UNWANTED WEDDING [070-011-4.5]

By: PENNY JORDAN

Synopsis:

Romance novel.


MILLS and BOON

CHAPTER ONE

'guard, will you marry me?  "

Rosy paced the floor of her bedroom, a fixed, strained expression on
her face, her hands gripped into two small fists at her side and her
normally clear, guileless dark blue eyes shadowed as she repeated the
same four words over and over again under her breath.  Even now she
still wasn't sure she was actually going to be able to say them out
loud.

"Will you marry me?  Will you marry me?  Will you marry me?  Will you
marry me?"  There, she had said it and, even if the words hadn't
sounded quite as firm and assured as she would have liked, at least
they had been spoken.  She was over the first hurdle, she told herself
bravely, and if she could manage that one, then she could surely manage
the other.

She swallowed hard and looked at the telephone beside her bed.  There
was no point in shillyshallying; she might as well get the whole thing
over and done with.

But not up here.  Not sitting here on her bed in the privacy of her
bedroom while she.

Quickly, she averted her eyes from the pretty girlishness of her
flower-sprigged bedcover, virginal white with a scattering of flower
posies.  She had been fourteen the year she had chosen it; she was
almost twenty-two now.

Twenty-two, but as naive and unworldly as a girl still or so she had
been told.

Her throat closed nervously.  She didn't need to remind herself exactly
who it was who had said those words to her.

Quickly, she opened her bedroom door and hurried downstairs.  She would
use the phone in the room which had been her father's study and, before
that, her grandfather's.  To say those words in that room would be
appropriate somehow, would lend them weight and dignity.

She picked up the receiver and punched in the numbers jerkily, her body
tensing as she heard the ringing tone.

"Guard Jamieson, please," she told the girl on the other end of the
line.

"It's Rosy Wyndham."

As she waited to be connected to Guard she nib bled nervously at her
bottom lip a childhood habit she had thought she had outgrown.

"Only children do that," Guard had warned her the year she was
eighteen.

"Women..."

He had paused then and looked at her mockingly causing her to ask him
unthinkingly, "Women do what?"

"Don't you really know?"  he had quizzed her mockingly.

"Women, my dear, innocent Rosy, only carry these kind of scars he had
leaned forward then and slowly run the tip of his finger along her
swollen bottom lip, with its two small tooth indentations, pausing to
touch them in such a way that the sharp fris son of sensation that had
run through her had actually become an open physical convulsion of her
whole body when they've been left there by a lover... A very ardent
lover..."

Of course he had laughed at the scorching colour that had stained her
skin.  Guard was like that.  In the old days he would have been a
freebooter, a pirate a man who cared for no one and made his own laws,
his own rules, so her grandfather had always claimed.  Her grandfather,
although he would never admit it, had always had something of a soft
spot for Guard, Rosy suspected.

"Rosy, what is it?  What's wrong?"

The sound of his voice reverberating roughly in her ear caused her to
tighten her grip on the receiver as her body rebelled against the
knowledge of how unsettling she still sometimes found him even though,
with maturity, she had learned to ignore the taunting, loaded comments
with which he still sometimes liked to torment her.

He wasn't like that with other women; with other women he was all
sensual charm and warmth, but then, of course, he didn't see her as a
woman, only as "Rosy are you still there?"

The irritation in his voice jerked her back to reality

She took a deep breath.

"Yes, I'm still here, Guard... Guard, there's something I want to ask
you.  I..."

"I can't talk now.  Rosy.  I've got an important call waiting.  Look,
I'll call round tonight and we can discuss whatever it is then."

"No."  Rosy started to panic.  What she had to ask him was something it
would be far easier for her to say at a safe distance; she thought of
asking him to marry her, of proposing to him face to face She gave a
small, worried gulp, but Guard had al ready replaced the receiver and
it was too late for her to tell him now that she didn't want to see
him.

As she replaced her own receiver she stared sadly around the room.

Four hundred years of history were encapsulated in this room, this
house.  It had stood here since Elizabeth I had bestowed the land on
Piers Wyndham, a gift, so the official story ran, for courtly services;
a gift, so the unofficial one went, for something far more personal and
intimate.

Piers had called the house he had built Queen's Meadow, in
acknowledgement of Elizabeth's generosity It wasn't a very grand house,
nor even a generously large one, but in Rosy's view it was certainly
far too extravagantly large for one person or even one family
especially when she knew from her work at the shelter how many people
were homeless and in desperate need of a roof over their heads.

"So what would you do, given free choice?"  Guard had taunted her the
last time she had raised the subject.  Turn the place over to them?

Watch them tear out the panelling and use it for firewood;

watch them.  "

"That's unfair," she had protested angrily.

"You're being unfair..."

But even Ralph, who was in charge of the shelter, had commented on more
than one occasion that she wasn't streetwise enough; that she was too
soft-hearted, too idealistic, her expectations and beliefs in others
far too high.  She suspected that Ralph was inclined to despise her,
and at first he had certainly been antagonistic towards her, deriding
her background and her accent, condemning her comparative wealth and
lifestyle and comparing it to those of the people who used the
shelter.

"Makes you feel better, does it," he had jeered, 'spending your time
doing good works?  "

"No, it doesn't," Rosy had told him honestly.

"But my money my wealth, as you call it is in trust and I can't touch
the capital even if I wanted to.  If I found a " proper" job, paid
work, I'd be taking that job away from someone who needs to earn their
living."

She and Ralph got on much better these days, although he and Guard
loathed one another.  Or rather Ralph loathed Guard; Guard wasn't human
enough to allow himself to feel that kind of emotion about anyone.  In
fact, she sometimes doubted that Guard had ever felt a human emotion in
his entire life.

She knew how much Ralph resented having to go cap in hand to Guard for
money towards running the shelter, but Guard was the wealthiest man in
the area, his business the most profitable.

"He's a very rare combination," her father had once told her.

"An entrepreneur successfully so and an honest man as well, highly
principled."

"An arrogant bastard," was what Ralph called him.

"Sexy," was what one of Rosy's old school- friends had breathed
enthusiastically when she had come down to pay Rosy a visit.  Married,
and bored with her husband already, apparently, she had eyed Guard with
an open, hungry greed that Rosy had found not just embarrassing, but
somehow humiliating as well.  It was as though Sara, with the hot,
burning looks she was constantly throwing Guard's way, the
none-too-subtle hints and sexual innuendoes, the physical contact of
deliberately contrived touches, was somehow underlining her own sexual
immaturity, and reinforcing all the taunts that Guard had ever made
about her.

She was well aware that Guard thought her naive and unawakened but so
what?  All right, so his comments and taunts might fluster and some
times even hurt her, but she had made a vow to herself a long time ago
that she was not going to rush into a sexual relationship before she
was ready for it; that she was not going to experiment with sex for
sex's sake; that when she finally explored the world of her own
sexuality it would be with a partner who felt as she did, a man who
loved her and who was not ashamed to acknowledge that fact and with
whom she could let down her guard and reveal the vulnerable, romantic,
loving side of her nature.

So far she had not met that man, but when she did, she would know him,
and she was not, after all, in any hurry.  She was only twenty-one.

Twenty-one and still a virgin.  Twenty-one and about to propose
marriage to Guard, who was most definitely not anything of the kind and
who She glanced at her watch.  Four o'clock.  She knew that Guard often
didn't leave his office until well after everyone else had gone, which
meant it could be seven o'clock or even eight before he came round.

All those hours to wait.  All those hours nerving herself to deliver
her proposal.

What would he say?  Laugh himself silly, no doubt.  Her face burned
hotly with chagrin at the thought.

It was all her solicitor's fault, she decided crossly.  If Peter hadn't
suggested She walked over to the window, remembering Peter's last words
to her before he left: "Promise me that you'll at least ask him,
Rosy."

"Sacrifice myself to save this place?  Why should I?"  she had demanded
angrily.

"It isn't even as though I want the house.  You know how I feel..."

"You know what will happen if Edward inherits it," Peter had
countered.

"He'll destroy this place simply for the pleasure it will give him."

"And to get back at Gramps.  Yes, I know that," Rosy had agreed.

Edward was her father's cousin; he and her grandfather had quarrelled
long before Rosy was born a bad quarrel over money and morals which had
resulted in her grandfather's banning Edward from ever setting foot
inside the house again.

Every family had its black sheep; theirs was no exception.  Even now,
in middle age, despite his outward air of respectability, his marriage
and his two sons at prep school, there was something un pleasant about
Edward.

He might never have actually broken the law in his financial dealings,
but he had certainly crossed over the line under cover of darkness on
one or more occasions, her father had often stated.

Her father.

Rosy turned her attention away from the window and looked towards the
desk.  Her father's photograph was still on it.  The one he had had
taken in uniform shortly before his older brother's death.

He had left the army then and come home to be with his father--he had
been no stranger to death himself since the death of Rosy's mother.

Queen's Meadow had meant everything to them, her father and her
grandfather.  She loved the house, of course--who could not do?  --but
she felt no sense of possessiveness towards it, far from it.

It wasn't pride she felt as she walked through its rooms, but guilt.

If only things had been different.  If only Edward had been different,
she could have so happily and easily have walked away from here and
bought or rented herself a small place in town and given all her time
and attention to working at the shelter.

But how could she do that now?

"Edward will destroy this place," Peter had warned her.

"He'll tear the heart out of it, sell off everything that's worth
selling, and then he'll tear it down brick by brick and sell off the
land to one of his cronies who'll--' " No, he can't do that," she had
protested.

"The house is listed and--' " And, knowing Edward, he won't find it at
all difficult to find someone who's willing to claim that they
misunderstood the instructions they were given.  Just how long do you
think this place could stay standing once it was assaulted by half a
dozen determined men with bulldozers?  And of course Edward would make
sure that nothing could be connected with him.  He hated your
grandfather, Rosy, and he knew how much Queen's Meadow meant to him and
to your father.  "

"Too much," Rosy had sighed.

"No, this place is an anachronism, Peter.

No matter how beautiful it is, for one family to live in a house this
size.  Oh, why couldn't Gramps have listened to me and deeded it to a
charity?  Why couldn't he?  "

"So you don't care what happens to the house?  You don't mind Edward
inheriting it and destroying it, destroying four hundred years of his
tory?"

"Of course I mind," Rosy told him fretfully.

"But what can I do?  You know the terms of that idiotic will Gramps
made as well as I do.  In the event of both his sons predeceasing him,
the house and his estate go to the closest of his blood relatives to be
married within three months of his death and capable of producing an
heir.  He made that will years ago after Uncle Tom died, and if Dad
hadn't She had broken off then, her throat choked with tears.  Her
father's death so unexpectedly from a heart attack just weeks before
her grandfather had slid from a coma and into death was something she
still hadn't fully come to terms with.

"Edward fulfils all the terms of that will and he " You are your
grandfather's closest blood relative," Peter had reminded her
quietly.

"Yes, but I'm not married.  And not likely to be, at least not within
the next three months," Rosy had told him drily.

"You could be," Peter had told her slowly, 'with an arranged
marriage.

A marriage entered into specifically so that you could fulfill the
terms of your grandfather's will.  A marriage which could be brought to
an end very easily and quickly.  "

"An arranged marriage?"  Rosy had stared blankly at him.  It sounded
like something out of one of her favourite Georgette Heyer novels;

fine as the theme for a piece of romantic froth, but to tally
implausible in reality.

"No," she had told him impatiently, shaking her head so hard that her
dark curls had bounced against her shoulders.  Irritably she had pushed
them off her face.  Her hair was the bane of her life thick, so dark it
was almost black, and possessing of a life of its own.

A little gypsy, her grandfather had often fondly called her.  But
whenever she had tried to have her wild mane tamed, it had rebelled,
and reverted to its tumbling mass of curls almost as soon as she had
closed the hairdresser's door behind her, so that eventually she had
given up trying to control it.

"It's out of the question and, besides, it takes two to make a marriage
even an arranged one and I can't think of anyone who " I can.  " Peter
had anticipated her quietly.

Was she imagining it, or did his words have a slightly ominous ring to
them?  She paused, shifting her gaze from the Grinling Gibbons carving
on the staircase to her solicitor's face, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Who?"  she demanded warily.

"Guard Jamieson," Peter told her.  Rosy sat down abruptly on the
stairs.

"Oh, no," she announced firmly.

"No, no, never."

"He would be the ideal person," Peter continued enthusiastically, as
though she hadn't spoken.

"After all, he's never made any secret of how much he wants this
place."

"Never," Rosy agreed drily, remembering how often Guard had bombarded
her grandfather with requests demands, almost that he sell Queen's
Meadow to him.

"If Guard wants the house that badly, he can always try to persuade
Edward to sell it to him," she pointed out.

Peter's eyebrows rose.

"Come on.  Rosy.  You know that Edward hates Guard almost as much as he
did your grandfather."

Rosy sighed.

"Yes," she agreed.  It was true.  Guard and Edward were old business
adversaries and, as her father had stated on more than one occasion,
there hadn't been a confrontation between the two men yet out of which
Guard had not come the winner.

"The mere fact that he knows how much Guard loves this place would only
add to his pleasure in destroying it."

"We're only talking about a business arrangement between the two of
you, you know, some simple basic formalities which would enable you to
fulfill the terms of the will.  In time the marriage could be
dissolved.

You could sell the house to Guard and--' "In time?  How much time?" 
she had asked him suspiciously.

"A year--a couple of years..."  Peter had shrugged, ignoring her
dismayed gasp.

"After all, it isn't as though you want to marry someone else, is it?
If you did, there wouldn't be any problem, any need to involve
Guard."

"I can't do it," she told Peter positively.

"The whole idea is completely ridiculous, repulsive."

"Well, then, I'm afraid you'll have to resign yourself to the fact that
Edward will inherit.  Your grandfather's already been dead for almost a
month."

"I can't do it," Rosy repeated, ignoring Peter's comment.

"I could never ask any man to marry me, but especially not Guard..."

Peter had laughed at her.

"It's a business proposal, that's all.  Think about it.  Rosy.  I know
how ambivalent your feelings towards Queen's Meadow are, but I can't
believe that you actually want to see Edward destroy it."

"No, of course I don't," Rosy had agreed.

"Then what have you got to lose?"

"My freedom?"  she had suggested hollowly.

Peter had laughed again.

"Oh, I doubt that Guard would interfere with that," he had assured
her.

"He's much too busy to have time to worry about what you'll be doing.
Promise me that you'll at least think about it.  Rosy.  It's for your
sake that I'm doing this," he had added.

"If you let Edward destroy this place, you're bound to feel guilty."

"The way you do for putting all this moral blackmail on me?"  Rosy had
asked him drily.

He had had the grace to look slightly uncomfortable.

"All right, I'll think about it," she had agreed.

And ultimately she had done more than just think about it.  Rosy
acknowledged, as she dragged her thoughts back to the present.

"The trouble with you is that you're far too softhearted."  How often
had she heard that accusation over the years?

Too often.

But Peter was right.  She couldn't let Edward destroy Queen's Meadow
without at least making some attempt to save it.  By sacrificing
herself.  A wicked smile curled her mouth, her eyes suddenly dancing
with bright humour.  Oh, how chagrined Guard would be if he could read
her mind.  How many women were there who would look upon marriage to
him in that light?  Not many.  Not any, she admitted, at least not from
what she heard.

Well, all right, so she was peculiar--an oddity who for some reason
could not see anything attractive in that magnetic sexuality of his
which seemed to obsess virtually every other female who set eyes on
him.  So she was immune to whatever it was about him that made other
women go weak at the knees, their eyes glazing with awe as they started
babbling about his sexy looks, his smouldering eyes, his mouth and its
full, sensual bottom lip, his shoulders, his body, his awesome
charismatic personality, his single state and the subtle aura not just
of sexual experience, but of sexual expertise which clung to him like
perfume to a woman's body.

Oddly, the last thing that most of them mentioned about him was his
wealth.

Well, she could see nothing remotely sexually attractive about him.

Rosy decided crossly, and she never had.  As far as she was concerned,
he was an arrogant, sarcastic pig who enjoyed nothing more than making
fun of her.

Only last month at a dinner party, when the hostess had been remarking
to her that the male cousin she had had visiting her had begged her to
seat him next to Rosy at dinner, Guard, who had overheard their
hostess's remark, had leaned over and said sardonically, "Well, if he's
hoping to find a woman somewhere under that mass of hair and that very
unflattering outfit you're wearing.  Rosy, he's going to be very
disappointed, isn't he?"

Since the 'unflattering outfit' he referred to had been a very
carefully chosen collection of several different layers of softly
toning shades of grey, all determinedly hunted down in a variety of
charity shops, carried home triumphantly and repaired and laundered.

Rosy had shot him an extremely bitter look.

"Not all men judge a woman on how she performs in bed.  Guard," she had
told him through gritted teeth.

"Luckily for you," he had responded, not in the least bit fazed by her
retaliation.

"Because, according to all the gossip, you wouldn't have the faintest
idea what to do there."

She had flushed, of course, the hot colour crawling betrayingly over
her skin, not so much because of what he had said--after all, she was
not ashamed of the fact that she was not prepared to jump into bed with
every man who asked her but because of the way Guard was watching her,
be cause of the amusement and mockery in his eyes, because, oh, so
shamingly and appallingly, just for a second, she could actually almost
see him in bed with some anonymous woman, his body bare and brown, his
hands stroking the woman's paler, softer skin while she clung to him
with small, pleading sounds of need.  She had blinked away the vision
immediately, of course, telling herself that it must have had something
to do with the sexy film she and a friend had been discussing earlier
in the day.

She and Guard had continued their argument later in the evening, just
before Guard had left with the extremely glamorous and elegant-looking
blonde who was accompanying him.

"Anyway," Rosy had told him, her small chin jutting out defiantly as
she felt herself losing ground, 'it makes sense these days not to have
too many sexual partners.  "

"The present climate is certainly a convenient hedge to hide behind,"
Guard had agreed suavely.

"Especially when..."

"Especially when what?"  Rosy had challenged him.

"Especially for you," he had told her blandly.

The return of his companion had prevented Rosy from saying anything
else.

An arranged marriage with Guard.  She must have been mad to let Peter
talk her into such a crazy idea.  But he had talked her into it and she
couldn't back out now.  Did Guard want Queen's Meadow enough to
agree?

Half of her hoped not.  And the other half.  "All right.  Rosy, what's
this all about?  And if you're after another donation to that charity
of yours, I'm warning you that right now I'm not feeling in the most
generous of moods..."

Dumbly Rosy watched Guard walk into the hall.  Her heart was beating so
heavily it felt as though it was going to force its way through her
chest wall.

She couldn't remember ever, ever feeling so nervous before--not even
when Gramps had found out about her sneaking out at night to go
poaching with Clem Angers.  She had had Guard to thank for that, of
course, and-Firmly, she brought her thoughts back to the present.

Guard was slightly earlier than she had expected, and if the sight of
him wearing the expensively tailored dark suit with its equally
expensive, crisp white cotton shirt had not been one that was already
familiar to her, she suspected she would have found it extremely
daunting.

But then Guard could be daunting, even when he was casually dressed,
she acknowledged, and it wasn't just because of his height, nor even
because of those broad shoulders and that tautly muscular physique over
which her female friends cooed and sighed so stupidly, either.

There was something about Guard himself an air, a manner, a certain
intangible something that set him slightly apart from other men, made
him stand out from other men, an aura of power and control, of.  of
sheer maleness, so potent that even she was acutely aware of it, she
admitted.  Aware of it, but not attracted by it, she reminded herself
sharply.  She could never be attracted by Guard; he was not her kind of
man.  She liked men who were softer, warmer more approachable, more.
more human, less.  less sexual?

Nervously, she cleared her throat.

"What's wrong?"  Guard asked her drily.

"You're staring at me like a rabbit at a dog."

"I'm not afraid of you," Rosy retorted, stung.

"I'm extremely glad to hear it.  Look, I'm due to fly out to Brussels
in the morning.  Rosy, and I've got a briefcase full of documents to
read before I do.  Just tell me what you want, there's a good girl, and
don't start backtracking now and telling me it isn't important.  We
both know that there's no way you'd get in touch with me if it
weren't."

The irony in his voice made her frown slightly but he was watching her
impatiently, unfastening his jacket, reaching up to loosen the knot in
his tie.

As she focused on the movement of his hands, she could feel the knot in
her stomach tightening.

"Come on.  Rosy, don't start playing games.  I'm not in the mood for
it."

The verbal warning was accompanied by a for bidding, hooded look that
reminded her of former peccadilloes and his merciless punishment of
them.

She swallowed nervously.  It was too late to back out now.

Screwing up her courage, she took a deep breath.

"Guard, I want you to marry me..."

CHAPTER TWO

rosy had automatically closed her eyes as she spoke, but in the silence
that followed her stammered request she was forced to open them
again.

"What did you say?"

The words, evenly spaced out and ominously soft, were snapped out
between Guard's strong white teeth, and he was looking at her as though
it was her bones, her body, he would really like to inflict that
punishment on, she recognised nervously as she cleared her throat a
second time.

"I--I asked you if you'd marry me," she repeated quickly, suppressing
her body's physical instinct for flight.

"Is this some kind of joke?"

He sounded very angry.  Rosy recognised, which rather surprised her.

She had spent most of the last few hours trying to envisage exactly
what his reaction to her request was going to be.  That he might be
angry had never even entered her head.  Amusement, mockery, contempt,
disdain, an outright refusal--all of these things she had expected, but
anger.  "No, it isn't a joke," she told him, adding grimly under her
breath, "I only wish it were.

"It was Peter's idea," she continued doggedly.

"I told him it was crazy, but he says it's the only way we can stop
Edward from inheriting the house and destroying it.  You know the terms
of Gramps' will."

"I know them," Guard agreed, 'but I hadn't realised this place meant so
much to you that you'd be prepared to fulfill them.  What happened to
all that insistence that you weren't going to marry until you fell in
love, until you were sure that your love was returned?  Or was that
just a girlish fantasy that faded in the reality of losing this place?
"

"No, it wasn't," Rosy told him angrily, 'but.  "

He had taken off his jacket and gone to stand in front of the huge,
open fireplace which, along with the Grinling Gibbons carving on the
stairs, dominated the hallway.

Guard suited the house.  Rosy recognised, before hurriedly looking away
from him.  With his height and the aura of power and authority which he
wore with much the same swagger and flair with which her original
ancestor must have worn his cloak, he looked much more at home here
than she did her self.

The large rooms, the dark panelling, over shadowed her.  In looks and
build she took more after her mother's family than her father's.

Whereas most of the portraits of her ancestors showed stocky,
sturdy-looking individuals, she was small and slender thin.  Guard had
once disparagingly called her.

It was still her home, though, and a part of her, much as she was
reluctant to admit it, would hate to see it destroyed.  She was honest
enough to recognise that, despite her own feelings towards Guard, the
house would be safe in his hands.

"But what...?"  he demanded.

"But you love this place so much that you can't bear to give it up? But
you love me so much that...?"

He threw the last question mockingly at her, al ready knowing the
answer, but Rosy still gave it to him.

"No, of course not," she denied vehemently.

Why was he looking at her like that?  Watching her with those hooded,
eagle-sharp eyes that made her feel so uncomfortable.

"So, you don't love either the house or me, but you're prepared to
marry me to keep it."

"To save it," Rosy corrected him quickly, 'from Edward and.  And it
would be an arranged marriage she added carefully, turning her back
slightly towards him.  For some reason, she found it easier to talk to
him like that.  She felt safer knowing that he couldn't see her face,
and that she didn't have to see his.

"An arranged marriage.  And it needn't last very long.  Peter said we
could probably even get an annulment and that we need not That we
wouldn't be She broke off awkwardly, so anxiously conscious of the
uncomfortable quality of his silence that unwarily she turned round to
look at him.

"We wouldn't be what?"  he encouraged her mockingly.

"Cohabiting... intimate... having sex... making love...?"

Rosy hated the way he almost caressed the words, rolling them over his
tongue, purring over them almost, enjoying every second of her own
discomfort, she was sure.

"If that's supposed to encourage me to agree, you don't know very much
about the male sex and its ego.  Rosy.  Do you really think that a man
any man wants to stand up in court and tell the world that he isn't man
enough to take his wife to bed?  Do you honestly believe that anyone,
but most especially that repulsive cousin of yours, is going to believe
the fiction that you and I are genuinely husband and wife when the very
mention of the word sex is enough to turn you into a physical
embodiment of the traditional, trembling, un touched virgin?

Oh, no, my dear.  If I were crazy enough to agree to this fraudulent
marriage of yours and it's a very big 'if in the eyes of the rest of
the world it would have to look as though it was very much the real
thing, even if that did mean that ultimately, you'd have to undergo the
indignity of going through a divorce.  "

Rosy's heart had started thumping heavily as he spoke, but when she
realised that he wasn't, as she had expected, going to refuse her
proposal outright, she stared uncertainly at him, her face still
flushed from her earlier embarrassment.  It was only Guard who made her
react like that when he talked about sex, she admitted crossly.  Not
even when the teen age boys who used the shelter made what were
sometimes extremely blunt and often crude comments did she get as
embarrassed or self-conscious as she did with Guard.

"But it wouldn't be a real marriage," she insisted, turning round to
focus watchfully on his face.  You were supposed to be able to tell
what was really in a person's mind from their eyes, but that rule
didn't apply to Guard.  She could never tell what he was thinking.

"I

mean, we wouldn't be.  "

"Lovers," he supplied for her.

"It would certainly be very hard to imagine.  The only time I've ever
held you in my arms, you damned near scratched my eyes out," Guard
reminded her grimly.

"You terrified me," Rosy defended herself.

"Picking me up like that.

It was dark and I. "

"You were out clandestinely with Clem Angers, poaching your
grandfather's salmon."

"Clem had been promising to take me out for ages to show me the
badgers' sett.  And then you had to interfere and spoil everything,"
Rosy remembered indignantly.

"He had been promising me that he'd take me just as soon as I was
sixteen."

"Really?  I do hope you didn't use that unfortunate turn of phrase when
you were explaining what you were doing to your father.  Sweet
sixteen," he continued, ignoring the angry flush darkening Rosy's
face.

"Sweet sixteen and never been kissed.  Just refresh my memory for me,
will you.  Rosy?  How old are you now?"

"Twenty-two almost," she told him impatiently.

"Mmm.-and presumably now well-experienced in the art of kissing, if
nothing else.  You certainly ought to be after the practice session I
witnessed last New Year's Eve at the Lewishams' ball."

Rosy's flush deepened as she remembered the incident he referred to.

One of the Lewisham cousins, a rather intoxicated, impressionable young
man, who had been gazing adoringly at her from the other side of the
dance floor all evening, had caught up with her just as she tried to
make her escape, grabbing hold of her in the semidarkness of the
passageway that led to the cloakroom, imprisoning her in his arms for a
few brief seconds while he pressed impassioned kisses against her
determinedly closed mouth.  It had been a harmless enough episode.  He
had presented himself rather sheepishly and shamefacedly at Queen's
Meadow the following afternoon, full of remorse and apologies, and
begging for a chance to make a fresh start, which Rosy had tactfully
refused.  But up until now she had had no idea that Guard had even
witnessed the small incident.  She turned away from him, pacing the
room edgily' Why on earth don't you buy yourself some decent clothes?
After all, it's not as though you can't afford it.  Your father left
you very well provided for.  Or wouldn't it impress dear, sanctimonious
Ralph if you turned up looking like a woman rather than a half-grown
child?  "

"Ralph is not sanctimonious," Rosy denied angrily as she turned to face
him.

"And as for my clothes..."  She frowned as she glanced down at her
well-worn leggings and the thick, bulky sweater which had originally
belonged to her father.

"I dress to please myself, in what feels comfortable.  Just because
you're the kind of man who likes to see a woman humiliating herself by
dressing up in something so skin-tight she can barely walk in it, never
mind run, teetering around in high heels... Mind you, I suppose at your
age that would be your idea of style," she added disparagingly.

"I'm thirty-five.  Rosy," Guard reminded her grimly, 'not some ageing
fifty-year-old desperately fighting off middle-age, and as for my ideas
of style, personally I think there's nothing quite so alluring as a
woman who has enough confidence in herself to dress neither to conceal
her sexuality nor to reveal it a woman who wears silk or cashmere, wool
or cotton, clothes cut in plain, simple styles but then you aren't a
woman yet, are you, Rosy?  "

For some reason Rosy couldn't define, his comments, his criticism had
hurt her, making her leap immediately to her own defence, her voice
husky with emotion as she told him fiercely, "I am a woman, but you
can't see that.  You only think of women in terms of sex the more
sexual experience a woman has had, the more of a woman it makes her.

Well, for your information She stopped abruptly.  Why was she letting
him get to her like this?

Why did they always end up quarrelling, arguing, antagonists?

"For my information, what?"  Guard challenged her.

"Oh, nothing."  Rosy retreated.  She had been a fool to listen to
Peter.

If, as he said, the only way to save the house was via an arranged
marriage, then it would have to be with someone else.  Any one else,
she decided savagely.  Anyone at all just so long as it wasn't the
arrogant, hateful, horrid man standing in front of her, watching her
with those mesmeric, all-seeing, all-watchful golden eyes.

"All right, I know," she told him bitterly.

"It was a stupid idea, and I was a fool to think you'd agree, no matter
how much you might want Queen's Meadow.  I'd be better off advertising
in the personal columns for a husband..."

Something flickered briefly in Guard's eyes, a tiny movement so swiftly
controlled that Rosy felt she must have imagined it.

"I haven't given you my answer yet."

Rosy looked up at him.

"You're talking about taking a potentially very dangerous course," he
continued warningly, as Rosy remained silent.

"Edward is bound to be suspicious."

"But he can't do anything.  Not so long as I've fulfilled the terms of
my grandfather's will."

"Mmm... Edward is a very tricky character.  It wouldn't be wise to
underestimate him.  There's an element of fraud in this whole plan of
yours."

"Fraud?"  Rosy interrupted him anxiously.

"But..."

"I'll be back from Brussels the day after tomorrow.  I'll give you my
answer then.  And, Rosy," he told her as he turned to leave, 'in the
meantime, no ads in the personal columns, hmm?  "

It wasn't fair.  Rosy reflected indignantly when he had gone.  Why did
he always have to make her feel like a child?  And a particularly
stupid child at that.

"You've forgotten to put sugar in my coffee again," Ralph reproved
Rosy.  He frowned slightly, his sandy eyebrows lifting almost into his
hairline as he added, "In fact you've seemed very preoccupied
altogether these last couple of days.

Is something wrong?  "

"No... no, nothing," Rosy denied untruthfully.

"Mm.  You know.  Rosy, it's a pity you didn't work a bit harder at
persuading your grandfather to leave Queen's Meadow to us.  Hallows,
the engineering place, is closing down next month and that's bound to
put more pressure on us.  God knows how many more it's going to make
home- les;;.  We haven't got anything like enough beds here as it is.

When I think of that damned big house and all those rooms.  "

"Yes, yes I know," Rosy agreed guiltily.  She hadn't discussed with
Ralph the terms of her grandfather's will and, since Edward had already
made it plain that he expected to inherit the house, Rosy had simply
allowed Ralph to believe that as well.

When she had first announced that she was going to do voluntary work at
the shelter, she knew her father had been a little concerned but,
needless to say, it had been Guard who had taken it upon himself to
warn her that, in view of her family connections and her comparative
wealth, Ralph might put pressure on her to help fund the shelter.

"Ralph would never do anything like that," she had protested then,
indignantly.  And she had believed it.  Had believed it.  Still
believed it, and if Ralph was cross with her because he felt she ought
to have persuaded her grandfather to leave Queen's Meadow to their
charity, well, she could understand why.

She could never walk into the old, rundown shabby building on the
outskirts of the town without a small pang.

They all did their best to make it as homely as possible, but the rooms
still had that air about them that reminded her of the boarding-school
she had attended when she and her father had first returned to England
from his army posting in Germany.  She hadn't stayed there long, but it
had left a lasting impression on her.

The first spring she had worked at the shelter she had arrived one
morning with the boot of her small car filled with vases she had
'borrowed' from home and the back seat covered in a mass of
daffodils.

Ralph had found her just as she was placing the last vase in
position.

She winced even now when she remembered how angry he had been.

"You waste money on flowers when we barely have enough to buy them
food," he had shouted at her.

She had never made the same mistake again, but sometimes the sheer
austerity of the shelter weighed her down, her own feelings adding to
the compassion and anguish she already felt at the plight of the young
people they took in.

Today, though, she was guiltily aware that her mind was more on her own
problems than those of the homeless.  Guard was due back this after
noon.  What would his decision be?  What did she want his decision to
be?

She knew quite well what Ralph would say were she to ask him for his
advice, and the modern, aware part of her agreed with him: there were
far more important things to worry about than a house;

there were people, her fellow human beings, in far more need than a
building and yet, when she walked round the house, something she had
found herself doing increasingly frequently recently, she was also
emotionally aware of the love, the care, the human effort that had gone
into making it what it was.  It wasn't the material value of the
Grinling Gibbons carving on the staircase that smote her with guilt at
the thought of its destruction, it was her knowledge of the work, the
craftsmanship which had gone into its carving.  If she closed her eyes
she could almost instantly be there, smell the fresh, pungent odour of
the new wood, feel the concentrated silence of the busy apprentices as
they watched their master, see the delight and pride in their faces
when they were finally allowed to make their contribution, when their
work was finally inspected and passed, the experienced hands of the
master running critically over their carving while they held their
breath and waited for his ver dict.

The plaster work on the ceilings, the furniture in the rooms all of it
had been.  created with human endeavour, with human pride.

Ralph would no doubt see another side of it, of apprentices injured and
maimed, thrown out of work to starve, of workmen paid a pittance by
their rich patrons.

"What's up, boyfriend giving you a hard time?"

Rosy turned her head to force a smile in the direction of the thin,
pimply boy watching her, ignoring his companion's snigger and clearly
audible "I'll bet if he was she wouldn't be looking so miserable,"
without even a hint of the betraying colour that Guard could conjure so
easily with a comment only a tenth as sexual.

"Have you heard anything about that job you went for yet, Alan?"  she
asked, ignoring both comments.

"Nah... Don't 'spose I'll hear owl, either."

"You could try getting some qualifications," Rosy suggested, 'going to
night school.  "

She already knew what the answer would be and wasn't surprised when the
boy shook his head in denial of her comment.  When a system had failed
you as badly as it had failed these youngsters, it must be hard to have
any faith in it.  Rosy acknowledged as she watched the two of them
swagger off in the direction of the television lounge.

An hour later, as she drove home, her stomach was already cramping at
the thought of hearing Guard's decision.  To her surprise, as she
pulled up at the rear of the house in what had originally been the
stable yard, she saw that an unfamiliar car was already parked there.

As she got out of her own car she eyed the bright red Rolls-Royce
uncertainly.  She went into the house through the back entrance,
through a maze of passages, past a cluster of small, dark rooms.

She could hear voices in the front hall and she tensed as she
recognised one of them.  Edward, her father's cousin.  What was he
doing here and, more important, how had he got in?

Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door into the hall.

Edward was standing with his back to her, his bald head shining in the
light from the overhead chandelier which he had switched on.

Both he and the man with him were looking up at it.

"Mmm ... I suppose it could fetch a tidy bit, al though there's not so
much call for that sort of thing now.  Too big and too expensive.  We'd
probably be better shipping it abroad, finding an agent--' He broke off
as he turned round and saw Rosy, and touched Edward's arm, drawing his
attention to her.

"Ah, Rosy..."

Edward's genial manner didn't deceive Rosy.  It never had.  She shared
her grandfather's and her father's dislike and distrust of him.

"What are you doing here, Edward?"  Rosy demanded, ignoring his
pseudo-friendly overtures.

The man with him had moved slightly out of earshot and Edward's
expression changed as he glanced over to where his companion was
studying the carved staircase, his eyes hardening as he recognised
Rosy's hostility.

"Just checking out my inheritance," he told Rosy smoothly.

"It isn't yours yet," Rosy reminded him fiercely.

Edward gave a dismissive shrug.  Unlike her father and her grandfather,
Edward had run to fat in middle-age and the angry flush now mantling
his face emphasised his heavy jowliness.

Her father had once remarked that Edward had a very nasty temper.  On
the few occasions when Rosy had met him, the tension that emanated from
Edward's wife seemed to confirm her father's comment, but this was the
first time she had witnessed any evidence of Edward's temper at first
hand.

"Not yet, maybe, but it soon will be," he told her angrily.

"And there's not a damn thing you or any G one else can do about it.
For once in his life, the old man was too clever for his own good.  How
much do you reckon the staircase will fetch, Charlie?"  he called out
to the other man, smirking when he saw Rosy's expression.

As she watched and listened to him, any ideas Rosy might have had about
appealing to his better nature died.  He simply didn't have one, she
recognised.  He would enjoy destroying the house.

She heard the heavy wooden front door creak as someone pushed it open,
and turned round warily, but it wasn't another of Edward's 'business
associates' who had walked in, it was Guard.

He walked over to the fireplace just inside the doorway, frowning as he
studied the scene in front of him.

Rosy saw the antagonism and, along with it, the apprehension flare
briefly in Edward's eyes as he glared across at him, but Guard wasn't
even looking at Edward, he was looking at her looking at her.  Rosy
recognised in sudden, dizzy confusion, in a way she had never envisaged
seeing him look at any woman, but most especially not her.

She blinked a little, her own eyes darkening as they were caught and
held in a gaze of such smouldering sensuality that it actually made her
physically shiver.  When had Guard's eyes developed that ability to
turn from cool, distant gold into hot, smouldering amber?  Where had he
learned to look at a woman in such a way that she and every other
person in the room with her was instantly conscious of Guard's desire
for her?  Only Guard didn't desire her; he didn't even like her,
he-"Guard."  Rosy exclaimed weakly, her hand going automatically to her
throat to protect the small pulse beating so frantically there.

"I..

1 didn't think you'd be back until much later.  "

"I shouldn't have been," Guard told her, 'but I couldn't bear to be
away from you any longer.  "

Rosy gaped at him.  She could feel her skin burning.  What was Guard
trying to do to her?  He must know as well as she did that-She froze in
shock as he crossed the hallway, dropping the briefcase he had been
carrying with a small, heavy thud as he took hold of her, holding her
so tightly against his body that she could feel the strong bite of his
fingers against her flesh; her face was buried against his chest, any
verbal response she might have wanted to make smothered, as he murmured
throatily, "God, I've missed you."

Rosy gulped in air nervously.

"Have you told Edward our good news yet, my love?"

Their good news?  What good news?  Rosy jerked protestingly against
Guard's strong hold, lifting her head, the impulsive words clamouring
for utterance.

But she never got to say them.  Instead, the swift descent of Guard's
head and the hard, totally un expected warning pressure of his mouth on
hers stopped her.

Guard holding her.  Guard kissing her.  Kissing her?  Was that what he
was doing?  It didn't feel much like a kiss.  She opened her eyes and
looked anxiously into his.  They were still that unfamiliar,
heart-thumping, pulse-racing amber colour, and the mouth that had
clamped so firmly on hers, silencing her, somehow didn't feel anything
like she might have imagined Guard's mouth might feel if she had ever
actually allowed herself to wander into the pitfall of such dangerous
imaginings, which she hadn't.  It felt.  it felt.  A dizzying wave of
sensation hit her as Guard's mouth moved slowly over hers.

Her eyes were still open and so were his, almost hypnotising her into
obeying the silent commands he was giving her.  She could feel her
mouth softening beneath the sensual impact of his, her whole body
relaxing, melting into his, relaxing and yet at the same time being
invaded by a peculiar and un familiar/rK5on of sensation.

To her horror, Rosy could actually feel her nipples hardening and
peaking.  With a small cry of protest she tore her mouth away from
Guard's.

"You're right," he agreed, as though she had spoken.

"This isn't the time or place."

His voice sounded soft, a husky purr that made small shivers of
sensation run up and down her spine.  He reached out and touched her
mouth with his thumb.

"What the hell's going on?"

Dizzily, Rosy dragged her gaze away from Guard's face and turned to
look at Edward.

"Hasn't Rosy told you?"  Guard asked politely.

"She and I are getting married.  I've sorted out the special licence,"
he told Rosy softly, turning away from Edward, ignoring the anger
emanating from him, the questions he was asking, behaving.  Rosy
recognised enviously, as though Edward simply wasn't even there, as
though the two of them were completely on their own, as though.  "The
wedding will be just the way you wanted it to be.  Very small, very
quiet.  In church..."

In church!  Rosy tensed, but this time she man aged to hold back her
shocked words.

"You can't do this," Edward was blustering angrily beside them.

"Don't think I don't know what the pair of you are up to.  Don't think
I won't " Edward.  " Without raising either his voice or his head, and
still looking directly at her.  Rosy marvelled.  Guard had managed to
silence Edward's outpourings and to get his attention.

"I think it's time you left," Guard continued evenly.

"I'll show you out."

Now Guard did move away from her and at an other time Rosy might almost
have been amused by the chagrin in Edward's expression and the
confusion of his friend, who was demanding to know exactly what was
going on and why Edward had brought him out on such a wild-goose
chase.

"You haven't heard the last of this," Edward warned Guard
threateningly, before turning to leave.

"You aren't married yet, and besides--' " Goodbye, Edward," Guard
interrupted him suavely, firmly closing the front door.

"Did--did you mean that?"  Rosy asked him, dry- mouthed in the heavy
silence that followed Edward's departure.

"About our getting married?"

"Yes," Guard told her calmly.

"What is it.  Rosy?"  he asked with an abrupt return to his normal,
mocking manner towards her.

"Having second thoughts?"

Rosy glanced towards the staircase and then up at the chandelier and
shook her head numbly, not daring to trust her voice to make any vocal
reply.

CHAPTER THREE

'does it have to be a church ceremony?  " Rosy asked Guard
uncomfortably, uncrossing her leggings-clad legs and getting up from
her chair to go and stand in front of the library window.

She had been caught off-guard when he had arrived half an hour ago;

nine o'clock on a Saturday morning was not exactly a time she was used
to having visitors.

"Visitors?"  Guard had drawled, as she had told him as much, hastily
running the fingers of one hand through her tangled hair, while she
surreptitiously tried to lick the small smear of jam from her toast off
the fingers of the other.

In her grandfather's day, breakfast, especially at weekends, had always
been a semi-formal affair, served in the breakfast-room.  But, since
she had been on her own, Rosy had taken to eating in the large,
comfortable kitchen.  Mrs.  Frinton, who used to come in daily to clean
and cook, was now only coming in once a week.  Rosy felt guilty about
allowing someone to cook and clean for her when she was perfectly
capable of doing both herself.

"My dear Rosy, you and I are about to be mar45

ried, supposed in the eyes of the rest of the world to be desperately
in love.  What would seem odd to them is not so much my calling so
early in the day, but the fact that I haven't stayed here all night.
"

Predictably and irritatingly.  Rosy had felt herself starting to
flush.

"I have an extremely busy schedule, and there are certain things we
need to discuss before the rest of the world learns our news."

"Why should anyone else be remotely interested in what we're doing?"

Rosy had demanded crossly, as Guard followed her into the library.

"Or by the rest of the world do you really mean all your
girlfriends?"

The look Guard had given her had scorched her into wary sHence.

Like her.  Guard was dressed casually, but whereas her leggings and top
shrouded the feminine shape of her body.  Guard's jeans, surprisingly
well-worn with tell-tale patches of lighter colour on them, clung
snugly to his body, outlining the hard, taut muscles of his thighs,
revealing their maleness in a way which was normally mercifully
concealed by his more formal business suits.

There was.  Rosy was discovering, also something almost hypnotic about
the way Guard walked--about the way the denim revealed the movement of
those muscles.  She had been relieved when he had finally seated
himself in one of the deep library chairs.

"Yes, it does," Guard answered her original question now.

"Why the objection?"

"Well, it's just..."  Rosy shrugged uncomfortably, unwilling to betray
herself to his further mockery by admitting that, while she was no
regular churchgoer, she felt that it was somehow wrong to marry him in
church when she knew when they both knew that their marriage was simply
a convenient expediency.

"Just what?"  Guard pressed her.

"It's just ... just that a church wedding is so much more fuss," she
fibbed lamely.

"And..."

She could feel her skin colouring under the look Guard was giving
her.

This morning, in the sharp, clear daylight, it seemed impossible that
those clear, cold eyes could ever really have burned with that heat,
that desire.  that intensity she had seen last night.  Nervously she
looked quickly away from him.  She had told herself last night, after
he had gone, that that interlude that incident was something she was
simply not going to think about.  Guard had done it for Edward's
benefit, and she supposed she ought to be grateful to him for going to
so much trouble, but.  But it was something that most definitely must
not happen again.

"Stop hedging.  Rosy," Guard told her sharply.

"You don't want to get married in church because it isn't a " real"
marriage.  That's typical of you and your muddled, ideological outlook
on life.  Try thinking things through from a more logical view point.

Like it or not, you and I in our different ways both have a certain
standing in the local community Edward isn't going to be happy about
what we're doing, we both know that.  There's no point in adding fuel
to the flames of his suspicions.  A small, quiet ceremony is something
we can get away with just particularly in view of the're cent deaths of
your father and grandfather.  Not to have a church ceremony isn't.

And as for the fuss, you can leave all the arrangements to me.  Which
reminds me, you'd better have a word with Mrs.  Frinton and ask her if
she's free to come back here to work full-time.  "

"What for?"  Rosy asked him.

"I'm only using a few of the rooms and " You may be, but after we're
married we're bound to have to do a certain amount of entertaining I
have business associates who'll want to be introduced to my new wife,
and unless you're proposing to give up your work at the shelter to be
here full time Give up her work at the shelter?

"Certainly not," Rosy told him vehemently.

"Good.  So it's agreed then.  You'll contact Mrs.  Frinton, tell her
that we're getting married and that I'll be moving in here and ask her
" You're moving in here?  "

"Well, it is the normal thing for a married couple to live under the
same roof," Guard pointed out to her sardonically.

"Unless of course you want to move into my apartment.  Although..."

His apartment?  Rosy stared at him.  When Peter had first mooted the
idea of her asking Guard to marry her, she hadn't been able to think
very far past the ordeal of actually having to propose to him.

"But we can't live together," she began, panic suddenly beginning to
infiltrate her voice.

"We don't..."

"We don't what?  Oh, come on.  Rosy... how old are you?  You can't be
that naive.  You must have realised when you came up with this plan of
yours to stop Edward inheriting this place that you could hardly
convince the world that this is a genuine marriage if we're living at
separate addresses.  Have some sense."

Rosy could hear the exasperation creeping into his voice.

"I hadn't really thought that far ahead," she admitted weakly.

"I

just wanted "You just wanted to save the house from Edward.  I know,"
Guard finished for her.

"You're twenty-two years old.  Rosy.  Isn't it time you started to grow
up?"  he asked her scathingly.

"I am grown-up," Rosy responded indignantly.

"I'm an adult now.  Guard, a..."

"A what?"  he asked her softly.

"A woman?"

"Yes," she told him fiercely, her eyes darkening with anger as she saw
the look he was giving her as he crossed the room.

"Turn round," he commanded, 'and look at your self in that mirror and
tell me what you see.  "

She was tempted to refuse, but the memory of how quickly and easily he
had overpowered her the previous evening stopped her.

Reluctantly, instead, she did as he had demanded staring defiantly not
at her own reflection in the huge Venetian mirror over the fireplace,
but at him.

How tall he looked in comparison to her own meagre height and how
broad, the powerful, muscular structure of his torso clearly evident
beneath the soft, checked woollen shirt he was wearing.

Her own top, in contrast, wide-necked and baggy, revealed all too
clearly the vulnerable delicacy of her own bone-structure, the soft
black wool somehow highlighting the translucency of her pale skin, the
feminine curves of her breasts.

"A woman!  You look more like a child," Guard mocked her.

"In years you may be a woman.  Rosy, but you're still hiding behind the
attitude and looks of a child."  He moved in front of her, his thumb
tip rubbing briefly against her mouth, its touch gone as she
instinctively lifted her hand to his wrist to push him away, her eyes
dark with shock and anger.

"No lipstick," he told her.

"No make-up of any kind."

"It's Saturday morning," Rosy protested.  What she didn't tell him what
she couldn't tell him was that she had overslept, that last night she
had been unable to sleep because.  because.  She could feel the flesh
of her bottom lip prick ling sensitively where he had touched it;
instinctively she went to catch it between her teeth and then stopped
abruptly, remembering.

"No make-up," Guard continued remorselessly, 'clothes that hide your
body, deliberately de-sexing it.  Has any man ever seen your body.

Rosy?  Touched it?  Touched you here?  "

The fleeting touch of his hand against her breast made her tense in
outraged protest, even while her body registered that there was nothing
remotely sexual in his touch.

"I don't have to apologise to you or anyone else for not wanting to
indulge in casual sex," Rosy defended herself angrily.

"And just because I don't jump into bed with every male who asks me,
that doesn't make me immature, or less of a woman!"

"No, it doesn't," Guard agreed.

"But the way you blush whenever I say anything with even the remotest
sexual connotations, the way you back off from me, the way you so
openly betray your in experience sexually, they all say that you're not
a woman, Rosy, and they'll certainly say that you're not a married
woman."

"Well, there's nothing I can do about that, is there?"  Rosy snapped at
him, turning away from him so that he wouldn't see either that she was
blushing or that his comments had, for some odd reason, actually hurt
her.

"Unless you're suggesting that I go out and find a man to go to bed
with just so that I don't embarrass you with my my lack of
womanliness..."

"My God, if I thought..."

Rosy gasped as she felt Guard take hold of her, shaking her almost, and
then releasing her just as abruptly, so that she didn't even have time
to open her mouth to protest at his rough treatment of her.  She could
hear anger in his voice as he told her, "This isn't some game we're
playing.  Rosy.  It's reality and a damn dangerous reality at that.
Have you actually thought of what could happen to both of us if Edward
takes it into his head to bring a case against us for fraud?"

"He wouldn't... he couldn't do that," Rosy protested.

"You saw the look on his face as well as I did when he learned that he
wasn't going to inherit this place," Guard reminded her.

"One hint just one hint that this marriage of ours is a put-up job, and
he'll have his lawyers on to us so fast..."

"But he can't find out.  He can't prove anything," Rosy protested
shakily.

"Not as long as we're both careful," Guard agreed, 'and as long as you
remember that you and I are now a couple.  A couple who, as far as the
rest of the world are concerned, are desperately in love so desperately
in love that they can't wait to be together, to be married.  "

Rosy gulped nervously.  She had a good imagination a very good
imagination but trying to imagine herself desperately in love with
Guard.  and trying to imagine him reciprocating that love!

"Any more criticisms?"  Rosy challenged him, fighting off the feeling
of panic and despair flooding her.

The look Guard gave her made her stomach muscles cramp nervously.

"Don't tempt me," he advised her warningly.

Suddenly Rosy had had enough.

"You don't have to do this, you know," she're minded him.

"No one's forcing you to marry me, and I certainly don't want to marry
you.

Look, why don't we just forget the whole thing, Guard?  " she exploded
angrily.

"Why don't we ?"

"Why don't you try thinking before you open that pretty little mouth of
yours?"  Guard interrupted her savagely.

For some reason he looked even more angry now than he had done
before.

Rosy realised.

"Haven't you forgotten something?  Edward knows we're supposed to be
getting married."

"So... We can pretend we've had a lovers' quarrel.  It happens all the
time; you should know that," she told him with daring flippancy.

Oddly enough, her jibe seemed to have less effect on him than her
earlier one about their not marrying.

"Lovers invariably make up those quarrels, at least until they aren't
lovers any longer," Guard told her drily.

"No, Rosy, we're committed now.  It's too late for any second
thoughts."

"At least Peter was right about one thing," Rosy told him with forced
bravado.

"You must want this place one hell of a lot.  You'd have to want some
thing one hell of a lot to go through this to get it."

She gave him a small, defeated shrug as she turned her back on him,
trying to ignore the sinking miserable sensation in the pit of her
stomach as she tried not to contemplate her immediate future.

"Yes," she heard Guard agreeing somberly.

"I would.

"I've already had a word with the vicar, by the way," he informed her,
changing the subject.

"He agreed with me that a quiet, mid-week ceremony would seem
best..."

Rosy spun round.

"You've already done whafl But..."

"You were the one who proposed to me," Guard reminded her.

Rosy snapped her teeth together, suppressing the urge to scream.  No
matter what she said or did, Guard always managed to out manoeuvre her
to outwit her.

Well, one day.  One day very soon she'd be the one to outwit him, she
promised herself and, as far as she was concerned, that day could not
come fast enough.

"Did you and the vicar fix an actual date, or am I allowed to have some
say in that?"  Rosy asked with acid sweetness.

"Yes, a week on Wednesday," Guard told her, ignoring her sarcasm.

"So soon?  But..."  Rosy gulped back her protest as she felt the cold
sensation of apprehension spreading through her body.

"There's no point in delaying things," Guard told her.

"We've only got two months to fulfill the terms of your grandfather's
will.  I've got several business trips coming up; in fact I'm due in
Brussels again the day after the wedding, which unfortunately means
that we shan't be able to have a traditional honeymoon."  When he saw
Rosy's expression, he laughed sardonically.

"Yes, I thought that might appeal to you.

The fact that we're getting married so quickly will mean that we won't
need to invite many people.  Neither of us has any family to speak of,
and I thought we'd smooth any ruffled feathers by giving a formal
reception-cum-party here later in the year.  As I said, you can leave
all the arrangements to me, apart from one thing.  Your dress.  "

"My dress?"  Rosy looked at him suspiciously, guessing what was
coming.

"I'm not going out and wasting money on a wedding-dress," she warned
him.

"No.  So what are you going to wear?  Not, I trust, the outfit you have
on now?"

Rosy glowered at him.

"Don't be ridiculous.  I'll--' " Look, Rosy, I'm not going to waste my
breath arguing with you.  Your family had, and still has, a certain
standing locally, which meant an awful lot to your grandfather.  I
appreciate that you're a modern young woman, that inherited wealth and
everything that goes with it runs counter to your own beliefs, but
sometimes, for the sake of other people's feelings, we have to
compromise on our own principles.  "

"You mean you want me to wear a traditional wedding-dress so that I
don't let you down?"  Rosy suggested dangerously.

"No, that is not what I mean."

The anger in Guard's voice made her look directly at him.  She really
had annoyed him.  Rosy recognised.  There was a dark stain of colour
angrily flushing his cheekbones and his mouth had tightened
ominously.

Even the way he moved, pacing restlessly from the fireplace to come and
stand directly in front of her, revealed his loss of patience with
her.

7 don't give a damn if you go to the altar wearing sackcloth and ashes,
which is quite plainly what you want to wear.  What is it.  Rosy?

Afraid that some people--someone--might not fully understand the
motivation behind this marriage, that he--this someone--might not
realise the great sacrifice you're making?  Well, let me warn you now,
Rosy, if you even think of telling Ralph Southern the real reason for
this marriage.  "

Ralph?  What on earth was Guard talking about?  Why should she tell
Ralph anything of the sort?  She already knew just how he would react
if she did, just how contemptuous he would be of her desire to protect
and preserve the house.  "If you think," Guard continued grimly, 'that
I--' Rosy shook her head.  Suddenly all the fight had gone out of
her.

"All right.  Guard.  I'll wear a proper wedding- dress," she told him
woodenly, but she knew that her eyes had filled with tears and,
although she tried to turn away, she wasn't quite quick enough and
Guard had seen them too.

She heard him swear under his breath and then say roughly, "All
right.

I'm sorry if anything I've said hurt you--but you must realise that--'
"No, it's not--it isn't anything you've said," she said fiercely,
blinking back her tears.

"I already know exactly what you think of me.

Guard.  It's just.  " She lifted her head, unaware of how vulnerable
the bravado of her stance and the resolution in her voice actually made
her as she told him, " I always imagined that when I got married.  when
I chose my wedding-dress.  it would be--' she swallowed back the tears
forming a hard lump of emotion clogging her throat '--that I'd be
choosing it, wearing it, for a man who loved me.  for a man I loved.
"

She could see a small muscle beating tensely in Guard's jaw.  Perhaps
he was not, after all, as she had previously imagined, she
recognised.

Perhaps he, too, somewhere deep down inside him, had once imagined
marrying for love.

"Still," she told him, trying to appear more lighthearted than she
felt, "I suppose I can always do that the--' " The next time," Guard
supplied harshly for her.

Rosy couldn't understand what she had said to make him so openly and
furiously angry.

"I suppose you think I'm being stupid--overidealistic, naively
romantic," she flung at him defiantly, ignoring the instinct that told
her that what she was doing was somehow dangerous.

"But I am romantic.

Guard, and I am idealistic.  Perhaps by the time I get to your age I
might feel as you do, that loving someone and being loved by them isn't
important, that it's something to sneer at and mock, but I can't help
the way I feel," she told him challengingly, lifting her head and
forcing herself to make eye-contact with him, despite the nervous
flutterings in her stomach.

"And just because you don't feel the same--' " You know nothing about
what I might or might not feel," he interrupted her bitingly.

"What I may or may not have already felt or experienced..."

Rosy could feel the wave of heat burning up over her skin as she
recognised the truth of what he was saying and, with it, all that he
was not saying.

Guard was an experienced, highly attractive, highly sensual man; there
must have been women--or a woman--in his life to whom he had been
emotionally as well as physically attracted and somehow, subtly, with
his response to her own outburst, he had made her unwantedly aware of
that fact.

For as long as she had known him she had felt compelled to battle and
react against the air of control and authority that he exuded but now,
for some reason, instead of challenging his remark, instead of asking
him why if he had experienced such feelings he was still single, as she
would once have done, she swallowed back that challenge.

"Let me warn you.  Rosy," she heard him saying as she turned her head
away from him.

"This quest of yours to find this romantic, idealistic love isn't one
that's going to be carried out whilst you're married to me.  Your
search for love's holy grail is one that will have to wait, I'm
afraid."

Rosy looked uncertainly at him.  His comment was the kind that was
normally accompanied by the mockery which always got so easily under
her skin, but there was no glint of taunting humour in his eyes on this
occasion, no familiar irritatingly knowing curl to his mouth.

In fact, she had rarely seen him looking so grimly serious, she
recognised warily.

"For the duration of this marriage, as far as the outside world is
concerned, / am your lover ... your beloved... in every sense of those
words."

The cold flatness of his voice robbed his words of any hint of
sensuality, but nevertheless Rosy could feel her skin flushing as her
imagination, al ways her worst enemy where her run-ins with Guard were
concerned, reacted to the evocative words he had used: lover,
beloved.

She shivered suddenly, trying to banish the images conjured up by her
overactive imagination images of two people, two lovers, their bodies
entwined in an em brace of such intimacy, such compulsive desire and
need for one another, that there could be no mistaking the nature of
their relationship, either physically or emotionally.

Hastily, Rosy tried to banish her mental pictures, rushing into
protective speech as she told Guard fiercely, "You needn't worry.  I
shan't do anything to spoil your image.  I mean, it just wouldn't do,
would it?  Guard the fabled, famous lover married to a woman who
doesn't want him..."

"It isn't my image, as you call it, that concerns me," Guard returned
grimly.

"It's my professional reputation, and yours.  You do realise, don't
you, that technically what you and I are doing is fraudulent

He took advantage of her wary silence to continue more easily, "And as
far as being married to a woman who doesn't want me is concerned... You
aren't a woman.  Rosy, you're a girl, and I doubt that I should have
much trouble finding sol ace elsewhere, do you...?"

For sheer arrogance there was no one like him, Rosy decided
rebelliously as he turned away from her, reaching into the inside
pocket of his jacket as he did so.

"You're going to need these," he told her matter- of-factly as he
handed her a small jeweller's box.

Rosy's fingers trembled slightly as she opened it, a small, totally
involuntary awed gasp escaping her lips as she saw the rings inside it.
The wed ding-ring was plain and simple, heavy yellow gold;

the engagement ring that went with it.  She stared at the sapphire with
its surround of dazzling, square-cut diamonds.

"It ... it's beautiful," she told Guard shakily.

The sapphire was a dense, dark blue, virtually the same colour as her
own eyes, she recognised in surprise as she studied it.

"I can't wear it.  Guard," she protested huskily.

"It's ... it's far too valuable."

"You must wear it," Guard contradicted her firmly.

"It's what people will expect look for."

Had he chosen the sapphire deliberately?  Rosy found herself
wondering.

Or had it simply been a random decision, made in haste and irritation,
the connection between the colour of the stone and her eyes unnoticed
by him?

"Here... give me your hand."

Reluctantly, Rosy did so, tensing slightly as he removed the ring from
its box and slid it firmly down over her ring finger.

"It's ... it's very beautiful," she told Guard politely.

"Thank you."

"Is that the best you can do?  You sound like a child thanking an adult
for some extra pocket money.  It is customary to thank one's
prospective bridegroom in a rather more intimate fashion for such a
gift."

His glance dropped to her mouth as he spoke, and Rosy was irritated by
the wave of selfconsciousness that swept over her.  He was doing it
deliberately, of course.  Well, she'd show him.  Gritting her teeth,
she lifted her face obediently towards his, instinctively closing her
eyes as she waited.  and waited.

When nothing happened, she opened her eyes and glared angrily at
Guard.

"If that's the best you can do, then the more of this marriage of ours
that's conducted out of public view, the better," Guard told her
cynically.

"For your information, my dear Rosy, a newly engaged, supposedly
ecstatically in love woman does not screw up her face and react to the
thought of being kissed by her fiance as though she's been told she has
to take a dose of medicine."

"But we aren't ecstatically in love," Rosy're minded him crossly.

"And for all the reasons I've already been through with you, it is
extremely important that no one else other than us knows that," Guard
pointed out.

"Edward isn't a fool.  Rosy," he warned her.

"If he thinks he's got the slightest chance of disputing your claim to
this place, he's going to take it."

"So what am I supposed to do?"  Rosy demanded defensively.

"Take lessons in how to kiss a man as though I love him when I don't?
No, thanks, I don't need them," she snapped.

"No?  That's not the impression I got.  A kiss between two committed
lovers is nothing like the jumbled, bungled efforts you've obviously
experienced," Guard told her.

Rosy glared furiously back at him, caught between anger and
embarrassment.  She wanted to tell Guard that she knew exactly what it
felt like to exchange wildly passionate kisses with a man she wanted,
but she was uncomfortably aware that it simply wasn't true.

The kisses and the men she had known so far had all left her
depressingly unmoved.

"I'm not an actress.  Guard," she told him more cautiously instead.

"I

can't manufacture passion to order.  "

"No?"  Guard commented softly.

"Then perhaps it's time you learned."

He was still holding her hand; holding her hand and standing so close
to her that all he had to do to close the gap between them was simply
to take a single step towards her.

Rosy tensed as she waited for him to imprison her in his arms, knowing
he was far too strong for her to be able to break free; but instead he
slowly lifted his free hand and gently brushed her hair back off her
face.

"This is how a man deeply in love touches a woman, Rosy," he told her
quietly.

"She seems so vulnerable, so delicate, so precious to him that he's
half afraid to touch her, half afraid that the merest sensation of her
skin against his fingertips will ignite a passion within him that he
simply cannot control.  He wants her... her wants her desperately and
overpoweringly, and yet at the same time he wants to go oh, so slowly
with her, to savour and hold on to every millisecond of contact with
her.

"He is caught between those twin needs his hunger for her, his urgent
desire to possess and devour her, and his desire to worship her, to
give her all the pleasure he can... all the pleasure there is.  And so
he touches her skin, gently and perhaps even a little unsteadily and,
as he does so, he looks into her eyes, wanting to see in them that his
passion, his need, his love are reciprocated, wanting to see that she
knows and understands how great the strain of his self-imposed
self-control is.

"If she does return his feelings, she, too, will reach out and touch
him."

Mesmerised by the soft timbre of Guard's words.  Rosy didn't even blink
as he lifted her left hand to his jaw.

Freed momentarily from the hypnotism of his eyes, she flinched a little
beneath the sharp quiver of unexpected sensation that ran through her
body as her fingertips touched the slight roughness of Guard's jaw.

He had turned his head away from her and she gasped out aloud as she
felt his lips caressing the soft centre of her palm and then the inside
of her wrist where her pulse was beating so fast that its frantic race
was making her feel quite dizzy.

"A man in love will take his time in reaching his ultimate target,"
Guard was telling her softly.

"He'll kiss her throat, her ears..."

Rosy trembled as she felt the soft brush of Guard's mouth against her
skin.

"But all the time what he really wants..."

Rosy tensed as she felt the warmth of Guard's breath moving across her
face.  Her mouth had gone apprehensively dry, her lips parting a little
in her need to draw extra air into her lungs.

"Her mouth will draw him like a magnet... lure him, make him ache from
head to foot in his need to taste its velvet softness to taste her, to
possess her in what is in reality a sensual preparation and stimulant,
a taste of what is to come when they enjoy a far more intimate
exploration of one an other.

"When a man in love kisses a woman's mouth and explores the taste of
her already, in his mind, in his body, he is imagining anticipating the
far more intimate taste of her."

Rosy shivered.  She was drowning in a flood of consuming heat caused by
what she told herself was fury and embarrassment at what Guard was
doing.  saying to her.

She could feel the warmth of his breath against her lips, the heat of
his palm against her scalp be neath her hair as he supported her head
with one hand; the other was slowly caressing her back, stroking
dangerously along her spine.

"He kisses her gently at first," Guard told her.

"Like this..."

The pressure of his mouth against hers, so light that it was barely
there at all, should surely not be having such a traumatic effect on
her, Rosy fretted anxiously.  It was sheer instinct, her desire to get
what was, after all, an extremely uncomfortable and embarrassing
episode well and truly behind her, that was making her want to press
her mouth more urgently against Guard's.

"And then, as his need for her overwhelms him, like this..."

Rosy gasped in protest as the pressure of Guard's mouth on hers changed
and hardened so quickly and devastatingly that shock paralysed her.

So this, then, was the way a man kissed, the way his mouth moved with
hard urgency on yours, Rosy thought dizzily, the way the embrace
involved not just the pressure of his mouth on your own but the whole
of his body.  and the whole of yours as well.

She was trembling.  Rosy recognised, trembling helplessly, overwhelmed
by her awareness of the vast gulf which lay between Guard's sexual
experience and her own.

And the shock of that knowledge was somehow like a physical pain,
aching through her body, making her eyes sting with sharp tears.

When the pressure of Guard's mouth against her own eased, she felt
almost sick with relief, until she realised that he wasn't going to
release her at all that he was "Open your mouth.  Rosy," he instructed
her.

"Only children kiss with their mouths closed, or didn't you know
that?"

"Of course I know," she snapped indignantly, stiffening in outrage as
Guard refused to let her continue, covering her mouth with his own,
drawing the breath from her as he demonstrated what he had just been
telling her.

Rosy had exchanged such kisses with boys be fore, exchanged them and
felt mildly saddened be cause she was not feeling the almost mystical
in tense passion and sense of intimacy she had expected to feel.

But with Guard it was different.  With Guard.  She could feel herself
starting to tremble convulsively as her body registered its awareness
of what was happening.

Confused, bewildered thoughts tumbled head long through her brain as
she tried to comprehend why it was that Guard's mouth.  Guard's kiss
Guard's manufactured and totally fictitious passion should have the
power to deceive her senses into believing.  wanting.  With a small,
frantic cry, she jerked back from him.  She had never seen Guard's eyes
look so .  so.  She flinched as he reached out and touched her bottom
lip with his thumb, demanding raggedly, "Don't..."

"Turn round," Guard told her.

Unwillingly she did so.

"Now look in the mirror."

Guard was standing behind her, his hands resting lightly on her
shoulders, his face unreadable as Rosy focused unwillingly on their
reflections.

"When a woman's been thoroughly kissed... properly kissed," Guard told
her quietly, 'it shows here.  "

Rosy tensed as he reached out and touched the swollen fullness of her
mouth, her eyes immediately darkening in response to his touch.

"And if she's particularly sensitive and responsive," Guard continued
calmly, 'it even shows here as well.  "

The clinical detachment with which he so accurately traced a circle
around the areola of her nipple took Rosy's breath away so completely
that she was unable to utter any kind of protest.

Because of her thick sweater it was impossible for him to see--to
know--how her nipples had swelled and hardened when he kissed her.

Totally and completely impossible.

And there was certainly nothing in his clinical detachment to suggest
that he did know.  Rosy reflected with feverish relief as he released
her and stood back from her.

Even so, she could still feel the hot, selfconscious colour sweeping up
over her body despite her efforts to suppress it.

She struggled to think of something to say-some throw-away, casual
remark to make--but her brain refused to supply one, her thought
processes reduced to a thick, immobilising, treacle-like sludge.

As Guard turned away from her to walk towards the door, she found
herself wondering silently how many women there had been in his life
who had generated the reality of the passion he had manufactured to
show her.

As he reached the door, he turned back towards her, warning her, "It's
too late to change your mind now.  Rosy."

CHAPTER FOUR

'you're doing what?  "

There was no mistaking the shock nor the anger in Ralph's voice.  Rosy
recognised unhappily.

It had taken her over a week to bring herself to the point of telling
Ralph about her marriage.  Not because she had anticipated his
reaction--she hadn't--but because she had been afraid that he would
guess the truth.

Peter, as well as Guard, had warned her of the dangerous position she
could put herself in if people started suspecting that her marriage was
simply a ploy to keep the house.

"You and I may know how altruistic your motives are," Peter had told
her, 'but others may not.  "

"Guard says that Edward could bring a case for fraud against us," Rosy
had told him.

"Is that true?"

"It's a possibility," Peter had agreed cautiously.

"But he would have to have strong, almost irrefutable proof that the
marriage was sham in order to do that.  To be able to prove, for
instance, that there was quite definitely no possibility of the
marriage producing a child..."

"But there isn't," Rosy had told him quickly.

"You know '/ know, you know and Guard knows," Peter had anticipated
her, 'but no one else knows nor must anyone else know.  "

And so Rosy had put off telling Ralph about her marriage, afraid that
she might not be able to play her role of deliriously-in-love
bride-to-be adequately enough to deceive him.

In the end, though, it wasn't her lack of love for Guard he had
questioned, but Guard's for her.

"For God's sake, Rosy, don't you see what he's after?"  Ralph
demanded.

"He wants the one thing that he knows his money has never and will
never be able to buy."

"You mean me?"  Rosy quipped.

"No, I don't.  I mean Queen's Meadow," Ralph told her grimly.

"It's no secret that he's always wanted the house.  Your grandfather
refused to sell it to him."

"Guard and I love each other, Ralph," Rosy interrupted him,
superstitiously crossing her fingers in the folds of her skirt as she
did so, glad that Ralph was looking directly at her as she told the
lie.

"Oh, Rosy ... can't you see?  Men like Guard don't fall in love with He
broke off, his thin, slightly foxy face flushing slightly.

"Look, I don't want to hurt you.  Rosy.

You're an attractive girl a very attractive girl but in terms of.  of
experience, you and Guard might almost have come from different
planets.

"You've seen here at the shelter the havoc that unbalanced
relationships can cause, the pain that comes from an unequal
relationship.  Can you honestly tell me that you and Guard are equals
in every way; that you and he...?"

"We're in love, Ralph," Rosy repeated.

"And " And he'll teach you everything you need to know.  Both in bed
and out of it.  Rubbish," Ralph told her.

"If you really, honestly believe that, then you're not the person I
took you for.  Sure, he'll enjoy playing with you for a few weeks a few
months possibly but after that... Don't go through with it.  Rosy.  You
don't need to marry him.

You "Yes, I do."

The quiet, sad admission was made before Rosy could help herself, the
words spoken so softly under her breath that Ralph couldn't hear
them.

She looked up as the office door burst open and a woman, accompanied by
two small children, came rushing in demanding to speak to Ralph, Liz
Phillips was one of their regulars at the shelter, periodically leaving
her violent husband, announcing that there was no power on earth that
could ever make her go back again, only to do exactly that within weeks
of having left him.

"She must love him so much," Rosy had commented innocently when she had
first started working at the shelter.

"Yeah, like an alcoholic loves his drink, an addict his next fix;

she's addicted to him, to the violence of their relationship," Ralph
had told her grimly.

"A part of her needs and craves what she sees as the excitement and
uncertainty of their relationship.  But for every Liz Phillips we get
here, we get a hundred women who do genuinely want to break away from
their relationship and start again, who need us to help them to make
that break."

"How do you recognise the difference?"  Rosy had asked in
bewilderment.

"With experience," Ralph had told her shortly.

"Like everything else."

Then, she had thought that Ralph was being unfairly hard.  Now she knew
better but, for once, as she finished her work, it was not the concerns
of the shelter and its inmates that were absorbing her, but her own
worries.

Guard had not looked too pleased when she had told him she wanted to
invite Ralph to their wedding, but Rosy had remained adamant that she
wanted him there.

Peter was giving her away.  Guard had drafted a notice to be put in the
Press, announcing their marriage only a handful of people had been
invited to the actual ceremony.

The ceremony.  In two days' time she and Guard would be married.

Husband and wife.  It was a situation her imagination could still not
encompass.  She and Guard.  husband and wife.  Mr.  and Mrs.  She and
Guard participating in a deception which, if it was ever discovered.
Did all brides feel like this?  Rosy wondered nervously as the car
stopped outside the church and Peter got out.  Or were her hands
icy-cold, her mind and emotions frozen and numb simply because of the
circumstances surrounding her particular marriage?

This morning, putting on her wedding-dress, standing stiffly in front
of the mirror while Mrs.  Frinton fussed over her, fastening the
hundred and one tiny satin-covered buttons that ran from the nape of
her neck right down under the bustle and bow that ornamented the back
of her dress, she had felt such anguish and guilt, such pain, that she
had been tempted to tear off the dress and simply walk away.
disappear.

But then Peter had arrived and with him the flowers Guard had sent her,
and events had developed a momentum it was impossible for her to
resist.

And now here she was, walking into the lofty parish church, past the
stained-glass window do G nated by one of her ancestors.  The ivory
satin of the wedding-dress, which had been her mother's and was a Dior
original into which she had still had to squeeze herself despite the
weight she had lost this last week so tiny had been her mother's waist,
still had, clinging to its folds, a faint hint of the perfume Rosy
could remember her mother wearing.  Wearing it made her feel as though
she was carrying a little of her mother with her.

That knowledge brought hot tears to her eyes which she fiercely blinked
back.

The veil, once white but now ivory with age, had been her
great-grandmother's.  In wearing garments which had originally been
worn with love, she felt as though she were somehow compensating for
the lack of emotion in her own marriage.

Marriage.  It wasn't a marriage, she reminded herself starkly.  It was
a business arrangement, that was all.  A contract.  The church felt
cold, the stone slabs beneath her feet striking icy-cold through the
thin soles of her shoes.

The church was bleakly empty, only the first two pews filled.  Someone,
Guard presumably, had arranged for the hugely extravagant cream and
white floral decorations which warmed the cold, austere dimness of the
building.

As she saw Guard for the first time Rosy's foot steps faltered slightly
and, even though he could not possibly have heard the soft, distressed
sound she suppressed, he turned round.

He looked so remote and distant.  It seemed impossible to imagine that
she was actually marrying him.  Rosy shivered, glad of the protection
of her veil to hide her expression from him.

"Edward's watching you," Peter warned her.

"Smile."

Edward.  Rosy hadn't even realised he was in church, but now she could
see him, and with him his wife and his sons--two pale, subdued copies
of their mother, hair slicked back, school uniforms on.  Rosy flinched
slightly as she looked hurriedly away from the taller of the pair.

By her marriage to Guard she was depriving him of his opportunity to
inherit Queen's Meadow.  Only, if Edward inherited, there would no
longer be a Queen's Meadow for him to inherit.

She clung to that knowledge for comfort as she finally reached Guard's
side.

The raucous, inappropriately joyful peal of the bells was making her
feel sick.  Rosy acknowledged as she blinked in the sharp clarity of
the sunlight.  Or was it the shock of that moment when Guard had thrown
back her veil and looked so deeply into her eyes as the vicar
pronounced them husband and wife that, for a fraction of time, even she
had almost been deceived that the emotion, the intensity, the passion
which had darkened his eyes as he looked into hers had been real.

There were people milling all around her.  Where had they come from?

Dizzily she recognised some of the women from the shelter, people who
had known her father and grandfather, all of them smiling, laughing,
making teasing comments about the suddenness of her marriage.  All of
them apart from Edward.

Rosy tensed as she saw the malevolence in his eyes.

She had always known he didn't like her, but it had never worried
her.

She did not like him, but now she recognised his dislike was different.
Now she was standing between him and what he coveted, what he had
assumed would be his.

A small shiver ran over her.

"What is it, what's wrong?"

Rosy tensed in surprise at Guard's question.  She hadn't expected him
to notice her small, betraying fris son of apprehension.  He had
appeared to be deep in conversation with Peter, too deeply involved to
be aware of her.

"Nothing," she told him guardedly, aware that Edward was still watching
her, watching them both.

"That's a beautiful dress," someone commented to her.

"Thank you.  It was my mother's," she responded absently.

"I thought I recognised it."

That was Guard, catching her unaware for a second time, making her
mouth open in a small '0' of astonishment as she turned to face him.

"Your father had a photograph of her wearing it on his desk," Guard
reminded her.

"It suits you.  The colour complements your skin.  It has the same warm
tint..."

He reached out and brushed his fingers lightly against her throat as he
spoke.

"Edward's watching us," Rosy warned him in a small, stifled voice.

"Yes.  I know."

"Do you think he suspects?"  Rosy asked him nervously.

"If he does, this should stop him," Guard assured her.

"This...?"  Rosy looked up at him questioningly and then went still as
she recognised the slow accomplished movements of his body, performed
like some magical sleight of hand so that, to their onlookers, it must
seem as though the way he took her in his arms, the way he held and
kissed her, were the actions of a man so deeply in love with his bride
that not even their discreetly curious observation could prevent him
from exhibiting his feelings.

Unexpectedly, behind her closed eyelids, she could feel the hot burn of
tears.

This was no time to go stupidly sentimental, she warned herself
shakily.  No time to compare the emotions her mother must have felt
when she wore this dress to her own "Oh, I think it's all so romantic,"
Edward's wife sighed enviously, as Guard released Rosy.

"It's just such a shame that your father..."

"John knew how I feel about Rosy," Rosy heard Guard saying calmly.

He certainly had.  Rosy acknowledged, but not in the way that Guard was
implying.  She could well remember her father once making an idle and
half-envious comment about Guard being able to have any woman he
wanted.

Rosy had been just seventeen then and she had reacted accordingly.

"He couldn't have me," she had told her father challengingly.

Her father had laughed.

"You aren't a woman yet, poppet, and I doubt very much that Guard would
want you anyway.  He knows you far too well... what a little shrew you
can be at times..."

"Where are you going for your honeymoon?  Or aren't we allowed to
ask?"

Rosy heard Edward enquiring

"We aren't," Guard replied for her.

"At least not yet.  I have a meeting in Brussels in two days' time
which I couldn't put off.  Rosy and I fly out there tomorrow
morning."

They flew out there?  Rosy stared at him, but Guard was looking in the
opposite direction, answering some comment that the vicar's wife had
made to him, and Rosy had to wait until they were alone in the bridal
car to ask him uneasily, "Why did you tell Edward that we're both going
to Brussels?  He's bound to suspect something if he discovers that I
haven't gone."

She whispered the question, even though the glass panel between them
and the driver was closed.  That was what deceit did to you, she
recognised mournfully.  It made you cautious.  wary guilty.

"There won't be anything for him to discover," Guard told her
promptly.

"I meant what I said."

"You mean you're expecting me to go to Brussels with you without even
asking me?"  Rosy demanded indignantly.

"But I can't I'm supposed to be working at the shelter..."

"Don't be ridiculous.  Rosy," Guard told her dampeningly.

"Dedicated though he is, Ralph is hardly likely to expect you to go
back to work quite so quickly."

"But I want to," Rosy told him aggressively.

"If you do, you'll be putting us both at risk," Guard warned her.

"It takes more than a church service to make a marriage.  Rosy."

Angrily, Rosy turned her head away from him.  She knew full well what
it took to make a marriage but their marriage wasn't going to include
that particular ingredient, and Guard knew it.

"It takes," Guard continued calmly, 'a degree of intimacy which most
couples develop in bed, but which you and I will have to find another
way to manufacture.  We need some time on our own to establish
ourselves in our new roles.  Rosy.  "

When she didn't respond, he continued inexorably, "You were the one who
wanted this marriage " To save the house," Rosy interrupted him
angrily.

"Not because..."

In her heart of hearts she knew that Guard was right that the
awkwardness she felt when she was with him was bound to betray her, but
the last thing she wanted to do was to spend time on her own with him.
In her view, that would only exacerbate the problem, not solve it.

"I don't want to go away with you.  Guard," she told him dangerously
now.

"I don't want to come back and have people looking at us... speculating
imagining believing..."

"What?"  he challenged her, his eyebrows lifting.

"You know what," Rosy muttered, avoiding looking directly at him.

"Thinking that we've been to bed together?  Most of them assume that
we've already done that.  Imagining that we've spent the whole of the
time we've been away making love... that my supposed business meeting
is just a fiction and that in reality the hours I should have spent
seated behind some boardroom table have been spent exploring every inch
of your body, stroking and caressing it until I know every contour of
it, every hollow and curve."

Out of the corner of her eye Rosy could see the way his glance was
lingering on her breasts and immediately the hot, agitated colour
flared in her face.

"Such embarrassment," Guard mocked her.

"You'd burn with that colour from the tip of your toes to the top of
your head if I told you exactly what I'd expect and want the woman I
loved to do to my body the first time we went to bed together," Guard
told her outrageously.

"Have you ever even seen a naked man.  Rosy?  Never mind--' " Of course
I have," she lied hotly, interrupting him.

"I realise how much you like making fun of me.  Guard," she added with
angry dignity.

"Yes, I do get... embarrassed when you talk about such-such intimate
things.  And no, my experience doesn't come anywhere near matching
yours but, contrary to what you seem to believe, I prefer to be the way
I am.  Anyone can get sexual experience," she added, gathering
confidence when he didn't make any attempt to interrupt her or mock
her.

"And just because I choose not to do so " Just as a matter of interest,
Rosy, why have you chosen not to do so?  "

"You know why," Rosy told him huskily.

"Because you're saving yourself for the man of your dreams," Guard
mocked her.

"What happens if you never meet him, Rosy?  Have you ever asked
yourself that?"  Guard demanded with such unexpected savagery in his
voice that his anger shocked her.

CHAPTER FIVE

'but this isn't a hotel," Rosy protested as Guard swung their hired car
up the drive and stopped in front of the entrance to an impressive,
stone-built chateau.

Ever since Guard had made his announcement that she was going to
Brussels with him Rosy had protested and argued that she didn't want
to, but it hadn't made any difference.

"And what am I supposed to do," she had exploded angrily, 'while you're
in your meetings?  "

"You've never struck me as a person so uninterested in her fellow human
beings that she suffers from boredom.  Rosy, far from it..."

Rosy had glared suspiciously at him.  Compliments from Guard?  He must
have some ulterior motive, and she suspected she knew quite well what
it was.  She wasn't a complete fool.

"I'm not going with you.  Guard," she had told him.

"I don't want to go with you."

But, somehow or other, all her protests had been overruled and now here
she was, glaring frustratediy at Guard's profile, thoroughly incensed
by his ability to remain calm when all her emotions were a seething
mass of churning chaos.

She wasn't used to being married; she wasn't used to having a husband,
to being part of a pair .  a couple, and she resented Guard's apparent
assumption that he should be the one to decide what they should and
should not do what she should and should not do.

"No, it isn't a hotel," he responded calmly now.

"It's a private home.

Madame, the chat elaine is French and, rather than sell the property
after her husband's death, she decided to supplement her in come by
taking in paying guests.  Like most Frenchwomen, she is not just an
excellent cook, but a first-rate hostess and extremely skilled in the
art of making one comfortable.  "

Rosy frowned.  Something in Guard's voice when he spoke about the owner
of the chateau irked her a little.  Without his having described her in
any detail.  Rosy immediately had a mental image of one of those
elegant, ageless Frenchwomen whom she, personally, had always found
particularly intimidating.

"But you said you had business in Brussels," she objected.

"This place is miles away."

"A little over two hours' drive," Guard told her.

"That's all.  And staying here gives me an excuse not to get involved
in the Brussels political scene, which can be as pedantic as the people
involved in it.  I thought you'd like it here.  You've always said you
prefer the country to the city."

Rosy looked away from him.  It was true that she did prefer the
country, and normally she would probably have enjoyed such a trip, but
normally she would not have been making it with Guard-as his wife.

Guard was already climbing out of the car and going round to open her
door.

Unwillingly, she had exchanged her normal favourite wear of leggings
and a comfortable top for a long jersey skirt with a matching
waistcoat.  Beneath it she was wearing a soft, cream shirt.  The outfit
had a matching knitted jacket which she had brought with her just in
case she felt cold.

She had worn the outfit knowing that it wasn't likely to crease, a fact
of which she was uncharacteristically glad as the door of the chateau
opened and Guard's Frenchwoman appeared.

Predictably, she was dressed in black--a wool, crepe skirt which Rosy
suspected must have come from one of the couture houses, teamed with a
plain satin shirt and a cashmere knit draped flatteringly round her
shoulders.  The pearls gleaming at her throat--all three rich ropes of
them--had to be real, just like the diamonds on her fingers and in her
ears, but it wasn't her elegance that struck Rosy as she reluctantly
fell into step beside Guard, it was her age, or rather her lack of
it.

The woman was not, as she had expected, some where in her late fifties
or early sixties, but far closer to forty closer, in fact, to Guard in
age than she was herself.  Rosy recognised.

Quite why that knowledge should cause her to feel so hostile towards
Madame, she had no idea, but that she was not alone in that feeling
became quite clear.

Madame turned to Guard, totally ignoring Rosy, to say coolly to him,
"Oh, I hadn't realised that you would be bringing a ... friend with
you."

"Rosy is my wife," Guard explained firmly, drawing Rosy forward and
introducing her.

Friend or wife, it plainly made no difference as far as Madame was
concerned; she was obviously not pleased about Rosy's presence.

"I had put you in your normal suite," she told Guard, somehow or other
managing to stand in between them so that she was facing Guard but had
her back to her.  Rosy observed, as she listened to the Frenchwoman
speaking to Guard in her own tongue.

Rosy's own French was extremely fluent.  She had a gift for languages
which had been fostered during the years her father had been stationed
in Germany.  Her French was, in fact, far more fluent than Guard's.

"However, if you should prefer another room..."  Madame was saying.

Another room.  Rosy's heart thumped uncomfortably.

She had assumed that they would be staying in Brussels in a large,
anonymous hotel and that they would, as a matter of course, have
separate rooms.  After all, Guard could have as little desire to share
the intimacy of a bedroom as she did.

"No, my usual suite will be fine," Guard was assuring their hostess.

The large, draughty hallway of the chateau made Rosy glad of her long
skirt.

Queen's Meadow was kept relatively warm by its low ceilings and thick
panelling, but this place, with its lofty rooms and bare stone walls,
must be a nightmare to heat.  Rosy reflected as Madame preceded them up
the stone staircase.

Its carpet, although well-worn, was decorated with what Rosy presumed
were the arms of her late husband's family.  Rosy paused to examine
them more closely, wondering if she was correct in interpreting that
the bend sinister in one quarter of it with the fleur-de-lys meant that
at some point in history one of the chateau's chatelaines had been a
Royal mistress and had borne her lover a son.

Up ahead of her, Madame was walking side by side with Guard, saying
something in French about regretting the fact that his wife's presence
meant that they would not have their normal teteatete dinner
together.

Guard's urbane and English, "No, I'm afraid not, but I'm sure that Rosy
will thoroughly enjoy sampling your wonderful culinary skills," made
Rosy glower at him.  There was surely no need for him to practise his
role of supposedly loving husband here.

It was on the tip of her tongue to say that, as far as she was
concerned, he and Madame could enjoy as many tete-a-tetes as they
wished, but in stead she suppressed the impulse, contenting her self
with a less-than-warm smile in Madame's direction and telling her in
her own fluent French that she was indeed thoroughly looking forward to
such a treat.

Apart from a narrow-eyed look and a faint pursing of her artfully
carmined mouth, Madame made no comment.  But she was no longer talking
to Guard in French, Rosy noticed, as the older woman walked them along
a corridor, stopping outside a heavy, wooden door.

"I trust everything will be to your liking," she told Rosy formally and
without conviction.

This time it was Rosy's turn to be distantly un responsive.

As the woman left them the thought crossed her mind that the
relationship between her and Guard could have been far more intimate
than that of hostess and guest but, oddly for her, it was a suspicion
that she didn't voice.

Her impetuosity had always been something of a joke in the family, and
she was ruefully aware that she did have a tendency to speak before she
thought, but when it came to Guard's personal life, and his sexual
experience, it wasn't just reticence that held her back.

Just thinking about Guard and sex made her stomach clench nervously and
her body grow hot and wary.  There was, she admitted, something simply
far too dangerous about the whole subject for her to risk making any
kind of unguarded comment about it, to risk giving Guard the
opportunity to taunt her about her own comparative innocence and
ignorance.

And yet with other men she felt no such discomfort quite the opposite.
As she walked past Guard and into the suite's sitting-room she was
immediately aware of the scent of Madame perfume, lingering on the air.
Silently, she studied her surroundings the gilt wood furniture, the
hugely ornate gilded mirror above the fireplace, the rococo work and
the silk wall-hangings in a pale green moire that seemed to shimmer
with a life of its own.

Vases of white, waxy lilies added to the room's elegance; it would have
been easy to find such a setting quite intimidating.  Rosy recognised
as she frowned down at the faded Aubusson rug on the floor.

"I normally use this bedroom," she heard Guard saying from behind her
as he opened one of the two doors leading out of the room.

"It has an adjoining bathroom; the other one does not, but if you'd
prefer..."

What she'd prefer would be to be at home, on her own.  Rosy recognised
grimly, as Guard well knew.

"I don't care," she told him dismissively and then couldn't resist
adding, "Hadn't you better have the one with the bathroom?  After all,
I'm sure Madame will expect you to be properly groomed before you join
her for your usual teteatete."

"Jealous?"

The soft taunt, so unexpected and so impossible, shocked her into
silence.

Jealous.  How could she be?  Guard meant nothing to her.  The only
emotions that existed between them were a dismissive contempt for her
on his part, and an impotent antagonism towards him on hers.

Jealous.  It was impossible, unthinkable, and Guard knew it.  So why
had he said it?

She shook her head, unable to bring herself to make the denial.  Why
should she when there was nothing to deny?

Instead, she turned her head away from him and reminded him fiercely,
"I didn't want to come here, Guard."

"Maybe not, but you are here.  We are here, and while we're here--' As
she started to walk away from him, he moved towards her, barring her
way to the bedroom door.

"Look at me.  Rosy," he commanded.

"You aren't a child any more, to be indulged by being allowed to walk
away from an argument to save face when you know you can't win it."

"An argument?"  Rosy gave him a bitter look.

"When has anyone ever been allowed to argue with you.  Guard?  I
thought you were omnipotent--all seeing all-knowing.  So... go on...
While we're here, what?  I can sit like an obedient child playing
gooseberry whilst you and Madame--' " There is nothing between Madame
la Comtesse and me," Guard told her grimly, emphasising the older
woman's title.

"Maybe not, but she would like there to be," Rosy guessed
intuitively.

"I repeat, there is nothing between us," Guard continued, ignoring
Rosy's comment.

"But even if there were..."

"It would be none of my business," Rosy supplied sarcastically.

"Perhaps not," Guard agreed levelly.

"But that was not what I was going to say.  What I was going to say.
Rosy, was that you should at least try to put your antagonism towards
me to one side occasionally and apply the laws of logic and ration G
ality, instead of giving way to those overimaginative emotions of
yours.

"The reason I insisted that you come with me on this trip was to give
us both time to adjust to our new... status.  To have done that and
then brought you into the presence of my lover would hardly make much
sense, would it?

"The time to worry, my dear, is not when I insist on your accompanying
me on business trips, but when I start making excuses not to take
you."

For some reason he was smiling, a fact which infuriated Rosy so much
that she could feel her face starting to burn with angry colour.

"So much passion and so little outlet for it," Guard mocked her,
touching one hot cheek with a cool fingertip.

"Stop patronising me.  Guard," Rosy demanded heatedly.

"I'm not a child."

"No?"  The smile disappeared, to be replaced by an assessingly level
look.

"If only that were true."

"No, thank you.  No more wine for me," Rosy refused, shaking her head
and valiantly trying to suppress a yawn.

Guard had not exaggerated Madame's culinary talents, but Rosy had not
really enjoyed the meal.  The way Madame had deliberately excluded her
from the conversation and concentrated exclusively on Guard had at
first amused and then later irked her.

To be fair, she had to admit that Guard had done his best to reverse
Madame's bad manners, making a point of bringing Rosy into their
discussions, but Rosy had grown tired of the game and longed to make
her excuses and escape to her bed.

"In fact, if you don't mind, I think I'll go to bed," she added
quietly, standing up before Guard could say anything and formally
thanking their hostess, and complimenting her on the meal.

Guard's quiet and totally unexpected, "I think I'll come with you,"
shocked her into protesting.

"No, you stay here."  But Guard was already slip ping his hand under
her elbow and adding his thanks to hers as he walked with her to the
door.

"You didn't have to do that," Rosy snapped once they were in the
hallway.

"You could have stayed."

"What, and leave my new bride on her own?"  Guard drawled mockingly.

Rosy glowered at him, compressing her lips.

"There's no need to be so sarcastic," she told him crossly.

"I'm not a complete fool.  Guard.  I know quite well that you When she
stopped, he prompted, " That I what?  " But Rosy refused to be drawn,
shaking her head.  What was the point in saying what they both knew?
That she was the last person that Guard would want to marry and the
last person to want to marry himi " I don't know why you brought me
here," she repeated untruthfully, her temper suddenly exploding.

"What am / supposed to do with myself while you're in Brussels.  Ask
Madame to give me some cooking tips?"

"You won't be staying here," Guard told her promptly.

"You're coming with me."

"What?"  Rosy stared at him.

"I think you'll find Monsieur Dubois rather interesting and, since he
doesn't speak English and my French is rather on the pedestrian side,
I'd certainly appreciate your assistance."

What did Guard mean?  She'd find Monsieur Dubois interesting?  Guard's
business involved providing extremely detailed and complex computer
programs, a subject about which Rosy knew very little, as Guard well
knew.

"Monsieur Dubois is a keen environmentalist," Guard continued,
correctly reading her mind.

"He is the spokesperson for a very influential group lobbying the EEC
for better and tighter controls over the destruction of the natural
vegetation of the countryside and, since that's something I know you
take a keen interest in, you should have a lot in common."

It was so unlike Guard to make a comment to her that did not include
mockery of one sort or another that for once Rosy could think of
nothing to say.

"And, of course, having you to translate for me will save me the cost
of hiring an interpreter," Guard added.

Rosy flashed him an indignant look.  Just for a second she had almost
been deceived into thinking that for once he was treating her as an
equal, an adult.  She was so irritated that she was almost tempted to
refuse to go with him, but the alternative of staying at the chateau
was not an appealing one.

"I've got some notes I need to read up," Guard told her as he unlocked
their suite door, 'so if you want to use the bathroom first.  "

Rosy knew she ought to feel grateful to him for his tact, but instead
she felt ruffled and awkward, like a child sent to bed to be out of the
way of the adults.  Was Guard's claim that he wanted to do some work
simply a ruse to get rid of her so that he could go back downstairs to
rejoin Madame?

If Guard wanted to be with the Frenchwoman, then he had no need to lie
to her.  Rosy decided angrily.  He was a perfectly free agent in that
respect they both were.

So why did the thought of Guard and Madame, their dark heads close
together while Madame's scarlet, pouting mouth whispered in Guard's
ear, cause her such an uncomfortable and unpleasant sensation in the
pit of her stomach?

Its cause.  Rosy decided, thoroughly disgruntled, was surely not so
much an emotional reaction to the thought of Madame's over painted full
red mouth against Guard's ear, but rather a physical reaction to the
reality of Madame's over-rich food in her stomach!

When she had first agreed with Peter to try to save the house she had
not fully realised exactly what she was letting herself in for, she
admitted bleakly as she undressed and stepped into the huge,
claw-footed bath.  The last couple of weeks had been far more stressful
than she had expected than she wanted to admit.

There had been a moment at the wedding break fast when she had looked
at the familiar faces around her and suddenly and sharply ached for the
comforting and familiar presence of her father and grandfather.

Mortified by her own weakness and the tears which had filled her eyes
and choked her throat, she had quickly bent her head over her plate,
hoping that no one had noticed.  Guard had been safely engaged in
conversation with Edward's wife, or so she had thought, which had made
it even more humiliating when he had pushed a large, clean handkerchief
into her hand and told her quietly, "I miss them too, Rosy.  That at
least is something that we do share."

Unexpectedly, tears filled her eyes now.  Crossly she blinked them
away.  What was the matter with her these days?  She had never been the
crying type.

Madame might be generous with her food, but she was mean with her hot
water.  Rosy decided as she washed herself quickly and jumped out of
the bath, wrapping herself in a thick, white towel and then rubbing her
body briskly with it as much to banish her too-intrusive memories as to
dry her skin.

As she pulled on her cotton T-shirt, with its car toon drawings on the
front, she grimaced at her reflection in the bathroom mirror.

No one seeing her now would ever be deceived into believing she was a
rapturously happy bride, she acknowledged.

When and if Guard did marry, she doubted that it would be to a woman a
girl who wore cotton T-shirts to bed and plain white underwear.  She
doubted that Madame, for instance, even possessed such garments.

Picking up her discarded clothes, she headed for the bedroom, calling
out as she entered it, "Guard, I've finished in the bathroom now."

Silence.  Had he heard her?  She frowned, nibbling at her bottom lip as
she stared at the closed bedroom door, glancing uncertainly from it to
the bed and then back again.  The last thing she wanted was to be woken
up by Guard rapping on the door to find out where she was.

Sighing under her breath, she walked over to the door and opened it.

Guard was seated at the desk in front of the window, his head bent over
the papers spread over it.  Rosy watched him for a few, brief seconds. 
It was a very rare experience for her to have the opportunity to study
him unobserved.  He was a very handsome man, a very charismatic man,
she acknowledged with a tiny thud of her heart.  A man most women would
love to be married to.  But she was not one of them, she told herself
hastily.  When she married.  "What's wrong, Rosy?"

The calm question, asked without Guard's lifting his head or looking at
her, made it plain that he was not, as she had imagined, oblivious to
her presence at all.

"If you're going to tell me that you can't sleep without your favourite
teddy bear," he added grimly, 'then I'm afraid.  "

Anger darkened Rosy's eyes.  She hadn't slept with her teddy bear for
years.  Well, not until these last few weeks, when she had felt so
devastated by the double loss of her grandfather and father.

"I came to tell you that the bathroom's free," she informed him with
awful dignity.

"Would you like a nightcap before you go to bed?"

His question took her by surprise, her eyes widening slightly and her
skin flushing as he put down the papers he had been studying and turned
to wards her.

She would like a drink.  Rosy recognised, but she was acutely conscious
of the fact that she was in her nightshirt.

"I I'd better go and get my dressing-gown," she told him
uncomfortably.

"I '

She tensed as he stood up, the dark eyebrows lifting sardonically as he
came towards her.

"That's very considerate of you.  Rosy," he told her sardonically.

"But hardly necessary.  I think I have enough control over my manly
passions not to succumb to a fit of lust at the sight of you in your
nightwear.

After all, it's hardly the most seductive of garments, is it?  Not
exactly bridal.  "

"I suppose when you go to bed you wear silk pyjamas," Rosy defended
herself wildly, remembering reading a book in which the hero had been
thus clad.

"But for your information She stopped abruptly as Guard started
laughing.  She had rarely seen him laugh before and for some reason the
sight and sound of him doing so now caused a hard, sharp pain to pierce
the middle of her chest.

"What is it?  Why are you laughing?"  she demanded suspiciously.

"No, Rosy," Guard told her, shaking his head, mirth lightening his eyes
so that they seemed more amber than their normal formidable eagle-gold,
"I do not wear silk pyjamas.  In fact," he added dulcetly, watching her
closely, "I don't wear anything at all."

Rosy couldn't help it; she could feel herself blushing, a betraying
wave of scarlet colour washing up over her body and engulfing her in
humiliating, self-conscious embarrassment.  Not just because of what
Guard had said, nor even because of his laughter, but because,
unbelievably, un- wantedly and un tenably she had just had the most
appallingly clear mental image of Guard's naked body--a body which, in
that brief, illuminatory vision, had been both arrogantly male and
erotically aroused.  She swallowed hard, too caught up in her own
emotional shock to be aware of the way Guard's amusement had turned to
frowning scrutiny of her suddenly over-pale face and harrowed
expression.

"Go to bed, Rosy," she heard Guard telling her abruptly.

"You've been under a lot of strain recently, and a good night's
sleep--' Suddenly it was all too much for Rosy.

"I'm not a child.  Guard," she told him chokingly.

"I'm a woman, an adult, and it's time you recognised that fact and
treated me as one."

Angrily she blinked away the temper-tears blurring her vision, only to
hear Guard saying warningly to her, "Don't tempt me.  Rosy.  Don't
tempt me."

CHAPTER SIX

' madam E. So Guard has married at last.  I cannot say I blame him,"
Monsieur Dubois told Rosy with warm appreciation in his eyes as he
shook her hand in response to Guard's introductions.

"And so, how long have you been married, my friend?"  he asked Guard in
his careful English.

"Not very long," Guard told him.

"Not very long at all."

"How angry you must be with me, madame," Monsieur Dubois apologised to
Rosy.

"But not so angry as Guard, I suspect.  But he is the only person I
could trust to do this all-important work for us.  It is vital that
when we present our case to the authorities we have all the information
at our fingertips.  These days one doesn't just need knowledge and
eloquence, one must have facts, figures, graphs.  One must be computer
literate or risk the consequences.

"Guard has told you something of our work?"  he asked Rosy, as he
guided them into his large office overlooking the business centre of
the city.

"Something," Rosy agreed, reluctantly admitting to herself that she was
rather enjoying herself.  It felt good to be using her brain, her
linguistic abilities, and it felt even better knowing she had a skill
that Guard could not quite match, she acknowledged ruefully.

As Guard had said.  Monsieur Dubois's English was very limited and many
of the technical terms he used when he started enthusiastically to
explain to her the needs of his organisation were unfamiliar even to
her, although she was quickly able to interpret their meaning.

While Guard was following their conversation, she could see from his
frowns that he was having difficulties.  Without really knowing why,
she found herself gently stopping Monsieur Dubois and then turning to
Guard, quickly explaining to him what was being said, unaware as she
did so of the quiet air of authority and self-assurance in her manner
and voice or the maturity it gave her.

When Monsieur Dubois eventually glanced at his watch and exclaimed over
the length of time he had kept them, Rosy was surprised to discover how
quickly the hours had flown and how much she had enjoyed what she was
doing, despite the fact that she had always claimed to her father and
to Guard that computers and all that went with them were just not her
thing and she was more than happy to keep matters that way.

As they got up to go, Monsieur Dubois turned to Guard and told him, "My
wife and I are giving a small family party this evening.  Nothing of
any great merit, a simple affair to celebrate our elder daughter's
attainment of her degree.  I should be delighted if you could both join
us, but perhaps you have other plans...?"

"None," Guard responded promptly.

"What time would you like us to arrive?"

As soon as they were alone.  Rosy turned to Guard and protested, "I
can't go to a party.  Guard.  I haven't brought anything suitable with
me to wear."

"So?  Brussels is not on another planet," he told her drily.

"It does have shops, some very good ones too, I believe.  Although I
must warn you.  Rosy, Monsieur Dubois is the rather old-fashioned sort
and I suspect that his obviously very high opinion of you would suffer
somewhat were you to dress in something you have liberated from
disinterment.  He would, I suspect, take it rather as an insult if you
turned up at his daughter's party wearing something from a charity
shop."

Rosy turned on him angrily.

"I don't need any lectures from you.  Guard, on what I should and
should not wear," she snapped.  At home in her wardrobe she had two
formal 'little black dresses' bought specifically to wear when she went
out with her father or grandfather to various social events.  She might
prefer the comfort of her leggings or the sumptuous feel of the velvets
and silks she snapped up from sales and markets, but she would not for
the world have upset or embarrassed either of them by wearing something
she knew would make them feel uncomfortable.

Guard, though, was a very different matter.

However, she had liked Monsieur Dubois and had recognised for herself,
without having to be told by Guard, that he was the old-fashioned
sort.

"Unfortunately, I have another meeting this afternoon," Guard told her,
glancing at his watch.

"Otherwise I'd come with you."

"No, thanks," Rosy told him curtly.  The last thing she wanted was to
have Guard standing over her in some dress shop telling her what she
should buy.

"What about lunch?"  Guard asked her.

"I'm not hungry," Rosy lied.  The euphoria and pleasure she had felt
earlier had now gone.  Guard hadn't just made her angry with his
comments about her clothes, he had He had what?  Of fended her?  Hurt
her?  Impossible.  Nothing Guard could say could ever do that.  He
simply didn't have that kind of power over her.

"If you need some money.  Rosy..."  Guard offered but Rosy shook her
head.

"I can afford to pay for my own clothes.  Guard," she told him
fiercely.

"Yes, I know.  You know.  Rosy, when you eventually find this perfect,
wonderful man of yours, I hope you'll try to remember what prehistoric
creatures we males still are in many ways."

"What do you mean?"  Rosy asked him suspiciously.

"I mean that, despite the fact that I cannot think of anything more
abhorrent than the kind of clinging woman who wraps herself around you
with all the stranglehold of a piece of ivy, we men still enjoy the
pleasure of feeling that we can spoil and indulge our woman."

"By rewarding them for good behaviour by buying them something in the
same way that you'd throw a dog a biscuit," Rosy challenged him, her
eyes flashing with contempt and anger.

"The man / love will treat me as his equal.  Guard--in every way.  The
last thing he'd want would be for me to feel beholden to him for
anything.  What we give each other will be given freely."  She broke
off, frowning as she saw the way Guard was looking at her.

"What is it?  What's wrong?"  she asked him uncertainly.

She had never seen him looking at her like that before, never seen him
watching her with such intense concentration.

"Nothing's wrong," he denied harshly.

"But one day.  Rosy, you're going to have to grow up and to learn the
pain that comes with such idealism.  I hope for your sake that, when
you do, there's someone around to pick up the pieces..."

"Just so long as it isn't you," Rosy muttered defiantly under her
breath.  Trust Guard to want to have the last word, to want to put her
down.

It was almost an hour now since Guard had dropped her off in the
shopping quarter of the city, but so far she had seen nothing she
wanted to buy, Rosy admitted as she passed in front of a small boutique
to study the dress in the window.  Of black velvet and silk taffeta, it
had a black velvet bodice with a slightly off-the-shoulder neckline and
long, tight sleeves; the bodice fitted tightly, snugly over the waist
and the taffeta skirt flared out from just above the hips.

The expensive fabric and the colour gave the dress sophistication, but
the skirt made it a younger woman's dress, not the kind of thing which
could be worn by Madame la Comtesse, for instance.

Determinedly, Rosy walked into the shop.

"It's a very small size, a couture model," the saleswoman began
doubtfully when Rosy enquired about the dress.  But once Rosy had
removed her coat, she added more warmly, "But, yes, it will probably
fit you."

It did.  just.  She had had to remove her bra to try it on, otherwise
the straps of her underwear would have shown, but the bodice of the
dress was stitched in such a way that it gave her just as much shape as
though she had been wearing a bra.  Rosy admitted as she studied her
reflection in the mirror.

The richness of the velvet seemed to emphasise the creamy texture of
her skin, the way her curls caressed the unfamiliar bareness of her
exposed shoulders giving her a slightly vulnerable look that made her
frown slightly.

"It might have been made for you," the sales woman enthused.

"It's very expensive."  Rosy hesitated and she would have to buy new
evening shoes to go with it.  In the end it was the memory of Guard's
contemptuous dismissal of her clothes and her taste that made up her
mind for her.

"You won't regret buying it," the saleswoman assured her, as she packed
the dress for her.

"A dress such as this is an investment, a classic.  It will never
date."

No, but I shall.  Rosy reflected wryly as she made her way back to a
shoe shop she had passed earlier.

"You managed to find something, then?"  was Guard's only comment when
he picked Rosy up later at their appointed meeting place.

In addition to the dress, she had several other packages: shoes, a
small evening bag to go with them, a soft cashmere wrap to wear over
the dress and a pretty seventeenth-century enamelled box she had
noticed in the window of an antiques shop and which she had bought as a
small gift for Monsieur Dubois's daughter.

Something more anonymous and safer might have been a wiser choice, she
acknowledged as Guard drove out of the city, but the box had been so
pretty.

"Damn," Guard cursed softly, suddenly causing Rosy to glance
questioningly at him.

"I meant to ask you to buy something for Gerard's daughter.  It's too
late to turn back now and--' " I've got her soma thing Rosy told him,
turning in her seat to retrieve the parcels she had put on the back
seat of the car.

She unwrapped the small box, carefully balancing it on the palm of her
hand to show him.

When he said nothing, her heart sank slightly.  Obviously he didn't
approve.  Well, that was just too bad, she decided crossly.  She liked
it and-"You know.  Rosy, there are still times when you can surprise
me.  You affect to be uninterested in tradition, you state that you
think it's almost a crime for somewhere like Queen's Meadow still to be
a private home, and then you go and buy something like this..."

"If you don't like it--' Rosy began challengingly, but Guard was
already shaking his head in denial of her statement.

"I think it's perfect," he told her simply.

"Perfect."

His compliment was so unexpected that Rosy had no idea what to say.

She raised her eyes to his and then tensed slightly as she saw the way
he was looking at her.  It was as if .  as if.  A funny, un familiar,
ac hey sensation filled her chest, radiating out from just where her
heart was.

"Rosy..."

Why, when she had, after all, heard him say her name so many times
before, was the sound of his voice suddenly making tiny quicksilver
shivers dart up her spine?  Why did the sound of it suddenly remind her
of a tiger's purr, of soft velvet on smooth skin, of the seductive
whisper of a man to his lover.

Hurriedly, she rushed into speech, desperately pushing away such
dangerously contentious thoughts.

"I even managed to remember to buy wrapping- paper, Guard, and a
card.

Do you know her name?  I should have asked Monsieur Dubois.  I hope she
doesn't think that we're intruding.  After all, it is her party and she
doesn't know us.  "

"Her name, I believe, is Heloise," Guard responded his voice suddenly
oddly flat.

"As to whether or not she'll resent our presence, I should imagine that
is extremely unlikely."

He didn't speak again until they were driving into the chateau, and
then it was only to remark that, since they had both missed lunch, she
must be hungry and he would ask Madame if it was possible for them to
have a light meal in their suite.

"Ah, good, you're ready.  We should be all right for time, but--' Rosy
tensed as Guard suddenly fell silent as he caught sight of her.

She watched him uncertainly from the open bedroom door.

In the shop she had been so confident that the dress was the right
choice, but now suddenly she wasn't so sure.

Guard's silence, the way he was looking at her.  She swallowed
nervously.

"What's wrong?  If it isn't suitable..."

"No..."  Guard was shaking his head as he turned away from her to pick
up the jacket he had placed on the back of a chair and put it on.

"It's fine..."

His voice sounded oddly strained, almost slightly hoarse.  Rosy
recognised, her attention distracted from her own appearance as she
watched the way the movement of Guard's body stretched the white fabric
of his shirt against the long, sinewy muscles of his back.

She could see the movement of them beneath his skin through his
shirt.

Her mouth had gone slightly dry.

She felt breathless and slightly on edge, her senses abruptly and
unfamiliarly heightened so that, across the space that separated them,
she was suddenly sharply aware of the clean male scent of Guard's body.
She gave a small shudder, her pulse suddenly racing, the bodice of her
dress tightening slightly against her breasts as though She glanced
down at her body and gave a small, stifled gasp as she saw the raised
outline of her nipples pushing against the velvet fabric, embarrassment
flushing her skin as she turned round quickly and hurried back into the
bedroom, calling out quickly to Guard, "My wrap... I almost forgot...
It's quite chilly and Could Guard hear the agonised, embarrassed
confusion in her voice as clearly as she could?  She was not cold at
all, but what other explanation could there be for that quite
unmistakable physical reaction?

"You're cold?"

Guard was frowning as he followed her into the bedroom.

"I I was.  I'm all right now," Rosy fibbed as she hugged the wrap
protectively around her body.

"I I thought you wanted to leave," she reminded him.

"We don't want to be late."

"Nor do we want to be too early," Guard told her drily, and then
reminded her, "We are, after all, very newly married..."

When she continued to look blankly at him, he explained grimly.

"Use your intelligence, Rosy.  We're newly married and supposedly very
much in love.  Do you really imagine if that was actually true that
there's any way I'd be letting you walk out of here so easily, or that
you'd want me to?

"Oh, no His voice had dropped to a soft whisper that was almost a
hypnotic caress.  Rosy acknowledged, as she felt another feverish
shudder run through her.

"If we were really what we're supposed to be, right now that stunningly
fetching little number you're wearing would be lying on the bedroom
floor and you, my dear, would be lying in my arms."

"Stop it.  Guard, stop it," Rosy protested shakily.

"We're not in love.

We're not.  It isn't like that .  and.  "

"No, it certainly isn't," Guard agreed drily.

"Are you sure you need that wrap?"  he added as he walked to the door
and opened it for her.

"You look quite flushed..."

Rosy glared at him as she swept past him.  He knew quite well what had
caused her skin to colour up like that, damn him.

Did he also know that all she had on under her dress was a tiny pair of
briefs and a pair of silky, hold-up stockings?

Of course not, how could he?  And yet there had been something about
the way he had looked at her when he made that comment about the dress
lying on the floor and her lying in his arms which, for some reason,
had immediately conjured up in her imagination an image of herself
almost completely naked, her breasts pressed flat against his chest,
while he ran his hands up over her back and told her what he wanted to
do to her and what he wanted her to do to him, how he wanted to touch
her and how he wanted her to touch him.

As she hurried downstairs another shudder racked Rosy's body, a sharper
one this time, saw- edged and painful, making her bite down sharply on
her bottom lip in suppression of it.

Her fears that she might feel awkward and uncomfortable among people
that she did not know, or that Monsieur Dubois's daughter might resent
her father's having invited them, were very quickly dispelled--not only
by Monsieur Dubois's and his wife's warm welcome of them, but
additionally by the enthusiastic reception they received from Heloise
herself,.  and Rosy was very quickly drawn into the circle of younger
people surrounding her while Guard remained talking with their host and
hostess.

Heloise and her friends were a lively, intelligent crowd, very vocal in
expressing their ideals and beliefs, teasing Rosy a little--but not
unkindly-over what they saw as her nation's reluctance to accept the
concept of European citizenship.  But Rosy soon discovered that, like
her, they too were very concerned about the plight of those less
fortunate than themselves, and she was soon absorbed in a discussion
with one of Heloise's male friends about the growing problem of the
city's homeless.

Renauld, although physically nothing like Ralph he was much more
sturdily built, with thick, curling brown hair and hazel eyes that.

Rosy couldn't help but notice, warmed with very open male appreciation
when he looked at her shared very many of Ralph's ideals, leavened with
a sense of humour that Ralph tended to lack.

"It seems to me that this is a problem that is common to all nations,"
Renauld enthused, as he detached Rosy from the others so that he could
talk exclusively to her.

"It occurs to me that we would all have much to gain from exchanging
our experiences sharing what we have learned with one another."

"Hold a conference, you mean?"  Rosy teased him.

"Perhaps something a little less formal than that.  I go to Britain
occasionally on business, and I should be very interested in visiting
your shelter, if that could be arranged."

"I'm sure it could," Rosy responded enthusiastically.

"I know Ralph would be very interested to meet you."

"You are some way out of London, though, from what you tell me,"
Renauld began.

"Is there a hotel...?"

"Oh, there'd be no need for that," Rosy assured him quickly,
impulsively.

"You could stay with us."

"Now that I shall look forward to," Renauld told her softly.

"Don't take Renauld too seriously," Heloise warned her teasingly ten
minutes later when she came over to join them.

"He is a terrible flirt..."

"You are being very unfair, Heloise," Renauld protested, unabashed by
her comment.

"I am very good at it."

The three of them were still laughing when Guard came to join them
several minutes later.

"I'm afraid it's time for us to leave," he told Rosy, explaining to the
others, "We have an early flight to catch in the morning."

"So soon?"  Rosy protested, unable to conceal her surprise when Guard
told her drily what time it was.

"No need to ask if you enjoyed yourself," Guard commented once they
were in the car heading back to the chateau.

There was a note in his voice that Rosy couldn't quite place.  Not
anger or irritation exactly, but something.  "You and young Renauld
Bressee certainly seemed to find plenty to talk about."

Young Renauld.  Rosy's forehead creased in a small frown.  During their
conversation, Renauld had told her that he had just passed his
twenty-fifth birthday, which might make him younger than Guard, but it
certainly didn't merit that odd note of dismissive contempt in Guard's
voice.

"He was telling me about a scheme he's involved with that's similar to
our shelter," Rosy responded defensively.

"He seemed very interested in the work we're doing.  I I invited him to
come down and meet Ralph the next time he's in London on business,"
Rosy added, rushing through the sentence and avoiding looking at Guard
as she spoke.

Although why she should feel she had somehow done something wrong that
she had somehow angered Guard she really had no idea, she told her self
firmly.

"And that would be the sole purpose of his visit, would it?"  Guard
challenged her.

"To meet Ralph?"

Rosy was glad of the darkness of the interior of the car as she felt
herself starting to blush slightly.

There was an edge to Guard's voice which underlined her earlier
discomfort.

"Of course.  Why else would he come?"  she demanded

"Oh, come on.  Rosy, even you aren't that naive," Guard told her
bitingly.

"It was pretty obvious that Bressee was far more interested in
inspecting your bed than those at the shelter."

"That's not true," Rosy protested.

"And even if it were She stopped abruptly, suddenly realising that the
claim she had been about to make that it was no business of Guard's was
no longer wholly true.  She had, she recognised, almost forgotten their
new relationship

"Even if it were what?"  Guard demanded in a hard voice.

"You aren't interested in him?  That wasn't the impression I was
getting."

"We were talking, that was all," Rosy objected.  What was wrong with
Guard?  It was almost as though.  As though what?  As though he was
jealous?  Impossible.  But even though Rosy assured herself that she
had done nothing to merit Guard's attitude towards her, she could
already feel the happiness she had experienced at the party starting to
drain away.  She turned away from Guard and looked bleakly out of the
window into the darkness.

She gave a small shiver, remembering what Peter had told her when she
had asked him how she and Guard would end their 'marriage'.

"You will have to stay together at least a year," Peter had warned
her.

"Anything less than that and it would be bound to cause suspicion.
Initially, you could publicly opt for a " trial separation" and then
slowly move from that towards divorce."

At least a year.  Suddenly it seemed a very, very long time.

There's no point in sulking.  Rosy," she heard Guard telling her
tersely.

"You knew what the situation was going to be; the part you'd agreed
chosen, in fact to play.  You're a very new bride, and very new brides
do not ignore their husbands and flirt with another man."

"If you mean Renauld, I was not flirting with him," Rosy protested
angrily.

"We were simply talking."  She paused, her eyes flashing as she turned
to look at him.  He was concentrating on his driving, his gaze fixed
firmly ahead of him, his jaw warningly taut.

"You may not be able to have a conversation with a woman without
flirting with her, Guard," she told him recklessly, ignoring the
message her senses were relaying to her, 'but not all men are like you.
Thank God," she muttered under her breath.

"No, they're not," Guard agreed harshly.

"I doubt your precious Ralph, for instance, or Renauld Bressee, would
be prepared to put their reputation at risk in a fraudulent marriage
just because " Just because what?  " Rosy pressed, when Guard stopped
speaking.

"Because I asked you?  You're not being fair.  Guard.  We both know
exactly why you agreed to this marriage.  You married me because you
want Queen's Meadow."

As she said the words.  Rosy felt her throat starting to close up as a
wave of intense desolation swept over her.

She hadn't wanted any of this--a fictitious marriage, a husband who
didn't even particularly like her, never mind love her.  The last thing
she had ever wanted was to live a life filled with lies and deceit, to
live with a man who felt nothing but irritated contempt for her, who
constantly criticised her.

Everything she was having to do went so totally against her deepest
principles that it was no wonder she was feeling so uncomfortable with
herself, so on edge and miserable.

She had been a fool ever to listen to Peter, to think that-"And of
course the Ralphs and the Renaulds of this world are far too perfect,
far too high-minded even to consider doing such a thing, is that what
you think?"  Guard demanded tautly.

"Don't kid yourself.

Rosy," he warned her.

"If you'd dangled the deeds of Queen's Meadow in front of Ralph for
bait, he wouldn't even have thought twice about the moral implications
of such a marriage.

"And as for Renauld, did he think to tell you, I wonder, while he was
flirting so assiduously with you, that both his and Heloise's family
have assumed for years that the two of them will eventu ally marry?
They're distant cousins with complex property and business connections
a marriage between them would tie things up very nicely as far as the
families are concerned.  Not that that would have stopped him bedding
you, of course."

"Stop it... stop it..."  Rosy protested shakily, lifting her hands to
cover her ears as she turned her face towards him.

"Why do you always have to be so critical, so cynical?"  she demanded
passionately.

"Why do you always have to spoil everything for me?  I'm not a complete
fool.  Guard, whatever you might think.  Just because I choose because
I prefer to see the best in people, that doesn't mean that I'm not
aware."

As she blinked back the angry tears threatening to flood her eyes she
turned away from him, her voice low and slightly rough with pain as she
told him, "All right, so maybe Ralph would have agreed to marry me if
I'd offered him Queen's Meadow, but at least he wouldn't have wanted
the house for himself.  He would " He would have destroyed it just as
surely as Edward," Guard interrupted her flatly.

"Grow up, Rosy.  Do you honestly, truly believe that Ralph would have
cared a single jot for the house or its history?

That he wouldn't have quite happily torn out the panelling and boarded
up the staircase if that was what it would have taken to get the place
passed as an institution?

"Do you know what would have happened to Queen's Meadow in those
circumstances?"  Guard demanded harshly.

"It would have had to comply with fire regulations, with safety
regulations and with God alone knows what else as well.  And if you
think that anything anything at all of the original house would have
been recognisable to your father or grandfather by the time Ralph and
his cohorts had finished with it, then you're a fool."

"You've never liked Ralph, have you?"  Rosy accused furiously.

"You've always made fun of him, sneered at him.  Well, don't think I
don't know why.  Guard Rosy stopped abruptly as she half turned towards
Guard to see how he was receiving her furious tirade.

He didn't look as she had expected neither furiously angry nor
mockingly contemptuous.

His jaw was clenched as though he was holding himself under immense
control and, as she watched him.  Rosy saw a small muscle jerk
slightly, pulsing against his skin, and the look in his eyes when he
turned his head.  An involuntary shudder seized her as Rosy heard him
invite her softly, "Go on.  Rosy..."

Oh, how she wished she'd never started this conversation but it was too
late to back down now.  Much too late.

"You resent the fact that he isn't like you, that he doesn't care about
money or material things," Rosy challenged him bravely.

"Because he's--' She tensed as Guard started to laugh, so confused by
his unexpected reaction that it actually alarmed and upset her more
than if he had actually raged furiously at her in denial of her
assertion.

"Ralph, not care about money?  Then how come he's constantly bombarding
me with requests for donations for his precious shelter?"  Guard
taunted her.

"That's different," Rosy objected.

"He doesn't want it for himself.

He--' "No?  Is that what you really think.  Rosy?  All right, I agree
he doesn't want money to spend on himself, on possessions for himself,
but he certainly wants the glory he knows damn well he can get by
lifting that pathetically amateur outfit of his into something much
more high-profile and professional."

Rosy bit her bottom lip and looked away from him.  Cruel though Guard's
comments were, they held a certain hard, gritty core of truth which she
herself was far too honest to be able to deny.

To her relief, she realised that they had reached the entrance to the
chateau.  With any luck, Madame would be lurking in the hallway
awaiting their return--or rather Guard's return.

"What--nothing to say for yourself, no passion G ate defence of your
precious Ralph?  And why is that, I wonder?"  Guard observed cynically
as he brought the car to a smooth halt in front of the chateau.

Rosy did not deign to answer him.  What, after all, was the point?

Tiredly, Rosy reached for the zip of her dress.  Madame had not, after
all, been waiting for them but, once they had reached their suite.

Guard had announced that he had some work to catch up on, and had
promptly seated himself at the desk, totally ignoring her.

Which, of course, was exactly what she wanted.  So quite why it should
have made her feel so bad- tempered and irritable, she had no idea.  It
couldn't be because she had lost an argument to him, nor even because
she was beginning to feel so oppressed by the burden of her unfamiliar
and unwanted role.

She frowned as the zip on her dress ran smoothly for a couple of inches
and then jammed.  Irritably, she tried to work it free.

Ten minutes later, with her arms aching and the zip still well and
truly jammed, she admitted defeat, acknowledging that she now had only
two options open to her: either she would have to go to bed in the
dress, or she would have to ask Guard for help.

Reluctantly, she walked towards the bedroom door and opened it,
standing uncertainly just inside the doorway whilst she studied Guard's
down bent head.

He was seated with his back towards her, making notes on whatever it
was he was reading, his concentration so intense that Rosy hesitated to
interrupt him.

Perhaps if she tried the zip one more time.  "Yes, Rosy, what is it?"

Rosy's startled gaze flew to meet Guard's as he put down his pen and
turned towards her.

"It's the zip on my dress," she told him awkwardly.

"It's stuck and..."

"You'd better come over here and stand in the light where I can see
what I'm doing properly," Guard informed her, motioning her to the
centre of the room as he correctly anticipated her request.

"Perhaps you are growing up after all," he added wryly, as he took hold
of her shoulders and turned her round so that he could examine the back
of her dress.

"What do you mean?"  Rosy demanded stiffly, sensing a fresh taunt and
trying to turn round, but Guard was holding her shoulders too firmly
for her to move.

It was an odd sensation to feel his fingertips on her bare skin, to see
in the mirror over the fireplace the pair of them standing together in
a pose which could almost have been one of intimacy.  of lovers.  A
tiny fris son of sensation ran over her skin, an odd and unfamiliar
awareness of Guard, not as she always thought of him, but as a man.  If
it had been Guard whom she had met at the party tonight, for
instance.

Guard who had flattered her, flirted with her.  Mortified by the
extraordinary direction of her own thoughts, she looked down at the
floor.

"When did it happen.  Rosy?"  Guard asked her softly.

"When did preserving a dress become more important to you than
preserving your hostility towards me?"

"I don't know what you mean," Rosy fibbed.  Was that a sign of
maturity, to decide it was preferable to ask Guard to help rather than
tear her dress?

If so, she was beginning to wish that she had made a more immature
decision, she acknowledged; she could feel the tension crawling along
her spine as she felt the warmth of Guard's breath on the skin of the
nape of her neck, as he pushed the weight of her hair out of the way so
that he could investigate the jammed zip.

She had read books in which the heroine virtually swooned in ecstasy as
the hero pressed impassioned kisses against her nape, but had
scornfully dismissed such descriptions as being wildly exaggerated.

Now.  She swallowed hard, curling her fingers into two small, shocked
fists while the warmth of Guard's breath against her skin, as nebulous
as mist floating across a meadow, nevertheless had an effect on her
senses that was so potent that she It was Guard's irritated, "Keep
still.  Rosy," that made her realise what she was doing; she was moving
her body back into his as though.  as though she actually wanted.  as
though she was actively seeking to intensify that soft fris son of
sensual warmth which had bathed her skin in such unexpected
sensation.

"Oh, leave it.  Guard," she protested, trying to pull away from him,
frantically aware that some thing had gone wrong, that somehow her body
had got its messages all tangled up and that, for some inexplicable
reason, it had suddenly decided to're act to Guard, to respond to Guard
as though "Keep still.  I can see what the problem is now.  There's a
small piece of cotton caught in the zip.  I think I can work it free,
though."

"Where?  Let me see it I can probably do it myself," Rosy protested,
trying both to pull away from Guard and to swivel round so that she
could see over her shoulder but, as she moved forward, Guard managed to
free the zip, leaving the soft, supple velvet to slither free of her
shoulders and her upper body.

Frantically, Rosy grabbed hold of the velvet, her face flushing as deep
a pink as the exposed peaks of her nipples as she stood in mesmerised
shock while Guard made a slow and very thorough visual inspection of
her half-exposed body.

"Stop it, Guard.  Stop looking at me like that," she blurted out
huskily, her voice trembling as much as her body.  She wanted to turn
and run but for some reason she couldn't move.  She could only stand
there while Guard's gaze slid lingeringly over her body.

"Like what?"  he asked her softly.

"I am, after all, your husband.

Rosy, and in reality.  "

As he took a step towards her Rosy stared at him with huge, shocked
eyes, her nakedness the original reason for the feeling of excited,
nervous sensation crawling slowly through her stomach forgotten as she
felt herself trembling in the golden heat of Guard's gaze, unable to
look away from him.

"In reality," he continued softly, 'have you any idea what it would be
doing to me right now, seeing you like this, if we really were man and
wife?  If you'd deliberately wanted to do so, you couldn't have chosen
a more sensually provocative pose, do you know that?  The injured
innocent clutching her clothes to her body, and yet at the same time ex
posing Rosy shivered as his gaze dropped to her breasts, hot colour
scorching her face as she felt her nipples start to ache.

"If I really were your husband, Rosy, I wouldn't be standing here
talking to you," Guard told her roughly, 'and it wouldn't just be your
mouth that would be left swollen and sensitive from my kisses.  "What's
wrong?"  he taunted her, when he heard the small, shocked gasps she
gave.

"Surely you're not so innocent, so naive, that you didn't know that it
isn't just the feel of a woman's breasts and nipples in his hands that
turns a man on; that the sensation of caressing and suckling a woman's
breasts, the sound of her soft cries of pleasure, the " No.  No.  "
Rosy moaned in protest, finally tearing herself free of her
imprisonment and turning round to run almost headlong into her bed
room, slamming the door closed behind her and leaning on it while her
body shook as though she had a fever and her heart pounded so hard that
it made her feel sick.

The hot tears of anguish that crawled silently down her flushed face
from behind her closed eye lids had nothing to do with outrage or
embarrassment or anger against Guard for what he had done.

Just for a moment, while she had listened to the hypnotic softness of
his voice, she had actually seen his dark head bent over her body, his
mouth caressing her Her stifled denial left her throat raw and aching.
Shock, bewilderment, guilt, fear all of them formed a lump of
incomprehensible pain and panic that hurt physically as well as
emotionally.  She had not just mentally visualised Guard's dark head
bent over her body, she had also felt.  Trembling from head to foot,
her face white with shock.  Rosy slowly levered herself away from the
door.

What was happening to her?  What had happened to her?

She showered quickly.

She walked slowly from the bathroom and got ready for bed, refusing to
meet her own reflection in the mirror, conscious of the way the fabric
of her nightshirt seemed to rub against the suddenly sensitive peaks of
her nipples.

Her face burned with renewed colour.

There was something wrong with her, there had to be, imagining Guard
caressing her like that.  Imagining herself wanting him to, her body
aching for him.  needing him.  It was just a trick of her imagination,
she assured herself; tomorrow she would feel differently, be back to
her normal self.

CHAPTER SEVEN

'what's wrong.  Rosy?  Not still sulking because I broke up your
flirtation with Bressee, are you?  " Guard asked drily.

Cautiously, Rosy turned her head to look at him, reaching for her
seatbelt as she did so, when the stewardess announced that they would
shortly be landing.

Had Guard really forgotten what had happened last night?  The way he'd
looked at her, the things he had said to her?

He was frowning slightly as he fastened his own seatbelt, a hint of
impatience tightening his mouth.

It seemed almost impossible this morning to believe that he was
actually the same man who had made her so shockingly, so
sensuously--aware of him, and of herself, of her sexuality, her
vulnerability.

Had she perhaps overreacted to the whole incident, built it up in her
own shock and embarrassment into something much more than it had
actually been?  Had she been lying awake half the night, dreading
having to face Guard in the morning, dreading what he might say,
unnecessarily?

It had almost been something of a letdown when he had made no reference
at all to the incident, calmly behaving towards her just as he had
always behaved, treating her more like an irritating child than a-Than
a what?  A woman?  A nervous skein of hair-fine sensations tightened
ominously in her stomach, her face and body suddenly uncomfortably
hot.

"Come on, Rosy," Guard instructed her as the plane bumped down on to
the tarmac.

"The last thing we need now is to arrive back looking as though we
aren't speaking."

"I'm not sulking," Rosy told him stiltedly.

"I'm just... tired, that's all."

"Tired--after a two-day business trip?  That will raise a few
eyebrows," Guard derided tauntingly, ignoring her self-conscious flush
to continue, "Once we've picked up the car, I'll drop you off at
Queen's Meadow, and then I want to go on to my office to go through a
few things, and to the apartment.  Did you sort out a room with Mrs.
Frinton?"

Rosy shook her head.  She was behaving a bit like an ostrich, she knew,
but so far she had not been able to bring herself to deal with the
practicalities thrown up by their marriage.

On the night of their wedding she had slept in the room she had
occupied since childhood, while Guard had slept in one of the
guest-rooms, but she knew that there was no way they could continue to
preserve the fiction that their marriage was a love match if they
continued to sleep in separate rooms with almost half a mile of
corridor between them.

"I--I thought-There are two guest-rooms with an interconnecting door
and, if I made up the beds myself, then Mrs.  Frinton won't--' " Mrs.
Frinton won't what?  " Guard interrupted her.

"Mrs.  Frinton won't guess that we're sleeping in separate beds? That's
fine.  Rosy, just as long as she doesn't.  If it ever gets out that you
and I are sleeping separately, you can depend upon it that Edward will
have his lawyers on to us so fast..."

Rosy shivered.

"Aren't there any rooms with twin beds?"  Guard asked her.

"Only in the attic bedrooms," Rosy told him, 'and it would look odd if
we slept up there.  "

"Indeed," Guard drawled.

"Cheer up," Guard mocked her later, once they were on their way home.

"Remember, it's only for a year and--who knows?--you might even get to
like it."

"Never," Rosy told him vehemently, and then immediately flushed a
bright and betraying red as she remembered how last night, just for a
second, she had experienced that dismaying and extraordinary flood of
physical desire.

"Be careful, Rosy," Guard warned her, adding obliquely, "Some men might
be tempted to take that as a challenge, to prove to you that As Rosy
stiffened automatically in rejection of his taunt.  Guard turned into
the drive, breaking off to ask her, " Isn't that Edward's car?  "

"Yes," Rosy agreed flatly.

"Mm... I wonder what he's doing here.  Staging a welcome-home party, do
you think?  How very thoughtful of him."

"Edward never does anything thoughtful," Rosy told him grimly.

"He always has an ulterior motive

"Mmm... Well, there are no prizes for guessing what it is this time,
are there?"

When Rosy looked questioningly at him.  Guard explained.

"The house.  Rosy, the house."

"But it's too late for that.  He knows we're married."

What was Edward doing at Queen's Meadow?  she wondered, worried, as
Guard opened the car door for her and she got out.  He knew how much
she disliked him, how unwelcome his presence would be.

"Smile, Rosy," Guard reminded her as he opened the heavy front door.

"Smile."

As he held the door open for her she had to walk so close to him that
it looked almost as though his arm was actually draped possessively
across her shoulders and, as she turned towards him to tell him that
the last thing she felt like doing was smiling, he looked down at her
and murmured dulcetly, "That's better.  Now, if you move a bit closer
to wards me and open your mouth a little, who knows?  It might almost
appear to an onlooker that you're waiting for me to kiss you."

To kiss her!

Indignation flashed in Rosy's eyes but, before she could say anything,
Mrs.  Frinton came hurrying into the hallway, looking very upset and
anxious.

"Oh, Rosy... I mean Mrs..."

"Rosy is still fine, Mrs.  Frinton," Rosy assured the older woman.

"You look upset.  Is something wrong?"

Before Mrs.  Frinton could answer.  Rosy heard someone coming
downstairs.

As she look upwards, she realised that it was Edward, smiling his fake,
crocodile smile at them.

"Ah, Rosy and Guard!"  he exclaimed, his smile disappearing as he shook
his head and told them dolorously, "Bad news, I'm afraid.  We
discovered last week that the subsidence at home which we thought was
only a minor problem is far, far more serious.  In fact, we've had no
option but to move out of the house while the surveyors and lawyers get
to work sorting everything out.

"Margaret was worried about our moving in here without being able to
let you know, but I told her she was being silly.  After all, what else
are families for if not to help one another out in an emergency?  Where
else could we go?  With all my confidential papers and the work I do at
home, it would be impossible for us to move into some hotel.  The noise
alone would play havoc with Margaret's migraines and then when the boys
come home for half-term... No I said immediately that we should come
here.

"Margaret is still at home, supervising the last of the packing, but
she should be here soon.  I've taken the liberty of instructing Mrs.
Frinton to pre pare Grandfather's suite for us, although of course
we'll have to have a couple of beds brought down from the attic
floor.

We prefer them these days, you know.  Margaret doesn't sleep well and.
"

Dumbstruck, Rosy stared at him, hardly able to believe what she was
hearing.

"Of course I know that you two young people are only just newly
married, but I promise you you'll hardly know we're here and you'll
find Margaret a big help.  Rosy, my dear.  She's used to running a
large household organising dinner par ties, that kind of thing."

Rosy drew in a shaky breath, opened her mouth and then closed it again,
not trusting herself to speak.  Instead, she gave Guard an imploring
look.  Thank goodness he was here with her.  He would know how to deal
with Edward, how to make him leave.

But, to her shock, instead of instantly demanding that Edward did
leave.  Guard said almost conversationally to him, "Rosy's
grandfather's suite that would be the master suite, I take it?"

"Yes, that's right," Edward agreed affably, and then added with what,
to Rosy, was sickeningly fake concern, "Oh, I did check with Mrs.
Frinton that you and Rosy weren't using it, of course.  She didn't
actually seem to know where you'd be sleeping..."

A look Rosy didn't like nickered in the sharp, foxy eyes as he glanced
from Guard to her and then back to Guard again.

"Of course, the bathroom attached to the master suite leaves a lot to
be desired and " Which is why, I'm afraid, you'll have to pick another
room," Guard interrupted him calmly, whilst Rosy's eyes widened in
disbelieving shock.  What was Guard saying?  Why hadn't he told Ed ward
that he couldn't stay that he must leave!

She tensed as Guard reached out and placed his arm around her, drawing
her closer, her body stiffening in outraged rejection as she glowered
at him.

"Rosy and I were just discussing our plans for renovating that part of
the house on the flight home," Guard continued.

"In fact I intend to get in touch with the architect tomorrow.  To be
honest with you, Edward, I should have thought you'd have found the
upper storey bedrooms more appropriate.  Especially, as you say, with
half-term coming up.  And, of course, as you remarked yourself, Rosy
and I are still rather protective of our privacy ... as newlyweds..."

As he spoke, he turned towards Rosy and added tenderly, "Isn't that so,
my love?"

Fortunately, he didn't wait for her to make any reply and neither did
Edward.

"By the upper storey, I take it you are referring to the attic
bedrooms," Edward demanded warily, 'the servants' quarters.  "

"That's right," Guard agreed evenly.

"And now if you'll excuse us, Edward, we have one or two things we need
to attend to.  Since you aren't here as a guest, I know you won't
expect us to stand on ceremony with you.  Oh, and I'm afraid you won't
be able to call on Mrs.  Frinton for any assistance.  I'm afraid I've
behaved in what Rosy insists is a rather chauvinistic fashion and left
it to them to organise the removal of my own possessions from my
apartment and find new homes for them here.  Which reminds me,
Edward...!  know you won't take offence but, since we are to be sharing
the same roof, I know you'll understand if I say that the library and
study will both be offlimits to you and your family.  As a newly
married man, I shall want to spend as much time as I can with my wife,
which means that I shall be working, as far as possible, from home.

"You don't have to worry about anything on that side of things,
darling," Guard added, smiling lovingly down into Rosy's indignant
eyes.

"I'll make all the arrangements with the technicians and so forth about
installing the telex and the computer stuff.

"Mrs.  Frinton--Rosy and I have both had a tiring few days.  Do you
think it would be possible for us to have a little light lunch in the
winter parlour?  I won't ask you to join us, Edward," Guard continued
smoothly.

"I appreciate how busy you must be... Bad luck--about the subsidence, I
mean," Guard added, as Edward watched him warily.

It was only the almost painful pressure of Guard's fingers round her
arm that prevented Rosy from exploding into angry speech before they
reached the sanctuary of the small, panelled winter parlour, but once
they were there and the door was safely closed behind them, she pulled
herself out of Guard's restraining hold and demanded tearfully, "Why
didn't you tell Edward to leave?  Why did you let him think it was all
right for him to stay here?  He can't stay here, you know that.  I
don't want him here.  I don't believe he really doesn't have anywhere
else to go.  He's just doing this be cause... because..."

"Go on," Guard told her grimly.

"Because what?"

"Because he wants to spy on us," Rosy flashed fiercely.

"Because..."

"Because he's obviously suspicious?"  Guard suggested grimly.

Woodenly, Rosy looked away from him.

She was only just beginning to realise the import of Edward's presence
at Queen's Meadow and what it really meant.  At first she had simply
assumed that he had moved in to annoy them, out of spite and malice,
but now Guard was making her acknowledge that he could have a far more
sinister and dangerous purpose.

As the seriousness of what Guard was saying sank in the colour seeped
from Rosy's face, leaving it pale and strained.

"You're saying that he suspects that we're not ... that we don't ...
that our marriage... But he's only guessing," she protested as she
paced the floor nervously and then swung round to look pleadingly at
Guard, willing him to agree with her.

"At this stage, yes," Guard acknowledged.

"But don't underestimate him.  Rosy.  He's a very dangerous man."

"If you really think that, then why are you letting him stay here?"
Rosy demanded.

"You should have told him to leave."

"And risk making him even more suspicious?  No, I couldn't do that.  I
warned you that something like this might happen, right at the
outset.

Rosy.  "

"No, you didn't," Rosy denied passionately.

"You never said anything about Edward's moving in with us or " Not
specifically," Guard agreed.

"But I did point out to you the risks we were taking, and I did warn
you, as well, that there was no way I was going to allow my reputation
professional or personal to be jeopardised by this marriage.

"Don't delude yourself.  Rosy.  It won't just be Queen's Meadow that we
stand to lose.  If Edward suspects that he might be able to make a case
against us He paused, shaking his head.

"People have faced prison sentences for less."

"Prison..."  Rosy's face went white with shock.

"No," she whispered.

"No... You're just trying to frighten me."

She tensed and Guard frowned warningly at her as someone knocked on the
parlour door.

When Guard opened it to admit Mrs.  Frinton carrying a large tray, she
relaxed slightly, but her tension soon returned when the housekeeper
looked uncomfortably at them both and then burst out, "I don't want to
say anything out of place, only I did work for your grandfather for a
long time, and it was obvious that he and Mr.  Edward Well, it's just
that Mr.  Edward has been asking an awful lot of questions."

"What kinds of questions, Mrs.  Frinton?"  Guard asked her calmly.

How could he be so calm after what he had just said to her, the fright
he had just given her?  she wondered miserably.

Prison.  It was impossible.  Wasn't it?

"Well, he wanted to know what room you and Rosy would be using, for
instance," she replied.

"He said it was because he didn't want to upset anyone by taking the
room you wanted, and he said that he'd noticed how Miss Rosy's things
were still in her old room..."

Rosy gasped in outrage.  How dared Edward go into her room?  If her
grandfather were still alive, he would never If her grandfather were
still alive, none of this would ever have happened.  She would have had
no need to marry Guard.  She would have had no need to lie and
deceive.

She could feel the hot, anguished tears burning the backs of her
eyes.

"I said as how I didn't know which room you'd be using, but he kept
going on about it.  Asked which one you'd used after the wedding..."

Mrs.  Frinton flushed uncomfortably as he looked at them both.

"It's all right, Mrs.  Frinton," Guard assured her quickly.

"As a matter of fact we were going to discuss with you which room we
shall be using.  As I'm sure you'll understand, there are certain rooms
which, for emotional reasons.  Rosy doesn't want to use.  Her father's
bedroom, for instance, and her grandfather's.  I've already explained
to her that I can hardly share the bed in her present room," Guard
added softly, causing Rosy to give him a flushed and indignant glare.
They had discussed no such thing, and if he thought he was being funny.
Obviously Mrs.  Frinton knew they wouldn't be using that room.  It only
had a single bed in it, for one thing.

"We had thought we'd walk round the house together and make our choice
that way, although I suspect whichever room we choose will only be a
temporary arrangement, since most of the bathrooms need modern ising I
personally rather like large Edwardian baths--for a variety of
reasons," Guard added wickedly, with a look at Rosy that made both her
and Mrs.  Frinton blush, 'but Rosy insists that she would prefer
something a little more modern and I must admit that I'm going to miss
the high-powered shower in my apartment.  "

Rosy waited until Mrs.  Frinton had gone, angrily shaking her head when
Guard asked her if she wanted something to eat, wondering how on earth
he could so calmly tuck into the sandwiches Mrs.  Frinton had made, for
all the world as though nothing was wrong.

"You know we've already decided which rooms we were going to use," she
burst out.

"Were being the operative word," Guard interrupted her quietly, putting
his plate to one side and getting up.

"Things are different now.  Rosy, which is why, for the duration of
Edward's and his family's stay here, you'll be sleeping in my
bedroom."

"Your bedroom?"  Rosy questioned uncertainly.

"But where will you sleep?"

She had already guessed the answer, and the look he gave her confirmed
her worst suspicions.

"Oh, no," she protested quickly.

"No... Not that.  I'm not sharing a room with you.  Guard sleeping in
the same... No... We can't."

"We don't have any alternative," Guard informed her grimly.

"It's either sharing a room and a bed with me.  Rosy, or potentially
sharing one in one of Her Majesty's prisons with someone else."

"No," Rosy denied.

"No.  You're just trying to frighten me."

"What?  Do you really think I'm so desperate for a woman that I need to
frighten you into sleeping with me?  Grow up.  Rosy," Guard told her
sardonically.

"It isn't sex that's worrying me right now.  It's fraud."

Rosy chewed worriedly on her bottom lip.

"You really mean it, don't you?"  she asked him slowly.

"You really do think that Edward suspects."  She gave a small shiver,
her eyes registering her fear.

"We wouldn't really go to prison, would we, Guard?  I mean, it isn't as
though--' " As though what?  As though we've done anything wrong in
conniving together to deprive Edward of his inheritance?  I doubt that
the courts would take such a lenient view.  " He gave her a wintry
look.

"Of course, if you prefer to ignore my advice and take the risk of--' "
No," Rosy denied quickly.  She was really beginning to feel afraid
now.

"I'm no more happy about the situation than you are," Guard told her.

"I agreed to marry you.  Rosy, not sleep with you and, believe me, if
there'd been any way I could have got Edward to leave without adding
fuel to the fire of his suspicions, I would have done so."

Guard didn't want to sleep with her, to share his bed with her?  Rosy
frowned as she recognised that she was not finding this information
quite as reassuring as she ought.

Those odd feelings that floated, haze-like, just beyond her grasp--were
they really chagrin, pique and the hurt of rejection?

Surely not!

"So... this room would seem to be the most suitable.  Unless you'd
prefer one of the others?"  Silently, Rosy shook her head.

She and Guard had just spent an hour inspecting the bedrooms.

Rosy had paused briefly outside the door to the two adjoining rooms
which she had originally believed they would occupy, but Guard had
firmly taken hold of her arm and drawn her away, murmuring grimly to
her, "Think yourself lucky that I've managed to insist that Edward
isn't sleeping on the same floor as us, otherwise I suspect we'd have
him in the room next to us eagerly monitoring every sound--or lack of
them."

When he saw the revulsion darken her eyes, Guard had grimaced
cynically.

"You find that offensive.  Well, I promise you, it's nothing to what
could be dragged up in Court..."

Now they were standing in a large, corner room at the opposite end of
the house from the rooms she and her father and grandfather had
occupied.

Rosy stood in silent contemplation of the huge, four-poster bed.

Perhaps at one time this room, with its large, comfortable bed, its
warm panelling, its fireplace, and even its deep window-seat, had
represented sanctuary to another woman--had even, perhaps, been
somewhere where she had known love and pleasure--but she could not see
it like that.  She bit down hard on her bottom lip, trying to keep her
anguish at bay.

She was afraid, she recognised shakily, afraid for almost the first
time in her life.  Not of Guard, no matter how much she might balk at
having to share a room and a bed with him.  No, what she feared was the
danger he had revealed so trenchantly to her.

"We couldn't ... we wouldn't really go to prison, would we?"  she asked
him in a small voice through dry lips.

"What do you want me to tell you, Rosy?  A comforting lie to make you
feel better?  You're the one who keeps telling me that you're a woman
and not a child," he reminded her.

"But if Edward believes that we're sleeping together that we're really
married, then you think that he'll stop being suspicious?"  she
persisted stubbornly.

"It would certainly give him less grounds for his suspicions," Guard
agreed.

"But don't underestimate Edward, Rosy.  He's a liar and a cheat and,
like all liars and cheats, he knows very well how to recognise those
traits in others."

"I don't think anyone's slept in this room since Gramps's seventieth
birthday party," Rosy told Guard in a strained voice as she ignored his
comment and walked over to the larger of the room's two windows.

The velvet covering the window-seat was old and faded, like the
curtains and the bed-hangings, but it still had a richness, a softness,
an air of luxury about it that no modern fabric could match.

"This velvet came from Venice," Rosy told Guard stiltedly.

"My grandmother bought it when she and Gramps were there on their
honeymoon..."

"Yes, I know," Guard responded quietly.

There was a note in his voice that Rosy had never heard before.  He
sounded almost as though he felt compassion for her.  pity.  "Rosy, I
know that this isn't easy for you..."

Rosy stiffened as she recognised that he had left the bed and was
coming up behind her.

If he touched her now Her spine tensed as she turned away from the
window, rushing into hurried speech.

"We'll need fresh bedding and... and towels.  There are some linen
sheets, I think, that should be large enough Irish ones that were a
part of my great-grandmother's trousseau.  It's a very big bed..."

"A very big bed," Guard agreed.

"With more than enough room in it for both of us and a couple of
bolsters."

"Bolsters?"

Puzzled, Rosy turned round.

"Yes, bolsters," Guard agreed.

"You put them down the middle of the bed to split it into two.  At one
time, no romantic novel worthy of its name would have been without
them, or so I've heard," Guard told her drolly.

Rosy gave him a wan smile.

"We couldn't use them even if we had any," she told him.

"Edward might see them..."  Her voice cracked suddenly, hot tears
flooding her eyes.

"I never dreamed it would be like this," she cried miserably

"I just wanted to protect the house, that's all."

"Yes, I know.  Come on, have a good cry.  It will make you feel
better," Guard told her, crossing the floor and drawing her into his
arms with surprising gentleness.

She had no time to reject him or to protest; this was a Guard she had
not previously known, she recognised as she succumbed to the comfort of
being held firmly in his arms, of having the warm solidity of his body
to lean on.

Being held like this by him brought home to her how alone she now was
her father and her grand father both gone, no loving, paternalistic
figure for her to turn to with her troubles any more.

This knowledge made her tears flow faster, soaking through the fine
white cotton of Guard's shirt.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this," she protested, half hiccuping the
words.

"I know."

How comforting Guard's voice sounded, as comforting as the protective
way he was holding her.

"Guard, I'm so afraid.  What are we going to do?"

The whispered admission made his arms tighten slightly around her.

Guard must be afraid as well, Rosy acknowledged, otherwise he would
never have stressed the danger of their situation to her so strongly.

"Well, there is one way we could get Edward off our backs
permanently."

Rosy tensed and lifted her head from his shoulder, staring up at him in
shocked disbelief.

"Tell the truth, you mean?  Admit that we deliberately set out to
deceive him?  No... We couldn't do that."

Rosy shivered as Guard suddenly released her, stepping back from her
and turning his back on her, his voice familiarly harsh, his whole
manner towards her hurt fully distancing.

"No, you're right, we couldn't," he told her.

"Look, I've got to go into my office.  Rosy," he said crisply, glancing
at his watch.

"I'll get back just as soon as I can.  With any luck, Edward will be
too busy transporting his confidential papers to hound you too much
while I'm gone."

What had happened to the closeness, the warmth which had seemed to
exist between them only moments ago?  Rosy wondered, shivering
slightly.  Where had it gone?

What she ought to be asking herself was where it had come from in the
first place, she told herself tiredly when Guard had gone.  And if it
had actually existed at all, or if she had simply imagined it.

There was quite definitely no history of any emotional rapport between
them--far from it--and yet she could have sworn, when Guard had taken
hold of her, that he had genuinely wanted to comfort her, to reassure
her, to be close to her.

Guard wanting to be close to her?  Now she was letting her imagination
run away with her.

No doubt in reality he was cursing the day he had ever been foolish
enough to agree to marry her.

"I just hope you appreciate what we're doing for you," she whispered to
the house, gently touching the panelling as she opened the bedroom
door.

"There's something about a proper bed made up with proper bed-linen,"
Mrs.  Frinton exclaimed in satisfaction as she stepped back to admire
both her own and Rosy's handiwork.

The four-poster bed, along with every piece of furniture in the room,
including the panelling, had been polished; the windows had been
cleaned; the brass taps on the huge Edwardian bath and basin rubbed to
a shine and, finally, the bed made up with linen sheets, blankets and a
traditional handembroidered bedspread.

Because of the bed's width, it had taken both of them to make it up,
and Rosy grimaced inwardly at Mrs.  Frinton's comment, remarking that
modern duvets certainly made life a lot easier.

"You'd have a hard time getting a duvet for a bed this size," Mrs.
Frinton responded.

"Big enough for a whole family, it is."

A family.  A small shadow touched Rosy's eyes as she glanced down at
the bed.

There was a hollow, empty feeling inside her, a hard, painful sense of
being very alone, of not having anyone close to her for her to share
her life with.  It was a feeling she had never experienced before, a
feeling of which, she recognised on a small fris son of disquiet, she
had first become aware this afternoon, just after Guard had removed the
protection of his arms from around her body.

When her grandfather had made his will, he had wanted the house to stay
in the family, to be lived in, to be loved by his descendants.

Guard would love it and live in it.  Rosy told herself firmly.  Guard
would protect the house and eventually his children would grow up
here.

Guard's children, but not hers.  Hers would only know of the house
through her memory of it.

The intensity of the desolation that swept over her frightened her all
the more because she wasn't entirely sure what was causing her misery
the thought of her children not growing up at Queen's Meadow, as she
had done, or the thought that Guard's children would.

And yet she had never previously felt possessive about the house, far
from it.  About the house, or about Guard?

The small fris son became a deep shudder, a small, painful flowering of
knowledge unfurling in side her, which she quickly and fearfully tried
to smother with a flurry of small-talk to Mrs.  Frinton.

It was just Edward's presence in the house that was making her so
anxious and unhappy, she told herself.  That was all.

CHAPTER EIGHT

'well, now, I expect you two will want to be left on your own.  "

The only smile Edward gave Rosy made her stomach heave with loathing.

"Well, don't hang about, then, Margaret," he ordered his wife, his
pseudo good humour quickly disappearing as he turned away from Rosy and
glared across the dinner table at his wife.

"There's still a lot of stuff to be sorted out.  How on earth you
manage to be so useless I really don't know."

Rosy tensed with angry resentment on Margaret's behalf as the older
woman's thin, sallow face flushed and she immediately and awkwardly
stood up, hurrying to obey her husband's demands.

Automatically, Rosy tried to help her, pushing her own chair back and
saying quickly to her, "Why don't you leave it until tomorrow,
Margaret?  I'm not due to go down to the shelter until the afternoon,
so I could give you a hand, and I'm sure Mrs.  Frinton wouldn't mind
helping us out as well--' " The shelter.  " Edward's eyebrows rose as
he rudely interrupted Rosy.

"Dear me, I should have thought Guard would have put a stop to your
going down there.  With all the riffraff who use the place, there's no
knowing what you could " They are not riffraff.  " Rosy cut him off
angrily.

"None of them wanted to be made homeless, Edward; none of them wanted
to have to depend on others, on the State for charity and..."

She tensed as Guard reached for her hand, wanting to snatch her fingers
out of his grasp but not quite daring to do so.  Her work at the
shelter had always been a slightly sensitive issue, especially with her
grandfather, who had been inclined to be old-fashioned in his views,
and Rosy suspected that Guard shared both his and Edward's opinion that
what they were trying to achieve with the shelter was a waste of time
and money.

Defensively, she tried to pull her hand out of Guard's, unwilling to
hear him adding his criticism to Edward's, but instead of supporting
Edward as she had anticipated, he said firmly, "Rosy is quite right,
Edward, and these people deserve not just our sympathy but our
practical support as well.  But quite apart from that, even if I did
not share Rosy's belief in what she does, I would hardly have the right
to interfere.  Rosy is my wife an equal partner in our relationship.  I
respect her right to make up her own mind about what she does and does
not do.  After all, if there isn't mutual respect and trust between a
man and a woman, how can there be love?"

Rosy turned round to look at Guard in astonishment.  She had never
expected to hear him express such views.  They were so completely alien
to the Guard she thought she knew; the Guard she had always dismissed
as domineering and arrogant.

Out of the corner of her eye, she just caught sight of Margaret's face
with its wistful, unhappy expression.

Poor Margaret.  How tragic to be married to a man like Edward, and how
even more tragic if she had actually once loved him.

The small incident stayed in her mind and when she and Guard were
eventually on their own she turned impulsively to him and asked him
uncertainly, "Did you mean what you said earlier?  About... about
believing that... that loving someone means respecting and trusting
them?"

The thoughtful look he gave her made Rosy wish she had not raised the
issue.

"That's a first for you, isn't it?"  Guard asked her drily.

"Actually acknowledging that / might have thoughts and feelings instead
of...?"

"Instead of what?"  Rosy pressed.

He simply shook his head and told her calmly, "Yes.  I do believe that
respect and trust go hand in hand with love--with genuine love, that
is, not the far more common and ephemeral lust that so many people
confuse it with.

"Loving someone means loving them as they are, accepting them as
themselves, wanting them to be themselves instead of trying to change
them to fit into our own preconceived image of what the person we love
must be.  It means loving them be cause of the person they are, not in
spite of it..."

He frowned as Rosy gave a small shiver and asked her softly, "What is
it, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," Rosy lied, knowing that she dared not allow herself to look
directly at him just in case he saw the emotion in her eyes and guessed
how much his words had affected her.

Would anyone ever love her like that, so completely and so honestly?

It shocked her that it should be Guard of all people who had described
love to her in exactly the same terms as she would have chosen
herself;

Guard who, had she been asked, she would have insisted quite
unequivocally could not possibly have understood never mind shared such
ideals.

"You look tired," she heard Guard telling her.

"Why don't you go to bed before Edward decides to inflict his company
on us?  He's probably had enough of bullying Margaret."

"Do you think she once loved him?"  Rosy couldn't resist asking
quietly.

"Him?  No," Guard told her decisively, shaking his head.

"The man she might have been deceived into thinking he was?  I suspect,
unhappily for her, yes.  Poor woman..."

"I wonder why she stays with him when he's so horrible to her."

"He's probably damaged her sense of selfesteem and self-worth to such
an extent that she can't leave.  And then, of course, there are her
sons."

"He's such a horrible person.  He likes hurting her, bullying her..."

"Yes," Guard agreed, adding warningly, "And that is nothing compared
with what he's likely to want to do to us if he ever discovers the
truth about our marriage."

Rosy gave a small shiver.

"Don't, Guard," she begged, her apprehension showing in her eyes.

"It's all right," Guard reassured her.

"There's no reason why he should find out, not if we're both...
careful..."

"I never thought he'd do anything like this," Rosy whispered.

"Move in here and " Stop worrying about it," Guard told her.

"You're supposed to be a deliriously happy bride, remember?"

Rosy gave him a waft smile.

"I suppose it could be worse," she agreed, forcing another smile.

"After all, if we were really in love, having Edward or anyone else
here would be the last thing we'd want..."

"The very last thing," Guard agreed softly.

For some reason that Rosy couldn't quite define, something in the way
he was looking at her and the tone of his voice suddenly made her heart
skip a beat and her face flush slightly.

"You're right," she told him huskily, "I should go to bed.  I am
tired..."

"I'll be an hour or so yet," Guard responded.

"I've got one or two things I need to do."

"Good--goodnight then," Rosy mumbled awkwardly, avoiding looking at him
as he held the door open for her.

She was halfway down the upper corridor when she heard Edward calling
her name.  Immediately she tensed, taking a deep breath before turning
round.

"Having an early night?"  Edward asked her mockingly as he reached
her.

Somehow or other.  Rosy managed to stop herself from responding in the
way she would have liked, saying quietly instead, "I thought Margaret
looked very tired at dinner tonight, Edward.  It must be quite a strain
for her, having to move over here at such short notice."

"Oh, she likes to make a fuss about nothing," Edward responded
dismissively.

"She's like that.  Where's Guard?"  he asked inquisitively.

"He had one or two things to do downstairs," Rosy answered.

The way Edward was looking at her made her feel both uncomfortable and
angry at the same time.

"Not getting tired of you already, is he?"  he taunted.

"You'll have to watch him, you know, Rosy.  A man with his
reputation..."

"Guard chose to marry me," Rosy responded fiercely.

"Any past relationships he might have had are exactly that, Edward
past."

She felt rather proud of her response and it certainly seemed to rattle
Edward.

"What are you doing here on this floor anyway?"  she demanded, seizing
her advantage.

"I was just on my way down to collect some of the stuff we unloaded
into the garages earlier," Edward told her.

"I want to get everything inside as soon as I can.  It will take me at
least a couple of hours yet to move it all.  You know.  Rosy, you
really should have thought a little harder before you rushed into
marriage with Guard.  You're taking a very big risk, you know."

Rosy could feel her heart starting to pound anxiously.

"What what do you mean?"  she challenged Edward, hoping that he
wouldn't see the nervous guilt in her eyes.

What was she going to do--to say--if he told her that he knew why she
had married Guard?  Why had she let him corner her like this when Guard
wasn't here?  Why had she.

"You know what I mean," Edward told her softly.

"Oh, I can understand why you fell for him.  Guard certainly knows how
to handle a woman, but then of course he's had a lot of practice... But
have you asked yourself this.  Rosy--why has he married you?"

"Because he loves me," Rosy replied instantly.

Just for a moment she had thought that Edward had actually guessed the
truth.

But even if he hadn't, it was obvious that he suspected something.

Rosy acknowledged as she turned on her heel and left him.

With only the lamps on in the bedroom, the large room looked
surprisingly intimate and cosy.

It was the bed that did it.  Rosy decided.  It looked.  It looked.
Hastily she averted her gaze from it.  Well, what it didn't look was as
though it had been designed for one solitary celibate sleeper.  Very,
very much the opposite.  * * * Reluctantly, Rosy stepped out of the
bath and reached for a towel.  She had felt so luxuriously relaxed
lying there, lapped by the soft, warm water, that she could almost have
fallen asleep.

Still smiling, she walked into the bedroom to collect her nightshirt,
and then stopped, her smile disappearing abruptly as she remembered
that her nightshirt, along with the rest of her clothes and her
underclothes was still in her old bedroom.

In all the fuss of getting this room ready, the anxiety of Edward's
unexpected and unwanted de scent on them, she had completely forgotten
about moving her things.

She looked uncertainly at the bedroom door, nibbling at her bottom lip.
Dared she take the risk of running down the corridor, dressed just as
she was with a towel wrapped about herself, to retrieve her clothes, or
should she get dressed just in case Edward saw her?

She was still debating the matter when the bed room door opened and
Guard walked in.

Rosy stared at him.

"I thought you said you'd be a couple of hours," she reminded him,
making sure that the towel was completely secure.

"I did, but Edward was sniffing around making pointed comments about
bridegrooms and neglected brides."

"Is he still there?"  Rosy asked him anxiously.

"Yes.  Apparently he's got some stuff he wants to get upstairs
tonight.

Why?  "

Rosy grimaced uncomfortably.

"I forgot to move my things from my old room."

Guard gave a small, dismissive shrug.

"So you can move them in the morning.  If he says anything, you can
just tell him that there wasn't time to move them before the
wedding."

Rosy wriggled uncomfortably within the confines of her towel.

"No," she contradicted him, 'you don't understand.  I I haven't got
anything.

Any thing," she repeated insistently.

"My my under wear, my nightshirt, they're all still in my old room, and
so is the bag I brought back from Brussels," she added unhappily.

She winced as she saw the look Guard was giving her.

"I just forgot all about it," she defended herself.

"What with finding Edward here and then having to get this room
organised.  I'll have to go and get them."

"No," Guard told her sharply.

"But I've got to have my nightshirt," Rosy protested, panicking.

"I

haven't got anything to sleep in.  It's all right for you, you've got
your things.  "

She and Mrs.  Frinton had unpacked the bag Guard had brought over from
his apartment with some of his clothes in it, even though he had told
them both wryly that he didn't expect them to do so.

"A new bride.  Rosy," Guard informed her now, 'does not leave her
husband's bed to go in search of a nightshirt, and to do so would be
especially unwise in our present situation, with Edward still prowling
about.  No .  I'm afraid that for tonight at least you'll just have to
sleep as you are in your skin.  "

Rosy stared at him.

"No," she choked.

"I can't..."

"Of course you can," Guard contradicted her.

"I do it all the time."

Aghast, Rosy glanced from him to the huge bed and then back again.

"I am not sleeping with you in that bed without either of us having...
With both of us... Without either of us having any clothes on," she
told him primly.

"Why not?"  Guard asked her calmly.

Rosy stared at him in baffled confusion.

What did he mean, why not?  Wasn't it obvious?

"Well, because it just isn't done," she floundered unhappily.

Guard's eyebrows rose.

"Is that so?  It seems to me that you have some very odd views on
marriage.  Rosy.  That, I can as sure you, is exactly how it's done."

He paused, watching her while she curled her toes protestingly into the
carpet and the blush she could feel warming her body swept over her
from head to toe.

"There is nothing--nothing," Guard repeated softly, 'which is quite so
sensual, so pleasurable as the feel of skin against skin, body against
body.  "

An odd, dizzying sensation seemed to have infiltrated her body and,
along with it, a sort of aching, yearning need spiked with a
bitter-sweet, sharp spiral of dangerous excitement.  Skin against skin,
Guard had said, body against body.  He had not been speaking personally
at all, so why did she suddenly feel hot all over, her imagination
shocking her with mental images of their skin, their bodies.

As fresh heat filled her face.  Rosy retreated to the far side of the
bed.

"What is it.  Rosy?"  he teased her.

"Afraid your unbridled desire for me might get totally out of control
at the thought of my vulnerable, naked body in bed next to you, and
that you might..."

Rosy knew that he was only joking, laughing at her, but, for some
extraordinary reason, instead of being relieved by his attempt to
lighten things, she actually felt-She swallowed hard, too distressed by
her emotions to allow herself to give them a name.

Not trusting herself to speak, she reverted in G stead to childhood,
picking up a pillow from the bed and hurling it angrily at Guard.

He caught it with derisive ease, openly laughing at her.

"Baby," he taunted her.

"Well, if that's the way you want to behave.

Rosy.  "

He moved so quickly she had no chance to evade him as he scooped her up
off the floor and held her at arm's length, still laughing at her as
she kicked out protestingly, demanding to be set free.

Still laughing.  Guard started to comply with her request but, as he
released her waist, and her toes touched the floor.  Rosy felt the
towel start to slide from her body.

It was like that moment in the chateau bedroom all over again, only
this time.  This time.  As she struggled frantically with numb fingers
to resecure the towel, she heard Guard saying quietly, "Maybe you're
right, Rosy.  Maybe sleeping together isn't such a good idea after all,
but I'm afraid we just don't have any choice," he added, his voice
suddenly unfamiliarly harsh.

"Neither of us has any choice, so we'll just have to make the best of
things.  At least the damn bed's big enough to allow us both some
degree of privacy..."

No wonder Guard looked so angry with her, Rosy acknowledged, as he
disappeared into the bathroom, leaving her to crawl miserably beneath
the bedclothes.  If she hadn't been such an idiot and forgotten to move
her clothes.  Her throat felt tight with suppressed tears and her feet
were cold, she decided miserably.  Why on earth had she been such an
unsophisticated idiot and made all that fuss about not having her night
shirt?  It was obvious from the way Guard had acted, the way his manner
had changed after he had seen her naked body, that he didn't have the
smallest degree of sexual desire for her.

Which, of course, was just as it should be and just how she wanted it
to be, wasn't it.  Of course it was, she told herself firmly as she lay
as close as she could to the cold edge of the bed and closed her eyes,
trying to ignore the sounds coming from the bathroom.

Unlike her.  Guard obviously preferred to shower.  She gave a small,
unhappy shiver as she was unexpectedly tormented by a mental image of
his naked body, his skin gleaming wetly like heavy, rich satin.

She didn't want him.  Of course she didn't.  She didn't even like him,
never mind love.  With a small, defensive sob.  Rosy reached for one of
the spare pillows and held it down firmly over her ears, blotting out
the tormenting sounds from the bathroom.

CHAPTER NINE

rosy woke up with a start.  Someone was knocking on the bedroom door.

She tensed as she recognised Edward's voice calling Guard's name and
her own.

Guard.  Her tension increased as she recognised that the reason she
felt so deliciously warm and had no doubt been so reluctant to wake up
was that, somehow or other, she had relinquished her hold on the edge
of the bed and was now lying virtually in the centre of it, curled up
next to Guard.

"It's all right.  Rosy, you stay there.  I'll go and find out what he
wants," she heard Guard telling her as he sat up and switched on the
bedside lamp, swinging his legs on to the floor at the same time.  Rosy
hastily averted her gaze from his naked body.

A warm glow suffused her skin as she didn't look away quite quickly
enough and was left with a vivid image of the awesome perfection of his
body.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him pick up his robe from the end
of the bed and shrug it on, and expelled a small sigh of relief.

"Yes, Edward, what it it?"  she heard Guard asking grimly, as he half
opened the door, positioning his body, she noticed gratefully, so that
Edward couldn't see past him into the room.  But Edward, it seemed
either couldn't interpret Guard's body language or preferred not to do
so, and virtually pushed past him, exclaiming, "It's Margaret!  Is
Rosy...?"

He seemed more disappointed than relieved to see her there.  Rosy
recognised as Edward came to an abrupt halt at the foot of the bed.

Uncomfortably conscious of her nudity, Rosy clutched the bedclothes
protectively to her body as Guard demanded curtly, "What is it, Edward?
What's wrong with Margaret?"

"Er ... she's got a headache, and I was wondering if Rosy had some
aspirin or something.  We can't seem to find ours."

"Headache?"  Guard's eyebrows snapped sharply together in anger.

"You wake us up at two o'clock in the morning because your wife's got a
headache?"

"Well, it's more of a migraine than a headache," Edward defended
himself.

"If Margaret suffers from migraines, I doubt very much that mere
aspirin would do anything for them," Guard told him.

Rosy struggled to sit up slightly, and keep her body covered up at the
same time as she told him quickly, "I'm sorry, Edward, but I don't have
anything like that up here.  You should find some downstairs in the
medicine cupboard in the kitchen.  Poor Margaret," she added
sympathetically.

"She must be in dreadful pain..."

"Yes, well, I'll go down and see if I can find something for her,"
Edward told them.

"I'm sorry if I disturbed you..."

He didn't look sorry at all.  Rosy reflected un easily as Guard walked
with Edward to the door and very pointedly opened it for him.

"Poor Margaret," Rosy repeated nervously as Guard walked back towards
the bed.

"Poor Margaret indeed if in fact she does have a migraine," Guard
responded grimly.

"Personally, I doubt it, and in fact " What do you mean?  " Rosy asked
him anxiously, her body suddenly tense with apprehension.

"Are you trying to say that Edward woke us up deliberately so that he
could check ?"

"That we were actually sleeping together?  I think there's a strong
possibility," Guard confirmed grimly.

The severity of Guard's expression made Rosy's heart miss an anxious
beat.

Looking away from him, she nibbled worriedly at her bottom lip.

The bed dipped slightly beneath Guard's weight as he got in beside her
and switched off the bedside lamp.

"Guard," Rosy asked him in a small voice, 'how suspicious do you think
Edward really is?  I mean, he must have guessed something, mustn't he,
to come down here.  "

"It looks like it," Guard agreed after a small pause but, as Rosy made
a small distressed sound, he added, "But there's no point in jumping to
conclusions or in worrying, and after all, nothing he saw in here
tonight could possibly have given him the confirmation he was looking
for far from it."

Rosy knew that Guard was speaking the truth, but she still felt
disturbed and on edge.

"Edward's gone now.  Go back to sleep," Guard told her.

"I can't," Rosy admitted shakily.

"I'm afraid, Guard," she added.

"What if Edward does find out and...?"

She heard the rustle of the bedclothes as Guard turned over and
switched on the lamp.

"There's nothing for you to be afraid of," he told her quietly as he
looked down at her.

He was half sitting up, the bedclothes round his waist, the upper half
of his body exposed as he leaned over her.

"What is it.  Rosy?  You're not crying, are you?"  he asked her
softly.

Quickly Rosy shook her head, but she knew he must have seen the
suspicious shine in her eyes.

"You said we'd go to prison," she told him in a stifled voice, by way
of explanation.

"I said we could," Guard corrected her.

Rosy saw his chest expand as he drew in a deep breath.  An odd fris son
of sensation ran across her skin, as delicate as the velvet touch of a
cat's sheathed paw and yet, at the same time, so powerful that she
rushed into speech to try to stifle it.

"I never thought I could ever be so afraid of someone like Edward," she
told Guard huskily.

"And I never thought I'd see the day when you admitted that you were
afraid of anything especially to me," Guard responded.

"It's all right, Rosy.  I promise you that everything's going to be all
right.

Come here.  "

When he reached out and took her in his arms, Rosy was too surprised to
speak.

How long was it since anyone had held her like this, comforted her like
this?  she wondered shakily as Guard reached up and smoothed her hair
back off her face.

"I still can't believe that Edward would actually do something like
that," she whispered.

"That he would actually come here in the middle of the night to
check..."

"Stop thinking about it.  He's gone now," Guard soothed her.

"Yes, I know," Rosy responded, lifting her head from his shoulder to
look anxiously into his eyes.

"But, Guard, if we hadn't been sharing the bed... If you'd been
sleeping in the chair or if I'd been " Wearing your nightshirt," Guard
interrupted her wryly.

"As I said.

Rosy, forget it.  "

"I can't," Rosy protested, shivering suddenly and burying her face
against Guard's shoulder.

"I can't."

"Rosy."

Rosy tensed as she heard the harsh tension in Guard's voice, but she
didn't respond to the pres sure of his hand on her shoulder urging her
away from his body.  She didn't want to move away from him, she
recognised; she didn't want to go back to her own cold and lonely side
of the bed.  She didn't want.  "Rosy."

Her body quivered as the warm gust of Guard's fiercely expelled breath
touched her skin.

"Rosy..."

His voice sounded different now thicker, slower, less determined, more
Her heartbeat had become dangerously un steady.  The warmth of Guard's
breath against her skin told her just how close his mouth was to her
throat, so close that if she just moved the tiniest little bit.  She
shivered in sharp pleasure, her pulse-rate accelerating frantically as
she felt Guard's mouth brush her skin.

"Rosy... you know what's going to happen if you don't let go of me,
don't you?"  she heard Guard warn her softly.

Let go of him?  Her eyes widened in shock as she realised what he
meant.  Somehow, without knowing she had done so, she had curled one
hand possessively around the hard muscles of his fore arm, or at least
as far round them as her slender fingers could stretch.  Let go of
him?

But she didn't want to let go of him, she recognised with a shiver of
intense sensual awareness.  She wanted to stay exactly where she was
with his body next to hers, his hands.  his mouth.  "Guard."

Could he hear the shocked confusion in her voice, the need.  the
desire.

Her eyes widened as his hand slid beneath her hair to cup her face and
she saw that he had.  His own eyes looked darker, brighter, the pupils
enlarged

Nervously, Rosy caught her bottom lip between her teeth.

"Don't do that," she heard Guard protest in a thick, slurred voice.

And then it was his mouth, his teeth, that're leased her tortured lip
from its bondage, explored and caressed it, driving her to such an
unimagined frenzy of need that Guard had to hold her down against the
pillow while he satisfied her frantically whispered pleas to be kissed
properly and not so cruelly teased.

"Properly... Like this do you mean, Rosy?"  she heard him demanding
rawly before his mouth covered hers.

No one had ever kissed her so intensely, so demandingly before, but it
was the strength of her own passion that shocked her, not Guard's.  It
was as though her untutored body had somehow developed a wilful
sensuality of its own.

Without any conscious effort on her part her body arched, her arms
clung, her lips parted and, if she could have done so, a stunned,
shocked part of her recognised, she would have wrapped herself so
intimately and erotically around Guard that-If she could have done so?
She trembled as Guard dragged his mouth away from hers and muttered
roughly, "My God, Rosy, you witch.  If I didn't know better I'd--' He
didn't finish his sentence; the hand which had been caressing the
smooth skin of her back had come to rest against the side of her breast
and, without even having to think about it.  Rosy had moved just enough
for the warmth of his palm to cover the hard point of her nipple.  The
urge to move against that warmth, deliberately create an erotic
friction that could only intensify the sharp, deep yearning flooding
her body, was so intense that she had to stifle the vocal expression of
it in her throat.

But Guard must have heard it, or knew without having to hear it,
because his fingers were already caressing her nipple, his mouth moving
downwards over her body.

As she felt his mouth carefully take the place of his fingers, drawing
her nipple with agonising slowness into a moist caress.  Rosy shivered
helplessly her eyes betraying her sensual vulnerability when Guard
slowly released her nipple and then told her rawly as he circled the
damp areola with one fingertip, "That's nothing.  Rosy.  But this..."

As his mouth recaptured her nipple and he started to suckle
rhythmically, the feeling that poured through her was so intense that
her whole body twisted frenziedly, her nails digging into Guard's
skin.

In response.  Guard's suckling became deeper and more urgent; he pushed
the bedclothes away from her body, his hand caressing the curve of her
hip, sliding round to press firmly against the lower half of her
stomach, just as though he knew that the ache he was causing in her
breast had its be ginning right there, deep inside her body where his
hand rested, as though he knew that somehow, its warmth, its pressure
did something to ease a little of the almost painful sharpness out of
the ache that possessed her.

There had never been a time when she had ever felt anything like this,
she acknowledged dizzily, when she had felt so so driven, so so in
need, so helplessly out of control.

She shivered as Guard released her nipple and the air struck coolly
against her hot, damp flesh.

In the soft light, she looked down at Guard's dark head, still bent
over her body as he kissed the hollow between her breasts and then
moved lower.

Her own flesh looked so alien to her.  Her breasts swollen.  flushed
the one Guard had caressed still engorged, still aching.  She tensed as
his tongue circled her navel, her body clenching.

Guard's hand had left her stomach and was resting on her outer thigh,
sliding beneath her to lift her so that Now she did protest, her eyes
wild with shock at the sight of Guard's dark head between her thighs,
his fingers dark against her so much paler skin as he lifted her body
effortlessly, arranging it, imprisoning it in a position of such
intimacy that Rosy could feel herself flushing.  But she still couldn't
drag her gaze away from the sight of his dark head bent over the most
vulnerable, sacred part of her body.

When his lips brushed the soft flesh of her inner thigh.  Rosy shivered
uncontrollably, self-consciousness forgotten in the tide of sensation
that flooded through her.

Guard was still kissing and caressing her skin, moving closer to the
most sensitive part of her.

Even before he got there, her body was responding to him, aware of him,
wanting him, ignoring the shocked demands of her mind that it abandon
such wantonness.

Heat poured through her as she heard the thick, pleasured sound Guard
gave when he discovered how femalely responsive she was to him how
welcome was the delicate touch of his tongue against the small nub of
flesh so sensitive to his caress that Rosy's whole body was gripped by
the paroxysm of aching pleasure that shot through her.

She knew Guard must have felt it too, because his hands suddenly tensed
on her body and he raised his head to look at her, the skin along his
cheekbones drawn taut and burning darkly with heat.

The look he gave her made her heart slowly somersault.

"No," she protested huskily, as Guard bent his head back to her body.

"Yes," he insisted thickly, telling her, "Have you any idea what doing
this feels like?  How addictive the taste of you is, how much I've
wanted you like this?  You're right.  Rosy," he said roughly.

"You're a woman wholly, completely and utterly so."

Rosy shuddered in silent ecstasy as his mouth refound her.

This time the pleasure was different because this time her body and her
senses were pre pared.  knew.  She held her breath as she felt the
exquisite agony of anticipation build up inside her, releasing it on a
sharp, aching cry of release as the pleasure engulfed her, sweeping her
up in its roaring leaping, flooding tide.

"Guard, now, now... please... I want you inside me now."

She cried out the words almost without knowing she was saying them,
knowing only that there was a small part of her that still ached.  that
still needed, that felt empty and unfulfilled, and that the only thing
that could satisfy it was the feel of Guard's body within her, the
sensation of him moving deep inside her.  She felt him slowly re lease
her, separating himself from her, smoothing away the bedclothes from
her body and then kneeling back from her.

As he moved her breath caught in her throat.  In the dim light she had
seen the full power of his body how aroused he was, how male.

"Say that again," he demanded.

"Tell me again that you want me."

She should have been intimidated into desire- stifling, shy
self-consciousness by the way he was looking at her, by the roughly
aroused tone of his voice, but instead.  Instead she felt a power, a
knowledge she had never known she could possess and, instead of
flinching coyly beneath his regard.  Rosy held his gaze, stretching her
body with languorous sensuality parting her legs, her spine arching
slightly in subtle, sensual invitation as she told him huskily, "I want
you.  Guard.  I want you now... please, now... now."

She moaned in eager excitement as his hands slid up over her body, his
touch, his gaze, his arousal showing his response to her.

As his hands cupped her breasts he leaned over her and kissed her mouth
slowly, with gentle precision and then she reached up to him and wound
her arms round him, pulling him down against her with fierce, demanding
desire.

"Is this what you want.  Rosy...?  This...?"  he demanded urgently as
he held her, touched her, filled her with the full power of his body.

"Yes.  Yes.  Yes..."  Rosy told him compulsively as she clung to him
and urged him physically and vocally to thrust even deeper within
her.

"You're so small," Guard protested unsteadily.

"So " I want you," Rosy repeated.

"Please, Guard, please... I want all of you..."

She felt his body shudder as he tried to resist her and failed.

The sensation of his moving so gently and so deeply within her filled
her with female joy and triumph.  Her body, unlike his, might be
untutored in such intimacy but it had its own power, its own strength,
the strength to sustain the fierce maleness of Guard's release and to
match it.

Against her body she could feel the intense drumbeat of Guard's heart
starting to slow down slightly.  His arms were wrapped around her as he
held her tightly against him, his skin damp with sweat, like her own.

Now that the need, the desire which had driven her was sated, she
suddenly felt very shy and un sure of herself.

Held fast in thrall to her physical and emotional yearnings, she had
known only that she loved Guard and that she wanted him.  And that he
had wanted her.  But now, suddenly, the enormity of those emotions
evoked a sharp fear within her.  Loving Guard was such a new concept
for her.  Wanting him needing him with so much passion and intensity
made her feel very vulnerable.

She felt his lips brush her cheek in a light caress, his breath warm
against her mouth.  Panic over whelmed her.  Quickly she turned her
head away, aware of the tension in his body as he withdrew slightly
from her to look down at her.

"Rosy!  What..."

Rosy rushed nervously into speech, unsure if she wanted to hear what
Guard might be going to say.

"Well, at least now Edward isn't going to be able to claim that our
marriage isn't legal."

She felt Guard's body stiffen.

"Is that what all this was about?"  he demanded curtly, withdrawing
completely from her.

"Is that why?  "As he swore under his breath.

Rosy flinched.

"My God... and I actually thought--' " Guard?  " Rosy questioned
uncertainly, but he wasn't listening to her, he wasn't even looking at
her, she recognised unhappily as he moved over to the empty side of the
bed and snapped off the light.

Keeping his back towards her, he told her grimly.

"Go to sleep.  Rosy.

Just go to sleep.  "

Miserably, Rosy curled her body into a small, tight ball.  Her body
ached slightly in unfamiliar places, her throat felt tight with tears
and, ridiculously, after the wanton way in which she had begged Guard
to make love to her, much as she longed to do so, she couldn't bring
herself to tell him how much, how very much she needed now to be held
and reassured by him, to be told that he understood how she felt, that
he knew how difficult it was for her to come to terms with the reality
of her feelings for him.  her love.

The words trembled on her lips and were suppressed as her eyes burned
with hot tears.

Perhaps Guard wasn't holding her.  reassuring her.  because what had
happened between them didn't mean the same to him.  Because he didn't
feel the same way about her as she did about him.

Men were like that about sex, weren't they?  They could enjoy it
without feeling any emotional involvement with the woman concerned.

But he must know how she felt.  He must have recognised what had
happened to her.  After all, he knew her views on casual sex, he knew
she would never--could never--give herself so completely to a man
without.  without loving him.

As the tears started to roll down her face, she bit down hard on her
bottom lip to stop herself from making any noise.

Cautiously, Rosy opened her eyes, but it was all right.  She was alone
in the bed, alone in the room, apparently.

She sat up slowly, hugging the bedclothes protectively round her body,
her face flushing as she recognised the cause of the slight ache deep
within her body.

"You're so small," Guard had said, but the deep, compulsive thrusting
of his body within her own hadn't hurt her at all--in fact, the ache
she felt now.  Caution was replaced by wistful longing as she looked at
the empty space in the bed next to her.

Last night she had been silly to let Guard turn away from her without
telling him how she felt;

today things would be different, she told herself optimistically.  But
where was Guard?

She pushed back the bedclothes and then frowned as she remembered that
she didn't have any clean clothes.  She would have to put on her worn
ones and go down to her bedroom.  Her frown deepened as her gaze
focused on a neat pile of white underclothes on one of the bedroom
chairs.  Her underclothes.

Someone, and it could only have been Guard, had anticipated her need.

A small smile started to curl her mouth.

Guard was quite right, she decided half an hour later as she emerged
from the bathroom, showered and dressed.  Her girlish nightshirts were
not really the thing for a married woman, and oh, so totally
unnecessary when she had Guard next to her in bed to keep her warm.

A nightshirt, or indeed any other kind of nightwear, was not only
unnecessary but unwelcome as well when it came between her and the
sensual warmth of Guard's skin, the touch of his hands and mouth,
when-Shakily Rosy tried to banish her wantonly erotic thoughts, but as
she glanced in the mirror she suspected that her flushed face and
shining eyes gave her away.

When Guard saw her, would he immediately be reminded of last night?

Would he perhaps suggest that they come back upstairs and ?

Dizzily, Rosy opened the bedroom door and hurried towards the stairs.

She had never imagined that loving someone would make her so physically
aroused or so responsive, but then Guard was so very, very special. 
She drew in a small, ecstatically happy breath, her whole body glowing
with plea sure and love.

As Rosy got to the bottom of the stairs, Mrs.  Frinton came out of the
library.

"Where's Guard?"  Rosy asked her eagerly, a happy anticipatory smile
already curling her mouth.

Mrs.  Frinton looked slightly perplexed by Rosy's question, as though
it had surprised her.

"He's gone out.  Miss Rosy," she told her.

"He said to let you sleep in as you'd had a disturbed night and to tell
you that he wouldn't be back until late this evening.  Something about
having dinner with an important client in London."

Rosy's face fell, her earlier joy turning to bewilderment

Why hadn't Guard woken her, said something?  How could he leave her
like that after last night, without a word?  Without any kind of
acknowledgement of what had happened?  The day suddenly yawned emptily
ahead of her, full of hours which would drag slowly past while she
waited for Guard's return.

"Can I get you some breakfast?"  Mrs.  Frinton offered

Silently, Rosy shook her head, swallowing back the hard lump blocking
her throat.

Ten minutes later she was on her own in the library, standing staring
disconsolately out of the window when the door opened.  For a moment,
she thought it was Guard, her spirits lifting, a welcoming smile
warming her mouth as she turned round.  But it wasn't Guard who was
walking into the room, it was Edward.

"No Guard?"  Edward commented.

"Well, don't say I didn't try to warn you.  You do realise why he
married you, don't you.  Rosy?"

Go away, Edward, Rosy wanted to tell him, but the words were stuck in
her throat.  Instead, she turned her head away from him, trying to
silence him by ignoring him, but Edward simply laughed unkindly.

"Don't want to hear the truth, is that it?  Can't face up to it?  Well,
my dear Rosy, I'm afraid we all have to face up to unpleasant things
from time to time.  I found it extremely unpleasant, for in stance,
learning that I wasn't going to inherit this place."

"You knew the terms of Grandfather's will," Rosy told him unsteadily.

"Oh, yes, indeed," Edward agreed nastily.

"And I wasn't the only person who knew then, was I, Rosy?  Weren't you
the least little bit suspicious when Guard proposed to you?  He's known
you long enough, after all.  If he'd really wanted you he'd have--' " I
don't have to listen to any of this, Edward," Rosy protested angrily.

"Guard's and my feelings, our marriage, are private.  They don't have
anything to do with you."

"Oh, yes, they do," Edward contradicted her bitterly.

"Grow up.  Rosy, and face facts.  He married you for one reason and one
reason only.  He married you for Queen's Meadow, but he won't really be
secure here until he's got you pregnant, will he?  Until he's sure that
his child will inherit.  What's wrong.  Rosy?"  Edward taunted her.

"Surely you didn't really think that the reason he's so keen to take
you to bed is because he wants you?  Grow up.  If he'd wanted you that
badly, he'd have had you years ago," he told her crudely, while Rosy
gasped in shocked, distraught protest, all the colour leaving her face,
and Edward reinforced his cruelty by adding, "Why should a man like him
want you?  He could have any woman he wanted--any woman... " I don't
want to hurt you.  Rosy," Edward lied, abruptly changing tack, his
voice becoming nauseatingly soft and wheedling.

"I'm just trying to help you, protect you.  You could leave him now,
before it's too late.

Show him that you've seen through him.  How can you stay with him,
after all, knowing that he doesn't really want you?  You know that he
doesn't want you, don't you.  Rosy?  If he did, he'd be here with you,
wouldn't he?  Do you even know where he is or who he's with?  "

Rosy daren't turn round and confront Edward.  If she did he would see
the hurt in her eyes.

Guard had married her for Queen's Meadow.  Of course he had.  She knew
that had known it all along.  How on earth could she have been so
stupid to believe otherwise?

"Edward, have you got a minute?  I can't seem to find my car keys."

Rosy's body sagged with relief as she heard Margaret's timid voice from
the doorway.

She could hear Edward's irritable, carping voice as he followed his
wife out into the hallway.  Was it really only last night that she had
been pitying Margaret for being married to a man who so obviously
didn't love her, wondering how on earth she could bear to stay married
to him?  How blindly and foolishly she had tempted fate.  What was it
the Greeks had called fate's swift reprisal for such temerity?

Nemesis, that was it.  Nemesis.

Well, Guard was most definitely her nemesis.  Guard and her helpless,
pathetic, unwanted love for him.

Guard didn't love her and she had been a fool ever to think he did or
that he could.

Just because her feelings for him had changed so dramatically, that
didn't mean that his for her had undergone a similar metamorphosis.

But he had made love to her, held her, touched her, caressed her and
taken her to the heights of ecstasy and held her there.  A small sob
forced its way past her lips.

Because she had begged him to, pleaded with him to.  He was a man,
after all, with a very potent male sex drive.

How could she have been so stupid?  And how could she ever face him
again now, knowing.  Thank God Edward had inadvertently made her
realise the truth before she had actually told Guard that she loved
him.

She gulped painfully.  At least her pride would still be intact, even
if her heart wasn't.

If Guard said anything to her about what had happened, she would simply
have to pretend that it had been the result of her fear, her panic that
Edward might discover the truth.

CHAPTER TEN

'rosy.  "

Rosy tensed as she heard Guard calling her name.  She had almost
reached the front door; could she possibly open it and escape?  He was
back early anyway.  In the month they had been married he had worked
late virtually every evening.  She herself had planned to be out when
he came in, just as she had been every evening this last week.

It had been a godsend when Ralph had asked her if she could possibly
switch shifts with one of the other voluntary workers.  She had not
only agreed, she had opted to work several extra evenings as well.

She had seen the way Ralph frowned as he asked her, "Are you sure?

Won't Guard object?  "

"Guard's very busy himself," Rosy had told him truthfully.  Very busy
with his work, or very busy avoiding her?

Her mouth curled in a small, bitterly painful smile.  It seemed like a
lifetime ago now since she had so naively worried about having to share
a bed with Guard.

Then, when he had teased her about the effects of his proximity on her
libido, it had never occurred to her just how prophetic his words might
turn out to be.  Why should it?  She had been so unaware then, so
unknowing.

Now.  with Edward and Margaret still in the house they had no option
but to continue to share a bedroom and a bed, but Guard always took
care to make sure he stayed downstairs until she was asleep, or until
he thought she was asleep and, out of pride.  Rosy obligingly went
along with the deceit Lying there with her eyes closed while he moved
about the bedroom and the bathroom, trying desperately to hold at bay
the feelings, the needs, the emotions that were causing her so much
pain.

Not even when she was sure that Guard himself was asleep did she allow
herself the luxury of tears.  She dared not.  If Guard should wake up
and find her crying.  Once or twice in the week after that night, she
had been aware of him watching her and, on several occasions, she had
sensed that he was going to say something about what had happened, but
each time her own fear of what he might actually be going to say caused
her to evade the subject.

The worst time had been the night after they had made love.

Rosy had gone to bed early, knowing that there was no way she could
possibly sleep, and knowing as well that there was no way that she
could stay downstairs with Guard.

She had been pretending to be asleep when he came into the bedroom, but
she had obviously not deceived him, because he came over to her and
told her softly, "I know you're awake, Rosy.  We have to talk."

"No," she had denied in panic, guessing what it was he wanted to say.

He wanted to tell her that he had guessed how much she loved him but
that he did not love her.  He wanted to remind her of the terms of
their marriage, to shatter the illusion of their lovemaking that she
was clinging on to so desperately by telling her that, to him, it had
been nothing other than a mere sexual encounter, that the emotion, the
intensity, the closeness and commitment she had felt had all been
fabricated by her own imagination and need.

"No... I don't want to talk," she had told him fiercely, adding
childishly, "There isn't anything to talk about."

She had tensed a little as she saw the muscle beating angrily in his
jaw, but he hadn't argued with her or pressed the matter, simply saying
heavily, "Very well, Rosy, if that's what you really want."

She hadn't responded.  How could she?  Instead, she had turned her face
away from him as he walked away from her, curling herself into a small,
miserable ball.  What she really wanted was him-his love, his loving.

What she really wanted was for him to take her in his arms and tell her
that he loved her, that he wanted her, that he couldn't and wouldn't
live without her.

"Rosy," Guard called again, his voice ominously sharp.

It was too late for her to take flight now.  Rosy recognised; he was
already in the hall.

"What is it, Guard?"  she asked him, without looking directly at him.

"I was just on my way out.  I'm working at the shelter this evening.  I
must go, otherwise I'm going to be late."

"No," Guard told her softly.

"Tonight you're not working anywhere.

Rosy.  Tonight you and I are going to talk.  "

"But I can't let Ralph down."  Rosy panicked.

"He's expecting me and they're already short- staffed because of all
these meetings Ralph's been having about renewing the lease."

Their landlord at the shelter had recently announced that he intended
to sell the building when the lease ran out.  Ralph was trying to find
a way of raising enough money for them to buy the building themselves,
but so far he had not had much luck.  He had even asked to suggest to
Guard that he buy the building for them.

"No.  I can't do that, Ralph," Rosy had told him uncomfortably.

And nor could she provide the money herself, since her capital was all
tied up in various trusts.

"We can talk tomorrow," she suggested now.

"Can we?"  Guard asked her sardonically.

"Are you sure that by the time tomorrow comes you won't have found
something far more important to do?  No, Rosy.  I'm not the most
patient of men at the best of times but, given the situation, I accept
that things aren't easy for you.

But running away never solved anything, you know.

"When you and I married, we made a bargain and that bargain was that,
as far as anyone else was concerned, our marriage would appear
perfectly normal.  It isn't normal.  Rosy, for a couple who've only
been married a month to spend so little time together, especially when
one of that couple makes it plain that she " You're the one who's
always working late," Rosy interrupted him dangerously.

"Am I?  And how would you know what time I come home.  Rosy, since
you're never here?"

Rosy stared at him.  She knew because Edward had taken good care to
make sure that she did, never missing an opportunity to comment
pointedly on the fact that Guard had not arrived home until gone eight
or nine and, certainly when Rosy returned home from her shift at the
shelter after eleven, he was invariably shut in the library still
working.

"We made a bargain," Guard repeated grimly.

"But you aren't making any attempt to keep your side of it, are you?
You'd rather spend all your time at the shelter."

"It seemed the best thing to do," Rosy told him woodenly.

"What?  Best?  Best for whom?"  Guard demanded savagely.

"People are starting to talk," he warned her.

"They're starting to wonder what kind of marriage we have, what kind of
relationship when we're spending so much time apart.  My God, I've even
had Edward offering me commiseration and advice, warning me that people
are beginning to comment about the amount of time you're spending with
Ralph.  Edward also seems to think that Ralph might have tried to
persuade you to help finance the shelter."

"Is that is that what you wanted to talk to me about?"  Rosy asked
jerkily, warily.

"One of the things," Guard agreed.

One of them?  What were the others?  Rosy wondered miserably.  Only
yesterday Edward had commented on how unhappy she looked; 'lovelorn'
was the word he had used to describe her, pseudo- sympathetically
pretending to feel sorry for her be cause Guard was neglecting her.

"You mustn't wear your heart on your sleeve so obviously," he had
advised her.  Then like Guard enjoy the chase, the hunt.  You've made
it all far too easy for him.  Rosy, and now he's bored.  "

"Has Ralph asked you for money.  Rosy?"  Guard asked her sternly.

"He's worried about the lease, about losing the premises," Rosy
responded indirectly.

"The shelter needs--' " The shelter needs.  " Guard interrupted her
angrily.

"Tell me something.  Rosy, do you ever think about any other needs?
Anyone else's needs?  Or are you really so blind that?"

He broke off as the door opened and Edward walked into the hall.

"Sorry," he apologised insincerely, his foxy eyes flicking from Rosy's
pale face to Guard's angry one and back again.

"Have I interrupted a bad moment?"

"Did you want something, Edward?"  Guard asked him irritably, without
taking his eyes off Rosy's face, ignoring his question.

"Yes, if you don't mind, Guard, I wanted to have a word with you.  The
boys will be home from school soon and Margaret's fussing about the
lack of proper fire-escape facilities on the upper floor and I must say
I have to agree with her.  For safety's sake, I really think we ought
to move down a floor while they're here..."

Quickly, Rosy headed for the door, ignoring Guard's sharply commanding,
"Rosy... wait..."

Half expecting that he would come after her, she almost ran to her car,
her hands shaking as she unlocked the door and got in.

"We have to talk', he had said, but she couldn't.  She was far too
afraid of what he might say, of hearing him tell her that he had had
enough, that he was leaving.

And yet, really, wouldn't that be for the best?  How long could she go
on living so close to him, knowing how much she loved him, knowing that
Edward was watching their every movement, knowing that her time with
him was steadily trick ling away, living in dread of betraying her
feelings and having to bear the pain of hearing him say that he didn't
want her love.

All evening at the shelter, she was anxious and on edge, unable to
concentrate properly on what she was doing, and it was a relief when
her shift finally came to an end and she was free to go home.

The first thing she noticed as she parked her car outside the house was
that Guard's car was missing

Her heart took a forlorn dive into misery, even though she tried to
tell herself that it was just as well that he wasn't there.

Her head had been aching all evening, and she was in the kitchen taking
a couple of aspirin when Edward walked in.

"Not feeling very well?"  he asked her sharply.

"I've got a headache," Rosy responded listlessly.  She hated the habit
he had of always appearing when she least wanted him to, it was almost
eerie, intimidating, as though he was secretly spying on her.

"Guard's gone out," he told her, watching her.

"Yes, I realise that," Rosy agreed tonelessly.  She wanted to leave the
kitchen but Edward was standing right in front of her, almost
physically barring her way.

"He had a telephone call from a woman," Edward told her with relish.

"He said to tell you that he'd be away all night."

Rosy felt the blood drain from her face, and knew that Edward had
witnessed her body's reaction to her emotions.

"Oh, poor Rosy, you have got it badly, haven't you?"  Edward
sympathised insincerely.

"But you can't win, you know.  Sooner or later he's going to leave you.
Oh, he'll stay long enough to make sure of this place, but he's already
getting bored with you, isn't he?  A young woman of your age, he
probably expected to get you pregnant straight away... Are you
pregnant.  Rosy?  You've been looking very pale recently..."  Rosy
gasped in outraged anger.

"That's none of your business," she told him fiercely.

"Oh, yes, it is," Edward responded softly.

"It's very much my business.  Just as this house is very much my
business.  I hope you aren't pregnant, Rosy, because if you are...
Well, let's just say that in a house like this there are all kinds of
hazards for a woman in a delicate condition, if you take my meaning.
Guard wouldn't be very pleased if you lost his baby, would he.  Rosy?
All that time wasted.

The boring job of having to do it all again to be faced, when he would
obviously so much rather spend his time with someone else.  You've only
been married a month and already he's bored with you.  Rosy.  Leave him
now, while there's still time.  He only wants the house.  He doesn't
want you.  He's never wanted you.  "

With a small sob.  Rosy managed to push her way past her tormentor,
almost running out of the kitchen as she headed for the stairs and the
security of her bedroom.

The security?  How could she feel secure here now, after what Edward
had just said, the threats he had just made?

He must be mad, deranged--but Rosy knew that he wasn't.  She shivered
violently as she curled up in the middle of the bed.

How would she feel right now if she had actually been carrying Guard's
child?  The cold sickness, the fear, the anguish, the protective way
her hand instinctively covered her stomach told her the answer.

She couldn't go on like this, loving Guard, wanting him, knowing he
didn't love her, living in fear of Edward and his threats.

But where else could she go?  The shelter?  A wryly bitter smile curled
her mouth at the thought.  Hardly.

"You're not eating your breakfast."

"I'm not hungry," Rosy responded wanly to Guard's terse comment.  It
was Saturday morning and for once he had no serious business to take
him out of the house.

Nothing had been said about her refusal to agree to talk to him, and no
explanation given to her for his absence all night earlier in the
week.

Guard was just pushing his chair back from the table and standing up
when Edward walked into the breakfast-room.

"I've got to go out later," Guard told her distantly.

"I don't know how long I'll be away.  What are your plans?"

"I've--I've got some shopping to do later," Rosy fibbed, avoiding
looking at him, her whole body tensing as she felt him looking at
her.

"Ah, these modern marriages," Edward quipped, smiling at them.

He wasn't smiling an hour later as he caught up with Rosy on the
stairs, just after Guard had gone out.

"Stop making it hard for yourself.  Rosy," he advised her.

"Leave him.

He's making it very obvious how little he thinks of you and how much he
thinks of her.  "

"Her?"

The betraying, agonised word had escaped be fore Rosy could silence
it.

"Oh, come on."  Edward smirked.

"You can't be that naive.  Your husband stays away all night;

there can only be one reason, can't there?  There's got to be someone
else, hasn't there, Rosy?  Several someone elses if Guard's reputation
is anything to go by.  "

Suddenly, Rosy had had enough.  She could feel the tears filling her
eyes and threatening to spill down her face.  All Edward's barbed
pinpricks, all his cruelty, all his threats, all the pain and misery of
loving Guard and knowing she wasn't loved in return suddenly became too
much for her.

Head down, she turned and fled to the sanctuary of the bedroom.

The bedroom their bedroom the room and the bed she shared with Guard.

Shared with him.  She squeezed her eyes tightly closed against the hot,
betraying flood of her tears.

As the scalding tears burned their way down her face, she reached out
helplessly for Guard's pillow, wrapping her arms round it and burying
her face in it, trying to absorb the faintly lingering scent of him
into her own body, as though it were a drug which could ease her
pain.

"Rosy... Rosy, what is it?  What are you doing up here?"

Guard.  But he had gone out.  Rosy tensed as she heard his voice, not
daring to turn round.

"What's wrong?"  Guard asked.

"Aren't you feeling well?  Rosy, answer me..."

He was standing next to the bed now, leaning over her, his hand
reaching out towards her.  Miserably, Rosy lifted her face out of his
pillow.

"You're crying?"

He sat down on the bed next to her.  Next to her, but still apart from
her.  Rosy noticed.

"What is it?  What's wrong?"  "Nothing," Rosy lied.

"Is it Ralph?  The shelter?  Have you...?"

Ralph?  Rosy stared at him.  Why should she be crying over Ralph?

"Ralph!  Of course it isn't," she denied fretfully.

There was a look in Guard's eyes which made her heart suddenly start to
thud unsteadily.

"Well, if it's not Ralph then what, or rather who, is it?"  Guard
persisted quietly.

Edgily, Rosy sat up and moved slightly away from him.

"I thought you had to go out," she told him.

"That can wait," Guard responded flatly.

"This can't.  What is it, Rosy?  And don't tell me nothing.  The day "
nothing" makes you cry..."

To Rosy's consternation, he suddenly reached out and touched her hot,
damp face in a gesture which could almost be mistaken for tenderness,
just as the look in his eyes could almost be mistaken for real, genuine
concern.  But that would be a fatal mistake for her to make, she warned
herself, another fatal mistake.

She couldn't tell him the truth.  How could she, when ?  She tensed
abruptly as she heard some one walking down the corridor.

"It's Edward, Guard," she exclaimed in panic.

"Don't let him come in.

Don't "Edward?"

As she heard the sharp query in Guard's voice, Rosy's face flooded with
betraying colour.

"Is it Edward who's the cause of this... these?"  Guard demanded, his
fingers brushing gently against her face.

Rosy bit down on her bottom lip, not trusting herself to answer, but
she couldn't stop the hot, sad flow of tears that gave away her real
feelings.

"Tell me," Guard commanded her.

"All of it, Rosy," he warned her.

"I

want to know what the hell's been going on.  What the hell he's done to
cause this.  "

"I can't," Rosy protested miserably.

"Please don't make me, Guard.  I just wish he would go away," she
wept.

"I hate having him watching me, spying on me.  He knows, Guard.  I know
he does and he " He knows what?  "

"That this isn't a real marriage ... a proper marriage Rosy told him.

"He keeps telling me threatening me " Threatening you?  " Guard
interrupted her sharply.

"Rosy, there's nothing he can do to either of us now," he told her.

"Surely you must have realised that.  No matter what the reasons were
for our marrying, what our intentions were concerning the reality of
that marriage, Edward's power to damage us was totally destroyed the
night you and I turned our marriage from a fiction to a reality.
There's nothing he can do now, no legal recourse open to him."

"No no legal one," Rosy agreed tiredly.

Guard frowned at her.

"Rosy, what is it...?  What are you trying to say?"

She was shivering now, her body suddenly very cold; she felt ill
almost, like someone suffering from a very bad virus.

"Rosy!"  Guard warned her.

Wearily, Rosy shook her head.

"He keeps saying I should end our marriage," she told him quietly.

"He thinks you're trying to... He thinks..."  Flushing, she ducked her
head, unable to bring herself to look at him as she told him
unsteadily, "He thinks that if you and I have a child that your claim
to the house will be more secure.  He's guessed that that's why you
married me, Guard.  He even threatened--' She swallowed hard and gave a
small, hard laugh.

"He told me that-that in a house like this it would be very easy for a
woman to lose her baby..."

"WhatT Rosy winced as she heard the fury in Guard's voice.

"Stay here," he told her.

He was gone less than half an hour and when he came back, the
controlled, totally blanked-off expression in his eyes made Rosy feel
afraid.

What had he said to Edward and, even more important, what had Edward
said to him?  Had he told Guard about her feelings?  Had he?

"Edward's gone.  Rosy," Guard told her flatly.

"And he won't be coming back."

Rosy stared at him.  How on earth had Guard managed to make him leave
so easily and so quickly?  Edward had been like a limpet in his
determination to stay, and Guard had told her that there was too much
risk involved in insisting that he left.

"He's gone?  Just like that?"

Fresh tears rolled down her face, but this time they were tears of
relief.

"Oh, God, Rosy.  Rosy, don't cry..."

Rosy tensed as Guard moved towards her, obviously intending to take
hold of her and comfort her, flinching back from him, her eyes wide and
dark with distress.

"There's no need to back away from me as though I'm some kind of I'm
not going to touch you."

"No, I know you aren't," Rosy agreed woodenly, looking hurriedly away
from him as she felt fresh tears starting to fall.

"Well, if you know that, then why on earth ?"  she heard Guard
saying.

"Rosy," he demanded softly, his voice suddenly changing.

"Rosy, look at me."

"I can't," Rosy whispered.

"I can't."

"Yes, you can."

She trembled as Guard's hand cupped her face, gently tilting it upwards
so that he could look into her tear-drenched eyes.

"Now," he told her quietly, 'if you know I'm not going to touch you,
then why flinch away from me like that?  "

Rosy blinked hard, trying to suppress her tears, her lips trembling as
she failed and the full force of her emotions stormed through her,
shattering her de fences

"It's because I want you to touch me," she told him in a tormented,
husky voice.

"Because I love you and I want you and I can't bear Guard...
Guard..."

Her protest was smothered beneath his mouth as he reached out for her,
holding her so tightly that she could feel the fierce beat of his heart
as though it were her own.

"Rosy... Rosy."

She scarcely recognised the stifled, intense voice as Guard's, the
fiercely whispered endearments, the hungry, passionate kisses.  Surely
she must be imagining them, she thought dizzily.

Surely this couldn't really be Guard, holding her like this, kissing
her mouth, her face, her throat.  Telling her how much he loved her,
how much he had always loved her, telling her he had waited for what
felt like half his life, her lifetime, to hear her say what she had
just said.

"But you can't love me," Rosy protested shakily, pushing him slightly
away from her and looking up into his eyes, her own shy and
bewildered.

"You've always disliked me hated me."

"Oh, Rosy," Guard groaned.

"Only you could think that.  Only you do think that.  Why the hell do
you think I married you?"

Rosy frowned.

"Because I asked you to.  Because you wanted the house."

"No, Rosy," Guard corrected her thickly.

"I wanted you.  Did want, have wanted, do want, will want," he
stressed, ticking each assertion off on her fingers, pausing to kiss
each one of them tenderly and then less tenderly as he saw the
expression in her eyes.

Rosy felt her whole body jerk in shocked reaction to the sensation of
his sucking on her fingertips.

She could feel what he was doing to her right down to her toes.  And
everywhere else as well.

"But you didn't want to marry me.  I had to ask you," she reminded him
in a small voice.

"And you said you needed time..."

"Time to get myself under control and work out just how capable I was
of going along with what you were asking.  You were damn lucky I didn't
snatch you up there and then and take you to bed, just to show you
exactly what I thought of your plans for our business marriage.

Perhaps that's what I should have done," he added, lifting his head to
look at her.

Rosy couldn't conceal the sharp fris son of excitement that ran through
her, or the hot colour burning her skin.

"Would you have liked that, Rosy?"  Guard asked her thickly, letting
her see just how much her're action was affecting him, exciting him.
Rosy recognised, on a small wobble of uncertain delight.

"Would you have liked it if I'd carried you off to bed and made love to
you?"

"I... Oh, Guard, how can you possibly have loved me without my
knowing?"  Rosy demanded giddily.

"With extreme frustration," Guard told her drily, 'and a hell of a lot
of jealousy.  "

"You, jealous?  Of whom?"

"Ralph, for one," Guard told her quietly.

"And Bressee for another.  My God, when I saw the way you were letting
him flirt with you... I've always considered myself a very logical and
cautious human being, but that night... I wanted to take you to bed and
stamp the seal of my possession on you so clearly that no man no man
would ever doubt that you were mine."

"Edward said you didn't love me.  That you just wanted the house," Rosy
told him painfully.

"He said he said you had someone else and I thought... Why, if you love
me.  Guard, did you...?  Didn't you...?"  She stopped and looked
pleadingly at him.

"Why didn't you say something that night, the night...?"

"Oh, Rosy.  How little you know," Guard told her, but his derisive look
was.  Rosy recognised, more for himself than for her.

"I was angry with myself for for letting things get out of hand, for
letting my feelings, my needs, destroy my selfcontrol.  You'd turned to
me for comfort in fear and panic.  I never intended...!  thought you
must have guessed how I felt and that was why you refused to talk about
what had happened."

"I thought you were angry with me," Rosy whispered.

"In the morning when I woke up and you weren't there..."

"I thought you wouldn't want me to be there."

Rosy gave him an uncertain look.

"But you must have known.  You must have guessed that I " That you
what?  Responded passionately to me?  Yes, I knew that, but then you've
always been passionately intense about everything you've done.  "

"But I begged you to make love to me," Rosy reminded him,
half-ashamed.

"I..."

"You told me you wanted me, but I dared not let myself believe that
that was anything more than the impulse of the moment, a reaction
brought on by the trauma of what you were enduring.  And then, of
course, I also had my guilt to deal with."

"Your guilt?  For making love to me?"  Rosy asked him, frowning.

"Among other things," he agreed.

"What other things," Rosy demanded, perplexed.

"Agreeing to marry you instead of trying to help you find some other
way round the problem," he told her, watching her face carefully.

"Taking ad vantage of Edward's decision to move in here..."

"Taking advantage?  In what way?"

Guard looked at her and then at the bed.

"In the way that led to your and my becoming lovers.  Do you honestly
think I couldn't have gone and got your clothes for you if I'd really
wanted to, Rosy?"

"But you didn't want to sleep with me.  You said so," Rosy protested.

"Oh, Rosy," Guard groaned.

"Of course I wanted to sleep with you.  I wanted to sleep with you,
touch and kiss you, love you.  I wanted it all and more much, much
more.  I wanted you to hold me, to touch me, to want me.  To love me,"
he told her huskily.

He cupped her face and looked down into her eyes.

"Do you really believe I couldn't have found some way of getting rid of
Edward, some way of ensuring that we didn't have to share a room, if
that was really what I'd wanted?  Have I shocked you?"

Rosy shook her head.

"Surprised me," she admitted.

"I had no idea."

"I think I fell in love with you the night I found you poaching," Guard
told her softly.

"Grubby, undersized, very angry a little girl, still, in so many ways
and yet in so many others very, very much a woman.  Or at least that
was what my emotions and my body told me.  My mind..."  He shook his
head.

"I knew it was too soon.  You were too young.  You didn't even like
me.

But then you went on not liking me not liking me but reacting so
emotionally to me that I couldn't stop myself from clinging to the hope
that maybe.  just maybe "I'd fall in love with you," Rosy broke in
softly.

"Is that what's happened.  Rosy?"  he asked her quietly.

Rosy shook her head.

"No, I haven't fallen in love with you.  Guard," she told him firmly,
lifting her hand to his face in an instinctive gesture of comfort as
she saw his pain.

"Falling in love is for teenagers, girls.  I'm a woman.  I love you.
Guard," she told him emotionally.

"I love you as a woman loves a man wholly, completely, for ever."

She trembled as she saw the moisture in his eyes, reaching up to pull
him down against her, whispering to him, "Oh, Guard... Guard..."

Some time later, lying naked in his arms, watching as he reached out
his hand to cup her breast, reluctant, it seemed, even now to release
her, she smiled lovingly at him.

His thumb stroked the tip of her nipple, swollen still from their
earlier lovemaking.

"Were you really jealous of Ralph?"  she marvelled

"Extremely," Guard responded wryly.

"A fact which Edward played on to very good effect."

"He manipulated us both," Rosy acknowledged.

"What did you say to him to make him leave, Guard?"  she asked him.

Guard's head paused in its descent towards her breast.

"I told him that if he ever, ever said or did anything to upset you
again, I'd make him regret it for the rest of his life.  I also told
him that if he wasn't out of the house and out of our lives within half
an hour he'd find his financial and business affairs under the kind of
scrutiny that would make the Fraud Squad look tame."

His mouth opened gently over her nipple.

"Mmm..."  Rosy closed her eyes, stretching her body luxuriously beneath
his caress.

"I thought you'd " What?  " Guard asked her throatily, releasing her
nipple to smile into her arousal-darkened eyes.  His hand stroked the
satin-soft skin of her thigh, his own eyes darkening as she made a
small, soft sound of pleasure.

"Is there something else you'd rather be doing?"  he suggested.

"No... nothing," Rosy denied, unsteadily.

Guard's mouth returned to her nipple, caressing it with such slow
deliberation that it was almost a torment.

"How would you like it if I did that to you?"  she protested as her
body started to tremble with arousal.

"Try me," Guard invited her.

For a moment she thought he was joking, but then she realised that he
meant it.

Shyly and a little uncertainly at first, she touched the soft-haired
flesh of his chest with her lips, slowly moving closer to his flat male
nipple.

The sensation of taking it into her mouth was unexpectedly erotic, so
much more so than she had anticipated that it made her tense slightly
and hesitate.

"No, Rosy... Don't stop ... don't stop," she heard Guard groan thickly
as his hands came up and held her head against his body.  She could
feel his fingers trembling slightly against her scalp, feel the fierce,
fast beat of his heart, the arousal of his body as it responded to her
hesitant suckling.

If touching him like this gave him so much plea sure, then how much
more pleasure could she give him by caressing him with the same kind of
intimacy he had shown her?

She almost started to ask him, but then stopped.  There were some
things, she decided quietly, that a woman needed to discover for
herself.

He didn't say anything when she touched his thigh, nor when she placed
some light butterfly kisses over his belly, but she could feel his
tension, feel it in his sudden almost painful grip on her wrist as she
moved down his body.

He didn't try to restrain her, but he didn't en courage her either, and
for a moment Rosy almost changed her mind.

What if he didn't want her to.  Didn't like.  But she wanted to, she
recognised, on a sudden sharp ache of desire.  She wanted to touch him,
taste him, know him with the same intimacy with which he knew her.

The musky, male scent of his body made her own ache sharply.  She could
feel his tension as she slowly slid her mouth down over him, touching
him with her tongue, delicately exploring him, startled by the surge of
pleasure that what she was doing gave her, the immediate and now easily
recognised reaction of her flesh to what she had al ways naively
assumed was a caress that sexually pleased only the recipient and not
the giver.

Guard's hand fell away from her wrist as a deep shudder racked his
body.  Beneath her fingertips the muscles in his thigh were tense.

"Rosy... Oh, God, Rosy... No more.  No more," she heard him protest in
a stifled voice as she continued to caress him.  His hands gripped her
shoulders and his body writhed fiercely as he almost dragged her up the
bed.

"Didn't you like it?"  Rosy asked him uncertainly as he buried his
mouth in her throat.

"Like it...?"  His body shook as he rolled her on to her side and his
hand stroked her thigh, lifting it.

"Like it?  Yes, I liked it," he told her roughly as he started to move
against her.

"But you didn't show it.  You didn't hold me against you the way you
did when I sucked you here," she told him, touching his nipple.

Her voice had become breathy and soft as she felt him enter her.

"That wasn't because I didn't want to.  It was because I dared not,"
Guard told her rawly.

"Did you want me to?"

"Yes," Rosy admitted.

"Yes, Guard, it made me want you so much."

"That's good," Guard told her, 'because it certainly made me want you.
"

As he moved inside her, Rosy wrapped herself blissfully around him.

"Oh, Guard, that feels so good ... so good ... so good."

"Still love me...?"

Sleepily, Rosy opened her eyes.  She was lying curled up against
Guard's body where she had fallen asleep after the last time they had
made love.

"Mmm... More than ever," she told him.

"Do you love me?"

"Yes," Guard told her quietly.

"Above and be 9 yond anything else there ever has been in my life or
ever will be.  You are my life.  Rosy.  My life and my love.  Today,
tomorrow, always and for ever.  I love you."