Jessica’s smile was genuine. “I’m honored, to have played it.”

      Max removed his hand, but slid next to her on the bench. He glanced at her sideways with a cheeky grin, and then began to pick out a waltz.

      Jessica listened a moment before joining him. They played it, glancing at each other, laughing a bit when Max missed his notes.

* * * *

      Lindy was leaning on the piano watching them, something made her look over at Galen.

      He had come closer and was standing with one hand on the chair back. The look on his face was quite interesting. She turned back to the duet. Was it resentment, jealousy or desire?

      Jessica rested her hands in her lap, now simply watching Max play.

      Lindy went over to Jayce and held her hands in a pose.” My I have this dance, sir?”

      He grunted. “I don’t know how to dance that stuff.”

      She dropped her hand. “Do you know how to bow?”

      He did it, half-heartedly.

      “That’s better than nothing.” She looked at his face and said, “Now, put one hand on my waist.” She stopped and added, “You have to come closer. Your arms are longer than mine.”

      When he frowned. She teased, “Come now, Mr. Barrette. I won’t bite you.”

      “I’m not so sure,” he muttered but came close to her.

      Lindy placed his big hand on her waist and raised hers to his solid shoulder. Her eyes flickering to his. She felt his inflexible warmth. He appeared to be gritting his teeth, odious man.

      She took his other arm and extended it just so, and lay her hand in his. Her head barely reached his throat but she managed to crane her neck and then look up at him, stepping back a bit to create the proper distance.

* * * *

      Jessica was watching them; her lips holding a minute smile… because she had never been witness to a grown man learning to dance! The fact that he was so rugged and Lady Lindy was so willowy, it was absolutely fascinating.

      She became even more amused by Lindy’s attempt to direct him. So caught up in the moment when Lindy appeared to be trying to get him to move his feet, she turned, and caught Galen starring at her.

      Without thinking, Jessica arose and walking to him, her face still relaxed, her pink lips smiling. She reached and took his hand from its place on the chair back. “Come, Lord Wolfe. Let us assist your friend. Perhaps he will not feel so mortified?”

      Galen didn’t know why he let her lead him across the room. He had no intention of dancing.

      They joined the other couple. Jessica met the America’s eyes as he tried to step the correct way.

      “Mr. Barrette, Y—”

      “Jayce,” he told her, “That’s all, I ain’t English.” He stopped moving and was simply standing there, with his tanned hand on Lindy’s waist.

      “Your friend here is going to help you out. I find it most admirable that a man wishes to learn something new. It shows a flexibility of character, an open mind.” She smiled a bit wider at him.

      Jayce was only human. He smiled back. “Yeah, well, I can dance. It’s nothing like this stuff. Not to this music.”

      “Well then,” Jessica said. “Lady Lindy will help you. Just mimic what we do. All right?”

      Jayce nodded and looked at Galen whose face was impassive.

      Jessica stepped close enough to Galen, who was standing straight with his arms relaxed. She looked over at Maxwell a moment, who had stopped playing and was watching the couples, apparently puzzled.

      “Oh… right.” Max blinked and went back to playing another waltz.

      Jessica took Galen's hand and put it on her waist. She let their eyes meet as she brought his other arm to the right position and placed her hand in his. Again, she felt a warm sensation from his touch. His touch… Don’t think of it that way, she scolded herself.

      She said somewhat huskily, “I will lead only at first, you are a man who moves very well. You take over when you are ready.”

      He said nothing, so she began to count and step, count and step, count and step.

      Galen was so focused on her body movements that it was easy for him to follow them. He in fact almost anticipated before she moved, simply from his hand on her waist, and whatever pressure she applied or released from his hand. He never had to take gaze off of hers, not even when after a few turns, he was leading the waltz.

* * * *

      Lindy and Jayce forgot for a moment that they were to follow.

      They could be forgiven, because it was truly captivating to watch. Galen's sinewy and agile body in the black clothing seemed to elevate Jessica’s slippers from the floor, as if she were merely floating, swaying, dipping to his movements.

      Her lightness against his darkness, from the gown to the sun striking her roan hair and her womanly curves against his masculine form…

      Lindy noted when his arm went further round her waist; Galen had never stopped looking down at her.

      It was the first time in her life she understood why the waltz had been so scandalous at one time. Watching the two, it appeared sensually… hypnotic. She did not look back at Jayce, until Galen apparently had pulled Jessica closer; the soft flutter of her skirts was brushing his trouser legs.

* * * *

      “Are you ready?”

      Jayce dragged his eyes away from the couple. He had never seen Galen dance. He’d never seen him do much of anything that passed for fun. He hadn’t seen him hold a woman either. The way he was dancing with Lady Jessica was downright familiar. Knowing Galen’s past, he thought it was a giant step more… than a simple waltz.

      “I’m not going to be able to dance like him,” he told his partner. Then when they had taken their positions, “You’re not wearing a corset.” His fingers flexed on her waist.

      “No. And it’s not proper of you to mention it, Sir. Now, I am counting, and you are following.” She began the steps apparently feeling his awkwardness… and grinning.

      Jayce felt like a mountain. His entire hand could span her waist. Her clothing was too damned thin! Max should do something about the girl. She should be wearing a corset.

      He looked down, trying to watch their feet and counted with her. He stepped on her small foot with his western boots.

      She hissed falling into his chest the pain hit her. “Bloody hell!”

      He heard her hiss. “Sorry,” he mumbled, and let her brace her hand against him, as if his chest were a tree trunk, while she lifted her foot and rubbed at her toes.

      “What are those things?”

      “Western boots. Cowboys wear them.”

      “Dancers do not.” She let her foot drop glancing up at him. “I’ll have Max fetch you a pair more suitable.”

      “I like my boots.”

      “Just for tonight. You can put them back on when you are not dancing.” She grunted and took his hand again. “Now this time remember, you are stepping, not stomping.”

      He tried. He did much better. But he said scolding and disgruntled because she made him feel like a clod pole, “You shouldn’t use curse words. It ain’t proper.”

      She smiled sweetly at him.

      “I don’t know why you wear them glasses. They don't help you to see any better.”

      “If this is the tone of conversation that you intend to employ whilst conducting a waltz,” she grit. “It leaves a lot to be desired.”

      Jayce was not about to be corrected by a seventeen-year old girl. He was thirty years old. He sure as hell didn’t like the snooty way she talked to him. It didn’t improve his temper.

      He put a bit of pressure, giving her no choice but to go where he walked them. A huge dip and sloppy circle later, he said right to her glasses, “Some body needs to correct you, young lady, not the other way around. You are damned lucky that I’m a friend of your brothers. Or I wouldn’t be out on this floor, humoring a brat with a snotty attitude.”

      Lindy flushed. “I’m not snooty. I just meant that you have to have meaningless conversation with lady, pay her compliments or something. Even if you think she needs correcting, it’s not done.”

      He did a turn that was more of a jerk. His anger obvious. “Your hair is too heavy. It looks like a damned horse’s mane.” He jerked her around again. “You got a bratty mouth. No fancy lord is going to come calling, if you don’t take them water glasses off your eyes.”

      He took two gliding steps that nearly threw her on the floor.

      Mortified, Lindy stopped. When the pull of his arms made her land against his chest-, she raised her slipper, stomped his foot hard she could.

      “Unlike the females you probably consort with, I do not pant for the day some egotistical, overbearing, man, comes to carry me away. If you cannot stand a bit of advice, then do not, dish it out.”

      He looked down at her red face… and realized he had been deliberately mean. “You can get off my foot now.”

      She did. Stepping back, checking her hairnet, and then she very carefully, unhurriedly, took off her glasses, and tucked them in her pocket. She composed her face…and looked up at him.

      “Jesus.” Jayce wasn’t aware he said it out loud. He felt his breath abandon his lungs.

      “Yeah, pretty, bloody bad, huh.” She grabbed his hand and ordered gruffly, “Come on cow-man, let’s try again.” She started the dance, grating, “Just pretend I’m someone else.”

      Jayce's expression was a bit dumfounded as she led him thought the steps of the waltz. He couldn’t feel his legs. He couldn’t see anything but those stunning, beautiful eyes.  

CHAPTER THREE

      Jessica’s body seemed to have lost itself somewhere in the beginnings of the waltz.

      Galen had very soon taken the lead, and the more he led, the closer he drew her, until she could feel his hard body burning through her gown. Her face was probably flushed. Yet, he captured her gaze as easily he captured her body, and she could not look away from him.

      Tingling with a lightness that suffused her blood, Jessica detected Galen’s scent; like night rain and wild untamed wind, it rose from the heat of him and scorched through his shirt… and her bodice.

      There was something very alarming about his stare, his hold, but she had never felt so much of a person, never had someone hold her so close.

      Her gaze could not pull away, from the shadows that seemed to be deep inside his own. Something in her chest, her stomach, bloomed outward and unfurled in her like pedals opening to receive rain and sun.

      She told herself this was no typical gentleman who held her, gliding her across the room. Those shadows, not only in his eyes, but also in his enigmatic face, seemed to be pulling her in, luring her.

      Far from a simple waltz, Galen was doing something that sensitized her.

      She could feel the humid breath flowing over her own lips, and the blood moving through her veins, the energy coursing through her body, having lain dormant in some corner of her being. It felt…as if her skin had suddenly become new.

      A part of her said she should fear it; she should not yield or submit her senses so easily. It was so unlike the vise-like prison of her life. It was simply too seductive.

      It was, some brand of sexual magnetism, an allure in him, transferring itself.

      She felt the tension in him, too. Their bodies stayed plastered, close, as the music trailed off.

      They stopped.

      Jessica could then hear their mingled breathing, amplified, dark and humid, blending.

      His eyes, in that exotic face, turned shimmering ebony. She heard her own breath catch, as if she had inhaled bits of him inside of her and the intensity of it left her vulnerable.

      He seemed to lean his head closer. His face…. Those eyes…

      His arm held her a bit tighter. Thick, silken lashes lowered just a fraction, lips softening. They were flushed, velvet, somehow erotic.

      Then he slowly straightened and looked away, as if to clear the vision of her flushed face and moist trembling lips.

* * * *

      He did not want to know why she had suddenly come alive under his touch. As If he had been holding body and watched it turn into a soul. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way, it would happen, only when he was prepared for it, focused on it.

      He had to think of her as a body, one that would receive what the duke demanded, in exchange for the truth that could get him hung. He did not want, after all of this time, all of the strength and dignity it had taken for him to deal with it, to see, experience or want, or give, anything of himself to a woman, to anyone.

      “I never kiss,” he heard himself say if from a long way off, “It’s the one thing, I kept for myself.”

* * * *

      When he left her standing there, walking slowly toward Max, who was talking to Lindy and Jayce, Jess didn’t know why her eyes burned and her heart hurt. She did not know what he was speaking of? The very sound of it made her ache deep in her soul for him.

      Jessica took the time, to walk the long way around the room, gathering her thoughts and composing herself so nothing would show in her eyes or face.

      It was made easier by the fact that Max announced they were having an informal lunch.

      Jessica followed along, walking with Lindy as they joined in the dining area and filled their plates buffet style. Something changed during that waltz, something significant had happened to her. And, she believed, to him too. It was significant, and she would never be able to forget it.

      Jayce and Max talked easily during lunch, covering any silences. Though the American did seem a bit distracted. Jessica engaged Lindy in a conversation on books she had read. All in all, by the time Galen took her home to dress for the ball, she thought she handled herself well.

* * * *

      If the ride to the ball was any clue to what the actual event would be like, Jessica would be fortunate if she did not break her own spine with stiffness.

      The Duke, Lord Albert, rode with them. Seated across from the pair, he was dressed in a rich black suit with a snowy neck cloth and a large ruby stickpin. His top hat and gloves sat beside him in the seat and his hands rested atop his cane, which was braced on the floor.

      His eagle eyes kept moving back and fourth on the pair of them. The things that he uttered both mortified and disgusted Jessica. She had some sense of Galen's reaction also, Seated beside her as he was, his body vibrated with abhorrence and seething anger.

      Jessica had heard much of it her whole life, his ratings and obsessive rattling on. She’d formed an ability to block it out… because she was too aware every word and sound.

      Yet he had not, in front of them both, made such explicit references to their size and bodies, to the potency of Galen, and how Jessica was surely a fertile woman because she had started her menses early.

      It went on in such a way, that the graphic pictures he expressed was bordering on obscene. At one point, he reached out at one point almost touching Jessica’s breast.

      the worst came when he ask Galen, if they had gotten each others juices flowing yet, If Galen had tested her responsiveness yet.

      When they finally arrived at the assembly rooms, she watched the old man alight first. Her face burning as her mortified gaze met Galen's.

      Oh God. He looked ready to do murder.

      It was no less worse inside the ballroom. They had to stand by him in the receiving line, with his eyes on his daughter’s every smile and nod. Albert criticized; he muttered warnings to her. At one point, he actually grabbed Jessica’s wrist so hard she thought it would break.

      Jessica thought she was going to fall apart finally, it was simply too much.

      He told Jessica she’d better not miss a step, nor show any aversion to him during the occasion. That she had better, get that look out of her eye.

* * * *

      Galen was almost at his limit. He could be detached. He could hate the bastard. He could tell himself that his stud service was all he needed to bother with. But the old man was pushing it.

      He sat through the coach ride, wanting to smash his boot in the man’s mouth. He had been in enough explicit situations to know the kind of carnal flesh feeding the old man set around and thought of. It made his guts clinch.

      He thought, for all she was used to it, Jessica had not been exposed to the kind of talk, nor had she been aware of the mental imaging the man had expressed in the coach. He knew that, for a fact.

      Yes, he wanted to be coldly angry. He wanted to say that part of it wasn’t his problem. He wasn’t here to protect her pure mind and shield her virginal ears.

      He told himself, while he stood in line beside her and heard the old man between guests, prodding, criticizing, and grabbing her wrist that way that he only had one part in it and that was it. It wouldn’t help him one bit to be a buffer between her and the duke.

      Sick as he was, tense his guts became, cold as he felt… He did not know how much longer he could control himself.

      Jessica was not even afforded a sigh of relief after the guests had arrived.

      In his rigid way, his grace had scheduled everything to his ideal of excellence. This would be no gay affair.

      He had prepared throne chairs for the three of them on a raised dais. The sheer implications of it embarrassed Jessica. The great Duke Albert and the Vanlare heir looking down on the populace. She and Galen were seated on either side of him.

      Her father leaned down and growled at her, “You will be smiling every time I look over. Do you understand me? You will not cause one moment, one whisper of talk because of your insolence.”

      She smiled at him, her eyes dark, her head pounding, and her humiliation complete. Through clenched teeth she said, “I loathe you.”

      He laughed if she had told some great jest, and then began receiving small groups of the high sticklers.

      Jessica did not know what she said, actually. She felt if bands were wrapped around her from her throat down. It seemed to her, that her pearl encrusted silver gown was shrinking by the moment, squeezing what life there was out of her. This was her life, it had been her life, and she loathed it and him.

      Under the guise of leaning to greet one of the guests, she pushed the satin wrap off her shoulders and let it slide to her elbows.

      The pearl pins holding her hair seemed to be digging into her scalp. The braids wrapped atop her head in a crown fashion, weighing her neck like bricks. She could hear the orchestra tuning on the opposite side of the ballroom, but the people kept coming toward them. The chandelier lights too bright, hot.

      Her head was nearly swimming by the time her father stood, taking her hand. The roar of voices faded, he made the formal announcement.

      She looked out the corner of her eye when he introduced Galen. The Earl bowed formally to the crowd, then stepped down, and walked to face her. He bowed, offered his hand.

      Jessica took it, feeling him lead her onto the floor, she could already feel her skin trying to crawl off her body.

      That feeling gripped her again, the one in the Theater. When the music came so loud, so vibrating and strong, Galen turned her in his arms for the waltz.

      She dug her fingers into his shoulders, trying to focus on his eyes as he looked at her. Jess was struggling to anchor herself to reality.

      They waltzed by smiling, clapping, people, colors, sparkles, and heady scents. Dipping, swaying, gliding across the polished floor, their eyes holding, never looking left or right.

* * * *

      Galen could see it, thought he did not know exactly what was happening. He could feel her fingers digging into his shoulder, her hand holding his so hard that his fingers were probably red. Her eyes were very dark, unfocused, glazed almost, and her face under the thick powder was glistening with perspiration.

      He brought her a bit closer and slid his arm around her waist, ignoring the chuckles and claps, a few gasps at his boldness. He could see then and feel it, her shallow breathing and her heart fluttering like a wild, trapped bird.

      He spun her round, with his leg between hers, an intimate and scandalous move, but he had done it to lower his head, putting his mouth against her ear. He murmured in smooth tones, “You are right here with me, Jessica. Just like at Max’s. I am holding you tightly. Can you feel me?

      You are no one but yourself. Can you remember how it felt yesterday with the windows opened, the sun and wind moving around us?” His voice grew deeper, smoother, and dark and caressing, your heart is beating slower, like the music. Your breath is floating like soft clouds across my cheek. I can feel your hand, your fingers holding onto mine.”

* * * *

      Jessica could feel herself walking out of the fog, being pulled out by the sound of his words, the deep husk of his voice. She could feel his face grazing her cheek, and smell the wild, midnight wind of his hair.

      She felt the stroke of his lips against her ear and the warm, velvet, touch of them as they poured words into her… soothing her, like she had never felt before.

      By the time the waltz was ending, she blinked and swallowed, feeling the tremble begin. From hot to cold. She seemed to come in from a sweet balmy night, to a cool winter day.

      Galen apparently felt that too. Once more he moved the proper distance away. “You hand is like ice,” he whispered when the dance ended.

      They parted, bowed to the guests, then to her father.

      “I’m cold.” She clamped her jaw tight as they watched the couples fill the dance floor. “Father is waiting for us to join him.”

      She cast a glance at the Duke, who appeared torn between anger at Galen's conduct and pleasure that it leant truth to the article he had placed in the papers. Either way, for all he was smiling, she was familiar those hard blue eyes. He wanted to vent his anger.

      “To hell with him.” Galen pulled her against his side. “I’ll get your wrap.”

      She watched him step up on the dais and fetch it.

      Her father said something to him under the guise of a smile. Whatever Galen said back, wiped the cold smile off Albert’s face.

      Albert composed himself quickly, for some of his cronies were headed toward him; old money, new industrial giants. She could only hope they would distract him a good while.

      It was difficult making their way through the crowd.

      All of London, and half dozen other countries’ dignitaries seemed to be present.

      Galen spotted Max, Jayce and Lady Lindy, in a fairly clear corner with drapes and seating which afforded some privacy from the crowd.

      He kept his hand on Jessica’s back, and met Max’s curious gaze, gesturing with his head.

      Max nodded and suggested that Jayce ask his sister to dance. Neither party looked thrilled at the prospect, but they obeyed.

      Max allowed Jessica and Galen to go by him, and then he moved up a bit to afford them some privacy, and partially block them from the view of prying eyes.

* * * *

      Just behind the swaged drape which created perhaps a four-foot square of space between it and the wall. Galen stood close to Jessica, while she dabbed at her face, then repaired it. She had the wrap tight around her, she was breathing deeply through her nose.

      Jessica hated herself for the weakness he was witnessing. Both times it had happened to her she had little warning besides the overwhelming, relentless stress of her own inner thoughts.

      She realized he had pulled her out of it much quicker than she had recovered before. She had been near fainting, which would have really been a disgrace. It was one thing to be feminine, delicate, and known for it, but her reputation as the ice queen was hardly that.

      Jessica did not have to reach far; there were only mere inches between them. She laid her hand on his black-clad chest and said quietly, “Thank you…for what you did.”’

      “What happened?”

      “I don’t know. It happened once before. In between… I have headaches. It’s the stress, I think. They get intensely unpleasant after I am around father. I can block him out, to an extent, because I usually know what he will say. He was particularly- disgusting… tonight.”

      “Let me see your wrist.” He reached for her hand, rolled down her glove. Her wrist was turning purple. He cursed and searched her face visually. “Does he beat you?”

      “No, He does not need to. He knows who is in control.”

      Galen relaxed when she had said no. “Are you still cold?”

      “No, Not as much. It passes quickly.”

      “Jessica?”

      Her eyes looked at his mouth. “Yes.”

      He took her chin and titled it up, instead of kissing her as she thought, he said with emphasis, “I have told him, if he abuses you physically or verbally, I will have his face smashed before any of his bodyguards can reach him.”

      She let out her breath. “You shouldn’t provoke him. He’s just fanatical enough to do something to retaliate.”

      He removed his hand. “Just because he is getting something out of me, does not mean I’ll put up with anything else. He’s not going to pull my strings until the wedding and heir. If you are smart enough, you will realize that he cannot have that heir without our cooperation. So he dare not push us too far. We, have everything he wants.”

      She realized that it was true. “I’m sorry, about… what he said in the coach. He talked of you like an animal. I am deeply ashamed of him, “

      “It’s nothing I have not experienced before,” he told her in hard tones, and then added, “It’s not your shame.”

      “Isn’t it?” She turned away from him, her hands rubbed at her arms. “I know next to nothing of what he talked about- what if I am like my mother and miscarry. What then?” She glanced sideways at him. “What if I am barren?”

      He hadn’t thought about that. Not at all.

      When he said nothing, she asked in a whisper, “Have you ever fathered a child?”

      Truthfully he answered, “I don’t know.”

      She sighed. “I know, that under other circumstances this would be highly improper, speaking of it so openly, but we find ourselves in this position, do we not? Of late, I have thought of little else but my own ignorance. “

      Glancing at him again, she said in low tones, “It was all an abstract thought to me, just words he has said so often. I didn’t even associate it in the physical sense, with my body.” Silently she added, until that waltz earlier today.

      He was still reeling from her earlier question of fertility, or the fact that she might be barren. It presented all sorts of difficulties. Thinking of those papers that could hang him, he said harshly, “You will not be barren, nor will you miscarry the heir.”

      She heard the change in his voice but hoped he was right. Yet she had hoped too, that he might offer some insight into what was to come. “We’d better go out there.” She composed herself and squared her shoulders, placing her hand on his arm.

      Galen escorted her back into the ballroom. Afterwards, they moved slowly around, accepting congratulations graciously, yet both of them preoccupied with their thoughts.  

CHAPTER FOUR

      Lady Nikki kept in the shadows of the huge mansion and then waited for the coach to come to a stop. She could see the duke alight first, followed by the Earl handing Jessica down then pressed her back against the outer wall, looking blindly out at the carriage house while they went inside.

      She spied a yellow light in one of the upper apartments, over the carriage yard. She dearly hoped the coachman would not spot her when he drove around. The coach entered the yard, and then he halted the horses. There were murmured voices as he stepped down off his perch.

      Two men came out to assist him, unhitching the team.

      Nikki took advantage of the distraction to hurry round to the rear doors. It was amazing how many there were, thankfully she’d discovered some time ago which apartments were Jessica’s.

      She had to see her friend tonight, desperately.

      Going back and fourth, finally choosing a door Nikki opened it carefully and entered what appeared to be a laundry room. It was shadowed in bluish light, and piles of linen were stacked on a long center table, several garments were hanging at the other side of the room. The smell of soap, starch and steam was thick in the air.

      Making it to the interior door, Nikki turned the knob slowly. The sound of low voices drew her attention to the right. A cracked door showed several maids taking a break from their duties.

      Holding her breath, walking on tiptoe, she went left and found herself going up a long hall before confronting a set of stairs.

      She needed to reach the second floor.

      Taking the stairs, wincing when one popped, her heart thundered in her ears, yet she set her teeth and went the rest of the way up.

      Opening another door out into the wide, opulent upper hall, she swallowed several times inching along the elaborate paneled wall, listening for sounds. Below someone was coughing. Likely it was the duke.

      Luck was half with her. Jessica’s sitting room door was slightly opened. Keeping her back against the wall, Nikki leaned to have a quick look. Across the room, in the bedroom, a stout iron-haired maid was picking up discarded clothing.

      Nikki chewed her lip in indecision. There was a greater chance of being discovered in the open hall.

      She hunched down, widening the door enough to go in. Yanking her skirt out of the way, she went on hands and knees until she was wedged between a sofa and the wall. She prayed her nervous shivering was not rustling the drapes at her back.

      The bloody maid seemed to take forever. Nikki kept imagining that her breathing was too loud, yet when she tried to hold it in, it got much louder. A good twenty minuets passed before she heard the swish of starched skirts, the soft click of the door. The sitting room was plunged into darkness.

      The maid finally left, pulling the door closed behind her.

      Nikki counted to ten, and then gradually arose. She was delighted at the weak stream of light from the window. Carefully taking steps, she made it to the bedroom door and turned the knob.

      Afraid Jess would jump up screaming, she slipped inside, able to make out Jessica lying in the bed with a cloth over her eyes.

      Nikki crept forward. Not until she was leaning over her did she whisper, “Jess, it’s Nikki. Are you awake?”

      Jessica sat up with a soft gasp, tossing the cloth off her eyes and grabbing her friend’s shoulders. “What on earth? Nikki, are you mad? What are you doing here?”

      Nikki put her finger to her lips leaned down to whisper in Jess’s ear.

      Jessica tossed back the covers and scooted to the end of the bed.

      Nikki sat down in the floor with her back against it; Jess slid down to join her, so they could whisper to each other.

      “Oh God, Nicole, How did you get in the house?”

      Nikki told her the rushed, less dramatic version.

      “We must be careful. I am checked on several times during the night.”

      Nikki’s brown eyes suddenly flooded with tears, they rolled down her cheeks. “What am I going to do, Jess? I shouldn’t have come. I probably put you in a bad way. I’m selfish.

      Jess drew her friend’s head to her shoulder. “Hush that.” She soothed Nicole’s unbound hair with her hand. “We are friends. Who else would we turn to but each other? If my father were not so evil, this would be perfectly commonplace.”

      “What am I going to do?” Nikki raised her head and stared at Jessica in the faint light. Jessica’s hair was down too, tumbling over her shoulders. She wore a green silk nightgown, whereas her friend wore a black dress made of some sort of gauze. It was obvious that Nikki had not slept in awhile, her eyes looked bruised.

      “When did he die?”

      “This morning, they think. He never woke up.”

      “And this, what was her name, Mildred?” When her friend nodded Jessica said, “This Mildred, what exactly did she say?”

      “She said that a lady’s’ physician would be summoned in the morning, to examine me. If were found the marriage was never consummated, she and the family would see that it was declared null and void, an annulment would follow.”

      Jessica sighed and rubbed Nikki's hands. “What else?”

      “She said not only would I lose the title, but also that I could leave with the clothes on my back. Her exact words were that I should have none of his money.”

      Nikki choked out the next part. “That is my money, Jess. Arthur was in deep debt, my father paid it. He gave us a fortune with the agreement that I always have access to it. My Father worked his whole life for that fortune. He started out selling used clothing and eventually became a tailor by taking clothing apart and learning to design them better. He owned five shops when he died.”

      “Was his stipulation in writing?”

      Nikki shook her head. “No. My father was a businessman, a handshake, a man’s word; it meant more to him than papers. He believed Arthur; indeed, my husband did stick to his word. But now...”

      “Dear—lord.” Jessica was trying to think. “Where will you go? What will you do?”

      “If I am cast out with nothing, I don’t know. I have no living relatives, and society will be finished with me.”

      Jessica had a mental image of her friend huddled in some wretched alley, starving to death. She shook her head offering, “You could take some of my jewels and sell them.”

      Nikki snorted. “You're father knows every piece, Jess. He would trace it back to me. I’d be tossed in prison.”

      Jessica shuddered at that. They sat there several long moments, holding hands. Jessica could feel the tremble in Nikki. She could not imagine what the day had been like for her.

      After some time, Jessica leaned back, looked at her with anxious expression. “Do you know someone who could- help you?”

      Nikki knew what she meant. “That too crossed my mind. I have been in a desperate state of nerves. I thought of footmen, Tavern keepers, someone …who could be bribed and kept quiet.” She shuddered and her eyes filled again. “Our footman greases his hair… and to have to smell some sweaty tavern keeper...”

      She almost heaved, “I couldn’t. I know I should just walk out on the street, let fate toss me to any sort who comes along, but I cannot just lay with anyone.”

      She wiped her eyes with trembling hands, “Besides, I could be blackmailed or worse, beaten and killed.”

      Horrified at the prospect Jessica said, “No. Of course that will not serve. Can you do it? I mean, if it is the only solution, can you just, submit?”

      “What choice do I have? I can not even take my gowns to sell; they are all at the house now sitting like vultures and crows in Albert’s rooms. I pretended to faint, the doctor gave me a sleeping drought. I locked my door, threw up the stuff. I have only a few hours, Jess.”

      “It is horrible, to be so wealthy, the richest heiress in England, and I cannot give you enough to buy bread.”

      “It’s not your fault. Lord Albert would know if one thing were missing here. You said yourself everything is counted and searched. I did not come here thinking you could give me money. I came for you to help me decide whom-.”

      Jessica arose and rubbed her temples. “You know the same people I do. Good God, I cannot imagine a man among them who could be approached in such a way.”

      “I know. It’s hopeless. I was just grasping at straws anyway.”

      Jessica soothed her friend, helping her to sit on the edge of the bed then she padded to the window. “Who?” She said half to herself, then…a thought entered her mind but she pushed it back. How ghastly, Yet…

      “What?” Nikki whispered, having been watching her and seen Jessica go still.

      “The American.”

      Nikki gasped. Her expression appalled. “That…Mountain. Oh, Jess, he has muscles like a…He’s so—big.”

      Tension—and the way Nikki said it—made Jess laugh. It was hysteria of course. She clamped her hands over her mouth. And yet Nikki’s taut nerves too, found it funny. She fell back on the bed grabbing a pillow to muffle her own hilarious sounds.

      Collecting herself a few moments later, Jessica took a deep breath, then let it out slow. “All right,” she whispered. “I thought perhaps because of his unconventional attitudes. He’s not of society, you see? For all he looks like a stone wall, he is fairly easygoing, much less...stuffy and prudish, than our gents.”

      Nikki removed the pillow and sobered, wiped her cheeks. She lay looking up at the ceiling. “What of your fiancée?”

      “What!” Jessica’s whisper was pure shock.

      “I was only jesting.” Nikki sat up. “I wanted to hear your reaction.”

      Flushing, Jess waved a hand at her in irritation. “It’s not like that, and you know it.”

      “Oh I don’t know. I heard about a certain waltz.”

      “From whom?”

      “Lady Lindy.”

       
Jessica sighed shook her head. “That is all it was, a waltz. He does not kiss, by the way.”

      “Whatever does that mean?” Nikki frowned.

      Jess shrugged. “Do not ask me, I am more ignorant than you about those things.”

      “I have been kissed before.”

      “See? You are well beyond me.”

      “But not enough to pass an examination.” Nikki brought her back to the point.

      “That’s it.” Jessica hurried to her, her expression excited.

      “What?” Nikki nearly jumped. “That’s what... What did I say?”

      “Lady Lindy.”

      Nikki frowned. “Lady Lindy? She’s younger than both of us. A deb. What could she possibly do?”

      “She may be younger, but you should see some of her reading material.” Jessica whispered. “I vow, I nearly fell over when I lifted some books from a chair. Do you know what the very top one was?”

      “A novel?”

      “Something about Erotica…Eros…A copy of Tom Jones and Fanny Hill, too.”

      Nikki gasped. “No…” She blinked in disbelief, “I know she reads. She is forever carrying a novel.”

      “That is just cover.” Jessica waved a hand and sat down on the bed beside Nikki. “She reads very serious stuff. I have seen it. Medical, mythology, philosophy, mysticism, and animal husbandry, it is mind-boggling.”

      “Are you sure it was not economics?”

      “Very, I cannot recall the exact name. My French is dreadful. But it is good enough to make out that word.”

      “But… How is that going to help me to… you know?”

      “I don’t know. She is a very… unusual young Lady, for all she is a Lady; she is not at all limited. We talked for a few hours. She told me that when her parent’s were away and doing the social thing, she rambled the countryside and met a great many interesting folk. She secretly belongs to several groups who correspond through the post. Not just intellectual and scientific, but many of the bohemian sort.

      Artist, free thinkers, people who live very unconventional lifestyles in some sort of communities. Father keeps me so isolated, I have no idea what is normal for other young ladies, and I cannot imagine that they are exposed to these groups.”

      “Well, I have only a few hours, not enough time for her to introduce me to some… free thinking gentleman.”

      “No, But I cannot help you and she may know someone in London who can be trusted to do the thing, someone who will not speak of it later.”

      “I can’t exactly go calling on her in the dead of night.”

      Jessica thought a moment. “How is this? Go home, I will come to your house before Lord Galen collects me for our ride. I will go to your room as if summoned by you from the sick bed—”

      “But your father,” Nikki cut in, “You cannot risk it.”

      Jessica’s heart sank. “I should, look what you have risked to come to me, and I am helpless.” Jessica sighed, “I was thinking that I could carry you off to Lady Lindy’s, telling the old vultures something plausible, you could speak with her before.”

      “It would work, only the physician will probably arrive early.”

      Jessica pondered harder. The more she thought of it the more frustrated she became. Here her friend had turned to her and she was going to do nothing to help her. Oh! How she hated this life, her father, and the prison that kept her from being able to help Nikki.

      Gazing at her now she saw that oval face, big brown eyes. Nikki was so attractive with her dark lips, slim nose, and curves. On the streets she would be like a lamb to the wolves. Yes someone might hire her, but there would be no male protector. She would be walking the streets alone, sleeping god knew where.

      Anger, resentment toward her life and father boiled up in Jessica, she wanted to weep, and instead she set her jaw instead and came to a decision. She looked at the clock on the bed table. “They will check on me in ten minuets or so. After that, no one will come for a few hours. Find someplace to hide. After the maid leaves, you and I are going to the Marquis’ house.”

      “No Jess. Don’t chance it. I’ll find a way. I... I will approach someone decent looking on the way home and…-”

      “No. I am sick and tired of being cadged, watched, and fed like an animal. The jewels and riches are like chains on me. I am even deprived of friends! If I am going to live like this, no matter if I obey him or not. I would just as soon take some risks. At least, I’ll know what the punishment is for.”

      “But how will we get in?”

      “We will,” Jessica said firmly. “Now, find someplace to hide.”

      Jessica slid into bed, picking up the cloth and laying it on her eyes. She felt the bed move and smiled nervously; obviously Nikki was under it.

      She relaxed her hands, breathed deep, faking sleep. She was tired of giving up everything for her father. She would have no freedom in any case and her own future was uncertain. If she died in the morning, it would have been without doing something for someone else. There was only one Nikki, one dear friend. She could imagine what the alternative was, and could not live with it.

      The moments seemed to drag out as they waited, eventually the door was eased open. Jessica could feel the gaze that ran over her, and wanted to grit her teeth because the maid stood for so long in the doorway. Finally it closed with a click. She counted to ten and set up.

      Nikki was scooting from under the bed.

      “Amazing.” Nikki said rising.

      “What?”

      “You don’t even have dust under there. It’s cleaner than my parlor.”

      Jessica laughed nervously. “I must find something to wear, which may be impossible, because with the gowns my father buys, I will look like a walking torch with all the shimmer.”

      Nikki grabbed her arm as she headed for the wardrobe. “No wait, I came in through the laundry room. There were all sorts of dark clothing in there.”

      Jess nodded and hurried over to vanity, easing it open, she extracted a dark blue turban, twisting her hair, stuffing it under. “I hope we can get out the same way you came in.” She found her riding boots and carried them in her hand.

      Nikki went to the door, cracked it, and looked out. ”I think we can. Let us hope the servants are not doing the wash at this hour.”

      Jessica joined her, standing close to her back.

      Nikki looked at her. “Are you sure, Jess? I could try getting in on my own?”

      “No. I am not abandoning you, Nikki. Besides, if what has passed is going to be the rest of my life. I may as well be imprisoned for something rather than nothing.”

      “I shouldn’t let you. I should deal with my own problems.”

      “Then, we would not be friends.”

      Nikki sighed then eased the door open. They walked out into the hall softly. From there, it was slow going, to the door, down the stairs, pausing at the long hall to see if the servants were about.

      There was a weak light coming though the cracked door, they could see no one, nor a shadow. Taking Jess’s free hand, Nikki hurried them both to the wash room.

      “There.” Jessica spied a stack of dark clothing. Carefully she went through it. It was male clothing. “It’s all trousers and shirts.”

      “Maybe that it best. If we are walking together, if it looks like a couple, the watches will think nothing of it.”

      Jessica nodded. She pulled out some trousers and slid them on under her gown. “They’re snug.”

      “Hurry, Jess, we’ve not much time!”

      Jessica whipped her gown over her head and pulled on the shirt, sucking in her breath when the fabric touched her bare nipples. “This feels so sinful.”

      “I am about to commit a bigger one. Sin, that is,” Nikki muttered.

      That brought Jess back to earth. She buttoned the shirt then pulled on her boots, wishing she had stockings on with them. She felt odd walking toward Nikki, there was such freedom of movement, yet all she had on beneath the trousers was some French lingerie that barely covered her bottom. It was definitely a new feeling, walking around without corset, skirts, and layers of clothing.

      They slipped out the door, Nikki leading the way she had come. Lucky for them both, the streets had very little traffic, it being an exclusive neighborhood. They half walked; half ran, to the Marquis townhouse.

      When they arrived at the right address, it was Jess who led her round the garden path. She went to the music room doors, trying each one. On to the back parlor where she had fallen asleep.

      “The window.” Nikki hissed, pointing to the half open window of the next room.

      They moved to it, Nikki cupped her hands, peered in. “It has paints and canvases, some tennis racquets in there.”

      Jessica and Nikki both eased the window up slowly, looking at each other when it scraped half way. More force had to be applied before it opened.

      “You first,” Nikki said. “I am taller.”

      Jessica hopped, then all but dove though the window. It was an awkward move and she was wincing as her tummy scrapped on the seal. She also went head down, luckily on a cushioned seat, the thud it made could have awakened the dead.

      She muttered cursed.

      Nikki gasped. “Where’d you hear that one?”

      Galen, Jess thought, but said, “Never mind, hurry, I have doubtless awakened the entire neighborhood.” She pulled her inside.

      They crept to the door, put their ear to it, listening for any sound then; Jessica slowly turned the knob.

      They emerged in a back hallway; Jessica walked on the balls of her feet, creeping forward with Nikki close behind. To say she was scared was putting it mildly. She was afraid to breathe. Never in her life had she dared such a thing, there wasn’t any pranks or foolish or silly adventures were in her background.

      They arrived at the staircase; Jessica stepped on the first tread.

      Nikki grabbed the back of her shirt.

      Jessica froze, looked around at her.

      Nikki pointed. It was the study at the far end; a light was burning in it.

      Jessica nodded, before starting forward, bit by bit. Up the stairs.

* * * *

      Galen leaned against the wall on the upper landing, and watched their progress. The loud thud had drawn his attention, having been half way up the stairs after leaving the study. He had seen their shadows cast on the wall as they moved up the hall, toward the stairs.

      There was no mistaking that one was in a gown. He had been fully prepared to dispense with two prowlers before, but the gent in the trousers caused his gaze to narrow. A turban was not usual prowler garb.

      He stayed well in the shadows while they made it to the landing. From the sound of their breath they had been holding it the entire trip up.

      His dark eyes moved over the gent again as they headed for Lady Lindy’s room. His brow rose. It was obviously also a female.

      Wondering what the brat was up to now, he let them slip inside the Lady’s chamber before he went over to eavesdrop at the door.

      A small shriek from Lady Lindy, some shushing, and hurried whispers followed that entry. He turned the knob to the sitting room, opened the door.

      He listened. Jessica!

      Frowning, Galen strained harder, until he could make out most of the words. Once he had the gist of the story, heard some of the debate on the solution—then he went first to awaken Jayce. Afterward both men padded softly down to speak to Max in the study.

      Sometime later, the bedroom door leading to the sitting room crept open. Lindy, dressed in black, led the way; Jessica was behind her, Nikki in the rear.

      Lindy made it all the way to the door, the two women nearly glued to her back, when the strike of a match froze all three of them in their tracks.

      Three heads turned at the same time to see Max, wearing snug black evening breeches, an opened white silk shirt, and boots, casually lighting a cheroot. He turned up the lamp, revealing the other two occupants lounging on the sofa.

      “Ladies,” Max said sardonically, blowing out the match.

      In the glow of the lamp three pairs of eyes, all huge with alarm, went from one to the other.

      The American was wearing no shirt at all, revealing carved out muscles, dark skin, the light blond hair on his chest, and not a few scars. His buckskin trousers fit so low on his hips, and they could see the ridged line of darker hair from his navel downward, disappearing under the barely pulled up trousers.

      All of them were torn between looking, not looking, considering the conversation earlier. It was a temptation that would have challenged the strongest fortitude.

      Nikki was the first to recover. She let go of Jess’s shirt where she’d grabbed it in the back. “It’s my entirely my fault,” she confessed and then stepped away from the others.

      Max… now put a face to the name Galen had given him.

      He had seen her many times before. She was not of the social elite because of her background, but was after all, married to an old Earl. Reflecting on what Galen had overheard, he could believe the earl had been too aged to consummate.

      Galen was watching Jessica.

      She had straightened and crossed her arms, not before he saw her breasts through the thin material of her shirt. They weren’t as jutting as they were wide, feminine pillow mounds, with apricot centers. The tail of the shirt came to her thighs, it did little to hide the fact her trousers were snug. The Powder was washed off from the earlier ball… which made it easier to see her expression as well as shadows and strain lines in her face, from being in his grace’s presence.

      Jayce Barrette frowned at the brat, Lady Lindy, whom he was sure, was behind it all.

      She had provoked him during the ball by sweetly complementing him of his formal clothing and shoes, asking him if he had worn that manly smelling scent just for little, ole, her? Hell no he hadn’t, he had not been wearing any scent, then or now!

      She was wearing some hideous, shapeless black gown. Her hair hung in her eye over the rim of her glasses, though she did a fair job of wrapping a scarf around most of it. He didn’t want to think about what she looked like with those glasses off. He had done too much of that before Galen had came to fetch him a while ago.

      Max ordered, “All of you, Sit down.”

      They looked at each other. When Jayce, then Galen arose, they sat on the sofa, Lindy between them.

      “Jess fell through the window,” Nikki blurted stupidly, her humiliation and nervousness at the surface.

      “Did she?” Max eyed Jessica. “Are you injured?”

      Jessica swallowed; feeling extremely embarrassed for breaking in the Marquis’ house. The very idea of the Vanlare heiress being a burglar was ludicrous. “No, other than…” She closed her mouth looked down at the toes of her riding boots. “No.”

      Galen was amused, a rare occurrence, to be sure. The three of them looked so bloody ridiculous, and guilty, He was particularly diverted with the fact that Jessica had the pluck to escape her father’s spies in order to aid her friend. She’d probably never been allowed to fall in her life and mar the Vanlare brood mare. He wondered if she was injured. It would be like her to pretend otherwise.

      Max sat down in a chair facing them. “Explain.”

       
Again they looked at each other. Nikki looked ready to faint, Jessica was mortified, Lindy however blurted out, “Lady Nikki must lose her virginity within the hour or else she will be cast off!”

      Max eyed Lady Nikki’s now red face. “Thank you, Lindy,” he murmured without looking at her. “You may return to your room now.”

      Lindy’s mouth fell open. “Not bloody likely, these are my friends.”

      Max still did not look away from the Lady. “I can see that. However, since you cannot do more at the moment than support them in spirit. I suggest you trust my ability to handle things from here.”

      Grumbling, Lindy hugged Nikki, then arose, and went to her chamber, though not before casting Max a snarling look.

      Jessica reached over in the space and touched her friend’s hand before refolding her arms again. She felt more than saw Galen come over to stand behind her. She looked up at him rather sheepishly.

      He simply lay a hand on her shoulder and watched Jayce go over to take a seat by Max.

      Facing them both, Nikki felt tears of humiliation sting her. She set her jaw, lifted her chin. It was do or die, eventually she would, if she was cast out in the night.

      “Choose,” Max intoned very quietly.

      Nikki made a strangled sound, looked from one to the other, and then whipped her gaze to Jess.

      Jessica was chewing her lip. Dear lord, this was much worse in reality.

      Jayce made the decision for her. Apparently he saw the way she eyed his heavy muscled arms and throat, his wild untamed hair, worse than its usual tuss where he had been in the bed. Compared to the Marquis’ somehow slightly rumpled elegance. Ah well, commoners did not touch titled ladies.

      He gave her a half grin and a wink before quitting the room. His ego was completely intact. Very few women could handle his strength, or bulk. Besides, he doubted he could be a gentleman in bed.

      Nikki let out a long sigh, the lack of expression on Max’s aquiline face made her still inside. His light eyes had not left hers.

      The Marquis was well known to her. He was considered a prime catch. He was also considered arrogant, self-confident, somewhat cynical, and famous for his beautiful mistresses. His manner often intimidated, on occasion like now… it could be authoritative.

      Unhurriedly, Max stood. He walked over those few steps, holding his hand down to Nikki.

      Nikki straightened her shoulders, drew in a long soothing breath. She took his hand, quickly covered her reaction to his touch, and then allowed him to assist her to her feet.

      Max led her out of the room.

* * * *

      For a moment Jessica buried her face in her hands. She made a half groan and rubbed her hands down it, before letting them drop into her lap.

      “This is much more awkward in reality. I simply could not find a solution for her.” Though she believed Lord Kilgore would handle it much better than the three of them were about to, Lindy was on her way to take them to an exclusive gambling hell where many ladies found masked lovers. It was some discreet rich looking house, which had a strict rule about staying in disguise.

      Galen looked down, clearly seeing her taut nipples pushing against the shirt. He said, “Did you really fall through the window?”

      “Yes. I think… I actually dove through it.”

      He came round the sofa and stepped between her trouser clad limbs. Before Jessica could protest, he pushed her back against the sofa with one hand, raised her shirt with the other.

      She sucked in her breath.

      Galen's gaze went over the raw scraps. He dropped her skirt tail and took her by the hand pulling her up. ”Come on.” He led her out of the room.

      “It’s nothing, really.” She was still trembling from his gaze on her bare midsection. Honestly, tonight was getting out of hand! This was like some buzzer dream, rather a nightmare. And… her emotions were too raw from the ball, her nerves too strained. And, Galen’s touch, his eyes, they did something to her.

      Galen ignored her protestations and led her to the sitting room. He was fairly sure that Jayce would leave the house, likely get drunk.

      Once in that room, he lit the lamps, and told her to take a seat on the black leather chaise.

      Jessica did, but her limbs were shaking. She rubbed her palms down her thighs; her anxious eyes darting to the doorway of the room he had entered.

      He returned having rolled up his sleeves and was carrying a cloth and salve.

      “It’s nothing.”

      Ignoring her again, he made her lay back on the chaise.

      Jessica flushed. Her feet were still on the floor and he was leaning between her spread thighs. She glanced at his dark face, the position became even more uncomfortable as he flipped the shirt up so high that the round bottoms of her breasts were exposed. She gasped. “This isn’t—”

      “Proper?” His look and tone dripped with irony, “Neither is house breaking.”

      He dabbed at the scrap making her stomach quiver. He took the salve, rubbed it slowly across each scrape.

      She had a small waist, slightly high ribs. The slope it created made her stomach look more defined than Galen had seen on other woman, there was light downy hair in a faint line over her warm skin. He glanced up when a sound came from her. Their eyes held while he kept slowly smoothing with his warm fingertips. No, she had a unique shape, but somehow it fit her.

* * * *

      Jessica’s throat closed. There was no one description to what she felt. Her glaze flickered over his cheekbones, his silky brows, his jaw and his mouth, eyeing his raven hair that was skimming his cheek where he was leaning over her, and then she scanned his bronzed sinewy throat, where the shirt was half undone.

      The problem was… there was no where to look on this exotic, the compelling man and not feel something.

      She was in a vulnerable position. A dozen disadvantages came from getting caught tonight, let alone the fact that she was flat on her back, barred from hip to almost breast. And his touch, dear God. She felt like melting into the chaise.

      Galen lifted his hand and wiped the salve on the cloth before capping the small jar and setting it aside. He deliberately waited until she met his gaze again. Leaning over her and up, he braced his palms just above her head, then graceful, like a cat he was lowering himself closer, closer, and his body over her, almost touching hers.

      Jessica could not move. She was half hypnotized by the expression on his face. It was... sensual? His eyes were smoldering dark like pitch with his lashes semi closed.

      Galen’s lips parted just enough for his warm mint breath to stroke her face. His nostrils flared slightly while he stared at her, breathing, breathing, looking deep into her eyes, until the warmth of him began to seep through her thin clothing.

      There was an inch between them.

      Jessica felt him everywhere.

      Holding himself one handed, he slowly used the other to pull the turban from her head. Her roan hair spilled out in waves, falling against her cheek, her shoulder, fanning over the side of the leather chaise. .

      Her eyes became lighter, lighter, breathing shallow. Heat pulsed in waves all over her. He blocked out everything in sight. She felt his legs against the insides of hers, from high inside her thigh down. There was something about the way he was breathing, intense, yet slow, something about the way he looked at her. He was doing something that she could not name. Something intense, dark, sexual.

      One part of her said it was not possible, because there had been no kissing, no real touch, no joining. Her other part felt it, saw it, the movement of his body, sinking down, extending over her like that.

      He then breathed against her brow, her hair, and her cheek. Sluggish, then deep as, it fanned out. His head moved, his face barely touching hers, while deep-set gaze burned with some uninhibited fire.

      She could smell him. Her nostrils were full of him, a sultry male scent so warm it was heady. Her ears heard only his breathing. Her eyes almost glazed from some inner fever. Her body began to moisten, between her thighs, she felt it pool. Skin seemed to turn inside out, sensitive and tingling. She could not look away from his gaze and her nipples grew harder, tighter until she made a soft sound, vulnerable, throbbing in the room.

      Galen blew out moist, warm air against her ear and dipped his head to fan his breath across her throat. He moved his head again, blowing soft against the material covering her breasts.

      She made the sound again.

      He rose slightly, moved down, doing the same over her ribs and flat stomach. He blew soft and warm over it, down to her pubic bone. Before he slowly stretched over her again. He breathed into her ear, masculine, slow, and hot. He could see her light eyes, see her struggling for control, he saw confusion there too.

      He made a velvety sound in his throat. Then, made it again, barely audible. Her eyes got lighter, her legs moved… to capture him between them, drawing up in the vulnerable sign of needing to rub her groin against his.

      Galen slowly lifted himself, and stood waiting for her to recover her senses.

      It took a few moments, but as soon as the image and warmth was gone, Jessica blinked and sat up. Staring at the floor, she felt her eyes fill with tears and they unhurriedly rolled down her cheeks, to plop onto the leather between her trembling thighs.

      She recognized what he was doing …and she almost hated him, as much as despised her father. Jessica sniffed long and deep then dried her tears on her shirtsleeve. She arose with stiff concentration and took up the turban.

      With measured steps, she left the room, fully aware that he was walking behind her, soft like a cat. Yes that’s what he had been doing laying across her, breathing, watching, making that low rumbling in his throat that vibrated somewhere in her loins. She went in the direction of the back parlor having the idea it was the best exit.

      The room was dark. Jessica caught her breath. Galen suddenly came up behind her, hard and fast. His arm like iron across the front her shoulder, pinning her own, the other was across her lower hips.

      She could hear her own panting breaths as he walked her, forced her close to the wall—leaning his body against hers until she had to turn her face, her cheek, against the cool papered surface.

      “Why are you angry?” The way he said it meant he was fairly sure why, but he wanted her to say it.

      Her teeth grit. “You know very well why.”

      “Why,” he growled in her ear.

      She moved her head trying to loosen his hold. “I detest you.”

      “Why?”

      She fought back tears; but made herself stop struggling. In gruff flat tones, she accused, “You were making me… distracting me… to let down my guard, and you were… breaking me down, controlling my responses, controlling me.”

      His hold slackened and she pushed back against him.

      She went out the door, up the garden walk on shaky legs. Stuffing her hair in the turban, Jessica walked home; aware that he was right behind her.

      Tears started to blind her, but she wouldn’t move to wipe them away. Why in bloody hell did he have to do that? Why? Which of them was he trying to prove something to? Deep inside her was some animal instinct, pure primal, knowledge, that thus far had not shown itself. And yes, damn him, It responded to only him in some potent male-female way.

      But why put he body in an almost painful state of arousal? To expose her? Humiliate her? To watch her lose control?

* * * *

      Not until she had slipped inside and he looked up after some moments, to see drapes closing, did Galen head back to the townhouse. He lit a cheroot, mentally admitting he wished the whole bloody mess was over and done with. The longer it dragged out, the more it forced him to deal with her.

      She wasn’t easy to deal with either. She was supposed to be just a body, just a recipient, she wasn’t supposed to get under his skin, to provoke him. He could be cold, ice cold. He usually was.

      He didn’t think, from the beginning, that she had much going for her, being sheltered like she was. She shouldn’t have any personality. She shouldn’t make him think or feel anything. More beautiful, experienced women had tried. She shouldn’t be so self contained, so strong and— yes, cold when she needed to be.

      Galen told himself he felt sorry for her, an old maid heiress with strange looks, locked up in a gilded cadge with an insane old tyrant. He’d seen worse in his lifetime. He wanted it over with soon! He could wed, bed her, and get on with his life… with no more ghosts clawing at his back. Galen reflected that he was aware that he would some day face those charges. He supposed he was getting off easy by dealing with the Old man instead of Scotland Yard. But there was easy, and there was easy.

      Using the one thing that could bring out every drip of his bitterness, was a mistake. However he would deal with it. He’d do what he had to. If she would just… stop… looking at him like he was some sort of lifeline—to a drowning woman. If she’d see what he really was, know it, she’d be repulsed right down to her pure little feet. She’d quit tying to see inside him, get in his mind.

      People looked at his outside. He knew full well it was all over him. Thanks to his past. He knew too much. That was his hell, that there was nothing left to feel or experience. Life was one long predictable road. Sex was no mystery. Flesh was flesh. Maybe tonight he’d finally showed her what she was looking for? Maybe she’d lie awake, think on it when her naive little mind started get tempted with ideas about reaching him.

      Galen's jaw flexed, no woman was ever going to make him do or feel anything he didn’t want to. Never again was he going to be deceived, manipulated, and used. He was in control of his body… and hers too.

CHAPTER FIVE

      In The Marquis bedchamber, Nikki wrapped the towel around her body, tucking it under her arms.

      She had been mortified when he had calmly told his valet to run a bath for her. She’d really lost her bloody sense and had told him quite boldly that bathing her body wouldn’t make her good enough for a Marquis, However perhaps if he equated her to Aurora Paxton he might be able to get through it?

      Max had ignored her, merely pouring a brandy, sitting down on the bed and was lounging against the headboard. She’d washed her hair, had it tucked in another towel. He’d kept the door open between the rooms, she had at first been appalled, angry… knowing that the moments were ticking away until dawn, she put aside the fact he could see her, and simply got the thing done.

      Now she held the towel just under her arms and looked around the dark indigo and silver room. It was masculine, with big pieces of scrolled furniture. The bed he lounged on was massive, the rumpled sheets, and dark blue silk comforter reminded her she’d be over there with him in a few moments.

      Nikki’s brown eyes went up him slowly. He’d removed all except his trousers. Any woman with eyes could tell he was athletic, not soft, or white like most Englishmen. He had long legs, lean hips; his waist was taut, defined, chest broad and covered with black curly hair. His throat was sinewy. The aquiline features were a mixture of arrogance and utter confidence. The short wavy black hair hugged his head perfectly, one or two unruly locks lying just at his winged brow. All right, he was bloody devastating, sexy, and just about the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

      She could no longer avoid it, and met his gaze.

* * * *

      Max was having a debate with himself.

      He’d pretty much decided to scare her witless, teach her a lesson about getting notions in her head that could get her more than she was looking for. But for all he had left the door open, thinking she would have the typical maidenly reaction, pass out or back out. She’d turned the tables on him.

      Nicole, was a beautiful woman, on the sultry side, with bedroom eyes—and lips that made a man think things he shouldn’t. The fact that she didn’t know her looks were alluring made them all the more tempting.

      Her hourglass shape made him wonder why he had always slept with willowy blonds, and long, tall brunettes. Her hair wasn’t just brown, no; it was some deep sable with enough fire in it to make it shimmer.

      He was honest enough to admit that her profile, when she’d stood in that tub, would be in his memory for a long time. She had flaring full hips, a faintly rounded lower belly that was surprisingly sexy. Her rib cadge was flat, above the inward curved waist, making those full hips all the more attractive. Her breasts- Even now his body was reacting. He doubted he’d ever again he stimulated by tight, light nipples because she had big ones, dark disks that sat in the center of good-sized mounds. He thought he’d seen them all, he’d never seen any like hers, and they were amazingly erotic.

      “It’s getting late. Or rather early.”

      Her voice broke into his immoral thoughts. He sat up, put his glass aside. “You have two choices...”

      “What?” Her expression showed dismay. “Please, can’t we just...get on with it? I- the choice is made.”

      “You can let them do as they will, and come under my protection, as my mistress.”

      “No! I just- “

      “Or…”he went on smoothly, “You trust me to call on your relatives, set them straight, shall we say, legally.”

      “It won’t work that way!” She shook her head, yanking the towel off her hair and letting the damp mass tumble down her back. “There are no signed papers. They really can prove that the marriage was never consummated. Besides, Albert left nothing in writing either. Look, lord Kilgore-”

      “Call me Max,” he said ironically.

      “Whatever, Listen to me. I am not of your background, or any of their background. Society barely tolerates me. Even if you intimidate them into backing off, they have already started the rumors, that I tricked an old man into marriage, just to gain entree into society. People are more than willing to believe that.”

      “I’m not without power and influence myself.”

      “I know that.” She walked toward him, saying urgently, almost desperately, “Everyone knows who you are, what you are, your family is held in very high regard. But you do not know what it is like when you are not born into it, when society only accepts you because you wed an Earl. They do snicker at me, and whisper, because of my husband’s age. It would only take a rumor to destroy me. Even if you put the fear of God into Mildred and the rest, one whisper, and I might have my title, yet I will have little else.”

      “Trust me on this, Lady Nicole.”

      Hearing the clock below stairs chime the hour, Nikki lost her patience with him. Men! Did they not understand that women had few choices? She yanked the towel lose and let it fall to the floor, exposing her full nudity to the candlelight. “Call me Nikki,” She whispered, her gaze pleading with him to be cooperative.

      “Shit.” Max whispered back feeling his body go rigid all over while running his gaze over that lush body.

      “I’ll never tell anyone,” Nikki whispered. “I’ll never approach you in public or bother you. It will be as if it never happened.” She put her knee on the bed, her hair falling wildly around her face as she crawled slowly to him, her breasts swaying with the movement.

      “I need you Max, please, just one time. Have you ever had a virgin? No? Well, consider it a payment. You’re magnificent, Max.” She reached his side.

      Raised on her knees, reaching out, and putting her finger to his lips, and stroking them, she whispered “Want me. Just once. Take me.” Nicole was glad she’d picked up Lindy’s book. She could only hope she didn’t look stupid instead of seductive.

      Going on some of the things Lindy had pointed out in that book, Nikki reached out and took his hand. She held his gaze. It was easy, she had been guilty of watching Max for two years, wondering, fanaticizing. His eyes were hot, aqua, and beautiful. She looked into them, wet her lips, and slid his hand to the curls between her legs. “Just once.”

      Max had been lost long before she’d taken his hand. By the time she had placed it near the humid warmth, he was completely gone.

      He raised in one movement and was over her.

      They fell sideways across the silken bed, her hair fanning out, and his mouth descended in a kiss that seared her from head to toe. That was simply the beginning.

      Max didn’t have the ability to think.

      Nikki lost her ability to speak.

      Scorching, wild, completely captured by his mouth on hers, his tongue was plundering her mouth with delicious passion. Nikki could only cling to his shoulders and raise her thighs to grip his hips, arching, trying to get more.

      The air in the room became heavy with sexual breathing, it echoed from the couple on the bed. Max, fully giving himself to the hunger for her, the taste, and feel. He used his lips, and hands, to cover every slope and curve he encountered. He kneaded, he skimmed and stroked and tried to explore every inch, of that lush body.

      Every sigh or long moan that came from her moist, parted, mouth seemed to drive him deeper into the craving. He had sex with beauties; he prided himself on his calm expertise. With Nikki, he completely lost control.

      Nikki panted, clutching handfuls of the comforter when he arose and shed his breeches. She had a brief glimpse of his aroused sex, taunt hips and buttocks, before he covered her again. The feel of him between her thighs drove all else out of her mind. She was feverish, hot, and hungry.

      “Max. Oh, yes.” He was touching her, his mouth filled with her breast, his hand, fingers then, between their bodies.

      “Max, I want you.” She could feel her own moistness slick and hot.

      He gave her what she wanted. He slid in deep, filling her completely. His mouth began rubbing over hers, lips stroking, tongue laving inside to gentle her pain, soothing the sound of her sharp hiss at the tear of thin flesh, the burning of concealed virgin skin.

      Once the pain eased a bit, there was nothing gentle in his long forceful strokes. Nikki, even though she still had some discomfort, completely absorbed him, and raised her legs, hips, to welcome him.

      Max whispered things that would make any woman feel like she was the only one, the most beautiful one, and the best lover on earth. He murmured mindless, lost phrases of pleasure that he’d never thought, let alone felt. And it ended too soon, with his harsh whisper near her ear, his body shuddering from the force of his release.

      Nikki lay dazed for several moments, enthralled, shaken, deliciously ravished, until he eased off her, lying against her side. She heard the clock chime again.

      Like a shot, she was off the bed, hurrying to the bathing chamber. She hastily washed away the tinged seed and dressed. Shaking from the weakness in her limbs, light headed from the sudden end to the sensual interlude, she felt like she’d been another person, in another world.

      Max sat on the edge of the bed, clad again in trousers; he was staring at the floor when she returned. He raised his gaze, cast her a side-glance while she used his brush to comb her hair, twisted it, and tucked it in some way in the back.

      “I’ll be calling on you as soon as the mourning period is over. It will not be a big wedding, naturally.” He looked away staring at the wall. “I will get a special licensee, we’ll get the thing over with without too much speculation.”

      Nikki eyed him a long moment. He said it with such... obvious coldness, such rigid resistance, that she felt she’d been slapped.

      “No,” her own voice was chilled. “I would hate to force you to wed so obviously beneath yourself, Lord Kilgore. Really,” She grated. “I would feel awful, just knowing you felt… trapped by helping me out.” She walked toward the door with a few shreds of dignity left. “Consider it bad dream, my lord. A far, less, horrifying nightmare, than if you actually awakened—and found yourself tied to a woman so unworthy of your status.”

      She turned the knob, opened the door, then glancing back at his stony face and hard eyes. “Tell yourself you were seduced, tricked, by a heartless woman trying to hold onto her money, that should ease your noble conscience, or better yet, do as I intend to, forget it ever happened.”

      Max stared at the door after she closed it. For a moment he hated her more than he did himself, for taking advantage of her vulnerable position. He could have solved her problems with a few threats. That had been his plan. Dammit, that had been his intention.

      Max could still see it in her expression, she actually intended to forget it. The insult to his manly pride told him that he was that forgettable.

      His anger arose and ground out that the women should be damned pleased he was willing to do the honorable thing after her mourning was over. The bloodlines in him was outraged she had turned him down. After he had bathed, lay back down on the bed, breathing the scent of their sexual feast, he was simply haunted by every second, of every moment, and every feel, and taste—that he slammed his fist against the headboard hard enough to crack it.

* * * *

      Late breakfast, a few hours later, found Max the object of all eyes.

      Particularly Galen and Jayce, who has been standing in the upper hall when the valet had said, “I am sorry, your lordship, your headboard is quite damaged, and will have to be sent out.”

      They had also been standing there with their arms crossed; their brows raised when the antique piece had been carted out by some footmen.

      Now pretending great care in drinking his coffee, Max could feel everyone just dying to say something.

      Lindy had been dying to say something. However, the haggard look on her brother’s face, the wintry gaze he had shot her upon entering, told her not to push it. She slid back her chair and left the table. When she passed Max he groused at her, asking her where she was expected?

      At a funeral.” She answered sarcastically. “The Earl of Holcombe died , remember?”

      She left after that.

      Max nearly snapped the cup into at the sound of Nicole’s husband’s name.

      “I thought.” Jayce wiped his mouth slid his chair back. “That you said in the study, that she just needed to be taught a lesson? You said, it would take nothing to set the old man’s people straight. I thought , you said, that she was a gentlewoman, naive and—”

      “That’s bloody well enough,“ Max warned glaring at him.

      Jayce smiled, stood up and offered, “Too bad things like that don’t get told, breaking headboards would put you in even higher demand.”

      Max muttered something about going to hell, Jayce laughed, leaving the room.

      It wasn’t until they were by the stairs, Galen getting ready to fetch Jessica for her ride that he put his word in.

      “You surprise me,” Galen murmured pulling on his riding gloves, eyeing his friend who was merely standing on the stair with his hips leaned against the railing.

      “Do I?”

      The sarcasm did not effect Galen. “You talk so much about doing the noble thing where women are concerned. In fact, you talk as if females of rank are a revered breed. You’ve been on my back more than once about seeing Lady Jessica as different, Yet you-tumble Lady Nikki like a whore when she’s at a low spot.”

      “Please, don’t spare me,” Max growled. “I know bloody well what I have done. Do you see me crowing about it? Hell, I even offered to wed her, make it right after the mourning period.”

      “Well, if you put it that way. I assume she did the right thing, and turned you down?”

      “Since when do you go around championing the fair sex?”

      “I’m not. She acknowledged the risk when she left her house last night. I’m merely relishing a bit of hypocrisy on your part. It’s so rare I get the chance.”

      Max set his jaw. “Remind me why we are friends again?” His arrogant brow rose.

      Laughter showed in Galen's dark eyes. “Because I saved your English ass, that’s why.”

      Max sighed, ran a hand through his hair. “I really fouled things up, Galen. Hell, I couldn’t think straight, it was. She was... it... I—”

      Galen looked skeptical, yet said before leaving, “Get some sleep. A trip to your mistress will set your mind straight, they’re all alike.”

      Max heard the door close. He sat down on the stair, shoved his hands in his hair, propping his elbow on his knees. No, they were not. And nothing was ever going to be the same after today.

* * * *

      Galen and Jessica did not speak at the beginning of their ride.

      In the middle of it, they only spoke necessary things, because people were coming up to them, congratulating them on the betrothal. Near the end of the ride, Jessica thought it seemed so appropriate that they had both worn black, because their mood seemed to go with it.

      She watched females watch him, many openly eyeing him in the snug riding breeches and black shirt. His face drew many a sigh, and though she should be pleased whenever attention shifted from herself, she felt something entirely different. She really was not forgiving him for showing her how stupid, naive, and susceptible she really was.

      Part of her wanted to feel all the things it was easy to feel for a man like that, the other half warned her that the dangerous part of him , in the wrong mood, would take it and use it against her.

      They left the park. Galen he dropped her off and reminded her he would by at eight to collect her again. Jessica merely nodded, and though she could feel him looking at her. She did not glance at him. She was civil today, polite and composed, and she intended to stay that way.

      Later that evening, at the Theater, Jessica was dressed in a dark green gown, with long white gloves. Her shoes were white leather with tiny emeralds in the buckle; her hair was piled atop her head, several wavy strands trailing behind one ear with wisps escaping. Emeralds twinkled in her ears, and around her neck was a diamond necklace that had an emerald clasp in the back. Her face was dusted with powder. Her social mask , was completely intact.

      She endeavored to ignore Galen, who sat beside her, in the only complete suit she’d ever seen him in, it actually had tails. He wore a thin neck cloth with a tiny stickpin, gloves too! She must have stared when she had come down the stairs, because he had turned in a circle as if to show himself from all sides. She’d flushed. It did remind her that he could read her far easier than she could him.

      During the break they had a visit from Max and Lindy, who were with another well placed pair of siblings, Jessica could tell Lindy was asking her what was wrong , because they had been so relaxed together, but Jessica merely shrugged.

      She wasn’t sure she could put into words, the complex tangle that her father had created for her by choosing Galen Wolfe. She didn’t know how to explain what happened on that chaise lounge.

      She wished to speak to Nikki desperately, about herself and Galen, but too, about what had happened between Nikki and Max? The Marquis did not look his usual suave self either, he looked distracted. Nikki was in mourning; society had its rules about it, so she was left in the dark about what happened between them. Whatever it was, it must have saved her friend from the threats because there was no whisper about her so far.

      She was left to try and figure her relationship with Galen out on her own. Because, the bloody man had too many sides to keep anyone from feeling as if they knew him. And he was playing his own game, and she wasn’t happy about it, she’d all but accepted that he had begun to be on her side.

      Back in the box with Galen, she could feel his gaze on her several times. She slipped easily back into the role she’d had for so long. Even forcing ones self not to feel had some comfort in it, she’d done it so long, it afforded its own brand of protection.

      After the theater, they were eating dinner at a hotel when he glanced at her hardly touched food, then up her face. She sipped nothing but lemonade. He hadn’t touched much of his own food. He sipped from his coffee cup with his elbow propped on the table.

      Holding the cup he murmured in tones only she could hear. “What is your game?”

      “My game?” Her brow rose icily.

      “What do you want?”

      “My freedom,” her tone was as hard as his.

      “What would you do with this, freedom?”

      Jessica searched his face, because she was not about to be mocked even more. “I might do absolutely nothing.” She stated, “Yet if it was my choice.” She shrugged.

      He looked around at the patrons then met her eyes again. “When it is all done, our… obligations fulfilled. When I have what I want, in my hands, if your father is dead, my role in it will be finished.”

      She waited.

      He said, after a time, “We have what your father wants, you and I,”

      A muscle flexed in his jaw while his gaze moved over her face. “I will use it to get you what you want.”

      At first. She was so happy she nearly dropped her cup, she paused and thought a moment, then smiled rather cynically at him. “In exchange for?”

      He blinked, although that was the only sign showing his surprise at her cynicism.

      He honestly should say nothing, because that was his intention. However, he was not a man who was known for his kindness, or benevolence. He heard himself say with some surprise, “I will inform you of that, when your father is dead, after I too, am assured of my freedom.”

      “Promises do not mean much to me,” She reminded him softly. “I am the Vanlare heiress, remember?”

      “My word.”

      She smiled, then shrugged. “That means even less, thanks to your little lessons, on making the mistake of trusting you.”

      “You have my word, you will get your freedom,” his tone was harsh because of her statement.

      “I'll keep asking myself, what could he possibly want in exchange? He will have his freedom. He will have wealth. He will have control over the heir’s legacy until the legal age of adulthood, still he will be rich.”

      She folded her napkin, lay it beside her plate and tilted her head slightly, her eyes a dark green.” What does he want?”

      Galen merely stared at her. “I will tell you.”

      Jessica sat back, breathing a long sigh while holding his gaze with her doubtful one. “Well, that certainly keeps you in control of things, does it not? Your mistrust of the female sex, I am sure, has its roots in a justifiable cause. I however, have done nothing to perpetuate that between us. I have not manipulated, lied, betrayed, or in any way tricked you.”

      Her gaze went over him, from his gleaming black hair to the exotic face, down to the set of his broad shoulders. “I am ignorant of many things. I have been sheltered, if such a word applies to my situation, although I think, milord, that you would like it much better if I were like my father. If I was like that female in your past. I think it vexes you very much, that I am not.”

      She slid her chair back, and arose. He did also. She finished quietly, “Given that your usual reason for abhorrence is missing, you must of course, employ some method to try and provoke me, which would justify your attitude toward me.”

      Not until they were seated in the coach did she look at his immobile features, finishing her statement. ”I shan’t oblige you, Sir. Because I would have to be trying to elicit a response from you, because I cared, because, I wanted to shake your usual silent, icy anger. I do not.” Her gaze turned toward the window. She grit her teeth, muttering, “I do not.”

      There was silence the whole of the trip to the mansion, the only sign of Galen's emotions was a vein pulsing in his temple, and the fisted grip on the gloves he had not put back on.

      The only glimpse into Jessica’s thoughts, was the brittle way in which she carried herself, the cool manner in which she bade him goodnight, in the Foyer. Being right about how someone feels, she discovered, was not always a victorious sensation.

* * * *

      The following evening brought everything crashing down on both of them.

      They were returning early from a musical. Jessica had a headache. Galen was downright brooding.

      Just as soon Jessica saw the dark coach in front of the mansion, she whispered rather strained, “That is father’s personal physician.”

      There were two more coaches in the yard, neither of which she recognized.

      Galen handed her down, feeling the hair prickle on his nape when they walked into the foyer. A footman, by the study doors, caught their entrance; he came toward them saying rather in a rush. “His Grace requests you to join him in the study. The both of you.”

      Jessica took off her gloves and lay them carefully on a side table. She braced her fingertips on the table surface a moment, took a long steadying breath. Then she turned, lifted her chin, and took Galen's arm. He had been waiting for her.

      The study was brightly lit. The duke sat in one of the stuffed chairs in trousers and dressing gown. The physician was seated across the room. Three other gentlemen with the look of businessmen, stood near the fireplace with a drink.

      Galen and Jessica paused before the old man.

      He wasted little time. In gruff tone he said, “I have acquired tonight, a special license, you have one hour to prepare yourself to wed. The coachman is now being alerted that you will go directly to Twin Bells after the vows have been said. An article will appear in the paper in a few days saying that you have married in a quiet ceremony due to my health. Which is true. I haven’t much time left.” His stare went over Galen. “One hour.”

      Galen merely bowed, nodding his head in acknowledgement. He told Jessica before leaving, “I shall collect my things from Max’s. While I am doing so, I will have those…things we discussed written up.” He turned on his heel, and left her.

      She could feel all eyes in the room on her but had no idea what he was talking about, in her state of near panic; she could only control one thing at a time, and at the moment she was hanging onto her nerve.

      Her father said, “I shan’t disturb you at your mother’s estate for one month. At that time, a physician will arrive to assure me. All is in order. If no conception has taken place, he will come back in another month for the same. Your husband’s signature, will legally dictate all the assets when I die. But until that time, remember that he has complete authority over your inheritance and you. Now, go, prepare yourself.”

      Jessica left almost numbly. Her palms were sweating, her heart thudded so loud it seemed to pound in her ears. In the bedroom, she was disrobed and bathed, and put in a long cream satin wedding gown with a high neck and long sheer lace sleeves. Her hair was all pulled up; a crown of pearls was placed on its artful pouf.

      The only thing the maid said to her, was that after the ceremony she would return above to change into a traveling gown, that all her things were packed, already loaded in one of the coach.

      Jessica’s hands were shaking. She walked across the room. The thin satin was cool on her skin, perspiration beaded on her forehead. She was getting married. Tonight would be her wedding night. She was marrying Galen Wolfe. Tonight he would—

      She mentally shook her head. If she thought of that, the strain would cause another odd episode. No, she had to get through it. She looked down at her trembling hands rather blindly and flexed her fingers, drew in her breath then lifted her head. She slowly went out the door into the hall.

      The trip down the stairs seemed too short. She paused just outside the study door to put a hand to her chest trying to calm herself.

      When she opened the door and entered, she seemed to glide across the room in a shimmer of creamy satin; her hair glowed in the light.

      The spectators by the fireplace were much taken by her poise and grace. When she stopped beside the dark lord Blackcove, they made quite a striking couple.

      Jessica however, had kept her eyes on Galen when she entered the room. He had looked up when she came through the doors, his gaze going down her slowly, then back up. He was still wearing his formal clothing. She could see some papers sticking out of the inside pocket.

      One of the men detached him from the group. “Your Grace? Where shall they stand?”

      His grace was absolutely furious with Galen for daring to turn the tables on him, to bring papers for him to sign. He had to do it , for Galen had said bluntly that there would be no wedding, no heir, if he did not.

      He barked harshly, “Just get on with it!”

      The other two men, they discovered, wealthy businessmen, were there as witnesses. The ceremony was nothing flowery or particularly reverent. Jessica was aware that her hands were icy when Galen took them.

      He placed a ring on her finger. She looked down at it, seeing it, an opal, something she had never worn; it had two diamonds on either side. Jessica put a gold band on his finger; it had their crests engraved on the top of it. The ring was not the one her father had chosen.

      It was done.

      Jessica turned, looked at her father.

      He looked torn between pleasure and anger. “You may go, prepare for the journey, I wish to speak to your husband alone.”

      Jessica nodded. Lines of tension at had formed at her mouth because she had recalled something during the ceremony. Going above to change, she recalled him saying, “I do not kiss.” He had not; he had brushed his lips on her hand.

      She allowed the maid to lay out a green light weight skirt with sheer blouse, and short jacket.

      “No.” She refused the hat, much to the maid’s astonishment. She also refused any jewelry except the wedding ring. She refused a corset, which had the woman gasping for air.

      It was a sultry night, so Jessica pulled the blouse on, the jacket over it herself. She was not going to ride for hours in uncomfortable jewelry hanging about her or a stiff corset on. She allowed the woman to brush out her hair, to pile it atop her head, pins it, that was all.

      “I shall be down to serve you in a day or two, my lady.”

      Jessica looked at her intensely. “No , you shan’t. I have another name now, it is Countess Blackcove. My husband has the authority over me, not my father. I dearly hope I never lay eyes on you again. As a matter of fact, when he dies, and he will- I doubt there will be any of his... Spies , still working for this household.”

      She took up her purse, ignored the red-faced maid, and then exited the room. Dear Lord, she had been dying to tell that woman off for years; she was absolutely trembling from the sound of her own voice actually answering the maid.

      Galen mistook her trembling. He assisted her into the coach. He had, she saw, taken off his jacket and neck cloth, and he had on only the white silk shirt, dark trousers and his boots. The contrast between his swarthy looks, the white shirt, was rather striking. She forgave herself for noticing it.

      As they began their journey, neither were particularly aware of what the other was thinking, because the shock of the hasty events was still upon them.

      They were two hours into the journey, three hours from Twin Bells, when it finally did seep into their bones.

      It was after a stop at an Inn to refresh themselves and they were standing by the coach doors preparing to get back inside. The night was a bit warm, earth scents wafting on the caress warm of breeze, and they stood in the amber glow of the lamppost.

      They reached for the door latch at the same time, and his hand, landed atop hers.

      They were so close, that Jessica only had to look up at him. She could not move her hand, until he moved his.

      He gazed back at her with dark shimmering eyes.

      A moment passed between them, of heightened awareness and intimacy. When he slowly moved his hand off the handle, his fingers trailed over her wrist.

      Jessica released a shaky sigh as he finally moved, the door was opened. Once they were on their journey again, the hush and warmth of the night, with only the clip of the horses, sway of the coach, seemed to remind them that they were alone and would be so for many days, nights to come.

      “Are you tired?” he murmured “Sleepy?”

      She shook her head no, and he could see how the strain was affecting her. Galen advised, “Go ahead, sleep, I understand it will be three hours or more.”

      She shook her head, saying somewhat husky, “I have always had people watch me sleep, maids, checking on me, and I do not sleep well, so I shall make the trip fine.”

      Galen stared at her, before he came over, sharing in the seat with her. He braced his booted feet in the other. Reaching out, he touched her shoulder, and frowned when she jumped slightly.

      Not to be deterred, Galen eased his arm halfway round her back, and all but forced her to lie against him, her body almost lying in his lap.

      “This is not comfortable,” she tried to sound peevish, because it was not, touching him, breathing his scent, was anything but comfortable.

      Galen said, “Take off your shoes, and jacket.”

      “No.”

      He sighed. “Don’t be foolish, you have circles under your eyes despite the powder, your face is strained, you have been holding yourself like a poker for days now.” He reached for her foot; she gasped, trying to push his hands away.

      “I’ll do it.” Jessica was trying to get his hands off her, already lying against him; it was hard to pretend calm. She pulled off her slippers, remembering her sheer blouse she said, “My jacket stays on.”

      “Why?”

      “Because. My blouse is sheer.”

      “Is it?” He murmured mildly, then proceeded to take her jacket off. “It’s dark. I can’t see you.” He lied. He could certainly see the pale peach mounds and darker peach nipples by the moonlight.

      “I cannot sleep on command,” she grumbled even as he put her head in his lap, resting one arm along the back of the seat, the other on the open window ledge.

      “You will sleep.”

      Jessica bent her knees, curled on her side, not facing him. The simple fact that the silky black material, taut, snug did not hide his well-muscled thighs, or his heat, made little difference to her position.

      She closed her eyes, and was asleep in ten minutes.

CHAPTER SIX

      One of her hairpins was poking him in the leg.

      That’s what drew Galen out of his mental hypnosis, he’d been saying in his mind to the clip of the horses, husband, wife, husband, wife, it was odd how it sounded. Every time the moonlight glinted off the band on is hand, it sounded strange.

      For the moment, for a while yet, that is what he would be. A husband, something he never meant to be, never wished to be, yet , he had to have sex with this woman, to give her his seed, impregnate her.

      The old part of him had little doubt that he could accomplish that with little or no emotion. The other side of him was struggling to not put any connotations on the word, wife, It meant in many ways, belonging to. He would rather think of her as simply a recipient, a means to his end.

      Galen looked down and carefully searched for the offending hairpin. He ended up sliding several out before the right one brought a curse of relief to his mind. He tossed them all on the floor then used his fingers to smooth the tangles from it, until it flowed over her shoulders and over his thigh.

      She rolled onto her back, trying to get comfortable. He grimaced at the white powder on his trousers, then sighed… and finished wiping the rest off slowly with his handkerchief.

      She couldn’t straighten out her legs. She was frowning in her sleep.

      Galen rolled her, so that her face was against his stomach.

      She curled her legs, sighed, her hand raising, sliding to rest around his waist. With his one hand trapped under her head, palm up, Galen tried to go through his mental exercises in order to ignore her breath warming him through his shirt, her hand, resting against his waist.

      He could look down, seeing her skin trough the blouse.

      He was still going through the exercises, still thinking about how cold and detached, he could be, would be , when he slid his other hand off the back of the seat, and lightly touched the curve of her jaw.

      Still telling himself all the things that worked successfully before, he went from there to tracing her arched brow, running his finger down her slim nose. He pushed the hair back from her shoulder, exposed her neck to his warm touch. Her skin was silky, soft, its peach scent reached him, pleasing his receptive senses. For a moment his thumb rested on the pulse just beating in her throat, then he slid it up to touch her lips. She wet them, laving his thumb in the process.

      The more aroused he became, the more he told himself he was not. He carefully undid the buttons of her blouse and slid his hand down to cup her breast. It was warm, almost too soft to imagine. He touched them both, not firm but delicately, sliding his palm over them, curling his fingers a bit on them.

      She rolled back onto her back.

      Galen held her breast in his hand gently. It was easy to pull her blouse out of the skirt, lay it open. He stroked her long, soft, soothing strokes, only now, he rubbed the tip of his finger around her nipples, doing this until they were hard, aroused.

      He gazed at her face while he touched her, watched her sigh as if it was something she had waited for a very long time.

      Eventually he did stroke her neck, her face, and her ear. He rubbed his finger over her moist lips. She arched.

      He slid his hand down then, over her chest and her ribs, down to the waistband. It too was easy to unlatch at the side. He eased his hand under it and encountered cool silk. He raised the waistband and looked.

      Just below her navel, only just covering her womanhood was a pair of lace edged silk bloomers. He peeked at her face again, sliding his hand down, rubbing the satin, warming it with his palm.

      Jessica was awake. She was simply feeling too good to acknowledge it.

      For some time he had been feeding a skin hunger she had been living with for years and she was aware if she acknowledged it, all would be over. He would mock her with it.

      Not wanting either, or to see his cold visage, she kept herself relaxed except for moments when she could not, times when the sensation was simply too much to ignore.

      When she felt him shifting, reaching lower on her stomach, she did feel it quiver beneath his hand. Her eyes fluttered open only slightly because she was somewhat drugged by the intense pleasure of it. She watched him pull the skirt down her hips, expose her drawers, she also was watching when he slid his hand inside of them, and touched her intimately.

      It was not until she opened her bent legs a bit, that he looked at her. His eyes were warm, filled with something she had never seen before.

      Somehow it just seemed... all right. Somewhere in her mind she called him husband, if just for a moment. When he saw her looking beneath her lashes, he stopped only a moment then, slid her higher against his chest before he pushed the skirt completely down, leaving her clad in her open shirt, drawers, stockings.

      He reached in slowly, sliding his fingers down, between the damp curls, finding her heat again, not breaking their locked gazes as he began stroking , sliding, touching her in ways that brought her so much pleasure her face was flushed because of the humid wetness it evoked there.

      Galen watched her eyes get lighter, he still had one arm around her and he was holding her to him, yet he acknowledged her expression, the way she opened her legs to his touch. Her body was holding him in a much tighter grip. He increased the tempo of his strokes, felt the slick heat increase while he circled the hardening nub with erotic abrasion, watching her gasp and close her eyes almost painfully.

      Jessica turned her face toward his throat, rubbing her forehead against him, as if denying what was happing, panting moist breaths bathed his skin.

      He could feel her reaching climax; her hands were clutching at his shoulders, her soft moans echoing though the tiny space. She was whispering his name in husky whispers, that no one had spoken before, it was a half curse, half helplessness.

      He touched her, deeply, intimately, sliding his finger into the hot channel, letting his thumb abrade while he moved the touch slick and gentle. Her body began to quiver, then clench. He felt her open her mouth against his throat, sucking, biting, and laving it. Her teeth raked, and the flat of her tongue laved, and she sucked hard… and came with pulsations against his finger.

      The quiet that followed was heavy with the sexual heat of what had occurred.

      Galen cupped her one last time before sliding his hand out, resting it on her outer hip. He was hard, rock hard, though he was used to ignoring it, staying emotionally cold.

      Only he didn’t feel cold just now. His hand and mind well recalled how wonderful she felt to his touch. His neck actually hurt a little, where she had expressed her pain and pleasure against it. Her arms were more or less around him now, lying atop his shoulders, one hand softly feeling of his hair.

      He was nearly sorry when she slid off his lap.

      The skirt fell into the floor. She merely leaned against the side of the coach a moment, letting the breeze cool her face and blow back the shirt, to ruffle her mussed hair back from her shoulders.

      She surprised him.

      He expected her to grab her clothing, cover herself. Galen expected her to start accusing him of all sorts of vile things. He wanted her to. She was supposed to. She was that kind of woman, the kind who needed to be led into intimacy, yet would resent her own surrender. She was the kind who would expect sex in the dark with only her gown raised.

      He did not expect for her to turn, and look at him with light lime eyes, and husk, “Thank you.”

      Galen’s brow rose. She did not even look like her London self, with that expression on her face, sitting there, half nude, with her hair blowing soft in the night breeze. His eyes dipped to her upper thigh above the stockings, the softly plump side of her buttock when the blouse blew back.

      “What time is it?” She asked.

      He guessed “It only took you an hour.”

      Jess supposed that meant something, but she was still feeling his touch on her, still having little muscle ripples that reminded her how well it had felt.

      On impulse she slid over, sitting astride his lap, facing him. Almost amused at his brow that raised this time. She ran her hands through his hair slowly feeling the cool silkiness.

      No, he thought, he was not going to let it happen. He never just let anything happen. He couldn’t be seduced; he could not let a woman’s touch affect him beyond his loins. The loins that her heat was burning right now, with every dip, sway of the coach she slid one way or the other a little, enough to do some serious damage to his control.

      Jessica touched his brows, and then ran her finger over his lid, touching the silky lashes. She traced the high cheekbones and noticed he kept his attention on her breasts. Interesting, she thought, that he did not want her to see his expression.

      “I’ve never been kissed,” She whispered, tracing his beautiful mouth.

      “I don’t kiss.”

      “I know.” She forced his head back, so that it rested against the cushions until he was looking at her through those dark lashes. “You don’t have to, I just want to touch them.”

      Galen tried to jerk his head away but she held the sides of his face and leaned forward. Tension made his lips tense. She did-just brush them with hers, and taste them with her tongue. She did this over and over, running the tip of her tongue over the seam, tracing the underside of his mouth, the corners.

      She sat back, their eyes met again. Her fingertips touched his mouth.

      Those, he kissed and She smiled dryly.

      “What now?” She asked resting her hands against his neck on either side, unconsciously rubbing her thumbs against his jaw.

      “It’s going to hurt; you don’t want to lose your virginity in a coach.”

      She might be naïve, but she could feel his hardness. She slid off his lap and sat facing him, one knee bent, almost resting atop his leg. Jessica watched his face as she leaned in unbuttoning his shirt, was sliding her hand inside without breaking their gaze.

      She could feel the sleek iron of him, warm and hard. She slid her hand down, pausing at his navel, touching the hair a bit. The only sign she had that he was noticing, were his flaring nostrils. She slid down, began undoing the buttons on his trousers.

      “No.” He said it calm, not touching her, not moving her hand away. “No.”

      Jessica did not look away from him. She spread the material wide and lay her hand first on his pubic hair, slowly, with a slight indrawn breath of anxiousness; she wrapped her hand around him. “What now?”

      She didn’t stop looking at him. Her hand actually loving the silky hot texture of his skin, the throb inside her fist. She decided that he felt so wonderful, so much hotter than she had thought of this part on a man. She wished she could look at it.

      “No.” His eyes were shimmers, his exotic face taut with emotion. ”No.”

      She slid her fist up, down him. He hissed in his breath, his hips flexing.

      , when he said no again, she sighed, and slowly slid her hand off him. There was simply too much emotion in his face for her to stand it. Even if she knew that he was fighting himself, and didn’t have to.

      “Ask me.”

      “No.” He had yet to adjust his clothing.

      “I could…” She was not sure how to phrase it or what it was. Though, she would, and gladly. At that moment, anything was permitted, she felt too erotic herself to give a hang about prudishness.

      Galen agreed in a tight voice, yet with am awful look in his eyes, “You could.”

      She glanced at him one more time, shook her head, then slid over and began dressing. Jessica was allowing him whatever he needed to gather his composure. When she was through. She smoothed back her hair, looked out the coach window. There was something wrong, something terribly wrong, and she didn’t have the experience, thanks to her father’s smothering her, to know what it might be. It was more than the wedding. There was something dark and tortured in his eyes, something that flashed for a moment, then turned cold as ice.

      It would soon be daylight.

      They did not speak, nor look at each other again.

      Twin bells was bathed in a beautiful morning mist when they arrived. Long before they reached the property marker, she saw the old Abbey spires, where the massive bells had hung hundreds of years before… they were all that was left of a medieval town.

      She had been here once, it had been miserable, as was every trip anywhere, with her father.

      Today the wild roses bloomed; dew clung to them turning the morning air sweet. They neared the main house and she spied a glistening lake, a flock of sheep, a dog bounding over the hillside.

      The gates to the property were nearly obscured by roses. The coachman had a time getting them open and driving through. A canopy of green cooled the air as they drove under the brick archway.

      A heady scent filled the coach as blooms showered over the vehicle, some floating through the window and landing on the floor and seats. Then they were traveling up the long drive toward the brick manor house, with its two sprawling wings.

      It was not as imposing, brooding, as the duke’s properties. Whereas he planned his grounds with rigid order that expressed his wealth, with large impressive fountains, statues. This manor had softness, a cheerful disorder to it. Everywhere the garden seemed to have crept out and left behind some flowing bush or vine.

      Jessica made the best of straightening her clothing, smoothing her jacket and hair. Pretending that she did not know Galen was putting his jacket on, smoothing his hair also.

      The front doors were gleaming wood. A Butler calling himself Alvis greeted them. He introduced them to cook, a maid, and valet. He informed him of the full stables, groom, and welcomed them warmly. The housekeeper came three times a week he, said, and told them that they were very welcome here once more and that no one had been here in so very long. He told the Countess, that cook would serve them breakfast if they wished.

      “I want a bath first.” She looked at Galen.

      “We will have some coffee, wait for lunch instead.” Galen told the man. “Her ladyship and I are not as rigid as his grace in formality.”

      The butler’s bushy brows went up. He bowed, apparently relieved.

      The maid showed them upstairs to a huge sitting room and bedchamber. It had a bathing room done in pure marble but other than that, the decor was pleasantly comfortable.

      Dark green velvet and cream silk were the foremost colors and textures , there was some wine splashes here and there, mainly in the bedroom. While the maid drew a bath, the footman brought up coffee, fruits, and cheeses. The maid, introduced herself as Winnie; and she was openly friendly, around sixteen years old.

      “Thank you Winnie.” Jessica could not help but smile into those friendly brown eyes. Oh how she missed Nikki.

      The girl curtsied. “Just ring whenever you need me. Now if you’ve all you require at the moment, I’ll be leaving you in privacy.”

      “No. Thank you. Everything is just wonderful.”

      When the girl left, Jessica stood there a good long time just absorbing the fact that she was going to be given privacy, that here, no one was going to be hovering, putting clothing her father wanted on her. She could hear Galen talking to the Valet. She stripped, climbed in the tub, obviously he was going to use a bathing room on the lower floor.

      She washed her hair and soaked a good long time. Now, she could hear her trunks thudding in the other room and the maid, and some young man talking. She was laying back so relaxed that she jumped when a tap came on the door.

      “Yes?”

      The maid stuck her head in, wincing. “Forgive me, milady,“ she had her hands full. “Your scents and bath salts, I thought you might want them.”

      Jessica smiled, “I’m not used to looking after myself Winnie. I want to do it here. Thank you for reminding me.”

      “What would like lay out to wear?”

      “If you can find anything comfortable, which I doubt, I should be grateful.”

      The maid smiled, “I’ll find something.”

      She left, Jessica stretched, and she looked at her body, wondering why she hadn’t felt prudish earlier? The best answer she could come up with was that she was so used to someone invading her privacy that it didn’t matter. The real truth , was ,that it felt so good to be in that mood, that atmosphere, which was like some drugged erotic haze, her inhibitions had simply not even shown themselves.

      A while later she was in her dressing gown, having wrapped her hair in a towel. She sat in the sitting room eating fruit, drinking coffee. Jessica realized she should put on the blue day dress the maid had laid out, she was just too relaxed. She eventually took the towel off, combed her own hair, braiding it loosely. Then, merely laying there on the white chaise looking out the window at the peaceful landscape.

      She glanced over when the door opened and Galen came in. His hair was wet, slicked behind his ears, he’d had a shirt on he tossed it off and pulled off his boots. Almost as if he didn’t see her there, he sat down, barefoot, in trousers, on a sofa, and put his feet upon it, laying back and closing his eyes.

      It was a lazy morning. She reached, pushing the window open to allow the birdsong, the warm breeze and scents to pervade the room. The delicate draft stroked her body. She bent her leg, exposing it through the slit in her dressing gown, stacking her hands behind her head, watching birds’ flutter by the window, taking food to their young. Oh God, freedom was wonderful. What guilt was there in this? Never in her life had she observed nature or not had a rigid schedule. This, was like… heaven.

      The Valet poked his head in the doorway a moment; the thin, plain-faced man looked from one to the other, and then quietly shut the door. To Jessica it seemed like some great moment in her life; she was lying there not wrapped in clothing, dripping in jewels, her freckles were showing. She had no place to go or be. When lunch was brought up to them, she didn’t move for awhile, it was so strange that she almost wondered if she shouldn’t feel guilty after all.

      She eventually arose, walking over to sit opposite Galen, who was still on the sofa. Jess leaned forward where food had been placed on a low table; sliced ham, fresh bread several kinds of vegetables. Taking the wine Galen handed her, she ate bread and ham and tried to ignore the fact that he looked so very handsome with his lean honed darkness. After eating, she carried her wineglass over to the chaise, was standing there sipping it when he set the tray outside, then came over to her. She set the glass down on a table. He stood behind her a moment, then swooped her up in his arms, and carried her toward the bedroom.

      Galen laid her on the massive bed with its cream silk comforter. Jess slid up against the headboard.

      The time had come.

      Only… he seemed to be nothing like he had in the coach. He was completely detached and his expression was so remote and cool that she felt herself freezing up.

      “We can wait.” She husked, hating the way he stood there, looking at her… as if he was looking through her.

      “It’s getting done no matter what,” his tone was as detached, as was his visage. “Might as well be now.”

      She searched his face when he walked toward the edge of the bed, whispering, “Don’t look at me like that.”

      He paused. “Like what?”

      She released a shaky sigh. “Like you can’t see me.”

      “I don’t have to see you, to bed you.“ The words came out rather ruthless.

      She wet her lips, not trusting this side of him at all. “I’m not asking you to pretend to love me.” She almost snapped those words. “ I am simply asking you not to look at me as if you, I don’t know…”

      Galen sat down, facing her on the edge of the bed, and lifted his hand. He slid it through her hair at the nape, putting a bit of pressure on that hold, he murmured, “You’re trying to think about too much. Just watch me, listen to me.”

      She shivered. “I’m looking right at you, just tell me what to do to keep you from looking like that?”

      “It’s not about me, I’ve done this. It’s about making it easy on you, and even good...I’m good at it.”

      Though her body reacted to that admission, when he started touching her face, her neck, then her hair, she just kept watching his face, seeing that awful expression-

      Jessica tried, she really did. He was sensual, graceful, just looking at him was erotic. But she felt so separate from him, so alone in some way she could not describe…and it just was not working. She let him disrobe her. He moved to lay upon the bed and began touching and stroking her, breathing against her ear, nuzzling her breasts, going lower, lower.

      She clamped her knees shut. “It’s not working.” Her tone was almost panicked.

      “It will, give it time.” He raised up, slid her down into the bed and leaned over so he could see her face. “What do you need?” He murmured suggestively, “What do you want-.”

      “I need for you to help me not to feel like I am lying here by myself.” She whispered almost accusingly, “I want to feel what I did earlier, not this-emptiness.”

      He did not show any reaction to that other than a slight flicker in his eyes. After staring at her a moment, he took her hand, arose, and led her into the bathing chamber.

      Galen locked the door.

* * * *

      She felt awkward, and he could tell and she felt awkward. He walked up behind her and placed her hands on the washbowl, right in front of the still fogged mirror. Then, slid his hands up her arms, reaching down to get something before he was back again.

      Jessica felt his warm breath on her neck at the same time he reached around, sliding his oiled hands over her breasts.

      Galen rubbed her everywhere, down her tummy, the sides of her hips. The smaller, closed in room soon, echoed with her rigid breathing. She let go, leaned completely back against him, arcing her neck, letting him slide his hands up her sides, down over her hip bones. The smell of peaches from the oil made her almost heady as his touch.

      His touch was growing harder and he moved his hips back enough so that he could knead her buttocks. He was rubbing her a bit firmer and she was gasping a bit louder. Jessica became dizzy by the time he led her to the vanity bench and sat her down… so he could kneel between her legs.

      Laying half against the wall, Jessica could feel his warm arms, shoulders, his hair, against her inner thighs. They trembled. She did not open her eyes or look down at him…until he began to touch her intimately. When she did look down, to see him watching her face with those calm eyes, her whole body went cold.

      She grabbed his wrist, forcing his hand away from her, and stood up.

      Galen was right back behind her, whispering in her ear, things that he could do, would do, and was planned on doing. She found herself lifted, turned, until she was held almost astride him.

      “Stop it.” She pushed against his shoulders. “I can’t do this-” Her eyes were filling with tears. “I cannot do it like this, Galen.”

      “You can. You’re just tense.”

      “Even your voice sounds detached, of course I am tense.”

      “I’ve got all night,” he murmured, reaching out to touch her hair. “Just relax. Just give in. Trust me, just relax. I’m going to take you out of your head,” He husked, “Make you feel things-”

      Oh God, when he said it, it was delicious and wonderful. She kept looking at him, searching that erotic face and those eyes, waiting… for something, a connection, to help her cooperate.

      “Just do it,” She said finally and with difficulty. “Just bloody get it over with.”

      “It doesn’t have to be that way. I don’t do it like that.”

      She wished to bloody hell, he would quit saying it like that! “Well, you’re just going to have to.” She glared at him, brittle and on edge. “Just do it.”

      Galen was so dumfounded… that it took him a moment to recover. He shook his head, as if he could not believe what she was saying.

      “I’m going back to the bedroom,” She told him, “We’ll get this thing over with.”

      Galen went along behind her, attempting trying to get his head together. Not in a million years, after what he’d done in the coach , would he have believed she would react like this.

      She climbed into the bed. Her peach body reclined, oil still shimmering on it, and her darker, troubled eyes, watching him with that set-teeth and braced-body expression.

      Galen sat on the edge of the bed, facing her. “I had planned to do just that, just… get on with it. However, I’m not into hurting you more than it’s going to when your virginity gives way. It’s up to you. You can take my word for it, I can make it better“

      “You’re just doing this for the heir, right?” She sounded near tears and was. “That’s all it is, so I suppose that is why, you look at me like that. I’m sorry, I expected too much after... the coach ride. It’s probably better this way…your way, to stay emotionally detached.”

      For him, not for her, Galen thought between anger and confusion. He said to her, “That’s why we are here, my lady, why we are married. I was simply offering you pleasure. Consider it a bonus.”

      She could have hit him for that. Instead she got hold of her pride. “Thank you. I gain no pleasure in your present mood.”

      He stood and unlatched his breeches. “Have it your way.” He skimmed them off, revealing dark skin all over, but she had turned her gaze away. Aching, because in the coach, she would have reveled in all of him. Grinding her teeth hard, because since she'd met him, some part of her was drawn to him. And hurting in her heart… because her woman’s body had been awakened and had its own reasons for needing now.

      Jessica felt the bed dip then felt him roll atop her and ease his hand between her legs. Oh God. She grabbed two handfuls of comforter. His skin scorched her like warm velvet, her virginal sexual senses were having war with her mind, begging to like it, want it. If she shook any harder her teeth would chatter.

      “Look at me.” Galen felt the skin quiver outside his thighs where they touched the inside hers. He saw the tension around her mouth, and he felt the sticky musk under his fingers drying up.

      In his mind, he struggled. There were things he could do, would do, yet he had never had an unwilling woman under him, and he had never seen a woman fight herself like Jess was doing. He didn’t like this, didn’t know if he could handle it. Then his mind told him, he had to. The sooner this was over with, the better for them both. God, why couldn’t he just block her out, not think about what she was feeling.

      “No.” She felt his touch up her sides, skimming over her breasts. No,” she repeated, almost to herself. She would not look at him.

      Galen moved down her body. She felt his mouth on her for a second, between her legs, in that way that nearly caused her heart to burst. Before he arched over her, lifted her hips and entered her.

      She was proud of herself for groaning instead of yelling. Really, she would chalk this up as one of her bravest moments, trying to think of anything to keep from letting her empty tears fall. She thought of the beautiful day, the roses. Bloody blazes , would it never end!

      She hissed as the burn went on while he moved in and out of her, then turned her head finally and squeezed her eyes shut the hot tears spilled out. He kept moving and she held her body so tight that her back felt brittle.

      As she lifted her lashes during some point, she saw him looking at her.

      Unknowingly the dark color of her eyes showed she had no pleasure in him.

      She was in distress and Galen felt all twisted up inside. He made a sound in his throat, a curse that lodged there. Gritting his teeth he emptied his seed in her.

      The only lightness in her eyes was relief.

      He rolled off her and she grabbed her dressing gown fleeing to the bathing room.

      Galen lay on the bed, his arm over his eyes and his bronzed body shaking with aftershock. He swallowed time and again, not knowing why the knot wouldn’t dissolve in his throat.

      His flat lower abdomen jerked and he sat up and He shoved his hair behind his ears. The skin stretched tight across his high cheekbones. He stared out the window. He had to do it until she was pregnant; so he had blood well better get his head together. He had bloody well better not care about anything else. His life was at stake here, his freedom. This was not about Jessica.

      Later that evening, he took her again, then once more deep in the nighttime, each time; they both were empty, barren and raw in their souls. Each time… she braced herself and grit her teeth until the tears came without sound. Each time too, Galen made an awful sound of pain in his throat. Yet when he told her that they would wait a day or two, give her body a rest. She told him not to. The sooner they fulfilled their obligation, the better.

      And Jessica was not a fool. She felt like they were killing each other, as if they were raping each other’s soul. And somehow the darkness made it worse. It reminded her too much of what she had seen in his eyes that evening that abyss and phantoms that she could not reach, banish, or understand.  

CHAPTER SEVEN

      Into the second week she took a noon stroll by the lake, wearing a light day dress of green, without corset or petticoat. She had let the maid pile her hair atop her head; she’d donned white calf boots and didn’t bother to shade her skin from the sun.

      Jessica spied him in the distance, setting on a knoll with his arms casually around his knees. Galen’s shirt was undone, blowing back in the wind. His hair too fluttered against his neck and shoulders. She couldn’t make out absolute details, but it was easy to guess that he was deeply troubled. Her menses should come in one week… one more week, then could stop.

      She sat down, just observing him, pondering why such beauty, grace and masculine strength should effect her like this? There was something illusive that she did not understand it was too at odds with his outward person. That such a man should not allow himself to be touched emotionally, nor physically.

      Jessica saw him look down at the ground and then lean his head back a moment, as if trying to end some struggle. She defined the pain in her chest as frustration, not hurt; that she could not be real to him as a person, that she could not be more than a means to an end, just for a little while. And she called the hurt in the pit of her stomach, dread, and not distress; that she had no experience or tools in her emotional life… to help either of them.

      If he ever looked at her again like the time in the coach, she would probably forget her pride. So often these days, did she think of that expression. He took no pleasure in her now, no amount of pumping his seed into her could prove otherwise. She had seen the difference, could not respond to anything less.

      It was so obvious, they mated like two empty bodies whose souls who silently screamed out resistance. It was sad, horrible, because they had to use thick lubrication, the proof that her body was numb, braced, during those times. And before he came to her, he would become silent and distant. Now they both kept their eyes closed, and who knew which tears belonged to whom, when it was over, or if they were all hers?

      Jessica had noticed that he wanted to take her in complete darkness now, the drapes were always drawn. It suited her fine, she didn’t want to see his eyes that way. She realized too, that he was not seeing or thinking, or feeling her. It was so void of anything yet anguish that she ached for both of them, even in her distress and anger. She could see what her father had done to him.

      When she separated it from herself, she wanted to give him his freedom before he hated her too. She would rather never see him again than to have that happen. Because, she knew somehow, he didn’t want to hurt her, and that somehow, she had put him off balance. And she knew… that no matter what, when he had his freedom, she couldn’t stand the thoughts of him hating her. She wished- that it was over..

* * * *

      They were having dinner at the end of the next week, the staff was being very discreet, never hovering or eavesdropping. When it was completed they were drinking coffee as she said, “My monthlies have not come.”

      Galen paused staring at her a long time, and then he nodded.

      He had not eaten much but had drunk a bit more than usual. His coffee was laced with whiskey, unearthed by the butler. His eyes flickered over her face, and the casual way her hair was piled, with strands trailing at the temple and nape, then down the cream lace gown she wore, to her hand slightly trembling on the coffee cup.

      Their eyes met in a long silent exchange.

* * * *

      The physician arrived a week letter. He told Jessica that he would give her the possibility of being pregnant, that it took a bit more time to be sure.

      In a brisk no nonsense way, he took Galen aside and suggested he bed her now during a fertile time.

      However that possibility made a big difference in their relationship.

      They seemed to almost change overnight, their relief was so great that the very last time Galen lay with her, he got it done terse and quick. Jessica could almost hear his long sigh of released tension. She lay with his seed in her a long time, before washing, as the doctor had suggested. When she bathed later, she sat on the ledge in the bathing chambers, weeping silently into a cold cloth from sheer nervous exhaustion.

      Arising the following day she went a long ramble around the property. She breathed as if she had not been breathing, and she thought long and hard on things that had to be confronted.

      Galen went for a horseback ride.

      Jessica returned feelings fatigued, somehow freer, less burdened or tense. She went upstairs, after a bath, changing into a light gown she asked the maid, “is there a local seamstress?”

      “Yes, Milady.”

      “Do you think I could have some gowns done up, in more comfortable material, linen, cotton?”

      “Yes of course,” The maid went to a trunk. “I have your pattern here, shall I take them to her? If I describe you’re coloring, she will chose good colors for you.”

      “Yes, tell her if I am with child, I should like for her to make gowns allowing for that also.”

      “Very good,” The maid smiled left.

      Jessica went below and had her bath, then changed into her tea gown of off white with antique lace. She swept her hair atop her head while it was still slightly damp. After, she poured herself lemonade and decided to walk out to the garden.

      It was charming, with ivy crawling over half walls and mossy clumps taking over here and there, Where a path used to be clear and made of flat stone. The birdbaths and statues were greened and more used for perches for an array of tiny birds.

      She lounged on a rattan recliner, listening to sounds around her. The disorder was soothing, the hidden nooks and crumbled urns comforting.

      Galen must have come back from his ride also, because Jessica heard him when he joined her and the soft tread of his footsteps. She also smelled his fresh washed hair because of the unique fragrance. His scent was something she came to recognize, and would always associate it uniquely to him.

      Galen came to sit facing her, on the ground beside the lounger .His elbow rested near her arm. His knees were drawn up and since the lounger was low, and the edge fit at his side, making their bodies close, Jessica turned her head lazily looking at him.

      He raised his hand, and in it was a puny flower on a sorry looking stem. He tickled her face with it.

      She wrinkled her nose, swatted at his hand. It tickled something awful yet he seemed to enjoy himself all the more when she laughed. He twirled it at her temple then on her cheek.

      He moved it. Her laugh ended in a sigh, and Galen tossed the flower away. He scooted, so that there heads were closer. He motioned for a drink of her iced lemonade. She held it to his lips, watching him take a long drink.

      “The jug is just there on that table,” she murmured pointing to a wheeled cart.

      He refilled her glass, although did not get one of his own, Jessica thought achingly, and how beautiful he is up close, how very alluring in this mood. She did not consider him a playful man, nor one who spent time with females other than necessary, yet he sat there on the grass with her low chair, close enough for him to lean his arm on and he was facing her, looking at her, really looking at her again. And to see his dark eyes in the light of day, without that distance, was to look at soft black velvet, so beautiful and warm.

      Jessica raised her hand and almost hesitantly she touched his ink black hair. It shimmered in the sun as it dried. She had her arm nearly across his face tucking a strand behind his ear, he did not seem to mind or appear upset about it. So she gave into impulse and traced his jaw, lazily his chin his cheekbones. She rested her hand against his cheek a moment. Her thoughts on the fact he had been inside her, but neither of them really touched each other.

      Then, he did the most moving thing. He leaned up and rolled his head a bit to the side, laying it next to hers a moment, with his forehead down on the soft cushion, just by her ear. Her hand stayed at the back of his neck.

      Jessica had to fight back tears, she blinked hard, because she didn’t want to do anything to change his mood. She flexed her fingers and slid them under his hair, up, splaying her hand on the back of his head.

      She thought her heart would stop when he rolled his heads to the side other side and allowed his lips to graze her palm. They were warm and soft and it made her skin tingle.

      Eventually Galen raised his head, took another drink of her lemonade, leaving a bit of ice in his mouth.

      The way he did it drew attention to his lips and she felt a quiver deep in her belly. His eyes roamed her face slowly as if tracing it, stopping on her gaze.

      Her hair was drying. Strands blew across her brow and cheek. The sunlight captured the multi colors, making them glow with saffron, white and red.

      When Galen saw how light her eyes were, how open, relaxed her face, he was pleased.

      Wanting to talk to him, not wishing to talk of her father, Jessica sighed, contenting herself with simply being like this with him. The last few weeks had been so tense, so demanding on them both, that she would not be the one to spoil the first breath of normal air either of them had taken.

      Reaching out she touched his forearm, where his shirtsleeve was rolled up. In answer, he turned his arm to the underside. When her fingers trailed down, he captured her hand. It was more electric than the first time he’d touched her although Jessica tempered it. She pulled their joined hands over to rest on her tummy and she closed her eyes a few moments so he would not see how it affected her.

      More-so than the mating, she felt branded, seared and wholly focused on the skin to skin, and twined fingers. She wanted to hold onto him forever but knew, she could not, because he was not hers, nor had he ever really been.

      They sat like that, until it was time to go in for dinner. Jessica had requested an informal meal with the French doors open, fresh flowers on the table. She got what she wanted. Having taken her seat on his left, she thought perhaps that too, was the first meal eaten in the house where they knew what the food actually was tasted it.

      “Do you read much?” He asked when they were having coffee.

      “I was never allowed to buy my own books.” She shook her head. “After the usual required studies were done, I was not allowed to read anything.”

      He motioned for her to follow. They took their coffee into the library. He scanned the shelves, offering “choose something.”

      She watched him fingering the spines, finding something obviously to read. Jessica shrugged, doing the same, and wondering what she actually liked to read? She had never given the matter any thought , because it would have been useless. There were stacks of books on the tables, apparently sent down from London. She finally found a book on America. She chose it, another on flora and fauna, and then she chose two more books, turning to find him watching her with a raised brow.

      “I’ve got some catching up to do.”

      He almost smiled. He held up his own book, saying, “Do we retire to the sitting room, or read here?”

      She looked at the leather chairs. “The sitting room.”

      They went upstairs and changed their clothing, taking off their shoes and getting comfortable. He settled on the sofa, his legs out, crossed at the ankles, and a pillow supporting his head.

      She chose the chaise, after putting on her dressing robe. It had become like a perch for her, a place where she did her thinking and viewed the world outside.

      Jessica found that once she started reading it was as if someone was taking her on a journey, as if she was actually being allowed to leave, go anywhere. Reading about America was fascinating. It sounded so rugged, vast, she was particularly fascinated by the riverboats, the Wild West, natives.

      Like a sponge she absorbed everything she read, not noticing when he had sat up looked over at her, watching her face, smiling, actually smiling at her raised brows or frown. Or when she was moving her lips trying to pronounce the words, mostly native words. She grunted and sighed often and tusked shaking her head at herself.

      Galen lay his book aside and padded over, using his hip to make her scoot over. Then he lay one arm across her shoulders, so with the other hand he pointed to the words and pronounced them.

      Jessica looked up at him. The deep silk of his voice made the words sound more beautiful than they looked on the page. He met her gaze with a smile in his eyes. Articulating the almost guttural enunciation with ease and familiarity.

      She shook herself mentally and glanced back at the book, wanting to ask questions, personal ones, though again reminding of her limits with him. Thus, together they turned the pages while he pronounced rivers, cities, and names of Native Americans who were mentioned. It soon became so dark that they had to turn up a lamp.

      However, they ended up on the sofa, still reading the huge book, her legs stretched out beside his while he answered her many questions about the country.

      When they slept that night, they did not toss or roll far away from each other. They lay down almost naturally, spoon fashion, Jessica covered his hand that was resting under her breast and slept deeply.

      The following day was nearly as good. They rode at a slow pace to the lake. He had brought a picnic basket. Spreading a rug on the green grass at the knoll edge, where they ate fruit and cheeses, watching the ducks bathe themselves while splashing and chasing insects.

      Jessica began laughing softly at a small duckling that kept sliding off the bank, slipping into the water on its side. Its mother tried to teach it to swim, it panicked, ran back up the bank, only to slide again.

      When she glanced at Galen, still chuckling, she saw that he was watching her. He turned his face toward the lake but he smiled.

      “Let me see.” She cupped his cheek, turned his face around toward her. “I’ll wager it hurts.”

      “What?”

      She grinned, “Trying so hard not to smile, or let me see it.”

      He smiled again, flashing his white teeth, turning his head.

      Good god , it was so sexy, that Jessie almost rolled atop him, attempting trying to hold his face in her direction.

      Still smiling, Galen kept turning it away from her. This went on for a few moments until he fell backwards. Jess lay across him, holding his face in her hands, her gaze on those beautiful lips, that unconsciously sexy smile. The reaction in her chest, her stomach, was so swift she knew she must cover it, he was too good at reading her.

      “Too late, I have seen it now.” She jested when he tried to wipe it away. “Will I turn to a pillar of salt?”

      He laughed, just soft enough to shake his chest that she was leaning on.

      “What a lovely sound,” Jessica said seriously.

      Galen was still laughing silently, trying to roll away from her. She chuckled, grabbed a hold of his shirt when he tried to rise up. They were on the incline of the bank. Galen turned to lose her hand and as Jessica had gotten to her feet now, she made as if to clutch his arm. He spun… and fell… just as she made contact.

      They both fell with a soft opt! And went rolling down the hill.

      He was laughing and cursing. Jess was hysterical. Her rear and legs just seemed to propel her downward. Though she screamed, she realized that she was going to hit the lake was laughing so hard that even that did not come out right.

      She heard his loud “Bloody Hell!” Just before she flipped arse over cart one more time.

      Galen hit the water with a sliding splash

      Struggling to gain her feet, because her skirt seemed to want to suck against her legs, Jessica managed to stand in the waist deep water’s edge, pulling at her skirt, attempting to get her soggy hair out of her eyes.

      Galen had stopped laughing , until he saw her, he threw back his head, guffawed so hard that he slid back into the water again.

      Muttering to herself, Jessica waded out of the water, not an easy task with silt sucking at her feet and the skirt dragging her down. She cast him a side glance and saw that he was coming out also while the last of his laughter was drifting off,

      “I can’t get up that hill!” She shoved the wet hair out of her eye. Holding her skirts high, she peeked down at her caked boots.

      “I’ll help you.” Galen came to her, taking her hand and nearly dragged her up.

      She used her hand several times to break her fall.

      They landed on their knees, at the edge of the thick rug, panting, catching their breath. Jessica, on her knees, pulled the wet skirts out from under them. She noticed his riding breeches were stuck to every muscle in his leg and his shirt was plastered to his torso. He took of his shirt, then pulled off his boots, beating the silt off the sole and pouring the water out. Galen peeled off his sox, tossed them onto the grass beside his boots, shirt.

      She looked envious.

      “Have you petticoats on?”

      “Yes.”

      He, reached, taking off her jacket before unbuttoning her skirt. She slipped out of it and he spread it on the ground. Galen eyed her in the silk petticoat, her sheer blouse while he told her to take off her boots.

      She sat down to do so, but he was there on his knees pulling them off.

      He pushed her petticoat up to her thighs, slowly rolled down her stockings. He lay them over her damp, riding boots.

      “Thank goodness it is a warm day,” She muttered, searching her hair for pens, and trying to get it all to stay upon her head. His hands going up her legs like that had been disturbing, she was listening to that inner voice, telling her to guard her emotions.

      “They will dry in no time. “ Galen watched her scooting up to sit across from him, extending her legs, wiggling her toes. “They will doubtless stink. In fact… we shall stink too.”

      She laughed shortly. “Yes, probably.” He did not seem uncomfortable with his mussed appearance.

      He could see her though the sheer blouse was looking at it intently.

      Her eyes were light when they met his, her nipples obviously rigid under his gaze.

      Galen looked at her only a moment more, before rolling onto his back, slowly closing his eyes. Jessica lay there on her side, watching him as he napped. She cursed her body for its response to him, it was apparently what ended up reminding him of why he was here with her.

      When they rode back later though, he did not seem in a distant mood, and for the following two weeks, Jessica was treated to a more easy going side of him.

      She allowed her self to relax, to enjoy their walks, rides and their evenings reading or simply sitting in the garden. She saw him laugh a time or two, and he did not avoid touching her ,no, he was apt to reach across and move a strand of hair clinging to her lashes, or to take her hand while they rambled the estate and explored the property.

      The day they rode to view the Twin Bells up close, he asked her questions about her mother, unfortunately she did not know all that much. While they sat on a fallen tree, looked up at the ancient bell towers, he inquired of her sisters, which she could only answer in generalities. Talking to him about it actually brought home to her how lean and limited her life was. She had family by blood, though she really had none in the real sense. It reminded her that freedom was also something she had wanted from the union. Freedom to see that her future did not mimic her past.

      One evening, while they were seated on the sofa, she tried to ask about his own family , and the look on his face, in his eyes, was enough for her to let it drop. She did not want to make another mistake and spoil his mood. The black hate, when she asked about his mother, was enough to make her silently question, if he did not hate or resent all females?

* * * *

      It was early morning when Jessica bounded out of bed and headed for the Bathing room. She barely made it before the violent heaves overtook her. The retching was loud enough to disturb Galen even if the bed bouncing had not.

      He followed her, fetched a wet a cloth, and handed it to her. He left and came back, holding a mint drink, which he insisted, would help.

      She rinsed her mouth with it, feeling drained and weak. On unsteady legs she arose, rinsed her mouth again before sipping.

      He assisted her back to bed. She lay down, stared at him standing beside her. They both silently acknowledged she was pregnant. The doctor had told them about the morning nausea.

      “Get some rest.” He advised, finding his clothing and pulling them on. “He said it only last awhile, a few months, or weeks then passes.”

      “Galen?”

      He looked at her swiftly, since she rarely called him anything except, my lord. “Yes?”

      “If father dies, and I die in childbirth, like my mother, what happens to the fortune?”

      “It becomes only mine.”

      She smiled and nodded her head. “Good for you.” She lay the cloth over her eyes, and slept.

      If I die? Galen thought looking at her. No, it would not be good for him.

      The physician came, the next week, and confirmed their deduction. He gave her detailed instructions and informed them both that the duke could not travel down, because he had suffered a mild stroke.

      “He will summon you Lord Blackcove, I am sure, in a few days.”

      Galen merely nodded, standing in the drive watching the man leave. He could taste freedom. The old man was going down hill fast. Freedom before had meant many things, but now, he discovered the taste of the word was slightly different in flavor.

      That night Galen, found himself observing Jessica while she slept, looking at her slightly rounded lower tummy, the darker tips of her breasts in the almost sheer cotton gown.

      He knew the first time must have worked. He wasn’t going to say my child grows inside this woman, but he could say the heir all he wished, it did not obscure the truth. She was going to give birth to his child; his seed was growing inside her, none of these things were supposed to be on his bloody mind. He wasn’t supposed to think like that. He couldn’t afford to think like that.

      Galen was not going to stay in a situation forced upon him by blackmail. He told himself, that he had reason to even be considering it. It wasn’t as if he could feel anything for Jessica that was lasting or meant anything. Yet, he looked at her, at the hair half obscuring her face; mussed and sleep flushed, and he felt something strong enough to force him from the bed and to the library, and the whiskey bottle.

      The duke summoned Galen two days later. He was gone for four long weeks.

CHAPTER EIGHT

      Jessica was grateful for the maid Winnie, who was as wise as she was cheerful. She helped her though the worst of the morning sickness and entertained her with folk tales and gossip about locals. She had advice too, somewhat different from the London doctor, because Winnie’s Mum had seven healthy boys herself only one daughter. Advice that sounded more practical to Jessica who had listened to the doctor advice lying in bed and staying inside with sheer dread.

      So Jessica got out of bed when she felt half way normal. She took walks in the fresh air to keep her stamina up, Winnie alleged. She ate healthy, avoided the concoctions the doctor had given her, using instead ones brought to her from Winnie’s Mum, in a covered basket.

      When her stomach started to round more, Jessica sat in the tub put her hand on it, trying to call it simply the heir, but knowing it was Galen's seed, his child, that her body would have to shelter nourish it for many months.

      Jessica did not lie to the maid. She was scared. She did not want to die like her mother, and could only hope that taking Winnie’s advice would serve her well. Winnie commented she was rounding faster than normal, true, but all ladies were different, and Winnie scoffed at her heeled shoes, and made sure she had good walking shoes. The girl told her to tie her hair back or French braid it; she observed to Jessica that when she did it up, it seemed to bring on those tense have headaches.

      With the help of the maid, she had the local seamstress do up several gowns with a pleated front. She left off corsets, since coming to Twin Bells. Winnie forbade them in any case.

      The servants were completely different at Twin Bells too, Jessica mused on it, during her walks, as they often stopped to speak to her or simply smile at her congratulate her on the baby. She would find herself engaged in a conversation with the footman, or the boy who brought wood to the kitchen. They were like that, friendly open, all save the butler cook, who were dignified, still, so much more friendly than the London servants.

      Everyone seemed to be eager to make a real home for Jessica. They found her old cradle and set to cleaning it, while the maid took on the task of opening the nursery and scrubbing it down.

      It seemed as if the entire house had suddenly come alive.

* * * *

      Jessica was returning from her walk on an overcast day when the coach returned. She saw Galen glance at her as it rolled by. He yelled, to ask her if she wished to ride, she shook her head no.

      He looked awful, as if he had not slept. He’d called to the driver got out then sent the driver on his way. Galen waited for her, running his gaze over her she walked toward him.

      She wore a loose fit dress with square neck half sleeves, a long thin shawl trailed over her arms. Her hair was braided, and as she walked, he saw the rounded mound of her stomach when the material pressed against it.

      “He’s dead,” Galen said soon she reached him.

      She stumbled in shock. He caught her.

      “He’s dead?“ Jessica whispered if trying to absorb it, believe it. Her body felt odd, pain and still not pain, like falling on already a sore knee. It was a familiar sort of empty hurt she had known all of her life. His distant coldness, his rigid cruelty had been difficult to live with.

      “Were you there?”

      “Yes. He suffered.”

      She winced looked into his harsh face. “Wait , until we get to the house. I can sit down before you tell me anything else.” She sighed took his arm. “I think I am going to be sick.” She stopped leaned over a moment, feeling her head swim she straightened.

      She started to tell him she was better when he whistled so loud her ears hurt. Not long following, the light carriage came to pick them up. She sat beside him, leaning against him, yet feeling his inflexible emotions still making him tense.

      It was not until a nap, after dinner, that they sat in the sitting room to talk.

      He reached in a leather satchel and removed a paper, which he handed it to her. ”The funeral was enormous, he’d arranged it all. I doubt royalty could have been so elaborately buried. He was mourned-”

      Galen smiled emptily, “I forewent the long speeches by his business associates. He was taken to the estate in Nottingham buried. Everyone has heard, that you were carrying the heir so there shouldn't be much talk of your not being there.”

      She lay the paper aside, not ready to read it objectively yet. “You look tired.” She saw the lines around his eyes. “Why don’t you sleep now?”

      “How have you been?”

      “I’m getting better,” Was all she said.

      He arose and strode to the window, his back to her, he murmured, “I have some papers for you, in the morning or noon, when you feel like it, I will be in the study. I have legal papers to go over. I spent a whole day with the solicitors, and thankfully Max , who made sense of what I could not.”

      “How are they, the Marquis, Lady Lindy, your American friends?”

      “Fine,” He replied distracted. “A nurse will be coming down in a month or so. Max was able to help with that too. I am sure, once everyone goes back to their country estates, that Lady Lindy will visit you.”

      “Did you hear anything of Nikki?”

      “No. Max won’t speak of her. I was too busy to speak with his sister about it.” He rubbed the back of his neck; his sigh was one of utter fatigue. “Your father released the information to me… that he used to... gain my cooperation. I burned them.”

      “Can I ask?” She said carefully, “What it was?”

      He stiffened, although replied almost blandly, “Murder.”

      Jessica sat there, trying to breathe, to calm her reaction. “I see.”

      “No, you don’t. However that is not important now.” He turned shooting her a glance, before pouring himself a brandy sitting in a chair across from her. “We will meet in study and come to some sort of understanding now that your father is dead.”

      “Whom did you murder?” Her question sounded thin to her own ears.

      He shrugged. “My mother’s lover.”

      She swallowed thickly, struggling to envision him murdering someone. “Was your father living?”

      “No. The husband of one of his ladybirds, had shot him in a duel much earlier.”

      She blinked, “How old where you—when you—When it happened?”

      “I was twenty-one when I killed the man.” His eyes were flat. “ May we get on with the point of conversation? Your life is about to get much more complicated than simply being wed to someone who has committed murder. Much as I am sure you are appalled, I think it would be a mistake to let it distract you.”

      “He must have been a terrible man. Worse than father,” Was all she said before nodding. “Father said you would handle all the monies, legalities, over me.”

      “Some, but not all.” He looked at her strangely.

      She told him that she would wait until tomorrow because he really did look tired.

      Jessica got up, walking over and closing the drapes. She glanced over her shoulder when he lay down on the sofa. She went on to their rooms, lying across the bed, contemplating his confession.

      Why wasn’t she more horrified? She asked herself, then answered, truthfully, because , she wasn’t one of those debs who had raised by a doting papa. She wasn’t gentled and sheltered in that sense. She’d grown up in oppressive frigidness, with a man who ranted, raved, and reduced her to a womb and veins, to nothing but his tool.

      She could understand a darker side to anyone who lived in worse than that. Something in the human spirit rebelled at being used and invisible, being an animal to be breed upon, a thing to display ones stamp or ownership.

      Jessica admitted too, somehow in the deepest core of her, that Galen would not commit so hot a crime as killing, without strong or overwhelming threat. She saw he had cold, detached anger and though the mystery of where, why, what happened was blank. Who could imagine what he was like at twenty-one?

      In her heart, she believed that he had to have a reason for doing it. She knew he did not kill for blood lust or cruelty.

      Thinking about her father’s death, she wondered why she did not feel free unshackled? Perhaps, in the future, she would, as of now, she thought back on her childhood and girlhood, on her sisters, and all they had missed of human decency, kindness.

      If he had allowed them some dignity?

      She wept finally, letting her tears come out hot, scalding. She lay across the bed feeling her body shake with them.

      The unchangeable acknowledgement that she had not been particularly wanted, or welcomed in the world, that she had done nothing in all that time to touch his cold, ruthless heart, made her feel brittle inside.

      She wept for all of them really, her mother too , the life she spent on her father so unselfishly. Her father had not been thankful, He often spoke of Mary as a failure. And poor Joseph, his exhaustion with the constant pressure, the burden he did not understand.

      She could see his frightened eyes, and hear his tears of confusion. She cried for the empty, materialist life, her father had loved and given his energy and affection to. And the oppressive brooding secret of his obsession… that would always be hid to the world. A world that would remember him as a great man.

      Jessica had a terrible legacy to give her children, one that she could not bring herself to pattern with the living thing moving now in her womb. She had remained detached for only as long as it did not exist. Now that it did, and she could not perpetuate herself , the same life she had lived.

      She cried over that a good hour. Not knowing where or how to begin life at her age. She blew her nose and began thinking about the future, about Galen being free… and of the babe being spared a life of cold parents and heavy chains of obligation. She vowed that whatever control she had, she would use it to see the girl or boy did not have a life consisting of only the Vanlare legacy. There would be humanity and worth of self and an identity beyond a name and money.

      Jessica sobbed a bit more over the uncertainty, and fear of being a mother… not just some overseer who churned out heirs, but a mother like hers had not been allowed to be.

      She wondered if her sisters had felt this way during pregnancy? If they had felt that life move, and wept because they could not understand how anyone could treat it insignificantly? Already she was feeling defensive of it, worried… that she would be a terrible parent, because of her upbringing. Had her siblings gone through that too? Probably.

      Lastly Jessica cried over the man in the next room.

      She looked up at the ceiling, trying to get her aching throat to stop constricting. She thought of that look in his eyes, of the times in this bed , that her father’s blackmail had forced him to lie with a woman not of his choosing. That hurt, it honestly hurt her worse than anything.

      Knowing now the crime the Old man had held over his head and the penalty for it, He had to do whatever her father wished , even when he must have hated it, resented it. Jessica realized that she did want him to have his freedom, however he wished it. She too had been raised in duty, obligation. She admitted that pretending for the sake of it brought no happiness.

      She understood, even he had the right to choose. Nothing would prevent him from being the child’s father the guardian of the fortune. Having already traded much , which was all he had gained, besides the removal of the threat. She wanted to be a better person than her father no matter what Galen said or decided. She was not going to hold him to the Vanlare’s anymore.

      It hurt to acknowledge that he would probably go away and why not? There was nothing to keep him at her side; she did not want him there either, unwilling, unhappy and bitter.

      She’d had another cry at her inner thoughts, was wiping her eyes when she saw him silhouetted in the doorway.

      He was clad in his trousers, barefoot. “You're going to make yourself sick,” He said almost gruffly.

      Galen moved into the room carrying a cold cloth, which he gave her. “You have been weeping for hours now.”

      She sniffed deep and held the cloth to her eyes, shuddering and sighing at the same time. “I am all right now. Truly.” Her throat sounded thick. “I seems to be more emotional now… I was just thinking of my childhood. I don’t usually cry over useless things. But I thought... I would feel simple relief when he died.

      I did not realize that everything just doesn’t fall into place or go away. I have to learn to live with it, deal with it. Because it is a part of me. I cannot forget it , it is , who I am. So learning to live with that, is my curse I suppose, for living my life awaiting his death. And, how horrible of me. Yet, I can see now that I too will suffer from the bitter relationship we had.”

      She shuddered sighed again, “I will have doubts that I had not had before, and I will have memories, deep regrets that are going to make me hurt. You can’t change the past or what it makes of you. However, I am going to find some way not to handle my wants and needs the way he did. I won’t hurt people like that.”

      Galen had sat down on the foot of the bed, he was still setting there, staring down at his feet, just listening to her. He said finally, “You won’t be like him. Though it is true, we cannot change the past, it shapes us...”

      She wiped her face again, then sighed tossing the cloth aside smoothing back her hair. “Did the murder take place in England?”

      He did not turn or look at her, like before his tone was flat. “In Paris.”

      “How did my father find out? Were you wanted there?”

      “ No. My mother was alive, in …some asylum. She was aware of it, of course, embellished it enough for the duke to believe her version. He found witnesses, though there were none, actually. He had all the proof he needed. My mother died , by the way.”

      “Did you care for her?”

      “She was a sick bitch.“

      Jessica blinked, jumping a bit at that snarl. She looked at him. Still he had not moved. She was half, afraid to ask, yet realized she had to. “What did they do to you?”

      Galen looked at her then, finally saying the words he had relished from the moment he met her. His smile was dead, his eyes black ghosts. “Made me- whore.”

      Jessica’s lips trembled even as her tears spilled. She whispered, “No, not that. Not—”

      She slid down the headboard, rolled to her side. Her stomach felt punched, she could hardly breathe. Crying hard, hurting in her heart like never before, Jessica mourned over and over, Not that -Knowing what the Vanlare’s required of him, she would have wished anything, absolutely anything, to have come out of his mouth, except... that.

      For a price, for his freedom, her father had treated him like an animal; he had known his past and used it. Sickened, she made a sound of misery in her throat, unable to help the memories of his voice and face when he was trying to arouse her. Dear God, what was wrong with people, what made them use others so base and coldly, so selfishly , even at the threat of death?

      Galen drew in a long breath sighed. He had been listening to her weeping for hours now. Restraining himself from coming in here to hold her soothe her, he had finally given in, knowing that distance needed to come before he left her, that she deserved her freedom as he deserved his. He admitted he’d told the awful truth to repulse her ,

      Only it did not. She had yet to display any of the things he thought she would. That she was weeping for him now was jumbling his head, making his guts get all tight tense. He had thought on the trip down of this moment, how before leaving, he would coldly tell her the gory details, how he would lash them out remind her what the old man had bargained for. How many times had he played the scene in his head— and none of it unfolded as he had thought.

      Because she had said, of the murder, (he must have been terrible, worse than father and she had not fainted, gasped, or ran off from him. Now he had confessed to being paid for his sexual skills, to being a boy prostitute, and she was crying, muttering how sorry she was, how horrible those people were, how she wanted him to forgive her for using his body without his permission , his choice, and his own desire.

      She was tearing Galen up with it. To the point that he stood and started out of the room ,wanting only to hold onto anything that would make it easier to leave. He cold not take this. He wasn’t supposed to be feeling this.

      At the doorway, he heard her say huskily, “After we meet settle things tomorrow, I want you to feel free to go. I cannot give you your pride back, but I should like you to know that I completely understand what it is like to not own your very own body. To have it reduced to nothing, except either a source of someone’s need, or in my case, my father’s obsession.

      I am ashamed to have taken part in what he did to you. I am horribly sorry for what happened in your young manhood. I care nothing for scandal or gossip. If you can free yourself of me, I will not hinder you in any way. Nor hate you for it. I can help you now, where I could not before, Galen. I want you to know that I trust you, to do the right thing with the fortune, the heir’s trust, I know you will keep your end of it, wherever you are.”

      “Don’t,” his voice cut in raggedly, “Say anymore.”

      Yet she did, “We are free now, the both of us. Your past cannot hang over your head. I will not prevent your future from being your own choice.” She rasped. “Forgive me, if you can.”

      He seemed to be shaking his head over and over, he murmured, “Get some rest now.” and left the room.  

CHAPTER NINE

      The following morning, after her illness passed, Jessica donned a green dress with a high waist and scooped neckline. She slid her feet into slippers then combed her hair before tying it back.

      In spite of her night of weeping she looked healthy, her skin hair shimmering in the sunlight. She smoothed the dress, and lay her hand on her tummy a moment feeling the flutter. She was all right, she told herself, and she could do this. She was going to start her life right now.

      Galen was already in the study. Apparently, hard at work since early morning, by the looks of the papers on the desk. His seal was there on the inkpad. There was a ledger opened where he had been writing numbers.

      Jessica eyed his black clad figure as he arose showed her to the chair. Galen stood beside the desk lifted the papers, explaining them to her.

      “Before our wedding I had your father sign these, they are perfectly legal.” He held up the paper. “They give you equal control over everything that is not in trust for the heir.” He picked up another paper. “This is your bill of divorcement, you have only to sign it after the child comes, and I will honor it.” He picked up another. “This is the child’s right to my legal name, a list of my bloodline… relatives.”

      He picked up another. “This is what will allow you to draw on the monies without my signature. To liquidate any assets properties or whatever you wish, that are not in holding for the heir.”

      He walked around and tapped the book.“ this is a condensed version of what your father owned. What falls to us, to the heir. I have listed the amount of money I will limit myself to—I give you the discretion, freedom, to do as you wish with the rest of it.

      “This here.” He held up another packet. “This is a letter I had your father sign on his deathbed, it releases us from future obligations to each other, the Vanlare legacy, beyond the heir. It also states that he unduly influenced and coerced the marriage. I have a copy, you may put it in the safe.”

      He shrugged and sat down behind the desk, looking as if trying to make sure they had covered everything.

      Jessica sat there simply, nodding watching him, as he went through the papers again. He made sure she understood both her obligations her freedoms. He stressed to her, that she could sign the bill of divorcement whenever she wished. Galen went over some of the assets again.

      When it appeared he was going to do so yet again, she interrupted him, “Will you stay in England?”

      “I doubt it.”

      Jessica nodded. “You once made a bargain with me, and you have kept your end, by getting my father to release those papers. You told me that you would let me know what I could do for you?”

      Galen sat back. He smoothed his hair and tucked it behind his ears. For a moment he just sat there… with his gaze going over her face. He seemed to be lost in his own thoughts.

      Finally he said, “There is an envelope in the side table drawer, beside the bed, it is written down.”

      She smiled at him, “All right.”

      She arose walked over to the desk. “Should you like to leave today or perhaps rest up a bit?”

      “I should wait until the nurse arrives.” He was eyeing her perplexed.

      Jessica was determined to prove her word was good. “Not at all. Winnie helps me a lot. I am in the early stages yet. I will likely advertise for a secretary or some such to help me with these finances. I am sure Max will recommend someone. I think the Vanlare’s have taken too much of your time as it is.” Then, more softly she added. ”You deserve to go.”

      Galen eyed her face, his tone showing a bit of surprise at her easy acceptance of his departure. Yet aware of her own desire for freedom he told her. “I will likely leave in the morning.”

      There was an uncomfortable silence that Jessica finally covered. She asked, “Should I contact you when the child comes? How shall I reach you?”

      “Through Max I suppose.” He shrugged. “I will likely travel. If Jayce does not go with me, then through him if he stays in England.”

      She nodded. Her face was relaxed although her eyes showed the strained and he was too distracted to note it. “Everything seems settled, does it not?” She smiled having to turn away and walked across the room to the door. “I shall see you at lunch.”

      Galen sat there, broodingly staring at the closed door, feeling as if nothing had gone as predicted, and realizing that he had not imagined her handling things so... obligingly.

      He took his time putting the papers into their packets, taking them over to the wall safe, putting them in. he wrote her a reminder of where they were , because it was not so much a safe as it was a shelf behind a painting. He collected his copies of everything together, put them in his satchel.

      He sat there again, long moments, telling himself that he was free the past had no hold on him. All ghosts were dead and buried, all enemies vanquished. And he waited for the sweeter taste that never came.

* * * *

      Three months after Galen departed, Jessica had a full time nurse, and secretary. An intelligent local woman, who had been miserable teaching school when she took a chance, replied to the advertisement.

      Jeanette St.Clair was a small woman with dark eyes, curly hair. She had been from a wealthy family but lost everything because of her father and brother’s gambling. The men promptly abandoned the family and sailed for parts unknown.

      Jeanette supported her ailing mother who lived with Jeanette's younger sister in a pretty little cottage not too far away. Her coloring reminded Jessica of Nikki, though she was not as tall. She had a sense of humor, which Jessica needed; she needed anything to fight the morose melancholy that filled her heart every time she thought of Galen Wolf.

      Jessica’s nurse was Mrs. Stroud, a war widow with a healthy constitution, and a no nonsense attitude. She did not treat Jessica like some wealthy titled woman. She treated her like any of her patience, and Jessica responded to the woman’s advice. Having confidence in the choices she made gave her the boldness to deal with more personal matters.

      Mrs. Stroud also expected cooperation from Jessica, and though she knew Jessica’s past, most of the truth of it, she declared that her mother had died young and she’d been left on the streets. If she could pull herself up by the bootstraps, by god , a Countess surely could.

      Through Jeanette Jessica made arrangements for the museum to collect whatever they wished from her father’s house. She sent a note to Max asking him to assist her. the mansion was at last useful in that those lovely collections would be viewed by people who valued it, and she was determined to find a use for the beautiful structure, something she, Miss St.Clair often discussed.

      Today however, she was telling the secretary. “I should like to travel to Dover.” She’d had on her mind of late, that note her husband had left in his drawer. She wanted to make sure her instructions to the locals were followed.

      Those big dark eyes turned to her rounded belly, already larger than most at eight months. Amusement laced Jeanette’s voice, “I don’t think you can make it. Mrs. Stroud says you have had swelling and backaches, can hardly waddle up the stairs.”

      Jessica laughed. “All right, I shall go after the baby comes. I have something very important to do for my husband. I have sent ahead instructions of course, yet I won‘t be satisfied until I see the results.”

      “That part of your life fascinates me.”

      The young twenty two-year-old sat back, eyeing her employer. “You have been so blunt, honest with all of your staff , I just wonder how you deal with it emotionally?”

      “I find that freedom comes with making constant decisions. I barely have time to ponder the-should haves. Though to be honest, I want him happy.”

      Miss St Clair shook her head smiling. ”You should invite your friends down so that you will not be alone.”

      Jessica was not fooling her entirely, Jeanette lived in the same house with her now, and she knew the woman struggled every day.

      “I have invited Lady Lindy. She will come. My friend Nikki is missing.”

      “Missing.”

      Jessica’s face was worried. “Yes, apparently she has been missing for some time. I too, have hired someone to find her, knowing her ex husband’s family...I fear the worst.”

      “She was your good friend.”

      “Like a sister, a champion. We laughed together, which was rare in our circle. I do mean really laugh.”

      Jeanette nodded. “Yes, I grew up in society also. I know how quickly even local gentry abandoned us.” She grimaced, “Amusement in society is hardly the same as a good laugh.”

      She checked her hair which was twisted up, and smoothed her practical suit before pouring them tea. “By the time my father and brother abandoned us, mother and I were the butt of gossip and jests. Mockery is often mistaken for wit.”

      “It’s not like Nikki to just take off, and not find some way to tell me. She had to be in grave danger or else she has been harmed. If she is alive, I will keep paying men to find her.”

      Jessica looked down into her cup shaking her head again.

      “She had no family?”

      “No, only her husband’s and they hated her.” She explained the marriage to Jeanette.

      “Do you miss London?”

      Jessica grimaced. “Not the London I knew, no. I will eventually rejoin society, as myself. I now own that townhouse, which looks just about like everyone else's. If I go back, it will be to fulfill my duties for my child’s sake.”

      “Don’t you think there will be questions, about your husband?”

      “Oh yes, that is a given. I am simply not going to answer them.”

      They talked a bit more, before Jessica’s back started hurting. She was walking through the hall when her water broke.

      “It’s too early!” She nearly wailed, while the secretary and nurse hurried her up the stairs and to the bathing room. “It’s too early, Mrs. Stroud.” She stripped her clothing, washed off while muttering, “Oh God, how am I going to do this. Nikki? I wish you were here,”

      Jess started falling apart.

      Mrs. Stroud ignored her ramblings. “Come now; let us get you to the sitting room while we prepare the bed.”

      Wearing a dressing gown, Jessica was led to the couch. The older woman lay a hand on her stomach. “How long have you had the backache?”

      “It was worse this morning.”

      “You have been in labor for some time, see how far down the babe has dropped.” She laid Jessica’s hand on her tummy.

      “Yes.”

      “Well at least you only have a short while to go.”

      The Maid Winnie came up to relieve Jeanette. The maid and Mrs. Stroud worked with such confidence. They talked so easy, jested back and forth, so that it calmed Jessica’s panic.

      They were so comfortable with what was taking place, that Jessica felt herself was taking on the same attitude; she had asked enough questions so that there should be no surprises. She simply needed to be refreshed on the details until her mind was calmed.

      One or two things were a surprise however.

      There was the pain for one. No one could have described it to her in real terms. In fact, by the time they had her in the bed with her legs open, she was panting with it, groaning. Jessica asked how much longer a dozen times.

      “Not too long now‘” Mrs. Stroud said.

      “It’s too soon.” Jessica groaned, and then allowed the maid to wipe her face. Then started muttering again.

      “Babies come when they want to, milady.”

      It was several long hours, too much pain for Jessica to ever remember feeling, before the contractions were close enough. To allowed her to push. She tried not to break poor Winnie’s fingers. But she was leaning up, pushing until she felt as if her lungs would burst.

      “Not long now.”

      Jessica closed her eyes, rested only a moment. She glanced at the maid who was literally up on the bed with her. She could imagine what she looked like, nude now with sweat in her hair and a blood red face. She nodded. Winnie slid her hand under her and helped her lean up and push.

      “It’s coming...It’s coming. A bit more-there!” Mrs. Stroud laughed when the baby slid out, Jessica groaned, fell back panting, moaning.

      They were fussing over the baby, cleaning it when Jessica said, “I feel like pushing more.” She wobbled up propping herself on her elbows.

      “That would be the afterbirth.”

      Only it was not, it was another baby. Both boys.

      Jessica stared at the ceiling feeling drained, happy. Her lips were chaffed, her throat was sore, and her loins felt like she’d given birth to a giant. She felt totally emotional when she heard them crying.

      She looked over; Mrs. Stroud was fussing at her to keep still until she cleaned her up. She had a few stitches to make repair. That done, she helped the maid, who had both babies on a soft dressing table, was washing them, laughing as they squalled in protest.

      “Here.” Soon enough they were held up for Jessica’s inspection. She smiled at their red skin, black hair. “They are beautiful boys...I did well didn’t I?”

      “Yes, you did.” Mrs. Stroud wrapped the babies in blankets, and then laid them next to their mother. “I am going to find a local wet nurse since there are two. You will be fine, Winnie will watch over you until I return.”

      Jessica touched their faces, their soft downy hair. She looked up and saw Jeanette standing there watching her. She whispered, “Send a note, and invite Max, Lady Lindy down for Christmas. That’s a week from now. We shall have them christened, don’t you think.”

      Jeanette nodded smiling softly. “You look tired.” She did not want to say that she looked awful, but poor Jess’s face was blotched, her face now white, and her lips needing salve. The Countess had worked to bring her sons in the world.

      Jessica was tired; she lay her hand on each baby’s chest, feeling their little hearts beating. “Two at once...I can hardly believe it.”

      Winnie came in and told her, “They are bringing another cradle in here, only for week or so. The wet nurse will stay just down the hall. Has your milk come in?”

      Jessica looked down at herself. “They ache something awful.” Winnie helped her put one of the boys to her breast. The child latched on.

      Jessica drifted off to sleep and did not awaken when the other child was fed. She slept during the wet nurses arrival, during two feedings. When she did wake up alert, feeling rested, she wanted three things; her boys, some food and a long bath.

      She got the bath first and ate like a horse at dinnertime. The boys spent the evening lying in her arms. In the sitting room, she and the wet nurse took turns feeding them. They were like little piglets. She was starting to get an idea how their personalities were going to develop, and already they were both charming-and insistent.

      The day before Christmas, her gifts for her friends arrived from London. Then, on Christmas morning, the coach rolled in. Jessica, dressed in a green silk gown, having her hair done up, determined not to show fatigue or soreness as hurried to the hall to greet them.

      Lindy came in first, wearing a thick fur. “I'm frozen.” She announced hugged Jessica tight.

      “Get to the parlor by the fire.” Jessica shooed and her watched Max divest himself of his long coat with the fur collar. He took off his top hat, gloves. A light snow glistened on his outer garments.

      Max had changed somewhat, losing some of his easy humor. Jessica put her arm through his when he was done. “I am so glad you are here for Christmas-, and the christening.” She had depended on the Marquis often in her business dealings, and Max had been so patient and helpful.

      “I wouldn’t miss it.” He grinned.

      They gathered in the warm parlor with drinks. The mantle had been decorated for the holidays and the house smelled of pine and fruit.

      The Maid and nurse brought the children down.

      Jessica smiled at Lindy’s cooing and Max’s gentle handling of them. It was not often that society folk were seen with their offspring, nor a Marquis was spotted holding a baby.

      “We will have a late supper after we return from church, so I’ve ordered a light meal prepared.” They went to the dining room, taking their places. She insisted that Jeanette and Mrs. Stroud eat with them, but the ladies insisted on making it a private reunion and did not stay long.

      After some time Max said, “Motherhood agrees with you, I don't think I have ever seen you so healthy, your skin glows.”

      “Thank you, Max.” She smiled sheepishly. “I could use a compliment.”

      Jessica was still loosing a few pounds and privately struggling not to dwell on Galen.

      Max smiled, and they shared a look of mutual regret, though he had yet to reveal the details of his encounter with Nikki. They were people who were trying to deal with their mistakes, choices. And somehow Jessica knew that Max had a clue how difficult it was to hide those feelings.

      Lady Lindy had changed too, Jessica discovered. She seemed more introspective. Oh, she was still amusing, blunt, and still provoking Max. There was something bothering her, which she would not share with Jessica. And that unusual reserve was put in the back of Jessica’s mind, to question her about later.

      “Any word from Nicole?” Max finally allowed himself to ask, though he tried to sound casual.

      “No, nothing.” Jessica smiled sadly. “If she is in England, I will find her.” Her eyes moved over his aquiline face. Oh Maxwell, she thought sighing, you are as bad as I was, trapped in the shell of society.

      Max nodded stiffly. Yet looked as if absorbing her confidence that Nikki could be found.

      After coffee, they put on their coats and Jessica bundled the boys for the trip to the church.

      Max became the godfather of Griffin Maxwell Wolfe, and to Grayson Jake Wolf. Lindy became their godmother.

      It was during the sprinkling of water that Max looked down and saw that Griffin's eyes were lighter now, changeable eyes. He looked over at his sister, who held Grayson. The babe’s eyes were black as coal. He finally figured a way to tell them apart. He blurted this out, which amused both Jessica and the priest.

      They returned home, and after feeding the babies, Jessica settled in the parlor with her guests, catching up on London, discussing more plans for the jewels she had sold, all the money she seemed to have. She got ideas from Lindy too, while they talked late into the night.

      It was only when she was ready to go upstairs that Lindy whispered in her ear softly, “I know you miss him, Please don’t tell Max- but I miss Jayce too.”

      Jessica hugged her, sighed. “I won’t ask.”

      “Nothing happened, really. He hates me, treats me like a pest, or a child. I don't know what happened. It wasn’t even until he was gone, that I felt anything.” She sighed. “I think, I know… he wanted me.” Her eyes showed her distress.

      “Well,” Jessica walked her to her room. “I am not one to predict the future for you. All the advice I have, is to just keep living your life.” Jessica sighed. “Even when we want something so badly, it is not always right to get it.”

      Lindy turned at the doorway and gazed at Jessica. Why, Lindy thought, she really was pretty, not beautiful, Yet pretty with her healthy skin, more mature body , not to mention the softness in her gaze when the boys were around. In soft tones she admitted, “I thought for sure, he would fall in love with you. He’s a fool. Even Max says so.”

      “Neither of us knows what Love is. At least, not that kind. I have just discovered a mother’s love. But...” Jessica shrugged.

      Lindy sighed. “Look at us; you, me, god knows where Nikki is. Out of all of us, I suppose that you are the lucky one, you have gained something from the madness of your father’s plan.”

      “Yes. I am more of my own person too.”

      They said their goodnights, and Jessica went to check on her babies. She felt close to Galen somehow, when she held the boys, when she looked at their coloring, their shape. She talked to them about him, about the days they had picnicked, falling in the lake. She told them… the good things, the best of her memories, the things that reminded her of why she ached for him sometimes so bad she cried.

* * * *

      Over the next few months the boys grew by leaps, bounds. They were energetic, curious, and would only tolerate so much cuddling, before they wanted carried around the house to look at everything.

      Their independence and their quick minds surprised Jessica. They touched, and made sounds, to Jessica’s mind… they were growing far too fast, too separate. She and Winnie kept up with them. They bundled them up and took them for walks, watching their eyes take in everything; their ears listen to every sound.

      Jessica finally got the nursery completed, after she searched high and low for colorful tops, music boxes, anything that would hold their attention for five minuets. It also brightened up the sparse room and she kept drapes off the windows so they could see outside and feel the fresh air.

      The four females in the house were aided some by the servants, who slipped off their duty to peek in on the boys. Several times Jessica found some humble gift added to each sons stash, the used books or the colorful mobiles. Even some carved animals and tin soldiers, or whatever it happened to be, it touched her more than anything else they could have gotten them.

      It meant something to her that the people working at Twin Bells were happy and content. She was learning to do much for herself and they stopped trying to argue that she was a Countess, and should be resting. After the groom caught her mucking stables, the housekeeper finally agreed she could do as she wished in the house.

      “You need some time off.” Jeanette told her one-day eyeing her tired eyes; straggling hair pens, and faded old dress. “You are a good mother, an excellent mother, so now that you have proved it, you need a week or so to yourself.”

      “I couldn’t leave the boys that long.” Jessica pushed some straggling locks from her face. She’d been romping with the boys and would love to have half their energy.

      Jeanette rolled her eyes. “All right, two days of nothing but pampering yourself, doing nothing. You have stopped breast-feeding now so....”

      Jessica blew a strand of hair out of her face again, nodded “Two days, bubble baths, lying around reading.” She smiled sourly, “Before the boys got teeth and were on the breast, I can’t recall getting a whole bath finished without one of them bawling for food.”

      “Yes.” Jeanette laughed. “So As soon as the season opens, you should go to London for awhile.”

      “Maybe next season.” Jessica shook her head. “The boys are too young. I’ll go up for a shopping trip however, to do some business.”

      What about that trip to Dover?”

      “In the summer.” Jessica nodded, “When it is sunny, the flowers are blooming.”    
 
 

CHAPTER TEN

      Jessica did not go up for the season. She did stay in touch with Max, and Lindy. She read several London papers to stay abreast of the current news. She found herself very content playing the role of mother, and she was more fascinated by the boys than she was anything London could offer. She cried all day the first time they called her Mum. Anytime they reached for her, or lay their heads on her shoulder; she felt so tender hearted that she wanted to hold them forever.

      Days were busy and hectic, life moved so swift now. She had her twenty-fifth birthday, and the age did not bother her at all. In fact she was more pleased with herself because her body had produced two such wonderful babies. She celebrated her birthday with that difference foremost in her mind. They put on boots and traipsed about the estate with a mutt called Bramble.

      Jess ended up carrying both boys home as their legs gave out and their tired yawns had them staggering. One of the servants laughed and shook his head at her with a child on both hips, but came and took the boys, shooing their Mama toward her chambers while the staff put the boys to bed.

* * * *

      They were a year and some months old before she left to travel to Dover.

      She kissed the toddlers who were more interested in the puppies the groom had showed them in the stables, than in her departure. They were tall for their age, and almost aggressively determined to do for themselves. Jessica raised her brow as they pat her hand and ran back to the barn. But knew that they were healthy in all respects, their minds far too sharp, and their sturdy bodies strong from activity. They were simply so curious, so energetic, that her hovering sometimes was unnecessary.

      In fact, she was learning not to get her feelings hurt when they sighed and went along with her plans, instead of their own, as if they were humoring her.

      Wearing a lavender traveling dress with a ruffled hem and small bustle, she had on a matching saucy hat and carried her parasol. She left everything in Jeanette’s capable hands, and then waved a gloved hand to everyone the coach pulled out.

      Jessica looked back for a long time at the estate, feeling as if she had found so much of herself there, knowing she had made a home her boys would love to grow up in it. Of a sudden it seemed to her that she had turned something that was left of her mother into something good too. She was proud of that, knowing somehow, that somewhere in Mary’s past, there had been a girl with dreams and wants, only she had the misfortune of being young in a time when marriage was for money and status, and not for romantic ideals of love.

      Jessica knew her mother had a painful sort of worship of Albert Rains. Mary had given up her life trying to meet his demands on her body, all the while, Jessica believed, that somewhere in her heart, Mary had died long before… because Albert never loved her.

      She shuddered and shook her head. She would not have done that, nor made Galen live that life with her. She had done the right thing, no matter how badly she wished they had met as different people, under different circumstances.

      Jessica traveled light and stayed at an Inn the first night. She dressed the next day, in a light green traveling suit, this time her hat was white and matched her gloves and shoes.

      Felling confident, paying for her own bill, traveling alone. She was learning to take care of herself, to make mistakes, and to learn from them. Jess was looking forward to the nice styles and feminine fashions for once. It was going to be wonderful choosing her own clothing once she reached London.

      Surprisingly since she’d had the boys, she felt more comfortable with her body, the tiny silver marks on her breasts and hips bothered her not at all. She felt absolutely womanly now, and there was something after giving birth that gave her a boost of feminine awareness she couldn’t quite define.

      They arrived at Blackcove just at late noon. She exited the coach and stood a moment eyeing the restored house and grounds. Eventually she went round the back, across the lawn, to the place where Griffin was buried. The head stone she had ordered was there, a gazebo with bench, and flowers. The grave was fenced off with a white picket fence. The entire area was pretty and peaceful, alive with color and brightness.

      She went through the gate and squatted down to lay her hand on the grassy mound. She spoke to the boy, Galen's twin, telling him about his namesake. Jess lingered awhile in the gazebo, looking at the rainbow of flowers and sweet grass, the butterflies flittering around the clearing.

      Jessica arose feeling very peaceful and content with fulfilling his wishes. Galen had asked for a headstone, she had added all the rest. One of the things she was not sure he would accept so readily lay just beyond the wooded lot.

      She toured the house, finding it restored, cleared of furnishings. It was narrow, four stories—and she couldn’t find much attractive about it, yet perhaps it had to do with Galen’s attitude toward his past. The property was only a few acres now and the house. She thought she ought to keep it up, for the boys, or for Galen if he wished to live in it. She had made a request when she had it restored, asking for any paintings of her husband to be sent to her. She had one to show the boys so they would know their papa.

      She spent the evening in the house, walking the grounds. Then departed and headed for London. Jessica was determined to find Nikki. Lately her nights were disturbed by the sound of Nikki’s voice, and during the day she would stand very still, so sure she had heard her friend speaking. She couldn’t put it off any longer. Now that she had some peace in her life, some maturity, and she ached for her friend and longed for the treasure of having an open friendship with her.

      She did not believe Nicole was lost, only waiting for her to find her.

      Her townhouse was only just down from the Marquis‘. Jessica had Lady Lindy go with her as she ordered a new wardrobe, and searched for clues to where Nikki might be.

      They spent a long time looking over patterns for the snug fish tail gowns with draped fronts and wide shoulder edge necklines. Jessica’s size had changed so she had to be re-measured, she chose flattering, feminine designs, in gold and green and peach and off white.

      They shopped for the boys, then for the servants. They went by the solicitor’s office; Max had put her in touch with. Jessica signed over the huge mansion to be used as a lecture hall for visiting dignitaries, the bedrooms would make a nice apartment space, and the open rooms perfect for an audience. With that burden off her back, she put her week left to good use, and talked to some of the servants who worked at the Holcombe home.

      An aged gardener told her, “She left right soon, after the funeral. About a month. The lady be upset, Miss…ah Mildred. She rants, and then has the locks on the doors changed.”

      “Lady Holcombe left on her own, willingly?”

      “Yes, with baggage.”

      Jessica later questioned the man she had hired as to why he did not know this.

      “I did, although it does not prove she wasn’t forced, I wanted to give you something more to go on than that.”

      Jessica nodded. She and Lindy left. She had two days more before returning home.

      “I know Max slept with her,” Lindy said later they sat in Jessica’s bright parlor. “He looked dreadful the next morning; well he hasn’t been in the best mood since.”

      “Oh, no.” Jessica froze.

      “What?” Lindy pushed her glasses up.

      “She may have gotten pregnant.”

      Lindy gasped and put a hand over her mouth, her eyes huge. Then she slowly moved her hand and whispered, “Oh, my good lord, the baby would be Max’s!”

      Jessica waved her hand. “Let’s not worry about Max right now. Don’t you dare tell him this until we have proof, until we can talk to Nikki.”

      “I won’t.”

      “Where could she have gone?”

      “It depends, if she had money she would have the babe in one of the better cities or towns. If she hadn’t much money on her, she would be in a smaller village, where she could afford a living.”

      Jessica winced. “I can’t believe she wouldn’t tell me, contact me.”

      “Nor I. I thought we were good friends.”

      “She must have been scared, devastated. It would be hard to explain carrying a child, planted on the day your always-ailing husband died; no one would believe she had not taken some lover. That family.” Jessica said grimly, “I have no doubt they must have found out.”

      “Why don’t you give that suspicion to the man you hired? He may check some of the homes, places where unwed mothers have their children, as well as discreet hospitals, infirmaries where the wealthy are assured anonymity.

      “Yes.” Jessica decided. “I’ll send him a note this evening.”

      Lindy left to go to her own house, she had an engagement that evening- she promised again to tell Max nothing.

* * * *

      Jessica was home two months in Twin Bells when the man she hired sent her a note. St.Leanards, it said, with an address and the words, one Nicole Arwood, twenty two-month-old son, Guy.

      She packed the following day, and again was waved off by the staff. This time she was going to the seaside resort, hoping to return home with her friend in tow.

      Having the luxury of choosing her own wardrobe in London, Jessica stepped out of the coach in the best neighborhood, wearing a white bustled suit with ruffled blouse, flounced hem, and a wide brimmed hat. Her hair was puffed atop her head, and she carried a parasol. She strolled down the street about a block.

      She turned and went back, telling the driver, “The number is too high, keep going it’s number six.”

      They did keep going, Jessica soon saw that the neighborhood was changing. For all it had become a fashionable resort, with everything to offer, it also drew all sorts of humanity, like London, Liverpool, several other locals, it had all classes, a mix of cultures.

      It was in the shabby house, at the end of a street, lined with almost shanties, lined by dingy salt tinged laundry, that she found the right number.

      She alighted after laying her parasol aside, then walked carefully up to the lop-sided door, and knocked three raps. Jessica was determined not to be shocked or show any disdain if she found her friend inside.

      The Nikki that came to the door with babe on her hip, was not the Nicole from London. No, this woman looked too thin, too tired, she had sallow skin, sad eyes.

      “Nikki, it’s me, Jess.”

      Those dry cracked lips trembled. Tears ran over her pale cheeks.

      The boy on her hip frowned fiercely at Jessica.

      Jessica reached out, ruffled his curly black hair. He had light aqua eyes. Please, she thought, let me not show the sorrow and shock I feel.

      “You shouldn’t have come.” Nikki shook her head, she stepped out the door. “Better send that driver someplace to wait. They won’t be much left of the coach if it’s here after dark.”

      Jessica did so. Then she searched Nikki’s face and tried not to look at the ill-fit state of her clothing. “You could have told me, Nikki. I would have helped you,” Her tone was soft, loving and accusing.

      Nikki shrugged. Trying to hold onto her own pride she said, “You had your own problems, I had gotten myself into a mess. Mildred heard me getting sick, she called a doctor in. About the only thing I was able to get them to agree to, was that no scandal would be spread. I let them have the money, I even told her I wouldn’t ever use the title,

      Jessica touched her friend's face. “I am a mother too now, twins.”

      Nikki touched her son lovingly. “Guy is all I live for. I got a job working at one of the Tavern, dance halls.” Her voice caught in her throat. She was trying to make it sound more than it was, but couldn’t.

      “I’m still rich, I am free now,”

      “I heard that the old man died, but the Earl?”

      “It’s a long story. You look so tired. Please, come with me Nikki.

      Come back to the hotel, let’s talk and make plans.”

      “I can’t be around the Marquis. I just...”

      “I won’t lie, Max has become my friend too, he does not come to twin bells uninvited, Oh, Nikki, and our boys can be friends. Real friends. We can too without anything or anyone stopping us.” Jessica was desperate. “Come with me please.”

      Nikki’s brown eyes filled. “I can’t live off you, Jess. I know that now. Life is different and I am different. And you would not believe what I have had to go through on my own. I can’t live off you.”

      “Then we will work something out. Gosh Nikki, I have all sorts of business that need running, I even have a riding school.” She shrugged, “I had to do something with all those jewels I sold.”

      Nikki stared at her. “You promise Jess. No telling Max, I can earn my keep somehow?” She added, “I won’t ever be ashamed of my working father, my background again. It’s damned hard making a living out in the world, Jess. As much as I love you, I can’t ever put my fate in someone else’s hands. I don’t have much pride left, but I’ve got to do something real, and teach Guy the same thing. No one is going to wave a wand and make our lot easier. I’m an unwed mother.”

      “I promise.” Jessica understood her feelings. “I’ll give you a real job.”

      “What about the Earl?”

      “I’ll tell you at the hotel.” She stepped out into the road, signaled the driver.

      Nikki looked ashamed. “Everyone will talk when we go in the hotel. I look awful. I know it.”

      “I don’t care if people talk,” Jessica said stoutly then reached for the boy, carrying him. “I need you, Nikki, do you know whom I called for when I was in labor with the boys? Not mama, not Galen, but you.”

      Nikki smiled through her tears, although her expression was so sad that it tore at Jessica’s heart.

      “Remember that freedom I used to always talk about?” Jessica looked out the window reflectively.

      “Yes.”

      Jessica murmured, “No one with the ability to love is ever really free. We don’t really want to be free of responsibility, just free to choose. We are all tied, woven together Nikki. All of us, me, your Lindy, Max Galen and even Jayce. Our ghosts are there; our mistakes are there. I don’t think that any of us realized how much we would affect each other’s lives. “

      “I didn’t think Galen would leave you, but he has, hasn’t he?”

      Jessica nodded. Wondering that people did not think so, when they knew the marriage was no love match. “I’m glad he did. I’ll tell you the details later. It was so wrong… what my father did to him. How could I draw it out longer, once he was free to go?”

      They arrived at the hotel, and she secured a room for them both. She also ordered supper brought up to her room, enough to feed an army. The man asked if her servant was without baggage.

      “Yes, my friend,” Jessica stressed the word. “Shall be shopping for what we require.” She looked down her nose at him. “If what one hears is true, that the shops here are as fashionable as we have heard.”

      “I assure you they are.” The man flushed. “I hope you, your ah… If you need anything Countess, just ring.”

      She nodded, and they went to their adjoining rooms. She told Nikki to take a long bath and loaned her a dressing gown. Jessica bathed the boy, put one of her shirts on him, rolling up the sleeves. She found herself touching his face, smiling at him. The lad looked as sad as Nikki. He was also protective she noted, because he kept waiting for his Mama to come out and did not relax until she did so.

      Once Nikki joined her, Jessica sat the boy in the center of the bed. She brushed Nikki’s hair. While she did so, she told her of all that had happened, everything, up to the present.

      “I didn’t mean to worry you,” Nikki expressed, while they sat at a small table and ate. Jessica had Guy on her lap, feeding him. She was determined the lad would trust her.

      “I understand you weren’t thinking of me, you were in a desperate situation.”

      “Yes. Once Mildred knew the truth, it was all I could do to get her not to scandalize me. If I am missing, they will eventually stop wondering about me.”

      They took the sleeping child to Nikki’s rooms. “You both need to sleep.” Jessica told her, “I am going out shopping for clothing for both of you. I’ll be back in awhile.”

      Nikki sighed, and lay down next to her son. Her hair was hair braided, hanging down her back and washed good with soft soap. She lay her hand on her son and fell into a long deep sleep.

      Old Thurman, the driver, looked at his Ladyship with some dismay. “How big are the boy’s feet, my lady?”

      “A bit bigger than Grayson's.”

      He looked at his palm a moment. “Ah, yes. I can find something for him, I am sure.”

      “Clothing, anything. A bit bigger than Grayson.”

      He smiled having lifted her boys up onto the seat just the other day and let them play. He had watched their shoes swing back and fourth they sat in the driver’s seat. He had also watched them grow with the rest of the staff, betting on which would be the leader, which the follower. Yes, he could find that size.

      They ended up purchasing a trunk for the boy’s clothing and baggage for Nikki. They also bought a few toys for the lad, books.

      Nikki did not rouse until the next day. She felt beside her for Guy and panicked, hurriedly stumbling, half asleep, through the door. She entered Jessica’s room and stopped.

      Jessica sat on the floor with the boy, patiently telling him stories, while she showed him how to stack blocks. Nikki smiled at the way Guy stuck his tongue out the corner of his mouth and frowned in concentration, or he clapped his little hands every time he stacked a block. Jessica laughed with him.

      “I woke up and couldn’t find him.” Nikki came into the room, sat at the table. Her smile was apologetic.

      “Food is on the way, we are just amusing ourselves until we dine.” She winked at the lad, who suddenly was fascinated with her eye, and poked his finger in it.

      “Ouch.” Jessica rubbed her watering eye. “None of that now,” she told the lad.

      While they ate, they made plans to leave the following day. Nikki tried on the ready-made gowns and though some were lose, she had lost a lot of weight. Nonetheless, they were pretty, light, and they improved her coloring, as did the good food, rest.

      They departed during a gentle summer rain, inside the coach it hardly mattered. They talked so much that the trip seemed to go by very fast. Jessica learned that Nikki had given birth to Guy in the cottage of a widow who kindly helped her. But she had gotten a fever and was sick a long time.

      Finding a wet nurse was expensive and difficult, so he drank goat’s milk, thanks also to the widow. But knowing she had to make it on her own she had tried to mend and get work in the fashionable houses.

      She told Jess that she was turned away for lack of reference, Jess knew Nikki looked like. She was still too pretty. Nikki looked like no servant she had ever seen. Whatever her birth, she was beautiful and had the kind of pleasing color, bones and shape that woman would react negatively to when looking for house servants.

      In any case, Nikki had found work in the dance hall. She said it was exhausting and the constant harassment and crude vulgarity wore on her nerves. She paid the widow what she could to watch Guy while she worked and had just saved enough to rent the sad looking little house when Jessica found her.

      There was also the final truth on what occurred the night they had slipped in to see Lindy. Jessica was almost envious when Nikki described the passion between herself and Max, it was something she had not gotten to experience.

      The thoughts of a man expressing untamed passion or simply losing himself to a woman sounded too good to be believed, Nikki said that Max had spoiled it by having his typical Marquis reactions-.

      Her hurt and anger at him intermingled. Jess supposed that she would not see things any other way just yet. She’d gone too far down to just bounce back the same. She needed time, nurturing, support. And like Jess needed; friendship and laughter.

      They arrived in late evening. Jessica carried guy inside and introduced Nikki to the staff who was going about their work. Nurse brought the boys down. They stopped and stared at her holding the child.

      “No, no.” Grayson shook his head vigorously.

      “No.” His brother agreed pointing to Guy.

      Jessica set the child on his feet and looked down at her boys. “This is guy.” She called Nikki over. “This is Guy’s mum.”

      The twins smiled suddenly, nodding, happy that their mum hadn’t brought another brother home. “Guy’s mum.” They clapped, pointed to the boy’s mother.

      Jessica laughed at them, watching Nikki shake their hands. They started talking their own language and she went right along with it, making out a word now and then. They talked a lot, most of it made sense, and some of it only the two of them seemed to understand.

      Nurse spoke to Guy, then looked at Nikki. “The little fellow can share the nursery if you want.”

      She shook her head. “Maybe, gradually. I wake up looking for him.”

      The nurse smiled, nodded. “I’ll just take him to the kitchens for a sweet.”

      Eventually Jessica settled Nikki in a huge guestroom. It had never been used to her knowledge. The large space was perfect for a crib in the sitting room; decorated in lemon yellow, silky cream, and sage green. It seemed to soothe Nikki’s nerves once she settled in.

      The following day Nikki met Jeanette. Winnie the maid, who brought another local girl to help; a sparkle eyed blond who laughed so funny that Jessica, Nikki shared one of their first chuckles over her. Jeanette declared that she and Nikki looked enough alike to pass for cousins, and they did. The two ladies became friends rather easily, and were soon chatting away.

      They developed a routine, the two of them with their children, taking the airing at the same time, playtime, and reading time. One or the other did the reading while the free one got to sit with boys and make faces and sounds.

      Nikki’s health improved, as did Guy’s. It was a special time for Jessica, because she felt as if she was finally doing something for someone that was good. She’d discovered that life had little meaning when it centered on ones self. She did give Nikki work however, because Nikki refused to eat or dress until Jess allowed her real employment.

      Standing in the bedroom, Jessica rolled her eyes. “I will ask Jeanette, and get back to you.”

      She asked, and Jeanette said, “Are you joking? I need all the help I can get. You keep building libraries, donating them, and setting up relief funds for every one and their brother. By the way, knowing how you are, I went ahead and approved donations to the church, the repairing of the local meeting hall. The local gentry are abuzz I hear, trying to one up you.”

      Jessica laughed. “Well I suppose we had better spread out our generosity. I’ll leave the details to you.”

      Nikki started working the next day with Jeanette. While she did, Jessica saw to the boys, and then caught up on her letter writing, and running of the household.

      It was Christmas day when she received a letter from a London solicitor. Jeanette, Nikki were standing with her she opened it.

      Jessica murmured, “He wants to know if I intend to sign the divorce papers.” She refolded it. “I suppose he has found someone,” She cleared her throat.

      Nikki reached for her hand. “Maybe it’s just the solicitor, clearing his cases for the year or something. Don’t assume anything.”

      Jessica nodded she looked down at her wedding ring. “I should have done it right away.”

      “Just write, tell him no, you have not signed them,” Jeanette advised. “If it is something more, he will contact you about it.”

      Nonetheless, after that was done, Jessica spent the winter months wondering and waiting when the reply would come… that the Earl of Blackcove wished a divorce.

      There were some good times, of course. The boys were a hand full. Guy though was still quiet, watching the twins run headlong into everything. They were always bounding, running and laughing, even arguing. They included him in their play, and Jessica and Nikki often watched Guy humor the two with a sigh. It wasn’t a democracy by any means. Although Guy was wise enough to let them find out they couldn’t ride a tray down the stairs or fit the dog into the bird bath the hard way.

      During a freezing rain in winter they were all in the library, sipping chocolate, watching the storm as they had a debate about the up—coming social season. Jessica did not wish to go because Nikki could not. Nikki assured her she would be fine here with the children, that Jessica needed some lively entertainment. Nikki was heavily involved in rounding up clothing for the places that housed unwed mothers and their children. She’d taken a scant idea of Jessica’s, and turned it into her own project, with Jess’s blessing.

      “It’s a shame that I had such a reputation before. I have no intention of living up to it again.” Jessica looked at her nails and grinned at them.

      “The ice heiress.” Nikki laughed. “Go Jess, Lady Lindy will be there. Oh, how I miss her.” Nikki sighed, shook her head. “Time has flown for us here. She’s a grown woman now.”

      “Fine, but only for awhile.” Jess gave in. “Thank goodness I have a closet of rich gowns. Let’s just hope I can ward off all the curiosity.”

      “Oh let them wonder what has changed you so much.” Nikki looked at Jess’s face and more shapely form. “Jeanette and I shall read about your reentry in the papers… and be rolling in the floor laughing.”

      “Well thanks a lot.” Jess chuckled, and began to make plans, real plans, to journey to London and rejoin society.

      Particularly after Nikki said, “Now, Jess, don’t be helping the maid clean the parlor, and do recall you aren’t supposed to run barefoot in the house.”

      Jessica laughed and winked at Jeanette. “I might do it, just to give the two of you something to laugh about. Imagine the social pages, they already think me eccentric, reclusive and who knows what whispers surround my absence from London.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

      In London a few weeks later, Max was opening his house after spending some time in the country. He had sent Lindy out shopping, and was simply trying to stay out of the servant’s way, when his footman came to fetch him in the back sitting room.

      “Guests?” Max frowned in puzzlement. He had sent out no cards yet. “Just send them back here.”

      When Jayce and Galen walked in the door, Max nearly dropped his coffee cup. He knew his mouth was probably open.

      Jayce had a hair cut. It was still looked windswept in a tamer way. He was still big and rugged, only now he wore a western cut suit and long leather jacket. Galen also had a trim, his hair sill long feathered more, a few glints of silver showed in it. His face looked a bit leaner and he was dressed in his usual black.

      “I… Welcome back.” Max went forward to shake their hands. “I lost track of you two months ago.” His smile held amazement.

      “We got trapped for awhile… in prison.”

      “Prison?” Max told them to sit, poured drinks.

      “Old enemies.” Galen took his drink and sat down by the fireplace. “We only served a month, before we were cleared. We had a run of bad luck in Canada too.” He shook his head. “We seemed to run into it everywhere.”

      Jayce smiled and sipped his whiskey. “Galen couldn’t stay put too long. I think we been around the world faster than anyone on earth. The only good thing about it was that we didn’t have to earn our way.”

      He rubbed his legs, “I’ve rode everything now, trains, horses, coaches, camels, ships… and an ostrich, I don’t give a shit if I ever see anything but a horse again.”

      “Are you back for good?” Max asked them both.

      “We are.” Galen nodded, and then glanced toward Jayce. “He may not like all the English but he’s decided stick it out for awhile.”

      “Galen suggested I take my savings, buy a place to bread horses. I can’t abide sheep; I ain’t a city dude, at least for long periods of time.”

      “I’ve been trying to unload a farm it needs work,” Max told him. “I just don’t have the time now to oversee it, as much and my assets seem to be centering on more progressive industry. My Father bought it up, because the man needed money, it just sort of fell to me. “

      He named a price. They shook hands right and there.

      Galen rubbed the back of his neck, looking at Max. “How is she?”

      “Who?”

      He grunted. “Jessica.”

      “You got my wire, didn’t you?”

      “I got one when you were there for Christmas. I think they must have missed something in the transfer, the woman at the wire office said two children.”

      “That’s a right, twins Griffin and Grayson.”

      Max watched his friend’s face, witnessing the smile tugging at his lips.

      “Jessica is fine by the way. Motherhood agrees with her. She just seems to. Glow. She has an unfashionable tan most of the time and she is just-different, I don't know, it’s something good though, because she hardly leaves those Lads and rarely comes to London. I saw her a few months back when she was up for some shopping.

      She was turning heads I tell you. She smiles, laughs easier, and talks to people on the street. Not at all the thing, you know .” Max shrugged, grinned, “I actually enjoy being around her and getting her letters. Hell, it’s the only real thing happening besides Lindy’s sudden betrothal.”

      “Lindy’s what!” Jayce spewed his drink, choking and gasping.

      Max slapped him on the back. “Lady Lindy to you.”

      “Right.” Jayce wheezed and shot Galen a look.

      Galen said easy enough, “So, who is she marrying? I seem to recall she was never going to wed.”

      “I did say sudden, didn’t I? Yes, well, she set her mind on the Radford fellow, Noel. He is a younger son, of course, and I have backed off trying to wed her up. I simply settled for anything at all. She doesn’t even bother to plague me anymore with her feminist views. In fact she has done a complete turn in the last few weeks. I almost miss the way she was before-”

      “What of Lady Nicole?”

      “Missing.” Max told him of the facts he knew.

      Galen could see much more though, in the way Max took a long pull of his drink and looked away a moment. He saw Max’s hand tremble just a little bit.

      They had an informal dinner and retired to the billiard room to play, while they finished their catching up.

      “I’ve rented a house,” Galen told him, “Not far from here.”

      “Jessica, is two houses up,” Max supplied.

      Galen missed his shot, and ignored the look Max gave him.

      “I’m going to travel to Dover next week, see what is left of the old place.” Galen meant Blackcove Hall.

      Max said nothing, only nodded.

      Jayce supplied, “He bought up a lot of land. I guess he’s doubled what he left here with. A lot of it, the railroads purchased, some of it had rich mineral deposits.”

      Max let Galen get his shot, then asked, “Are you going to see them?”

      Galen shrugged. “If she knows I am here, invites me. I’m not here to cause problems for her.” Sons… Just the thought made his knees weak and his guts clench. He wouldn’t let himself think of actually being a father.

      “You can stay away knowing you have two sons?” Max shook his head frowning. “I couldn’t, I don't know how you have done it this long.”

      “I made a deal with her.” Galen's dark gaze flickered with some illusive emotion. “I’m glad her freedom worked out better than mine.”

      “Are you?” Max took his shot, and then walked over to sit down, because Galen had won.

      “Yes. I am.” Galen joined him. “Why should I begrudge her happiness, just because I can’t—?

      “—Find any?” Max finished. “Maybe you looked in the wrong place.”

      “Don’t start that again.” Galen shook his head. ”I’ll wager the divorce papers are waiting on me at the solicitors even now.”

      “You’d like that wouldn’t you.” Max smiled. “It would give you a reason to make excuses about coming back here.” Max shook his head. “She still wears your ring; in fact that and a few discreet pieces are all I have seen on her.”

      “Still, I’m not here to cause her problems.”

      “Why are you here?” Max challenged him.

      Galen looked down in his glass, his expression dark, quiet, “Because I need…. Answers.”

      “What sort of answers?” Max watched him closely.

      Galen shrugged his tone reflective, “The hell if I know. I just have memories of feeling… things, I have to know if they’re real or something I made up, in some ways they’ve replaced the old ghosts, and I can’t seem to move on until I know, something. I probably sound—”

      Max cut him off again, “I understand.”

      Galen nodded and tossed back his drink. Max didn’t know the half of it. No one did really. How could he explain that Jessica had become real to him? Max wouldn’t understand what that meant. Galen couldn’t put her in any category but that. He’d spent the greater part of his life feeling like a ghost, mostly dead, certainly dark. Then he’d met a woman who actually had some sense of what that was like. Someone who forced him to feel….

      He looked over, saw Jayce asleep on he leather couch, his booted feet crossed.

      “He’s all messed up about your sister, Max.”

      Max looked shocked, stunned, before he rasped, “No. Why… he’s what thirty-one? He didn’t do anything, did he? Because Lindy has been acting bloody strange ...”

      “He wouldn’t do that. He’s better than both of us are, if you want the truth of it. He knows which ones to lay, which ones to steer clear of.”

      Max ran a hand through his hair. “Yes. I knew that it’s just. Well hell, she’s not very attractive. Lindy just doesn't seem like the type that, well, take this Radford chap, he’s all into science, intellectual theories, and he’s more her type. Jayce is just too wrong for her, she…”

      “You mean he’s not titled, polished, and his background is tainted?”

      Max flushed. “She’s my sister, Galen. “

      Galen sighed, and then nodded curtly. “Right.”

      Max cursed and shook his head. “It’s a moot point anyway, she’s made her choice. With all the experienced females Jayce has had, I am sure he’ll get over it. It’s probably just that provoking way she has. Or had.”

      Galen nodded. He simply stared at Max.

      “Bloody hell.” Max sat down heavily. “I wish you hadn’t told me.”

      They left the room after that, and Jayce slowly opened his eyes. Well, and at least he knew Max’s feelings on the matter. He sat up finger combing his hair. He hoped Galen's house would be ready soon. He didn’t think he could stay here, watch her beaus coming in and out.

      A scientist? Had she gotten desperate or something. Shit, she would never be satisfied with an analytical man like that, she was too curious, too uninhibited, too, Ah hell.

      Jayce arose and went to scare up something to eat. He was probably just like Galen, remembering things that were soft because of the lone trail they had been taking. He was seeing things that weren’t ever there was all.

      He ended up in the kitchens, entertaining the cook and servants with tales of their travels, while food was prepared for him. He played his harmonica for the little boot black, who danced around, making even the starchy housekeeper smile. Hell and Damn, he had to get his mind off her again.

      Jayce ate and reflected on the diverse types of music he had heard the manifold native dances he had seen. He also thought of the beautiful females he had been within reach of…and how shocked he had been, when he actually couldn’t lay with them.

      That night of the wedding ball, when he and Lindy had argued again about something—probably her way of being so opinionated about things. She’d got him so mad he had stepped on her foot on purpose. She had fallen against him, her glasses sliding off, clattering to the floor. She had grabbed out… nearly at his crotch. He could almost swear she knew and could see perfectly when raising up from getting her glasses, her elbow hit him hard enough to get the message across.

      As he stared at her eyes, they had been half gray half lavender, smoky, with those long dark red lashes. He couldn’t feel pain there exactly. No, he felt something all together different.

      She had noticed it, his hardness; his arousal was not hidable in them damned black breeches that were skin snug. Lindy had smiled sweetly at him…and gave him directions to the nearest house of Eros.

      He almost strangled her, yet he had calmed himself instead.

      Nonetheless, he’d left the dance floor and he had caught the glint of her glasses several times looking at him. He had a strange feeling, one he hadn’t experienced. He thought maybe he shouldn’t be feeling it. She was young, she was pure, and she was a lady—

      Over the months, year, more months, he had realized he could not recall the names of half the females he’d bedded. He remembered everything about her though; how she felt and smelled, her vivid coloring, the oh—so proper sound of her voice, the way she tried to outrage people. The way she tried… to hide herself behind a pair of glasses.

      The longer he was gone, the more he thought of it. As much as he knew it could never be for a million good reasons, he couldn’t help himself.

      When Galen finally admitted that rambling had lost its appeal for him too, that he needed answers- Jayce had been more than happy to return to England. Now, he wondered if he was torturing himself? He couldn’t have her. And if he did have her, hell, he’d forget she was a lady, in bed at least…he just knew it. Only just thinking of her…that slim supple body and those pert breasts and that face.

      Ah, hell. Jayce left the kitchen. He must be old or crazy, or both.

* * * *

      The following day, Galen traveled to Dover alone, leaving Jayce to oversee the preparations of the townhouse. At least in England there was no danger of going home to bear skin rugs, steer horns. He had gotten used to it in America, except Jayce collected things from their travels, and Galen had to buy a rail car just to haul the stuff back. He didn’t want them ending up in his townhouse. Particularly not Jayce’s animal skins.

      Jessica must have been big- carrying twins? She must have been busy…maybe she hadn’t had the time yet, to do what he had asked. He had only asked her because he couldn’t bring himself to go to Griffin's gravesite. He’d asked because he couldn’t tell her about his past in detail…which was the only way of doing it.

      He had brought along a mount, tied to the back of the coach that brought him from the rail station, after the last stop in the journey, he left the coachman at the Inn, and rode to Black cove on horseback.

      He didn’t feel the old tension in himself as he got closer to the village, however, he did see with some surprise in the distance, the restored manor house. It had new shutters; the stones had been cleaned, leaving them a lighter gray than blackish. He rode across the property, noting the neat grounds; new glass replaced the old led in the windows.

      He dismounted at the front of his house, leaving the horse to graze. Tucking his hands in his pockets, Galen walked around, across the back lawn. He could see the flowers and gazebo, the white fence, long before he reached it.

      The grave was centered in a halo of light, an oasis of color and peacefulness. There was a little fountain with birds fluttering around it. Galen caught sight of a man out the corner of his eye, exiting a shed near the rear of the house.

      The man spied him too and came toward him. “Lord Blackcove, welcome.” He reached out his hand. It was large and tough callused.

      “You know me?”

      “Yes. I was born in this house, a year before you. I’m the groundskeeper now. Your wife, Lady Jessica, hired me.”

      Galen looked at the man’s black hair and wondered, as strange feeling crept upon him. He had the face shape of Galen’s father.

      The man was saying, “I left for awhile, did my schooling, worked in the city. I couldn’t settle, so I was extremely happy when your good wife began seeking out former employees.”

      The man’s dark blue eyes met Galen's, in a way that showed he was completely at ease with who he was. “She’s been very particular about the gravesite, even sent a drawing of how she wanted it.”

      Galen saw too in his expression, a peace, acknowledgment of who might have fathered him. Still…”Is there anything I can do for you?”

      The man shook his head, “I’m called O’Shea, no first name. It’s the way I grew up, the way I made myself a man. The Countess is very generous she pays so well, I often feel like I’m robbing her.”

      “No. You’ve done wonders here, I don't ever recall it looking this good. It was always a depressing place.”

      “Well, there were only a few servants in those days. They rarely got paid.” The man shrugged and pointed to the fenced grave. “I’ll leave you so that you can visit your brother’s grave. I remember him too.” The man chuckled, shook his head. “Ah, he had a wicked sense of humor.” He told Galen about the time Griffin had put frogs in the guest’s stew, live ones… that caused a ruckus at the table.

      Galen smiled for the first time ever, after hearing Griffin’s name. “Yes, I haven’t laughed much since; he just knew the most humorous things to say.” He then told O’Shea one of Griffin’s jokes, it made them both laugh.

      “Your wife was here, by the way. I didn’t speak with her though. She seemed to want to get the feel of the place. I think she sat at the grave, with her hand on it a long time.” O'Shea flushed. “I wasn’t spying but you hear all that talk about the Vanlare’s. She hired me yet I never saw her.”

      “I understand.”

      O’Shea nodded. “She’s nothing like the papers used to say. Even at a distance, you know how gossip is? They made her seem like a bloody snob, a rich pampered princess. Even in the country folks took bets, Ah... They talked about her. But she’s done a lot for the village and paid pensions to the servants that worked here that are still living. She got a stone for your father’s grave, by the way. It’s beyond that clearing beside your mother’s grave.”

      Galen looked a bit pale. “My mother is buried here?”

      “Yes. Your wife. She had the body moved from a pauper’s grave in France or something.”

      Galen absorbed that, and then he turned to look at the gazebo. “Thank you, O’Shea; I’ll look at the house later.”

      The man left him and Galen went to the grave. He opened the gate and stared at the beautiful headstone. It had a pair of hands clasped in brotherhood or friendship. He did not know, but smiling angels surrounded it.

      The inscription after the name, birth and death read almost musically, the short span of life that earth rendered to me, are but the beginning of my eternal days. Not born alone, I passed in his arms, but swift to warm embrace. As I was ever protected by his loving hand, so shall I watch from heaven, as he hold’s living precious, for the both of us.

      Galen closed his eyes, swallowing several times. Someone must have told her that Griffin died in his arms, while he was trying to carry him into the village.

      He never would have thought another soul understood. The helpless grief, the total aloneness he had felt. He had been the same size as Griff, and his brother’s body had been so hot, so feverish. Galen had been crying hard, so incensed because no one could help, the servants had done all they could. He’d been determined to save Griff. And all the while, Griff muttered out of his head, “Don’t weep Galen, don’t you be crying, you hear. I’m going to box your ears you silly ass.” Or in his last breaths, “Galen? Is it snowing? Where’s the sky. I can’t see a blasted thing.”

      He had died, and Galen had sat beside the road, holding him, nearly froze to death too, before the servants found him. He hadn’t been able to save him after all. He’d always missed Griff, always felt a part of himself missing.

* * * *

      O’Shea watched the man wiping his eyes then kneeling at the grave. The Earl stayed there for hours, until the lavender setting sun bathed him in a shadow. He stood finally, and walked to the Gazebo, looked round it. Then, he came toward the house. O’shea noticed he did not visit his parent’s gravesite. He didn’t blame him. He remembered too well those early years.

      He showed him around the empty house.

* * * *

      Galen noticed the new wallpaper, the restored, polished wood floors; everything was perfect, yet he felt nothing.

      “Where do you live, in the village?” He asked O'shea.

      “I have a nice house, at the end of the property that the Countess had built.”

      Galen nodded and they shook hands, and once more Galen met his gaze… giving him a chance to acknowledge their kinship if he wished.

      Yet O’shea merely shrugged, saying in parting, “Birth might give us existence, milord, our accomplishments give us life. If we make nothing of ourselves, we have only ourselves to blame.”

      He looked Galen in the eye. “I was proud to muck stalls, and proud to clerk, and proud to work in hospital. I’m proud to be steward here, I’ve made myself capable.”

      Galen thought of that on his way back to London. He understood it. He acknowledged that obstacles often made some people take many long years to discover it. He was only going to admit to himself that change scared the hell out of him, putting your fate or vulnerabilities in someone’s hands, that—was incomprehensible to him.

* * * *

      Jessica and Winnie arrived at the townhouse. She was glad to see her housekeeper and cook hadn’t run off .They acted as if they had expected to be summoned at a moment’s notice, and had done a good job getting the house in order.

      The first thing Jessica did, after taking off her gloves, beige hat, and jacket, was to dash off a note to Lady Lindy. Then, she sent cards round to some of the sticklers, luckily, she knew how to handle them. Now as a married woman, and a mother, she had a confidence no one could shake.

      After sending out her cards, she helped Winnie arrange her clothing saying, “I’m so impressed with what the dressmaker did with my gowns. She’s right, it’s a shame to waste such expense material, and she’d followed me for several seasons and envied those Paris gowns. She made them fashionable for this season too, much more comfortable.”

      “You’ll still need a few odds and ends,” Winnie told her, closed the drawer on some scarves, gloves. “A new riding habit too.”

      “I’m not staying the whole season; I can’t stay away from my Lads that long.”

      “Then let them come up for a short visit.”

      They looked at each, other imagining Nikki or Jeanette trying to travel all those miles with the rascals…and burst out laughing.

      “Well.” Winnie wiped her eyes. “That is not a good Idea after all.”

      “I hope they write something titillating about me in the Times, I would hate to disappoint Nikki and turn out to be uninteresting.” Jessica sorted through her stockings.

      “Oh, well.” The maid sighed, “It would be better if his lordship would return, and the talk would die down.”

      “I can deal with it,” Jessica murmured.

      “Have I dusted on my nose?” Jessica caught her staring a few moments later.

      “No, I was just thinking how much better you look now, than when you came for your honeymoon. It seems like it was someone else.” She did not want to say a brittle, pale faced and helpless puppet, but that had been their first impression.

      “Yes, I feel like a different person now. I have goals and I expect things of myself. Oh… there are many ways I have changed.”

      Winnie nodded and they finished their work.

      Lindy called at dinnertime.

      Jessica stood in the hall nearly gasping at the change in the girl. “Lindy?”

      “Yes, it’s me.” The young woman laughed and pointed to her glasses. “See?”

      “Your hair. It’s…” Jessica hugged her. “It’s so different.”

      Lady Lindy had finally had her hair cut by a professional hairdresser. He had thinned out the mass, feathered it around her face. He’d chopped a good deal off, until it just reached her shoulders. The styles he had taught her, like she had it now, with the hair up, puffed only a bit, tendrils artfully touching her ears and nape, it showed off her face and her beautiful skin. It enhanced her nice lips…and her aristocratic bones.

      “Take off your glasses a moment.”

      The younger woman did so. Jessica laughed, shaking her head. “Why are you still hiding, my girl? You are a beautiful woman, quite striking. Late bloomers always stay handsome, all of their life. That hairstyle shows off your pretty arched brows, big gray eyes. “

      “Give over Jess, it’s only me.”

      “Stay for dinner?”

      Lindy wrinkled her nose. “Tell me about Nikki first.”

      “Dinner, then we talk.” Jessica guided her toward the dining area. “I need you to catch me up on the scene, as it were.”

      “Just tell me. Were we right? Your note was so vague.”

      “All right.” They entered the dining area. Once they were served Jessica began telling her about Nikki and Guy.

      “I’m an Aunt!” Lindy cried happily.

      “You cannot tell Max. It is Nikki’s life too and her place to do that when she is ready.”

      “Very well, although I fully intend to write her and relay how pleased I am, how much I support her and miss our friendship.”

      “What is new about town?”

      “I’m engaged.”

      Jessica dropped her spoon. “No.”

      “Yes.” Lindy smiled.

      “No.” Jess repeated staring at her. “Who?”

      “Noel Radford.”

      Jess knew him. “Good God… you have known him as long as I have. When did you develop this sudden passion for him?”

      “A few weeks ago.”

      “What of your American.”

      “He missed his chance.” Lindy shrugged. “Oh… by the way…They are back.”

      “They?”

      “The Earl, Galen, your husband… and Jayce.”

      “You must be jesting?” Jessica sat back, breathless with surprise.

      “No. They are your neighbors in fact, right smack dab between you and me.”

      Jessica had to have a few moments to gather her wits, and register the implications of Galen's presence. He had not divorced her. He had shown up during the season.

      She could toss out the idea of ignoring the talk. Either they pretended he was traveling on business, or the talk of them both living here in separate homes would be rampant. Gossip she could handle, this was a bit too much fuel to the fodder.

      “Help me Lindy, I’ve got to think about this.” Jessica rubbed her temple. “We can’t be living in separate homes, showing up separately for entertainment. It will cause too much talk. Even I did not intend to flaunt it in their faces. Whatever is he thinking, do you know?”

      “Do you want Max’s version, or the Earls?”

      “Both.”

      “The Earl says that he has seen the world, thinks England is the place he was meant to live. Max says that Galen has run out of places to run and is now meeting himself. That he is changed, by all that took place, and is trying to deal with it.”

      “I wonder what he thought I was supposed to do when he showed up here?”

      “I doubt he thought of it. Max expressed that Galen expected you had divorced him by now. He was quite surprised you hadn’t.”

      “Good surprised or bad?”

      “With Lord Galen it is hard to tell, he was not angry over it, I know that much.”

      Jessica sighed. “I am going to have to think about this very carefully. I have to deal with it in a way that serves us both. No doubt society thinks he abandoned his pregnant wife, and took off with the fortune. The other half probably thinks that my cold nature revealed itself on our honeymoon.”

      Lindy took off her glasses and rubbed her eye a moment. She was replacing them when she said innocently, “The best course is to act completely natural around him, just as if he is your husband and has been all along. They might speculate as to why the separation took place, they won’t spread talk if you head them off… by appearing perfectly at ease with him.”

      “Is he changed much? In looks?”

      “A hair cut, it’s still to below his collar, a few strands of silver, nevertheless, he is one handsome man.”

      Jessica grimaced. “This may well come down to the performance of my life. It will be one thing to show society I am at ease. It’s quite another to get his cooperation when I do.”

      Lindy smiled. “I do love to watch a man unable to predict his wife’s actions. Most are so sure they know them inside and out.”

      “Galen isn’t just any man.”

      “I know. He’s the ideal. I told him that once.”

      The ideal?

      “Dark, brooding, handsome, sexy. Shall I go on?”

      “No.” Jessica cleared her throat. “I recall quite well every detail.”

      Later, while they were having coffee, talked of Nikki more, Lindy asked her, “Are you going to let this chance slip out of your fingers, Jess? Are you going to be noble and let him go again?”

      “I can’t force him to feel anything Lindy, I don’t want him that way. I don’t know if my own feelings for him are tied up in the drama of our lives, in the boys. How can I expect him to care anything for me, given way things were done?”

      “But you’ve gone on. You have so much more to offer.”

      Jessica looked down at the floor a moment. “I’m not going to encounter him with any preconceived notions. All I can do, is be myself. That’s all I intend. Whatever happens, happens, that is how it should be.”

* * * *

      Hours later she looked out her window saw Galen, two houses down getting out of a coach.

      She felt a flutter as she was watching that graceful way he moved. He may have changed still, some of the more alluring things about him were the same.

      Thankfully. Well actually… it depended on how immune she could be to him, didn’t it? Watching him retrieve a package and walk into the house, Jessica put a hand to her stomach. Oh well, that hadn’t faded one bit, she was still reacting to him. He was dark and beautiful and haunting in some ways. She never quite stopped thinking of him, not alone, at night, she never quite stopped wishing that she had reached deep enough to really free him from those shadows. She’d had a glimpse, a few memories, and a moment in the garden when she had sensed he’d reached out for the first time in his life. Galen did not trust, in a sense she knew he felt that he could not afford to. Even when he tried to lash out though, to keep her distant, he hadn’t really been able to hurt her, hadn’t wanted to. And that time in the coach had nothing to do with their obligations. He fought himself. He fought her emotionally.

      She sighed heavily. He likely still had his ghosts. He alone haunted her thoughts. In her dreams they danced, they touched, and her thoughts, she caressed him and gave him pleasure, and in her fantasies, he could feel that every stroke of her hand came from her heart.

      Now she must wait for darkness, not wishing to be seen being turned away from his door— if—that turned out to be the case. She’d simply have to find a discreet way to talk to him, because not only was she afraid she might be turned away; she needed to speak to him without servants to overhear.

      It seemed to her, hours later, that the evening dragged out by the seconds. At last she was able to leave her house and slip down the street to her husbands‘. She wore a light silk dress of bronze hue and a hooded cape of the same fabric in black. She left her hair loosely French braided not wishing to appear as if she had overdone herself.

      She hoped that Galen would be receptive to avoiding gossip, if not, she’d happily return to Twin Bells with her boys, her memories. At least… that’s what she told herself.

      Aware that the house was set up like her own, Jessica crept in the darkness, around the side, near the back, where there should be a study, sitting room, and library; the typical place men would go to do their work away from the muffled sounds of London on the street side. She sighed in relief, seeing a soft yellow glow of light, before grasping the knob to the French door, and began to turn it.

      She leaned, to get a peek through the square panel, and groaned when she saw Jayce bounding off a couch, drawing a wicked knife out of his boot.

      Jessica stepped back just in case, and let her hood down, so he could see her face.

      He yanked open the door; his hard face set and green eyes glittering, ready to do murder.

      “Hello Jayce.”

      He blinked, and then his mouth fell open. And then he stared at her face a long time. Finally he smiled, sliding the knife into his boot holding the door open. “Lady Jessica, should we hide the spoons? We’ve heard you been dumping your money around.” He shut the door behind her. “Taken’ to burglary now? I’m sure I could loan you something to tide you over.” His smile was pure jest.

      Jessica took off her cloak, laughing. Shaking her head, she sighed, “Unfortunately, I have plenty of money left. Do call me Jess. One of my son's is named after you, his middle name, in fact.”

      He was already looking pleased with her changed appearance, that news made his face flush. “You did?”

      Jayce sounded so surprised. “You gave one of them my name?”

      She nodded, smiling softly.

      He went over to her, and hugged her so hard she gasped. Lifting her off her feet, he murmured gruffly, “Thank you Jess.” He kissed her cheek. “I’m a no good sonofagun, but I am honored.”

      Jess was recovered from that bear hug, chuckling at him. His green eyes were shiny with genuine emotion, so she admitted, “To make up for the brother you lost, because you are a good friend to his lordship.”

      Jayce sighed ran a hand through his hair. “I can’t say anything more, than how proud, that makes me feel, knowing Galen's boy has my name too.”

      She grinned at him, understanding why both Galen and Max liked him; having sensed that one did not have to guess where one stood with Jayce. If he liked someone, they knew it. If he didn’t they knew that too. She was glad he did not hold her father’s sins against her. “Speaking of Galen, I need to speak with him. Do you think he will see me?”

      “Yes,” Galen's husky tone came from the doorway. He was leaning against the jamb with his arms crossed over his bare chest. He was barefoot.

      His hair feathered to the nape, indeed, glinting with some silver. He was still dark, still lean, and still exotic. His skin was a darker hue… the high cheekbones seemed more pronounced. Jessica thought it was because she hadn’t seen such a handsome, exotic face in too long a time.

      Jayce recovered first. “S’cuse me.” He touched Jessica’s arm then went by Galen to leave the room, whispering something in his ear that made Galen's lips twitch, obviously trying to suppress a smile.

      Jessica thought… the saffron light made him look so sensual, so dark, and mysterious. “Hello,” her voice was soft as their gazes held.

      “Hello,” he murmured.

      His visual examination went over her face, marking each change… slowly down her body and over her arms. The warm bronze gown, the roan streaks in her slightly mussed braid enhanced her warm skin tones. He saw that her gaze was going over him, her eyes getting lighter. She wasn’t here looking for a battle, and for some reason that gave him a warm feeling. Everything in him felt off kilter, unsteady. He saw this as a one shot deal. There wasn’t anything or anyone forcing either of them now, and though he was glad their intimacy hadn’t destroyed whatever attraction she had to him, the experience had shown him too starkly that it wasn’t enough, not for someone like her. He could use it, though it wouldn’t sustain anything, prove anything— and it was because of her keen perception that he didn’t fool himself into thinking that sex without the rest of it would work for either of them.

      He straightened before padding over, to where she stood by the sofa.

      Not a foot apart, their eyes touched gently, and he knew they were sharing the same memories, small glimpse of happiness they had found in those difficult days. Nothing grand to someone else, for them, it had been unique.

      “You’re beautiful, Jess.” He meant inside as well as out.

      Tears burned her eyes. “No, though coming from you, that means a lot.”

      He half smiled and allowed his gaze to drift over her fuller breasts. Galen raised them again. “Why didn’t you divorce me?”

      She winced, laughing slightly to cover her shock and pleasure at his first compliment. Galen, the old Galen did not give compliments. She was not beautiful, never would be. Knowing what she did about him, she was a bit shaken that he’d even said it.

      “May I?” She waved to the sofa.

      He nodded.

      They sat on opposite sides, with a short space between them and facing each other.

      “My reasons were entirely selfish.” She gave him a look of regret. “If you wish for me to sign them now, I shall?”

      “No. I just wanted to know why. I thought you were moving on with things… would meet someone.”

      “So could you.”

      He gave her a look that said plainly she knew better than to think that.

      “I’ve been busy, I had the boys, I…” She looked down at her hands a moment. “I thought, it would be more difficult being a divorced mother.”

      She looked at him then, searching his face. “I don’t mean to tie you down. I am not holding you to any responsibility at all. In fact, I came here to discuss those very things with you.”

      Jessica swallowed and lifted her chin, trying to sound confident. “There has been talk about us, I am sure, about… your absence. I do not care about that exactly. It is just that, talk is one thing, but by both of us being here, for the season, we are flaunting it. We reside in separate houses; we will be showing up at entertainments separately, which can add fuel to the fodder.

      I did not actually want to come up for the season, but my... friends insisted that I needed a break from the boys, and the various businesses and running the household. Nevertheless, I will gladly return to Twin Bells so that you may stay here without much talk.”

      Weeding through her words to get the real meaning out of it. He leaned forward and casually lay his forearms along his spread thighs, studying the floor absently. Then he glanced aside at her, “I honesty didn’t think about that. I assumed we would be divorced. I didn’t think you would reenter society… after all the pressures.”

      Her face softened and her gaze stayed on his. “I’m sorry, my Lord. If you will give me time, to travel home, I will sign the papers for you. I never want to hurt you, Galen. Do you understand? I do not want to ever do anything against your wishes or will.”

      Jess’s whole body was aware of him, aching and hurting… because it was the first she’d seen him since she had uncovered the whole truth.

      Her words affected him deeply, more than she could ever know. Galen looked back down at the floor. “You never have to sign them for my sake. I merely had them drawn up, so that you could have the freedom to choose next time.”

      She nodded. “I know that. I am guilty of holding on to your name and title, and to my status, for the sake of the boys. For that very freedom you spoke of. I came here actually, to enquire as what you had planned—if we happened to be in each other’s company in public. You have said that you did not consider it. But we are here and I want you to advise me on your wishes. If you are not upset that we are still wed. I may go home quite happily—or we can work out a solution that will keep us from being the object of speculation and ruin our much-needed time for socializing and entertainment. “

      Galen sat back against the arm of the sofa resting his arm across the back of it. Her eyes were going over his bare torso. He let her look at him a moment, before murmuring in steady tones, “You can live here. In my house. There will be nothing for anyone to speculate about.”

      She had been admiring his honed body, the satin like skin all bronzed and the way it lay over the taut muscle. She had not gotten to look at him in this state for any long period. It was difficult to hide her reaction to it as she murmured, “That will interfere in whatever plans you have made.”

      “I don’t make plans.” His smile was self-mocking.

      Nonetheless she insisted, “I should just go home, to Twin bells. I only meant to stay a month in any case. I...”

      .” He cut her off softly. “Do not act with me, as if I am some...” He went on, “I told you things. I said things that I didn’t have to tell you.” His gaze went over her almost challenging. “, I have heard that you answer to know one, that you are a woman of confidence. Don’t grovel to me because of something your father did…or something that was done to me? Do you understand?”

      “Yes,” She whispered hoarsely. Seeing anger blaze in his eyes.

      He stood and walked over to the French doors, pulling them open, letting the breeze cool his temper. “I’m not some wounded animal, I’m a man.” He couldn’t stand that. He couldn’t stand it if she thought of him that way.

      He glanced over his shoulder at her. “You have the look a woman who has nothing to prove to anyone- One who has made something of herself, in spite of everything and everyone. If we are under the same roof, I will not tolerate you pretending like before. I’m not some emotional cripple.”

      He rubbed the back of his neck, cursed softly, “You've been making decisions, running your life, handling responsibility for two years more or less, and I would venture to say you have a dozen arguments a day with other people.”

      He glanced at her and when she nodded, he went on, “I’m not some ogre either. I think I have proved I am not like your father.” Dropping his hand, he turned, looking at her. “We can deal with each other, cant we?”

      Her eyes were light, shining at his compliments, not matter how they were couched. The fact that he realized what she had accomplished, how hard she had worked on her inner person and her self esteem, it mattered- It meant more because he said it.

      He was right. Because she knew those things about his past, because of her father’s sins- her own guilt—she had been, in a sense, treating him like some wounded animal. Because of their brief history together, it was the only part of him she actually knew.

      “We can.”

      She stood and came to stand close to him. “I am quite used to a bustling, crowded household.” Jess decided to hold off on telling him about Nikki yet. “If my maid Winnie and I move in here, your house will be overrun with ladies taking tea or callers, who wish to make themselves known to us.”

      She half-smiled and quirked her brow slowly. “Think long, carefully about it, Just Winnie and myself can cause enough chaos to upset someone’s day. We are apt to go into hysterics about some inside jest no one else gets. We are a bit irreverent and not at all formal.”

      He recalled the day she had fallen into the lake and grinned. Not aware of how it affected her; actually not aware he’d done it. “I think I can handle it.”

      “Alright. We may, as well get my things moved tonight, so that there will be not prying eyes. I will let out my house to someone else. There is always a demand when the season starts. I’ll pay the staff until that happens.”

      “I had heard that you have been generously giving away most of your money. I saw the Mansion, by the way, with the plaque outside. It’s a lecture hall now, hmm? That was a brilliant idea.”

      He reached out, touching her cheek a moment. “...- Thank you for what you did at Blackcove.”

      Her cheek tingled. “It was my pleasure.”

      He did not know how to say, that he could never think anyone would understand, his ghosts, she had brought them all together in one place to rest. Galen was still trying to believe that any woman could put her own life aside to do that. That she sat thought about the snippets of history he had given her and had woven it together that way. He was still dealing with some of it, he was aware she’d wanted to bring some closure to him.

      In her own way she had made him realize that he had to learn to live with who he was, though not let it keep him from being alive. He didn’t know how to say that. He’d once been treated like an animal. He’d been more than crippled, he’d been dead. He didn’t know how to live any other way, he’d realized that by coming back here, to her, to where she was, he was half way to admitting he was taking a chance at having a normal life.

      So he cupped the underside of her jaw and slowly leaned forward, brushing his lips across hers. When he pulled back, he saw the pleasure in her expression. This time, only with her, he felt good about it.

      A tear slowly rolled from Jessica’s eye. She released a shaky sigh.

      I do not kiss, he had said in those days; it is the only part of me I kept for myself. When they were trying to produce the heir she understood that well. That he kissed her, however lightly, now, it touched her deeper than anything he could have done.

      She gathered her composure, wiping away the tear, felt shaky inside, almost shy now. The way he looked at her made her aware that he was watching her, slightly bemused; yet highly interested in her reaction.

      She turned toward the French doors. “Have the coach sent over, it will take a few trips we can get it done tonight.”

      “Wait, I am walking you back.” He went out the door, to the adjoining study, and came back, buttoning up his shirt. He had put his boots on also.

      Jessica felt him brush against her as he reached above her head to hold the door. She quickly stepped out, away. He closed it.

      He still had a few buttons undone. Jessica rather thought his snug black trousers were a bit too distracting as she watched him move toward her. Galen took her hand, glanced down at her in the breezy soft night. “You need your coat.”

      “No, I am fine. I’m used to the outdoors now.” She felt his palm against hers, which was something she would never get, used to- the feeling that had warmed her all over.

      He paused at the front door and stepped just inside to speak to the butler. He was back, walking with her. “Civilized people would be riding the coach instead of walking.”

      She chuckled softly. “I suppose we aren’t. I got used to walking when I carried Grayson, Griffin, the maid, and nurse made me do it. After that the boys needed to see outside the windows. Winnie, I would carry them all over Twin bells. When they started to walk! Ah, there was not a stone they did not trip over, or a puddle they did not fall into, they are stubborn little fellows, determined to experience everything.”

      She glanced over at his profile, feeling the tenseness of his fingers as she talked. “They look so much like you. Except for Griffin. He has my eyes. They have your hair, skin, and your wonderful bones. I shall be in deep trouble when they become young men. Already they know how to charm, and get what they want. The ladies will have to watch out.”

      Galen was absorbing her words, trying to picture (the boys) trying to think, my sons, my children, twins like Griff. He could hear from her voice what sort of good mother she was, she knew their good points, their flaws, their ways. He guessed from that, Jess was an excellent mother, who took great pride and joy in her children. He’d known that from what she said before he left. It never crossed his mind she’d be otherwise. He’d known it too, because despite her narrow existence with her father, or maybe because of it, she wanted to nurture others.

      Jessica added while squeezing his hand slightly. “I hope you do not mind that I took a painting of you from Blackcove, you were about thirteen or so.”

      He cut in dryly, “Yes, it was done by one of Mother’s lovers, a local man she used to visit on her return trips.”

      “Well, it is quite good. The boys know that it is a painting of Papa. I did not w...”

      “It’s fine.” He glanced at her. They were ready to inter her house. “I didn’t come back to interfere in the life you chose. I won’t sweep in and pretend to be their father. Because I have not been that. I respect your right to decide those things. I was never around any children much. Griff and I were close. I can tell you are a mother who knows your children. I leave all of that up to you, Alright?”

      She looked at him a moment then said very quietly, very firmly. “You can visit your son’s anytime you wish, my lord. I would be most pleased to have you meet them.”

      His high cheekbones looked flushed. “I shall.” He murmured and opened the door, “Very soon.”      
 
 
 
 

CHAPTER TWELVE

      The following morning Lady Lindy got the news in the most shocking way. She presented herself at Lady Jessica’s house and was told by the snotty butler.“ The Countess is in residence with her husband. I am sure she will receive you there.”

      Lindy turned on her heel and was half way down the street, her driver tailing the carriage somewhere behind in some confusion. She remembered Jayce and stopped dead on the street, then pulled off her gloves stuffing them in her pockets. She went up to the carriage, tossed her parasol in it.

      Lindy told the driver the house number though still walked… because she was preparing herself for anymore surprises that might await her morning call. Knowing that Bloody American he would find something sarcastic to say in greeting.

      She had only seen him briefly since his return, and that was at her brother’s house. She had not spoken to him. By God, she was not going to let him see how these two blasted long years without a word from him, any sign, any regret, on his part, had affected her. She may have been young, yet she knew full well that the man had wanted her.

      The butler let her in and informed her that the Earl, and Countess, Mr. Barrette, was having a late breakfast.

      “Thank you, I’ll see to myself.” Brandy removed the long linen jacket and handed it to him. Her deep lavender morning dress was both stylish, daring. It fell in straight lines from a snug bodice. The neckline came deep down in a V though a sheer scrap of lace was covering it.

      She was taking off her short brimmed straw hat as she glided into the breakfast room.

      “Hello all.” She tossed the hat on a chair by the door, nodding to the men, who had stood. “Jess, I went by your house.”

      Jessica flushed. “Ah… I please join us for breakfast; you and I will talk over coffee.”

      Lindy smiled at the Earl. “Hello, my Lord, you don’t mind my company, do you?”

      “Not at all.” Galen resisted a glance at Jayce. “I hope that you and Jessica feel free to enjoy your friendship, and your privacy here.”

      Lindy slowly slid off her glass and peered at him,” You are an impostor of course, you cannot possibly be Lord Blackcove .the intimidating Lord Black cove?”

      He was going to have to get used to her teasing. Galen returned. “If you leave those blasted specials off, I may even fill your plate for you.”

      Lindy’s brow rose as she tucked the glasses in her pocket. “It’s a deal. I got no breakfast this morning. Max. Had a hangover. He has many of late. Who could stand to sit at the table, dine with a bear? Not me.”

      She sat across from Jayce. Deliberately, ignoring him.

      While he absorbed the changes in her, the maturity, beauty, and the impact of her lovely eyes—Jayce found he could not help looking at that sheer scrap of lace, remembering she never wore a corset.

      Half hearing her talk to Jessica about town gossip. Jayce had forgotten much, the sound of her voice, the soft white of her skin, her delicate hands, and the exact shape of her mouth. The hair?

      Whatever she had done, it no longer overwhelmed her features. His mouth watered and he had to take a few long breathes before he got his feelings under control—Jayce wanted, he craved, he coveted, he knew that nothing had changed, he was still plain old Mr. Barrette, the no-good bastard. The man whose roots began in secret shame, whose childhood was less than human. A man who had done things he ought not, and had reveled in them.

      Galen was talking to Lindy about America, more for an excuse to give Jayce time to wipe that look off his face, than from any comfort with talking to people. He thought, Bloody Hell Jayce, you look like a man torn between lust, murder.

      It was Jessica however, who had gotten up, to fetch a roll, while Lindy and Galen were talking, and she leaned down, murmuring in Jake's ear, “She engaged you know.”

      He grunted.

      “Try to look less like a piece of chiseled stone- Because, she’ll simply assume that you are being your usual arrogant self.”

      When she sat down Jayce looked at her, as if to say, I am not arrogant.

      Jess sipped her coffee and rolled her eyes at him.

      Galen finally tossed the conversation back to Jess. He thought later, she will tell Lindy of our living arrangements, and sleeping arrangements, and the woman would doubtless stop looking at us in that probing way-.

      He was somewhat amused, that the young woman who used to be no more than a brat, had grown attractive enough to make Jayce lose his usual hard-faced mean-eyed look. Jayce had no problem with woman- he just didn’t know how to handle having the same reaction to a lady.

      The way Galen saw it; there was no difference in his background and Jayce's. The title mattered here, in England, Jessica; people like her could care less about his title. And, he wasn’t going to get anything that life threw his way, unless he could open himself up to it.

      Unlike Jayce, Galen didn’t fool himself. There was no one else out there. No woman he could really see him, who wanted to know him, to get into his head. At least Jessica used to want to. He couldn’t run far enough away from that. He had to know.

      The men left to have their smoke, while Jessica showed Lindy into one of the sitting rooms.

      “Obviously he is going along with the plan,” Lindy said dryly. “What is the plan, by the way?”

      Jessica laughed on a sigh. “We act completely normal with each other. We give society nothing to gossip about.”

      “You sleep...where?”

      “Lindy! Don’t you ever think of anything else?”

      “Not very often. I have not had the luxury you and Nikki have enjoyed, so it’s a subject I find most fascinating.”

      “We have adjoining rooms, actually there is a sitting room between us.”

      “I see.” Lindy sat back. “You both plan on keeping it that way.”

      Jessica ignored her dig. “I can’t force anything, Lindy.”

      “You two make me so angry. Do you know that? Lindy sighed. “I have never in my life met two people who can stand within a foot from each other, and give off enough sparks to start a fire. Yet here you both are, taking the same route as before.”

      “You imagine things. I told you some of it. He cannot have changed enough to...deal with that.”

      “I don’t know what he tells himself, or you, I can only saw what it’s like to be around the two of you. It was like that, in the beginning, now it is ten times worse.”

      “I don’t know what you are talking about.” Jessica refilled her cup.

      Lindy threw up her hands. “Sure, fine, have it your way.” She changed the subject. “Are we still going to the Elliot's ball tonight? I can have Noel pick you up, if the Earl is not attending?”

      “We will see you there. Galen said that Max asked him to attend. Some gent he wants the Earl to meet, about business or something.”

      “You know Jess, I love my brother. I feel so bad knowing, watching him get harder, more cynical every day. If he would only admit something about her- it would make all the difference, wouldn’t it.”

      Jessica agreed, “I care for Max too- he is torn I think. Being a marquis is nothing to shrug off in this society. At the time, what he said to Nikki revealed that he too thought her background not good enough. The fact that she threw herself at him out of desperation- well, it wasn’t really that way. At least Nikki thought it was something, But I can’t really understand men any better than any other woman. I only understand the part about titles, and society expecting people to marry for breeding, so on. And it makes for a mess when you break the rules as they did. It’s up to them to sort it all out.”

      Lindy nodded then stood. “Well I shall see you tonight. I have some errands to run this afternoon.”

      Jessica walked her to the foyer. “He cares for you, “Jessica whispered while Lindy was putting on her jacket.

      Lindy slid her glasses back on, a slight flush to her face. “Then he better do something about it soon, because I am not wasting another year of my life on something I cannot have.”

      “It’s hard for him, Lindy, Just like Max and Nikki; he’s not your social equal by any means. You hardly know each other; the physical attraction can’t sustain a deeper commitment.”

      “You've been reading too much.” Lindy said dryly and donned her hat. “I love you anyway. I don’t have your patience, Jess. I have been suppressing my passion all of my life, because people see what they want to. No one bothers to look deeper. Everyone assumes that wealth, titles gives one a superior confidence. It doesn’t all of us. I only know these feelings inside make me want to kill him or kiss him.”

      Jessica chuckled, shook her head as Lindy waved and left.

      Later in the evening, Galen was in his room, preparing for the ball. Across the sitting room, Jessica too had her door open and he could hear her, the maid talking, laughing.

      He adjusted his collar, tied his neck cloth. He was wearing white silk shirts, which was not his favorite he drew too many looks wearing all black. He ran his hand down his vest to check the buttons, and slid on his formal jacket. He checked his pockets for a handkerchief, brushed his hair he didn’t linger on his reflection, he still couldn’t. Yet he didn’t dwell on it either.

      Galen went to the sitting room, pouring himself a branding and standing with his hand in his pocket while he sipped it. He gazed out the window at the clogged carriages, coaches, as society made their way to the opening ball. He was still listening to Jessica and Winnie.

      “It’s too low. Find a scarf or something.” Jessica was saying.

      “I will not.” The maid insisted, “You can’t ruin a lovely gown like that with a scarf! The back is supposed to plunge, besides, there is a panel there.”

      “Good God, if only it wasn’t nearly flesh tone. What ever was I thinking?”

      “It’s champagne. Not flesh. You were thinking that you been wearing plain old boring colors and gowns, and you wanted something special. See; look at the lace and satin? It’s lovely on you.”

      “My breasts are going to fall out.”

      “Stop tugging that way, then. Just the tops are showing.”

      “Bloody Hell!” He heard Jessica swear. “Oh no, Winnie. I am not wearing this thing. Find something else.”

      “I won’t.”

      Galen slowly walked to the bedroom door. He could see the two of them in front of a long mirror. Jessica had on a beautiful gown with a sheer v in the back, there was lace over it. The bustled satin gown came off the shoulder dipped in the front. It shimmered, and the lace gave it an antique appearance.

      On Jessica it looked lovely. He could see that her hair had been pulled back in a twist. Pearl pins shone in it, wispy strands touched her nape, ears, and brow.

      Apparently she caught his image in the mirror.

      She turned, and he could see that her lashes had been slightly darkened, her lips were shimmering, and her face had a peach glow.

      “Am I keeping you, my Lord?”

      “No, we’ve plenty of time.”

      She raised the hem of her gown for the maid to help her on with her slippers. “This gown… what do you think?” She winced. “I feel a bit... nude. It’s the color I think.”

      “I like it—very much.” He leaned against the doorjamb watching the maid sort through her wrap, fan, purse, all sorts of necessities. The scent of peaches reached him. There was something about the swishing sound of her skirts she moved around the room, something that he reacted too. Her Thanked Winnie, afterwards the maid left to fetch something else.

      Jessica pulled on long lace fingerless gloves, fixing the snag when it caught on her wedding ring. Yes, she had noticed that Galen still wore his band. She held up her skirts and went to him, handing her wrap, and then turning so that he could lay it on her shoulders. Jess slipped it over her arms and turned with a smile of thanks.

      Galen's dark gaze scanned her face. “You’ve changed a lot, haven’t you?”

      “Yes. One has too, you know. Having children changed me the most. Though, I think I wanted to change so very badly, I wanted to bury the ice heiress. I worked at it.”

      “It’s interesting.”

      She half grinned. “Interesting?”

      He answered her with his own small smile. “Not being able to predict what you will do or say. Not knowing what you have experienced. Yet seeing that you are someone different now.”

      “I’m showing my nice side is all,” She muttered and went to pick up her purse, fan. “Jeanette says I can be a real b... Ah, hard headed sometime. That I am headstrong when I want things done a certain way. So you see? I am not perfect.”

      “Jeanette?”

      “My secretary.” She told him of the woman’s background, shared some of their more interesting arguments as they went to the sitting room.

      Galen caught her hand, just before they were ready to go out into the hall.

      He tugged slightly. She turned, looking at him. She walked as close as he wanted to pull her. Galen released her hand, and held instead her shoulders. His thumbs were moving in an unconscious caress as he gazed into her eyes.

      Jessica’s heart began to beat faster, as he gradually lowered his head down. Her lashes fluttered. Warm air rushed out of her nostrils. She felt his arms go around her.

      His lips, his soft warm mouth, it covered hers. She realized he could hear her soft sound when his tongue barely came out to taste her lips. Jessica wanted so much to drop her stupid purse, embrace him, and hold him. She wanted to taste him. She simply yielded to what he offered. Before pulling back, he softly kissed the corner of her mouth.

      She sighed when he straightened, a long shaky one.

      “What are you thinking?” he murmured tilting her chin up so he could look in her eyes.

      She flushed said softly, “That everything you do to me is brand new.” She turned and walked out into the hall.

      He caught up with her on the stairs and they did not speak again until they were in the carriage.

      He said, “Now, what were you really thinking?”

      She smiled and glanced out the window, then back at him. “That I have changed, I dislike being passive. In certain situations.” Her brow rose as if in challenge. He let his gaze go over her. “Are we going to be lovers as well as man, wife?”

      “I have to be the only woman in your head, Galen, the only one you care about pleasing. I’ve come to know myself better now. The first times we were together was under different situations. The sex was empty. I have expectations now. Skill I suppose is helpful, but real passion, emotion… is the only thing that makes it unique between two people. We proved that.”

      She glanced at him. “I want you. You don’t have to prove that to me this time. I admit it. It wasn’t you before. It was simply your body going through the motions. Will be lovers? I do not know.”

      “I never did not want you. I mixed up the emotions, and my anger got the upper hand.” That was true. In the coach, before the consummation. He had an honest reaction to Jess that he hadn’t felt for a woman in many, many years.

      “Do you know…? I felt like that was the only time you did not see me? Before, it was so surprising to me that you could see through the fortune, and trappi