England 1813


The graveyard echoed silence but for the sound of running feet and her own straining breath. Kitty
Trapp stopped to gasp for a moment against a tall marker stone, one carved with cherubs and the
word "Beloved." The morning sun had yet to rise above the London dwellings surrounding the churchyard, making the shadows dense and undefined.

There. White flashed between two tall stones—a mere translucent wisp as insubstantial as fog—then
it was gone.

Again. The early morning light brightened through the mist to glimmer for an instant on a pale figure. Kitty dodged a headstone and dashed to the side of one of the great mausoleums, regretting her
sedentary existence in an entirely new way as her side clenched in a stitch. She clutched her waist
tightly with one hand while holding up her hem with the other—and kept running. Faster.

With a last burst of speed that she hardly knew she was capable of, Kitty burst through a decorative hedge that separated the rich from the not so rich even after death. With one hand stretched before
her, she reached out—

And caught her sister's sleeve before Bitty could make the largest mistake of her life.

It took a moment for Kitty to gather enough breath to speak. "Bettina Melrose Trapp! Get back in that church this instant! What can you be thinking to race through hallowed ground? And on your wedding day!"

Bitty let free a sob while struggling to pull away from her twin's grip. Kitty, however, had years of experience in getting her way. She might be the ever so slightly younger and the ever so slightly less attractive and the much less financially desirable twin, but she was also ever so slightly taller and
much, much meaner.

Bitty only struggled harder, surprising Kitty with her willingness to possibly damage her wedding gown. Kitty didn't dare ease her grip, however. Behind them was a church full of influential people, including
the Prime Minister and half the members of the House of Lords.

Thinking again of Mama's eagerness to impress the imperious Lord Liverpool, Kitty began to drag her twin back through the gravestones to the tiny room off the nave where they'd been sent to await the
first strains of the wedding march.

"But I don't want to!" Bitty struggled harder, although Kitty noticed that she kept her wails muted.
"I don't want to wed him in front of all those people!"

"Well, you ought to have considered that before you accepted Mr. Knight's proposal." Reaching the old arched door of the back exit off the nave, Kitty towed her twin inside. She only released Bitty when
she'd closed the oak door on its thick iron hinges and thrown the great latch once more.

In his small alcove off the nave, Mr. Alfred Theodious Knight paused in the act of adjusting his cravat. The hollow echo of a door slamming somewhere in the church distracted him. He waited a long moment, but no further uproar ensued. Good. Hopefully, events would continue as scheduled.

Not that he was in a hurry to wed the Trapp girl. She hardly inspired hot-blooded urgency. When one examined the match logically-—and Knight examined everything logically—the girl would suit him well enough. Unexceptional looks, if not precisely pretty. Blond, which was pleasant but scarcely necessary. Of flawless reputation— aside from one recent blunder—and possessing an unobtrusive demeanor.

This last was important, for Knight wanted no torrid stories floating about concerning his marriage.
He'd had a lifetime of living down the outrageous antics of his shameless mother. He'd not tolerate
such nonsense from his own wife.

Further, the girl was of adequate family, with surprisingly high connections. Figure: landing somewhere between pleasingly plump and overindulged. Taste: excruciating, but that had already been dealt with. Inheritance: large enough to inspire interesting possibilities but not so large as to eclipse his own.

And finally, but in his mind the most important, wedding Bettina Trapp would erase a possible stain
upon his family's name. If only it were this easy to erase all the misdeeds of Knight's younger half brother, John Tuttle.

Born out of their shared mother's affair with a horse trainer hired to develop the blood stock, John
Tuttle had never felt the need to live down his origins as Knight did. In fact, John seemed intent on broadening the spectrum of sins painted upon the family history by the late Mrs. Knight.

Several weeks ago Tuttle had decided to line his pockets with Miss Trapp's inheritance. With characteristic Tuttle treachery, John had proceeded to lure the naive Bettina Trapp onto a balcony
during a ball and had there leaped upon her like a hungry hound. Only the happenstance of Bettina's
sister coming upon the scene had prevented a scandal that would have rocked London.

Upon reflection, Knight realized that he had never seen his bride's sister. By John's furious and drunken description just before Knight had ordered his half sibling boarded onto the next ship to the West Indies, the other Trapp girl was a proper witch.

Typical of younger siblings, Knight was sure.

The wedding march ought to play soon. With habitual calm, Mr. Alfred Theodious Knight firmly squelched his boredom and returned to adjusting a cravat that was already tied to perfection.

Standing with her back to the only escape from the tiny cell, Kitty folded her arms and regarded Bitty with fond exasperation. Bitty never could accomplish anything without a fuss and flurry, even something as simple as walking down the aisle. Melodrama was as much a part of Bitty as was her indecision and her basic timidity, although Bitty's essential lack of will was the only thing that made Kitty able to live with her pampered and narcissistic twin.

Not that it was entirely Bitty's fault. Kitty thought that she might herself have been as malleable as Bitty
if she'd been the focus of her parents' social ambitions for her entire life. Instead, she'd had to fight
every day of her life for the slightest notice from her family.

Perhaps that was why Bitty was so prone to theatrics, as a sort of outlet for her own desires and dreams. Although Kitty couldn't imagine why. As far as she knew, Bitty's desires and dreams coincided entirely with Mama's ambitions for her.

Until today, that is.

"If you didn't want to have a grand wedding, why didn't you say something weeks ago? Or yesterday,
for that matter? What will Mr. Knight say?"

"Oh, I cannot bear to think on him. So grim—so dark!"

Kitty blinked at that. "You don't fancy his looks? Then why did you accept him?" Astounding. She had seen the gentleman on the day when he'd come to offer for Bitty, although he hadn't seen her. The landing on the stairs was a lovely place to spy on someone in the entrance hall. In Kitty's opinion, the stern and silent Mr. Knight was quite ideal, at least in his even features and fine dark eyes.

Bitty only shuddered in response. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Again, something best brought up in conversation before today," muttered Kitty. She threw out her hands. "The poor man is standing out there right now waiting for you! The world is standing out there waiting for you!"

That had been the wrong thing to say. Bitty shrank back, then unbelievably, reached behind her neck to begin undoing the tiny buttons that ran down her white silk-clad back. "No, no, no—" Then she began to tug the tightly fitted sleeves down, right there in the church with half the world waiting outside the door!

"Bitty, what are you doing?" Kitty rushed around behind her to do her up again, but Bitty twisted away
to tug at the costly beaded silk as if it were a filthy rag.

"No!"

Kitty was astonished at the vehemence in her sister's voice. Bitty was choosing now to exhibit a spine? Kitty tried a new tack. "Bitty, wait," she said in a soothing tone. "Think on it. This is your wedding day. Everything is just as you wished. The church is the one where Mama wed Papa. The flowers are just as you dreamed. Your gown . .." Well, to be truthful, the gown was a horror, all tucked and beaded and beribboned with not one inch unadorned. In Kitty's opinion, Bitty had never had one smidge of taste,
nor had Mama.

Kitty abandoned soothing to go straight to entirely livid. "Bettina Melrose Trapp, put your wedding gown back on this instant!" All to no effect. Bitty stripped the dress off and tossed it ruthlessly over the back
of a heavy carved chair.

A tap came at the door that led into the church. "Girls?"

Kitty closed her eyes. Mama. Things were about to go from bad to disastrous. Bitty dove behind the dressing screen. The coward.

Mrs. Beatrice Trapp, society matron and patroness of everything socially advantageous, entered the
room like a lavender ship under sail. "Kitty? Where is your sister?" She spotted the dress tossed unceremoniously aside. Her eyes widened in appalled surprise. "She isn't yet dressed? The vicar is expecting us now!"

Kitty saw a scene in the making, what with Mama's ambitions colliding with Bitty's theatrics—a long, loud, and potentially very public scene indeed. Quickly, she stepped in.

"Mama, you must stall the ceremony." She wrapped one arm about her mother's stout waist and steered her back to the door. "A minor hair mishap, that is all. We only need a moment."

Beatrice Trapp looked over her shoulder at the limp and empty wedding gown. "But don't you need my help to get Bitty dressed?"

Kitty sent her mother out with a small push, just to build up her momentum. "Don't worry, Mama.
You'll have a bride to marry off in mere moments."

One way or another.

There were several hundred guests in the church. That meant nearly a thousand eyes turned Kitty's
way when she took her first hesitating step on her father's arm down the aisle.

This is a dreadful plan. Kitty's conscience seemed to beat against the barrier of her lie like a trapped
moth. Don't do this!

Firmly she squelched the inner protest. 'Twas no great problem. She would simply do this one thing for Bitty, and for her parents, and no one need know but Bitty and herself. After all, it wasn't as though
they hadn't done it time and again in their childhood.

Mr. Knight stood tall and imposing next to the vicar. Heavens, had his shoulders always been so broad? Kitty's veil—Bitty's veil—hung mistily between herself and the groom—Bitty's groom—

Kitty shook herself firmly back to the subject at hand. She need only make it through the ceremony, trot home to undress, and stuff her sister into the very fine traveling suit awaiting her, and kiss Bitty good-bye as she left on her honeymoon.

It was only that... when she'd dreamed of this moment in her life, she'd never thought it would be a farce, an unworthy prank. What should have been her first and only time taking this journey had been twisted. Now Kitty didn't know if the purity of her own walk down the aisle could ever be returned to her.

So when she arrived at the altar and turned to face Mr. Knight, there were very believable tears in her eyes.

Knight tried not to heave a visible sigh of impatience at the slow intonations of the vicar. The pomp and symbolism that was wrapped around what amounted to a business transaction never ceased to amaze him.

His bride wept beside him. He hoped she would not turn out to be sillier than most. Unfortunately, he'd yet to see evidence of any brain at all in Bettina Trapp. The one report he'd had of her led one to believe she hadn't the sense to get herself in out of the rain. His impression upon first meeting her on the day
he'd proposed had not been favorable, for she'd merely blinked at his offer with wide brown eyes, then paled, then nodded.

Still, Knight retained a hope of finding some sort of intellect beneath the vapid exterior. A long and intimate future with a completely brainless woman didn't bear thinking about.

He took his bride's hand in his at the appropriate moments, said the expected litany, vowed forever
away to this creature whom he truly didn't know at all.

Wedded bliss, the vicar said. Knight didn't see it as anything of the sort. Simply a business transaction, after all.

The entire party had arrived at the Trapps' home for the wedding breakfast. The moment Kitty could manage it she ran for her room. It would only take a few moments to change, especially if Bitty had everything ready as they had arranged.

It wasn't until Kitty had neared the top of the stairs at a run that she realized that never once—not
before, during, or after the ceremony—had her parents asked after her ... er, Kitty. Pausing at the door
to her room, she fought down the hurt that no one had noticed Kitty's absence from the festivities.

Flinging herself into the room, she pasted on a bright smile, ready to give Bitty every detail of the last hour—

There was no one in the room, or in Bitty's room. Or in the bathing chamber, or in the small sitting
room attached. Worse, much worse ... Bitty's traveling things weren't anywhere to be seen.

Bitty was gone.

Kitty slumped on her bed, unmindful of crushing the priceless satin of her gown—Bitty's gown.

What was she to do? She was tempted to change back to Kitty and merely report to her parents that
Bitty was gone ... but then she'd likely have to tell them of the deceit they had perpetrated. And if that deceit ever became public knowledge .. .

Kitty swallowed. If she'd thought the scandal of a reluctant bride would have been bad, the scandal of
a runaway wife would be ruinous to the entire family! And she herself would be publicly branded a liar and mischief maker of the worst sort. Her parents would be dragged into it, there'd be no avoiding that. Mr. Knight might very well sue them or have them charged with something criminal!

"Oh, Bitty," she breathed. "What have we done?"

Feeling dizzy and more than a little sick, Kitty stood up to reach to the buttons of the gown she was fast beginning to hate with a thick and choking passion. It wasn't easy, but she managed to get herself out. Luckily, she hadn't had to wear the corset beneath it, for Bitty had added a bit of weight during her engagement.

For the first time, it occurred to Kitty that her sister had been unhappy all along. Kitty tried to remember if Bitty had attempted to communicate that unhappiness at any time.

She couldn't pin down any one moment, but now that she thought about it, Bitty had been very quiet lately, at least when she wasn't planning details of the wedding.

Kitty always tried to be brutally honest with herself and she could see now that she had been more than
a little jealous of Bitty's nuptials. She herself had avoided talking to her twin soon after the engagement, although she had told herself it was because hearing about the lace on Bitty's veil for the hundredth time was not terribly interesting to her.

She ought to have remembered that an unbearable Bitty was an unhappy Bitty. Now it was too late. Bitty had flown, but Kitty had no idea where to. Surely she wouldn't hide with any of the families they knew, for no one would assist a young woman in her own ruination. Yet where could she have gone? When would she be back?

And why had she left Kitty in the lurch? Bitty was profoundly self-absorbed, that was true, but surely
he must know that Kitty couldn't keep the secret forever? What had been the point of this wedding farce if Bitty had never planned on behaving as a proper wife should?

Clad now in her chemise and stockings, Kitty began to pace the room. She mi^st order her mind, that's what Aunt Clara would say. Aunt Clara was Lady Etheridge, wife of the Prime Minister's adviser. She was also a famous political cartoonist who feared nothing and no one.

Kitty wished Aunt Clara were here now, but Lady Etheridge had begged off the wedding breakfast, admitting her lack of appetite that morning.

Kitty picked up her silver hairbrush and began to undo the hasty twist she had put her hair into to fit beneath the veil. A small bark of laughter left her lips at the sight of the pile of pins on the dressing table.

Before disappearing, Bitty had taken the time to undo the elaborate mass of braids and ribbons that Kitty had spent hours putting into her hair this morning. Not truly one of her duties, but Bitty had insisted on having her sister with her and had disdained the help of a maid.

Kitty had been flattered at the time, and quite willing to oblige, but now a dark thought twisted through her mind. Had Bitty planned this outrageous flight? Had she herself been purposely maneuvered into taking her sister's place at the altar, like some sort of ancient sacrifice?

No, surely not even Bitty would do something so unworthy. This morning's panic had been unfeigned, Kitty would swear to that. Bitty had simply worked herself up further and had fled her own exaggerated fears.

Surely.

Bitty would be back, Kitty dared be in no doubt of that. Her sister would come back as soon as she had calmed, and the switch could still take place. There was no need to alert Mama and Papa yet. Mr. Knight need know no differently at this point.

She could continue the charade until Bitty returned, likely tonight or perhaps tomorrow. Even Bitty
would not push the bounds of propriety by staying too long on her own. One night might be covered,
two would be harder, and anything after that would require the help of the entire family and staff—which meant the gossip would get out, one way or another. No, Bitty would be home in two days at the latest.

Of course, that didn't exactly clarify what Kitty should do tonight.

The wedding night.

As Kitty hugged her mother good-bye, Beatrice Trapp leaned back to take a long look at her. Kitty ducked her head to toy with the embroidered frogs of her spencer. Her bonnet covered her hair, which was ever so slightly lighter than Bitty's, but she no longer had the veil to hide her face. Mama wasn't impossible to fool even now, but she was one of the most difficult. "Kitty will be at her friend's house
for a few days, Mama."

Beatrice nodded. "Darling, are you sure you feel well enough to go away just now? You've had a trying day. I'm sure Mr. Knight can be prevailed upon to wait until tomorrow." Beatrice turned to the man
who stood beside Kitty. "What say you, Mr. Knight? Will you allow me to keep my daughter for another day?" This was said lightly, almost flirtatiously, in the way that Mama usually spoke to socially advanced gentlemen, but Mr. Knight did not answer in kind.

"As she is no longer your daughter, Mrs. Trapp, but yet my wife, I believe it is upon me to look out for her welfare now." His deep voice sounded bored and a tad impatient. Kitty didn't look at him, but she was aware that he had moved a step closer to her.

The man thought himself her husband. He would not tolerate being brooked in his will, that was already apparent. Kitty looked up just long enough to shoot her mother one of Bitty's small refined smiles,
careful not to show her teeth the way Mama so disliked in Kitty's usual grins.

"I shall be fine, Mama," she said in Bitty's soft tones. "Mr. Knight will take good care of me, I am sure." She wasn't sure of any such thing, but she had the knife Aunt Clara had given her tucked in her bodice and more knowledge of the vulnerabilities of the male anatomy than any respectable young girl had a
right to. She could take very good care of herself, thank you.

Mr. Knight's carriage awaited outside, and a footman wearing the black and silver Knight livery helped her into it. Mr. Knight followed, seating himself across from her in the rear-facing seat, as any gentleman would. He seemed well mannered, if somewhat arrogant. Kitty cursed her own pride that had withstood learning more about her sister's fiance. She should have had a wealth of second-hand information from Bitty by now, if she'd not been so caught up in her own bitter feelings.

Yet if her family had wanted to include her in the plans and discussions, they had given her no hint of it. Mama had sometimes literally shut Kitty from the room during such times.

And when she'd asked Papa about the dispensation of Bitty's inheritance from Grandmama Melrose, Papa had jovially patted her on the head and told her not to trouble herself over matters that didn't concern her.

True, Bitty's inheritance wasn't strictly Kitty's business, since Grandmama, who had died just before the twins' birth, had most clearly specified that her wealth should fall to the eldest daughter.

Eldest by. no more than half an hour. The inequity of this had been part of Kitty's awareness for as long as she could remember, since she and Bitty had heard their parents discussing it in one of their many excursions into eavesdropping. From that day forward, Bitty had never allowed Kitty to forget it. Every argument was lost, every squabble dispensed with, when Bitty would draw herself up and say grandly, "Yes, but I am the heiress."

Not that Bitty hadn't had some trouble as well, from one fortune-hungry fellow in particular who had
tried to coerce her to his own advantage. But beyond John Tuttle and his friend Wesley Merrick, there had been charming men, and stolid respectable men, and even one impoverished baronet calling upon Bitty.

Yet Bitty had chosen Mr. Knight, who as far as Kitty knew had never once danced attendance on her sister. He had simply presented himself one day with his offer in hand, had spoken to Bitty privately
for a moment, then had taken her acceptance into Papa's study to finalize the matter.

Tipping her bonnet slightly to see around the brim, Kitty examined the man across from her. His profile was in evidence as he gazed out the small window in apparent boredom. His brown eyes were very
nearly black in their intensity, and Kitty had to admit once more that the chiseled cut of his jaw conformed to her own masculine ideal.

As if he felt eyes upon him, he turned his head to look at her with one eyebrow raised in query. How irksome. Couldn't he spare enough words to ask his own wife what she was thinking? Need she respond to mere gestures like a well-trained hound?

In irritated response, she mirrored his- own expression directly back to him. He blinked, then gazed at
her levelly for a moment longer. Then, as if he couldn't be bothered, he turned his attention back to the window.

She'd annoyed him. Kitty reminded herself that she was supposed to be portraying Bitty. Despite Bitty's sharp battle instincts in the war of sibling rivalry, with anyone outside the family Bitty was nigh unto speechless with shyness. Especially strange men. In particular, gruff, unsmiling men like the one seated across from her.

Dear Lord, Bitty, what were you thinking?

Kitty began again. She pressed her lips into one of Bitty's smiles and injected that breathy quality to her voice that Bitty used to apparent advantage.

"Mr. Knight?" There was no response. They were supposedly married now. Perhaps something a bit
less formal? Alfred Theodious Knight, the vicar had named him in the ceremony. "Alf—"

He interrupted her with a black glare that made her shrink back against the cushions.

"I do not enjoy being addressed by my given name, Bettina. Nor do I appreciate any derivative thereof. As I informed you before, I do not tolerate Alfred, Alf, Alfie, Theodious, Theo, and most especially not Teddy. My familiars call me Knight. As my wife, you may address me as Mr. Knight." He gave his
cuffs a tug. "I trust we need never have this conversation again."

Conversation? When she'd only been allowed half a word? What an appalling man. "Alfred the Odious, indeed," Kitty muttered under her breath.

"I beg your pardon, Bettina?"

She smiled sweetly at him. "Merely taking note of your wishes, Mr. Knight."

He subsided into his previous pose of boredom with one last suspicious glance. "Very well. See that
you do."

Kitty leaned back onto the cushions and turned her gaze to her own window, hiding behind her bonnet brim once more. Good heavens, if this was to be Bitty's life, Kitty vowed she would never envy her
poor sister again.

Knight helped his bride from the carriage with his own hand this time. He was feeling a tiny stab of
regret for the harsh tone he'd taken with her earlier. Yet she had already disregarded his very specific instructions regarding his address. If she turned out to be defiant beneath her mild exterior, they were going to have a very rough road.

Willful and intelligent might be somewhat interesting. Willful and foolish could not be borne.

On the steps of his house, his servants stood in a line to welcome their new mistress. He hadn't very many dependents, for he disliked the disruptions of a full household, but neither did he consider himself difficult to work for. All he demanded was that his wishes be met immediately and completely. In return, he paid well and provided security for all.

All very simple and direct. Knight wished above all for his life to be orderly. Obtaining a wife shouldn't play too much hell with orderly, if he managed her well.

Night had fallen, making the candles glow brighter up in the spacious "Madam's" chamber where Kitty had been led by a young but purposeful maid. She had spent the last hours penning desperately cheerful notes to all of Bitty's acquaintances, thanking some for appearing at the wedding, forgiving others for
not. She signed them "Mrs. Knight" and added a postscript to each one.

"Should you happen across my sister, please tell her that I was sorry not to see her at the wedding breakfast and that I hope she recovers from her complaint soon."

Not precisely clever, but it was the best she could do. Some of Bitty's circle were less friends than they were competitors. Kitty didn't know all of them well enough to know who Bitty would trust.

After sending the footman to post the letters, Kitty realized the hour. It was so late she'd missed dinner, absently refusing while concentrating on her mission. Now it was her wedding night and her "husband" would be expecting a willing bride.

In a sudden burst of panic, Kitty dug through the trunk for Bitty's oldest and warmest flannel nightdress. It would cover all but her neck and her hands. Bitty's new maid glanced askance at Kitty's choice of nightwear.

"I believe the master had something other in mind for you, madam." The girl went to the chest to
retrieve something filmy that fluttered as she walked back to Kitty. "This is what he purchased." The maid held up the gown by the scant shoulders of ribbon and let the length of sheer silk fall to the floor.

Kitty stared. He had chosen such a scandalous nightdress? Why, it was naught but a spider web with a
bit of lace on the hem! And the neckline—heavens, she'd spill from it like an overloaded bushel basket
of French melons! Kitty took a step back from the horrifying item even as a part of her admired the beauty and elegance of the Grecian design.

If I were a true bride, receiving my true love in our honeymoon bower...

Well, enough of fantasy. Her objective was to fend off Mr. Knight for as long as possible. She wouldn't like her chances of fending off an elderly half-blind vicar while clad in that. Kitty raised her chin.
"I'll wear what I have chosen."

The maid looked doubtful. "The master said—"

"The master may wear that if it pleases him so," Kitty said firmly as she began to change. Honestly, the man was a blasted tyrant. Best he learn from the beginning not to push a Trapp about. "I, on the other hand, intend to wear what pleases me."

"The master won't like it."

Indeed, the master didn't like it, not one bit. Kitty could see it from his expression the moment he
stepped into her chamber a few moments later. The maid took one look at his glowering face and
made herself entirely scarce.

Even Kitty felt the force of his disapproval. Why had she ever thought him severe and unreadable? His disappointment and distaste were so evident to her that they very nearly distracted her from the fact
that he wore only his dressing gown loosely tied over a pair of trousers.

Broad male chest flexed before her very eyes. Heavens. So broad. So male. Her mouth went very dry and she swallowed her indignant words with a convulsive contraction of her throat. Without the
formality of coat and cravat his dark good looks lent him the air of a wild and untamed pirate ... or a sultan.

She took a small step toward him, frankly staring at his magnificence. Yes, in his dark garnet silk
dressing gown that revealed his glorious chest and his rippled stomach he was like a desert prince,
striding into her tent to ravish his captive princess.

Her heart stuttered and her mind quite nearly stopped working.

Ravish me.

Better than that, stand very still and let me ravish you ...

"Bettina," he began—and woke her from her desire-tinted daze with a dash of cold reality. She forced herself to look away, at the wall, at the floor—at anything but him or the wide bed that awaited them. What was she thinking? He was Bitty's groom. He was Bitty's grim and tyrannical husband, and she
was Bitty's loyal and loving sister.

Blast it.

Knight looked at his bride with her frumpy gown and her demurely downcast eyes and felt his
momentary interest subside. When he'd walked in she'd gazed at him with what he would have interpreted as desire if he hadn't known the realities of the situation. No, the woman before him
had no more interest in him than he had in her.

Which was why he'd selected such a revealing nightdress in the first place. When the modiste had blushingly held it up for him, he'd decided that almost any woman's desirability would be improved
by that gown and perhaps a bit of dim lighting.

And a great deal of wine. Hence the two bottles now standing opened and breathing on the night table.

A moment ago, he'd quite astonishingly decided that he didn't need the wine, and that he wouldn't mind
at all if the candles remained well lit. That spark had faded, unfortunately.

"Bettina," he said again, almost hoping she would look up at him with that gleam in her brown eyes—but of course she did not. Good God, would this be the story for the rest of their lives? He would speak and she would keep her eyes locked to the stitching of the carpet? He fought back the creeping horror of never-ending boredom to try once more. He took a step toward her, pulling from deep within him that endless male fascination for all things female.

He would coax a bit. Although he hadn't planned on bothering with seduction—after all, he was within
his rights and she'd wed him willingly enough—part of him wanted to discover whether that bit of fire
that had flashed behind her eyes had been naught but wishful thinking on his part. So he walked around this still and silent woman with her downcast eyes until he stood directly behind her.

"Wife," he whispered in a breath that stirred the hair by her ear. He was sure she shivered in response. Too bad he couldn't tell if it was from fear or temptation. "Why aren't you wearing my gift?"

"Oh, is that what that was?" Her voice was very soft, but Knight swore he could detect a note of... sarcasm? From Bettina Trapp, the blandest female who ever drew breath? His interest stirred once
more. He moved closer, until her bottom almost nestled in his lap.

"Wear it for me."

"No - thank - you - kindly -I'm- utterly - fine - in- this." She stepped away. He followed. She was
moving in the general direction of the bed and he was growing steadily more interested in consummating this marriage of inconvenience.

He raised his hands to her shoulders, keeping her still. His fingertips hesitated on the soft skin of her
neck, then he allowed himself to stroke gently. Her skin was actually quite lovely, white and fine. His groin underwent a slight stirring. He leaned closer to draw in a breath of her.

Warm sweet air rose from her hair and her neck. Was that flowers or fruit she made him think of? Or
did he care? No, his rising desire decided it for him. He didn't care as long as he could keep filling his senses with sweet soft skin.

He opened his eyes to gaze down at her. The view down the neckline of her dowdy nightdress was frankly tantalizing. The male animal within him was having more success pushing aside the logical gentleman than Knight would ever have suspected. What just moments ago had seemed overly plump now seemed nicely ripened. What had seemed plain and undesirable now showed hints of satin and fire...

He bent to press his lips to the ivory silkiness of the back of her neck. He thumbed the shoulders of her gown aside to reach more delightful skin. The neckline resisted him, so he tipped her head to one side while he nimbly unfastened the row of tiny pearl buttons that locked away those plump treasures.

Kitty's toes were curled tightly in her slippers and her knees had gone to pudding. All she could think was that Mr. Knight had the warmest lips she had ever imagined. Warm, damp kisses on her sensitive neck, on her exposed shoulder. .. The heat radiated directly through her, right to her belly and below.

When his fingers parted the bodice of the gown and pulled the warm flannel open, Kitty very nearly lost her sense of up and down, light and dark. Cool air wafted over her skin for a brief moment, then hot
hard palms pressed gently over her breasts.

Oh, heavens.

Those fiery palms pressed her backward until she leaned gratefully upon something sturdy and wide.
Heat seeped through the back of her gown. His heat, radiating from that magnificent chest. The man
was afire and Kitty felt her own flames being fed by his touch.

Gently, her heavy breasts were hefted and caressed, his touch spiraling in from the outer flesh to the
more sensitive inner skin. Kitty's hands fisted at her sides as the slow torture of his progress began to make her hips squirm of their own volition.

Touch me. Please.

"I am." The warmth of breath on her neck only sent her further into these new and mystifying
sensations. The deep voice continued, murmuring softly alongside her ear.

"So responsive, aren't you, darling? Who would have thought there was so much fire inside?"

He touched her nipples at last, his fingertips wrapping around the aching points. He gently rolled them in his fingers, every tiny twist sending bolts of lightning to a spot directly between her thighs. Kitty inhaled sharply and pressed back against him further. Someone was making the most outlandish little animal noises. It was only with distant surprise that Kitty realized it was her.

"So very delicious," that deep voice murmured into her neck. "I must have a taste, Bettina."

Kitty's eyes flew open. Bitty's husband! Naked breasts! She squeaked and shot from his grip like a ball from a cannon.

Knight was left standing with his hands wrapped around empty air and his erection straining his trousers. With more agility than he would have credited her with, his previously quivering bride bounded onto and over the bed to stand warily on the other side with her gown twisted closed.

Knight's hands felt empty. He didn't like it. Not ten feet away there was warm female flesh to be
savored, warm female secrets to be discovered. Dimly he recalled that he was a civilized man, a gentleman of refinement and restraint. He strove to be all that was gallant.

But not at this moment.

Now, he wanted more.

Kitty's flesh tingled as if he'd branded her with hot coals. As irresistible as the pull was, more powerful was the need to pull away. She gathered her undone gown about her more tightly. This wasn't going
well at all. He was being rather persistent—actually, he was being quite devastatingly primitive—and
she was finding it painful to resist him.

She tamped down her desire to face her tormentor. "I'm not going to."

He stopped in the act of raising one knee to the mattress, apparently quite prepared to pursue her around the room until she dropped. A sort of haze dropped from his expression and his gaze sharpened on her face.

"Not going to what?"

Kitty blushed but kept her stance. "Not going to—" She waved at the bed between them.
"You understand?"

He went very still but Kitty had the impression that he might yet leap across the bed to capture her.
Pin her down and ravish her like a beast. Heavens. A shiver went through her at the thought. A shiver
of revulsion, of course.

Oh, is that what they are naming it these days? I thought it was called bald wanton lust.

"Why not?"

For a moment, Kitty actually had to wonder if she'd hurt his feelings. Then she reminded herself that
cold and grim Mr. Knight had no feelings. She folded her arms more tightly. "I'm afraid I—" Oh, dear. How to buy some time?

He straightened slowly. The sharpness left his expression and he shrugged. "Ah. You need a bit more
time to accustom yourself to your new home. Very well, I shall not press you tonight." With that, he turned and strode from the room. His open robe flapped loosely about his trouser legs, making him
look for all the world like a disgruntled sheik.

Kitty gaped for a moment at his abrupt departure. Then she flew across the room to press home the
latch that locked his adjoining chamber from hers. Breathlessly, she leaned against the finely carved wood. Her knees were shaking with relief... or was that disappointment?

He thought her fearful, properly virginal and timid. Unfortunately, that was not as true as it should have been, at least the timid part. Yet entirely useful, on further consideration. She could play upon it, if it would buy her enough time to recover Bitty, and then all would be right. She would be back with her parents, Bitty would be here, and Knight would have his wedding night as he desired.

Abruptly she became angry. This was not fair. Her first kiss, her first feelings of true desire, her first experience of the heat of a man's hands on her skin—and none of it was truly hers. All rightfully
belonged to Bitty, who apparently didn't want them.

As she bent to blow out the last candle before she climbed into the large and empty bed, Kitty wondered how she was supposed to go home to her parents after this charade was over and continue acting the
part of an oblivious maiden. Especially now that she had felt the warmth and hardness of Alfred Theodious Knight's magnificent bare chest.

The next morning, Kitty awoke to the sound of a muffled thump in her room. She rolled over in the tangled bedding to peer at Bitty's maid—what had she said her name was? Oh, yes, Martha—who
was latching up Bitty's dress trunk.

Kitty sat up in bed and stretched her toes deeper under the covers. Bloody Knight and his bloody chest. She'd hardly slept a wink, and when she had, she'd dreamed of sheiks and pirates and highwaymen, all with Knight's intense dark gaze.

Time to dress, unfortunately. Bitty's trousseau was a horror, all ruffled gowns and bead-encrusted slippers. Bitty was very proud of it all. Kitty wasn't looking forward to wearing any of it.

However, the wardrobe held not a single item of Bitty's. Instead there hung within it an array of exquisite gowns, tasteful outerwear, and amazing day dresses. Stunned, Kitty clambered off the bed to step forward, reaching to stroke the bodice of an amber silk evening gown that very nearly glowed in the morning light.

"The master chose it to match your eyes," the maid said happily. "There's ever so much more coming. Bags and gloves and shoes to match, and the underthings—oh, madam, wait until you see the underthings!"

The girl turned toward the large chest of drawers by the window. Kitty watched her go, but felt her
eyes drawn back to the lovely gowns. Walking dresses of crisp peppermint stripe, spring green, and
even one of most impractical ivory. There was a summer cape of wool so fine it seemed almost a silk, and a winter one trimmed in ermine. There was even a riding habit, for heaven's sake, of a deep chocolate velvet that shimmered under Kitty's touch.

She'd have to learn to ride, just for the pleasure of wearing it—but it was not hers to learn to ride in.
Kitty blinked. She felt as if the room had suddenly come back into focus. Before her stood a wardrobe full of lovely tasteful things, but none of it was to Bitty's taste. In fact, Bitty would loathe them and call them plain and dull.

Yet Bitty would never be able to withstand a glowering Knight the way that Kitty had. One glance from those disturbing eyes and Bitty would silently comply .. . and wear something she hated every day for
the rest of her life.

Kitty looked about her. Where had Bitty's carefully chosen things gone? Even as she had the thought, a tap on the door gave way to an expressionless footman whose eyes never strayed to Kitty in her dressing gown. The young man hefted the empty trunk to his shoulder with a puff of exhalation, as though it were heavy. Or full.

She gasped. "Hold there!" The footman only increased his pace from the room. Kitty ran after him into the hallway. She tugged at his sleeve, causing him to stop instantly. "Are those my things?"

The footman was obviously trying to be respectful and not gaze at her in her dressing gown, but he was also trying to answer her direct question with respect. He settled on bobbing his bowed head repeatedly. "Yes, madam."

"Where is the rest of it?"

"In the attic, madam."

"Bring it back at once. All of it."

"But the master ordered it, madam." To his credit, the fellow seemed honestly torn.

"Well, am—am I not your mistress now? Do you not obey my orders as well?"

"Yes, madam."

"Then I order you to return this trunk to my chamber, along with all the others. Immediately!"

"But madam, the master said—"

Kitty grabbed hold of one of the trunk pulls with determination. The footman resisted.

"I. Don't. Care. What. The. Master. Said." She punctuated each word with a tug. She didn't notice the horrified stillness that had befallen Martha and the footman until a pair of polished black boots entered
her lowered vision.

"Of course, that would be Mr. Knight," she breathed.

"That would be quite correct, Mrs. Knight," a deep voice responded.

She looked up to see him standing before her in a chocolate brown riding coat of superfine and a snowy shirt of linen. Buff jodhpurs were tucked into the high boots. A riding whip twitched against one boot
top, making an entirely inappropriate thought pop into Kitty's head. He looked completely delicious,
even with the scowl.

A distant portion of Kitty's brain imagined how wonderful she would look beside him in the matching riding habit... on matching white steeds, riding away into a sunset.

"Mrs. Knight, have you a gastric complaint?"

Kitty's fantasy disappeared. She was back in the chilly hallway in her dressing gown and tangled hair, playing tug-of-war with a footman. "I beg your pardon?"

Knight's scowl deepened. "You had a very odd expression upon your face. Are you ill?"

"No." That much she was sure of. The rest took a moment to come back to her. Then anger swept
away her discomfort and embarrassment. Lovely thing, anger. Good thing she always had a bit of it
on tap.

Without letting go of the trunk, she aimed her glare at Bitty's thoughtless and overbearing husband.
"Have you any idea how much deliberation and expense went into this trousseau?"

Mr. Knight swept the trunk with a dismissive glance. "Inferior choices and wasted expense."

"Yet it was B—it was my choice and expense, not yours. These are my things, to do with as I please.
I please to hang them back up in that wardrobe. And I please to wear them!"

Dark distaste crossed Mr. Knight's face. It made him very nearly frightening. "I desire that you do not raise your voice in this house." His voice was deadly cold. "I'd have thought you had more restraint
than this."

Bitty would have. Bitty would never squeak at this high-handed treatment. Right there in the hallway, with her hands still wrapped around the brass pull of the trunk, Kitty saw clearly what Bitty's life would be like under this tyrant. Well, not if she could bloody help it. Let him just try to control her, just let
him dare. "Then you do intend to refuse me my things?"

"I do. You have much finer replacements in your chamber." He checked the watch in his pocket, obviously considering the matter closed. "I suggest you don them—"

Kitty cut loose with a wail guaranteed to peel the paper from the walls. She let go of the trunk to cover her face with her hands, leaving a sliver of visibility between her fingers, of course.

The look on Knight's face was priceless. Pure horror, with a tinge of fear. Eerfect. Kitty wailed louder, and shook off Martha's attempt to comfort her. "You—don't—like— me—anymore!" The words came out in earsplitting gasps.

Hmm. Judging by the glimmer of comprehension on Knight's face, she might have gone too far. Ah
well, nothing to do but press on. "I want to go h-h-home!" Kitty broke into a run, bursting through the half-circle of three appalled spectators. Without once removing her hands from her face, she pelted
down the stairs and headed for the front door.

In the front hall, she had to slow a bit to let them catch up. Honestly, were they going to let her dare the street in her dressing gown? She almost giggled. Knight was about to get a great deal more than a raised voice if he didn't—

A large square hand planted itself on the door before her. "What the bloody hell are you about?" Knight roared.

With a great deal of satisfaction, Kitty lowered her hands to clasp them primly before her. "Tut-tut,
Mr. Knight. I desire that you do not raise your voice in this house."

He went white. Then red. Then purple. "Intriguing," Kitty murmured. Then she turned her sweetest
smile on the footman. "What is your name, dear man?"

The fellow actually looked to Knight first. Goodness, they were all entirely loyal to the master, weren't they? Grudgingly, Kitty had to admit that spoke favorably on Mr. Knight's behalf. The master didn't speak, apparently too enraged.

Finally, the footman shrugged. "My name's Watt, madam."

Kitty increased the syrup in her smile and fluttered her eyelashes. "Watt, will you be a darling and bring all my pretty things back to my chamber?"

Watt looked to the master again, but there was no countermand this time. Knight seemed quite lost in
his ire. Watt shrugged again and nodded. "Yes, madam." He left with Martha trailing in his wake.

Mr. Knight began to inhale and exhale once more, although they were great heaving breaths. At least his rage wasn't going to cause asphyxiation. Kitty tilted her head at him. Should she stay and twist him up once more?

She eyed the large hands clenched at his sides. Ah, perhaps not. With a twitch of her dressing gown,
she was running back up the stairs. It was a shame to replace all those lovely things with Bitty's horrid trousseau, really.

Still, it was a matter of principle.

Knight was forced to return to lessons of long ago as he stood alone in the entrance hall. Breathe. He forced his emotions to quiet, pulled them back within him and stoppered them once more. The tumult inside stilled, then seeped away. Cool, safe reason ruled once more.

He felt solid once more, steady. Yet how had he ever been shaken from that place he had so carefully built all those years ago? Not since his boyhood had he been so lost to temper and passion. Unless one counted last night.

Knight turned his gaze up the stairs as if he could see through walls. She would be changing into one
of those awful frocks, he knew. He thought of the glances she would draw, the supercilious brows she would raise, even the whispers that might ensue. The laughter.

Yet this battle was the least of the problem. That maneuver—threatening to run into the street—had
been outrageous and impulsive, not to mention clearly manipulative. Everything he did not want in
a wife.

Knight felt very much as if he'd paid top price for a blooded carriage horse and been handed the reins
of a zebra. There was no predicting the actions of such a creature. He hardened his jaw. Very well,
then, he'd been had. Yet all was not lost. People could be trained, even as he had trained himself to
still his own passions—to behave with utmost rectitude. Much could be done with the lot he had been handed.

Life in the Knight household was not going to be quite what the new mistress expected. Her challenge would be met and her cause most certainly lost. There would be propriety.

Yet there was no denying that even as Knight turned to set his plan into motion, he was feeling more
alive than he had in years.

In her new chamber, Kitty secretly bade a mournful goodbye to the elegant contents of the wardrobe
as Martha exchanged the lot for Bitty's trousseau. Ruffles it would be, all in the name of sisterly
loyalty. Perhaps when Bitty returned, she would consider disposing of those lovely things into more appreciative hands.

And if a few of the worst things became soiled or damaged before Bitty returned, all the better.
Cheering at that thought, Kitty donned a purplish silk morning dress that made her bosom look like a hearth mantel and her skin fade to deathly pale. It was the worst of Bitty's inventions. Kitty felt it her bounden duty to ruin it before noon.

Martha left the room to supervise the storing of Mr. Knight's selections and came back twisting her
hands nervously. "I beg your pardon, madam, but Mr. Knight has ordered us all from the house."

Kitty stopped in the act of tucking a stray wisp of hair away. Turning from the mirror, she blinked at Martha in dismay. "From the house? He's not sacked you, has he?"

"Oh no, madam. Much the opposite." Martha looked away. "He said we was to take our days off, madam."

"We?"

"The staff, madam. We're all to go." The girl stepped forward earnestly. "I don't want to leave you, madam."

Kitty was beyond confused. "Nor do I want you to."

"Thank you, madam. I know the master planned to travel soon. But I thought I was to go along on the honeymoon in your service."

The honeymoon. A few weeks at Mr. Knight's estate in the Cotswolds, Bitty had bragged. Oh, dear. She'd forgotten completely about the honeymoon. "Where is Mr. Knight now, Martha?"

"Waiting for you at breakfast, madam."

Kitty brushed past Martha, absently patting her shoulder as she passed. "You must follow your master's orders, dear." Not having a maid would be the least of her worries if she was going to be dragged from London before Bitty could return.

Mr. Knight was indeed at breakfast, although he hadn't waited for her. He sat in the bright breakfast
room with his newssheet and a nearly finished plate of kippers and eggs. He didn't so much as look up
as she hesitated outside the open door.

Kitty tried to think. How to delay this disaster? She needed something altogether reasonable in order to convince him, she was sure. Reasonable and intelligent.

She was entirely the wrong woman for the job, then. Still, there must be something she could say to dissuade him from leaving town. Bitty wouldn't be able to follow and they couldn't switch places for weeks. Weeks in which Mr. Knight would certainly demand a few of those fascinating, dangerous
marital rights.

"We cannot leave London!" The words burst from her, born of panic. She strode into the room to face him across the table.

He rose, lifting a napkin to his lips for a moment as he considered her coolly. Then he placed it carefully next to his plate. "We are not."

Kitty felt as though she'd missed a step. "W-what?"

"Mrs. Knight, we are not leaving London."

Kitty waved a hand in the general direction of her room. "But Martha said she'd been dismissed
for days."

"Indeed she has. As have Watt and Fenster and my cook, Mrs. Till. Only my driver remains." He
stepped away from his chair and rounded the table. "If you cannot allow me to be master over my
own staff, then we will have to make do with no staff." He raised a brow. "That is, you will have to
make do with no staff."

No staff? He was punishing her, teaching her not to defy his orders to the servants. She felt a twist of humiliation within her. She'd misbehaved again, she'd stepped out of line—

Wait a moment. She had merely defended Bitty's right to wear clothing of her choosing. Now he was punishing shy, timid Bitty for it. At that moment, uncertainty turned to steel. Take the high hand with
her sister, would he?

This man needed training if he was going to be a good husband for Bitty. Kitty almost hoped Bitty
would stay away for a few days.

To Alfred the Odious, Kitty turned wide eyes, blinking rapidly. "N-no staff? B-but who will cook for
me and button me? Who will carry my purchases?"

His expression became positively smug. The rat. "You'll cook for yourself and tend to your own wardrobe. As for purchases, I don't believe you'll be needing any pin money for the next few weeks,
do you?"

To be truthful, Kitty had a reticule full of banknotes upstairs. Mama wasn't fond of letting Papa know
too much about her expenditures. Contrition was easier than cajoling, Mama always said. Kitty was certainly learning the truth of that statement.

But Mr. Knight didn't need to know that.

"Oh, dear!" She brought a theatrical hand to her cheek. "No pin money?" She almost rolled her eyes at the satisfaction that crossed his expression. Delicious physique or not, this man was pure evil. By the
time Bitty returned, changes needed to be made. And Kitty was just the woman for the task.

She was going to make him wish he'd never been born.

He'd obviously been born for the task. Knight watched his stunned bride flee the room, her
waywardness quite erased, he was sure. That had been quite simple. Really, a stern offensive was
best for all concerned. He seriously doubted she would ever go against his will again.

He smoothed his waistcoat with a tug. The flash of humiliation that had crossed her expression
bothered him. Damn it all, he hadn't wanted to crush her. He'd simply wanted her to realize that he
would brook no opposition, and he'd done just that. He'd won the day.

So why, when he remembered the hurt in those big brown eyes, did he feel a sense of defeat?

Kitty stopped running the moment she'd turned the corner in the hall. Her stomach rumbled, a reminder that she'd not yet broken her fast. Remembering Mr. Knight's single plate at the table, she guessed that he'd not ordered anything served for her.

Grinning, she wandered the large house until she stumbled upon the stairs down to the kitchen. It was
an orderly place, obviously well kept, but the cook was nowhere to be seen. A bowl covered by a checked cloth revealed dough rising. Kitty smirked. Mr. Knight obviously knew nothing about women,
if he'd ordered his cook to walk away from her baking.

The dough looked as though it had a good while to go yet. Kitty wandered into the larder. Shelves of lovely things awaited. A pudding sat cooling in a crock, and a number of pies with golden and sugary crusts met her delighted gaze. A ham sat on a plank for slicing, and a flick of another checked cloth revealed a number of meat pastries just waiting for someone hungry to come along.

"All for me," sighed Kitty. She set about making a feast with a slice of ham, a wedge of pie, a morsel
of cheese, and a pear from the bftwl on the great worktable. She ate slowly, enjoying the warm
morning sun that dripped like honey through the small window over the dry sink. She popped the last
bit of cheese into her mouth and sighed aloud. "Poor Mr. Knight. No cook, no maid, no footman. How will he get by?"

Knight had very little work to do, since he'd tied up all his affairs for his honeymoon. Once he'd
finished his duties and sent his driver off with his post, Knight realized he hadn't seen his bride for
some time. She'd been bustling to and fro all day, distracting him mightily. He'd never known when he might be treated to a view of rounded bottom raised as she dusted beneath a table in the room across
the hall, or catch a glimpse of delicate ankle as she stepped on a footstool to dust a high shelf.

Of course, he hadn't seen all that from behind his desk, but it was amazing what a man could find to
do about his front hall when he had the time.

Feeling oddly without direction now, Knight walked the halls of his own house with his hands stuffed
into his pockets. Without servants to direct or calls to make, it hardly seemed as though he had any
sort of work to do all.

Was that all his days amounted to? Orders and talk?

What nonsense. He was a man of great industry, well on his way to securing a substantial fortune and
a certain influence in the world. The name Knight had come to mean something in the past ten years,
finally erasing society's tendency to equate it with shocking behavior and tawdry tales.

Speaking of shocking, where was that wife of his?

Kitty dusted off her hands and examined her work with satisfaction. The house gleamed. She'd spent
a very busy afternoon doing the dusting and the baking. The baking because she wanted to eat tonight.
The dusting because she was going mad waiting for some sign from Bitty.

Unfortunately, the post had already come. She had checked it eagerly after using her own money to
pay the deliveryman. Her fishing expedition had reeled in no results. Not one of the letters mentioned "Kitty" but for some bewildered responses that they had not had any reason to see her.

So there remained nothing to do but wait. Should she go to Mama and Papa? She flinched as she imagined the sheer volume of the scene which would ensue.

But what if Bitty was in serious trouble? A woman could disappear in London if she wasn't careful.
Still, girlish delight in horror stories notwithstanding, both she and Bitty were usually most careful.

Kitty certainly hoped no one had harmed her sister, especially since she reserved that right for herself. "Come back, Bitty," she whispered to the silent house. "I can't hope to fool him forever."

Dinner. Knight sniffed appreciatively. The smell of baking had warmed the house for the last hours. Knight had missed his tea. He hoped his bride would be preparing a decent meal.

What if she couldn't cook? Perhaps dismissing all the servants had been hasty. So many ladies were
never required to step foot in their own kitchens—why would the Trapp household be any different?
But the scent of bread reassured him. When he entered the dining room, he sat expectantly at his place.

Bettina entered soon after, bearing a full plate. Knight perked up at the sight of thick slices of ham and fried potatoes. Simple food to be sure, but he would be sure to compliment her nonetheless. It was important to reward good behavior—

She set the plate down opposite him and sat down. With a flourish, she opened the napkin over her lap and set to. Knight sat openmouthed as she cut a dainty bite of ham and popped it into her mouth. He cleared his throat. She looked up and smiled in a friendly manner, but kept chewing. The appreciative sounds she made caused his own stomach to growl in response.

The sound echoed through the silent room. The clink of her knife and fork ceased. He looked up from
his envious examination of her dinner to see that she had become quite crimson of face.                              

Good. She deserved to be embarrassed, failing so miserably in her wifely duties. Then he heard a
snicker escape her full mouth. With affront he realized that she was not embarrassed, she was laughing
at him!

Kitty tried with all her might not to laugh, but the look of mingled yearning and infuriation on
Mr. Knight's face was too much to bear in silence.

With a fierce scrape he pushed back his chair and strode from the room. Kitty heaved a happy sigh and took another bite. He wouldn't find the best of the larder, she'd made sure of that.

After she'd had several more lovely mouthfuls, Mr. Knight strode back into the dining room to slap a
plate onto the tablecloth with such force that she feared for the fine bone china. "If you break that,
you'll get shards in your cheese," she pointed out helpfully.

For cheese and a torn hunk of bread was all he'd mustered from the stripped larder. It was his own
fault if he hadn't thought to check the cupboard beneath the stairs. "Men," she sighed. "Helpless in the kitchen."

"Women," came the growled reply. "Spiteful in every way."

She put down her fork to fold her hands before her plate. "I did not dismiss the servants out of spite.
I did not tear the cook from her kitchen purely to starve someone into submission." She considered
his plate. "In fact, it is thanks to me that you've bread at all."

She could see the battle within as it shadowed his face. A gentleman would thank her for her efforts,
and compliment the results. A tyrant would not. It was as though she could see a clock pendulum
casting to and fro within him. Gentleman. Tyrant. Gentleman. Tyrant.

She took pity on his dilemma. "It was not meant to be a poser, Mr. Knight. You may eat my bread without thanking me for it."

Of course, now he truly ought to thank her for her understanding. She sat back to enjoy the play of irritation and dismay across his face. Really, the man was too easy. There was little fun in such
conquest. But Kitty was never one to pass up a little fun.

Knight finally managed a very grudging nod of thanks, but he wasn't able to do much more than pick at the meal he'd worked so hard for. This woman he'd married was his worst nightmare come to walk the earth. A stubborn and unpredictable creature with much too high an opinion of her own opinion. Of'course, there was the fact that he'd never been less bored by a female.

But bored was surely preferable to such constant conflict and insecurity. She needed taming. As Knight considered possible measures, it occurred to him that there was one ground where he undoubtedly held the advantage. While not a promiscuous man, he had a certain amount of experience in matters of the bedroom. What he needed was to gain influence over her. Intimidation was not working. But what of seduction?

He hid a grin behind his napkin. Yes, a proposal with benefits for all. He'd take it out on her hide—that lovely silken hide. She be at his feet by midnight.

Knight prepared to ride into battle. He combed his hair. He bathed lightly in the basin in his chamber.
He splashed a bit of oil of sandalwood on his neck and chest. Then he tied his velvet dressing gown
over nothing but trousers. Eyeing himself in the glass, he remembered how his bride had shown a
certain interest in his chest. With a dry tweak of his lips at his own reflection, he opened the dressing gown a bit more.

All was fair in love and war and marriage, it seemed. He laid one hand on the latch of the door between the master's and the madam's chambers. The door stuck tight. Locked, of course.

A man on a mission should always be prepared. He reached into the pocket of his dressing gown to retrieve the key. With a thrust and a twist, her key fell from the other side of the lock and the door opened under his hand. Knight stepped through quickly and bent to sweep the other key from where
it had fallen.

Bettina sat at her dressing table, half turned on her stool to stare openmouthed at him. A hairbrush
hung from her grip and Knight was treated to the stunning sight of his wife's hair hanging smooth
and shimmering down her back. It was spun gold in sunlight. Beautiful. He suddenly wanted to feel it draped over his bare flesh.

While he stared at her crowning glory, she took advantage of his distraction to jump to her feet and
dash to the other side of the bed. She stood with feet braced apart, wielding the brush before her like some sort of blunt, bristly knife.

She was wearing another example of flannel gone to seed, he noticed, though fortunately she hadn't gotten around to buttoning up the bodice yet. What treasures! It occurred to him with great satisfaction that those were his treasures, to do with as he wished. As master of the house and of his wife, he could take full advantage of ownership any time of the day or night.

The thought of exposing those full globes to the light of day... oh, perhaps in his study sometime during
a break from his business affairs. She might bring him tea and he might pull her into his lap and let down that magnificent hair to fall about him as he tugged her neckline down to satisfy an entirely different appetite.

Hmm. There might just be a few unrecorded benefits to these marriage shackles. All that was needed
was a bit of persuasion. With afternoon gains in mind, he started forward.

"Stop just there, Mr. Knight!"

The authority in meek and mild Bettina's voice surprised him from his lustful reverie. He stopped
despite himself.

"Now turn around and return to your room."

He glanced at her weapon of choice. "Or you'll groom me to death?"

She scowled at him. "Anything can be a danger if one knows where to strike."

That surprised a grunt from him. So she had learned a lesson from her past lack of caution. This was
not a problem, however. He had no doubt he could manage against her feeble defiance. She' had given him the key to her defenses the previous night.

"I won't force you, Bettina."

She lowered the brush slightly. "No, I don't believe you would." Then she raised it defensively once more. "But you can be a little too convincing, once you get within arm's reach. I have no intention of letting you get close enough."

"You are my wife," he coaxed. "This cannot go on forever."

She muttered something under her breath. It sounded like "I don't need forever."

"You should resolve yourself to your state now." He took a deep breath to draw her attention to his
bared chest. He saw her gaze waver and the tip of her tongue cross her lips for a brief flicker. He
allowed his attraction to her show on his face. "I can be quite persuasive, you know."

She gave her head a brief shake at that, as if forcing herself from a reverie of her own—then burst out laughing. "And your actions today are your idea of persuading a woman? Trying to take away her possessions, banishing her servants, and canceling her honeymoon?"

Knight stiffened. "Well, when one says it so—"

"It matters not how one says it. The fact is that you haven't the slightest idea who your wi—who I am, and you've so far shown no interest in finding out. The way to a woman's bed is through her heart, not just her eyes!"

He tightened the belt of his dressing gown with a frustrated yank. "So you wish empty compliments
and forced endearments?" he said derisively. "That only makes a woman seem foolish to me."

"Oh, the compliments had best be full to the brim," she said with her eyes narrowed. "Go on, try it. Attempt to say one blasted complimentary thing about me."

He looked at her, then looked away. He shoved his hands into his pockets, then removed them.
"You have lovely skin," he mumbled to the carpet.

She leaned nearer, her head tilted as if to hear better. "So sorry, didn't catch that."

He heaved a sigh of irritation. "You have beautiful skin," he barked. "Like bloody ivory satin!"

To his shock, she actually colored prettily. "Why thank you, Mr. Knight," she replied with a small
curtsy. When she dipped low, Knight was treated to a view into the valley of delights. She took a
pointed step closer.

Very rewarding. Perhaps there was something to this compliment thing. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Your figure is most attractive. Especially your—" He halted, frozen with indecision. He couldn't continue, no gentleman would, yet the challenge in her eyes wouldn't allow him to stop. "Especially your
. . . decolletage."

"Hmm." She considered him for a long moment. Then she moved forward another step. "I believe you have potential, sir, although we must work on your delivery."

She was only a few inches from the edge of the mattress. If he could tempt her closer, she would be forced to mount the bed linens. Whereupon he could mount her.

An objective was a lovely thing for a man to have. It gave structure to his imagination, focus to his
every thought. He took a deep breath, prepared to win the day. "You are very witty."

She took a step back. "Point to me," she said briskly. "You're lying now."

"No!" He thought furiously. "Elegant! I meant elegant!"

She narrowed her eyes. He waited, his breath caught in his chest. She stepped back again.

"Bloody hell! I told you what every woman wants to hear! What more do. you want?"

"Every woman does not want to hear that she is witty and elegant, Mr. Knight. Every woman wants
to believe that you consider her witty and elegant."

"But I—" He stopped, frustrated. If he claimed it was so, he'd cross even his own boundaries into lying. "Blast it, you are the most frustrating female on the face of this earth!"

A sad smile tweaked her lips. "That was honest, at the very least. But—" She took another step back, until she was standing where she had begun. "Match quite lost, I'm afraid."

"Bloody hell," roared Knight, and fled the field in defeat.

Kitty didn't allow herself to breathe freely until the door had closed. He'd taken the blasted key of
course, but she didn't believe he'd be back tonight.

Another night away from her home. Another night with which to ruin her reputation and future forever. Another night with Bitty lost to the cobbled wilds of the city.

It was a good thing Knight had left the room, for she was just starting to realize how delicious he'd
looked with his dressing gown spread open over his virile chest. She closed her eyes to preserve the memory of that dark tracing of manly hair that rode the hard contours of his chest and trailed down
to a most fascinating and forbidden land beneath his navel.

He was entirely perfect. And he was Bitty's.

Kitty covered her face with her hands and heaved a great sigh. She was truly beginning to dislike Bitty
for the first time in her life.

The next morning as Knight dawdled over his papers, his bride breezed into his study in a truly horrid gown of orange and purple striped silk. Since Knight had just been adding imaginative details to his favorite new daydream concerning his study, it took him a moment to realize she wasn't merely an overdressed version of his fantasy.

Of course, he would never imagine such a gown. She stood gazing at the filled shelves with her fists
upon her hips. "Perhaps if I dust all the books, I can somehow irreparably damage this awful dress,"
she muttered.

"I've a tinderbox if you'd like to burn it," Knight offered.

She whirled in surprise. Her full lips formed a perfect O. Marvelous what that expression did for a woman's appeal. Primed for a kiss.

Abruptly, Knight tired of fantasies and midnight tests. He tossed aside the newssheet he'd not been reading and stood. With two long strides he was close enough to pull her into his arms. Bettina gasped
as he drew her hard against his chest.

There was that O again. He covered it with his own mouth, taking her lips forcefully. A voice within
him warned him that he was being too rough, that she was too timid and innocent to bear such handling.

Then she kissed him back.

Kitty had never dreamed a man's mouth could be so hot within. He tasted of tea and tobacco and Knight, and she wanted more. She wriggled her arms free of his grasp without ever taking her mouth from his. She wrapped her hands around his neck and drove her ringers into his thick dark hair to pull him down closer to her.

His grip tightened. She loved it, loved the secure feeling his strong arms imparted, loved the way it pressed his hips tighter to hers. His tongue slid between her lips, dipping into her like the first taste
of an Italian ice.

How vulgar. How wicked. How wonderful.

He pulled her back with him until he'd seated himself in his chair and her on his lap. Never once did their lips part. Kitty felt delightfully tiny against his strength and wriggled as close to him as she could, pressing her breasts hard to his chest to ease the outrageous tingling they suddenly suffered.

His hands were now free to roam her body and they did. Hard hands on her bottom, hot hands covering her bodice. Dear God, how many hands did the man have?

Not enough. She wanted more.

He was fumbling with her buttons in the back. His clumsiness might have been charming if she hadn't been in a bloody hurry to feel his hot hard hands on her bare flesh. Uncurling her own fingers from their death lock on his hair, Kitty reached behind her to push his hands away and do it herself.

He wasn't patient enough. With adorable urgency, he tugged at her neckline, pulling it down to expose
the tops of her breasts. Kitty's hands went limp on her own buttons when his mouth met her flushed
skin. Oh, heavens. Oh, yes. She arched her back to press her breasts closer to his searching lips and tongue. She felt him tugging harder to free her completely from her bodice.

The buttons gave and the silk dropped low around her waist. Kitty only laughed and wrapped her fingers into his hair again as he dove face first into her bosom with a groan. The buttons didn't matter, the gown didn't matter. She'd been wanting to ruin it anyway before Bitty saw it again—

Bitty's buttons. Bitty's dress.

Bitty's husband.

With a cry, Kitty flung herself free of Knight's lap, his hot mouth, and his hard searching hands.

Knight sat there, his expression dazed and his hands still reaching. "Wh—Bettina?"

With both hands, she pressed her bodice high to cover herself as she backed away. "I am a terrible person. Oh, dear God, forgive me!"

She wanted to run, trailing hems, torn buttons, and all, back to her chamber. Away from Knight, but
most of all, away from the wicked, wicked woman who was herself. But what help would that be? She was still the wrong woman in the wrong house, the wrong woman in his embrace.

This last refusal had evidently pushed Mr. Knight too far, for he flung himself to his feet. "What do
you mean by this—this performance!"

Kitty took one instinctive step away from his black scowl, then stopped and raised her chin. "I apologize for forgetting myself, Mr. Knight."

He shoved his hand through his hair. "It wasn't the forgetting that I minded, it was the remembering,"
he muttered.

Kitty was fairly sure she wasn't supposed to hear that. The truth was, she couldn't agree more. How lovely it might have been if she had not remembered that she was writhing half-naked on the lap of her sister's husband.

Somehow she didn't believe that explanation would soothe Mr. Knight. Yet how to explain away her
swift reversal? She pushed a lock of fallen hair behind her ear, keeping one hand holding up her bodice.

He looked rumpled and confused and quite delicious with his customary aloofness shattered at his feet. He gazed back at her, his jaw working and his face flushed. Yet for all his temper, she was not afraid.
In fact, she preferred him flustered and upset to cool and remote. Unfortunately, she also felt quite
guilty about causing his state.

He turned away, letting free a small growl of frustration as he tugged his waistcoat back into place.
"Mrs. Knight," he said without turning. "Would you care to explain your reasons for not consummating our union?"

Oh, dear. Alfred the Odious was back. Kitty sighed. She must convince him to withhold his advances, just a bit longer, just until Bitty returned. She took a deep breath. "I was very sheltered, Mr. Knight."

He nodded sharply. "Of course you were."

Kitty went on, feeling her way. "Our short engagement did not give me time to prepare myself." That
at least was the complete truth.

"And?"

Ah. Hmm. "And . .. well... that is all?" She hated the querying note in her voice but it was too late to
take it back. She was a terrible liar, plain and simple.

He sent a dark glance over his shoulder, then looked away once more. "So you are not reluctant because of. . ." He cleared his throat. "That is to say, no past experience has turned you sour on ... on relations?"

Heavens, he seemed to be struggling even more than she. Kitty frowned slightly. He couldn't know of Bitty's encounter with that awful Tuttle character, could he? No, no one knew but herself and two very close friends. "N-no," she replied, hoping she was speaking rightly for Bitty. "Nothing like that. It is only that..."

Oh, to blazes with it all. She threw up her hands, then slapped one back to her chest when her bodice began to slide. "You said you didn't like outrageous behavior, didn't you? I'd think a wrestling match in the study chair qualifies as outrageous by anyone's standards!"

He turned in surprise. Understanding mingled with a very annoying sort of assumption crossed his handsome face. Kitty waited warily, for surely some Odious statement was coming her way.

"But Bettina, your passion is wonderful when applied properly." He smiled reassuringly in a superior
way. "It is merely that you apply it to every moment of your life, which I cannot permit in a wife."

Kitty blinked. Her prediction had been correct. "What are you saying? That as long as a woman saves
her outrageous and impulsive nature for your exclusive pleasure but hides it at all other times, you will allow her to retain such a nature?"

His brows drew together. "Well, when you say it so—"

Kitty sighed her frustration. "Mr. Knight, I could spend the rest of my life translating you for yourself,
but let me simplify things now. You cannot reform a person without their cooperation. If you wish something from someone, I recommend that you simply ask." Kitty looked down at her ruined gown. "While you ponder that outrageous and impulsive statement, I believe I ought to go change." She turned to leave the study.

Knight cleared his throat behind her. "Bettina ... if you would..."

Kitty turned back, surprised. His tone had been almost courteous. "Yes, Mr. Knight?"

"I would very much like to see you wear one of the gowns I chose for you." He seemed to struggle for
a moment. "Please."

There was nothing she'd like more. "I would be happy to." Kitty smiled and shook her head at him.
"Now was that so hard?"

Encouraged, he went on to ruin her good impression. "I had planned to call upon a friend this afternoon. Perhaps the red striped gown?"

"Choosing for me, Mr. Knight?" Kitty narrowed her eyes. "Do not press your good fortune."

His eyes darkened in irritation. Ah. Perhaps she had best not press her own fortune. Kitty smiled gaily
at his annoyance and danced from the room, still clutching the ruined bodice tightly to her bosom.

It took a very long time for Knight to regain composure this time, but he managed. By the time the
clock rang noon, he was once again a man in charge of his passions.

When Bettina returned downstairs, she was not wearing the red stripe, but her choice of pale green was entirely appropriate. He was pleased to see that it suited her coloring beautifully, making her pale skin glow ivory and rose and her pink lips look very ripe and inviting. At least, he was fairly sure it was the gown causing that effect.

In fact, he'd never seen her look better. It seemed he'd happened into taking a pretty wife after all. Perhaps he ought to try polite requests more often. He might be able to get her into more such suitable fashions.

Feeling very pleased with his new strategy, Knight didn't wait until the carriage had pulled around to
make his next polite request. "I would very much appreciate it if you'd abandon your usual manner and behave with decorum during this visit. Please. Mrs. Arden's husband was a close friend, and I help her keep an eye on her business affairs. I shouldn't want you to do anything embarrassing in her presence." He hesitated for a moment. "Please."

Bettina blinked at him slowly. Then she smiled most prettily. "Perhaps you should write down what
you want me to say?"

Excellent. The new strategy was working beautifully. He waved expansively. "No need to worry.
Simply do precisely as I tell you."

Again the dimples flashed. "Nothing would make me happier, sir."

Knight helped her into the carriage, silently congratulating himself all the while.                      

Mrs. Arden was a widow, Kitty realized. A lovely, elegant widow whom Mr. Knight seemed to know
all too well. Kitty couldn't pin down any one thing, but the ease he exhibited as he greeted
Mrs. Arden—as opposed to his polite bow to the other ladies present—and the warmth of the lady's reply—well, it was quite disturbing, that's what it was!

Mistress? Perhaps not. Even Kitty could see no present undercurrent of attraction, and she was bloody well looking. Of course, Mr. Knight was married now, at least in his own mind. He might be a rigid, unbearable tyrant, but he seemed an honorable one. Kitty would wager Bitty's inheritance that Knight
was at least as demanding of his own behavior as he was of others', if not more.

So why did she find the invisible bond between Knight and Mrs. Arden so painful? Possibly it was the unmitigated approval that he bestowed on the widow, approval that had never come her way and likely never would. Never come Bitty's way, she meant: Of course.

Perhaps that was why the devil came knocking when Mrs. Arden turned to her with a kind and welcoming smile.

"Mrs. Knight! How lovely to meet you at last. Please, won't you sit down?"

Kitty stood quite still. Mrs. Arden hesitated with her hand still raised to wave Kitty to a seat. Knight
glared at her. She merely blinked at him expectantly.

"Sit, Bettina," he growled.

Kitty sat so promptly the other ladies rose an inch from their cushions. One of them tittered. Kitty
merely gazed amiably at all present.

"Ah ... Mrs. Knight, have you enjoyed our pleasant weather this week?"

Knight watched as his bride sat with her hands in her lap and made no move to answer. Knight saw the glances exchanged between the other ladies. She was making a spectacle of herself. He felt the old familiar nausea rise. He stepped around to the back of the sofa and bent his mouth to Bettina's ear.
"What are you doing?"

"Precisely as you tell me."

Knight felt his fingers close on the back of the sofa until his knuckles had surely turned white.
"Converse with Mrs. Arden."

Bettina promptly turned to her hostess. "No, Mrs. Arden, I have not."

Obviously taken aback, Mrs. Arden blinked. "Have not what, Mrs. Knight?"

"Have not enjoyed the pleasant weather this week."

"Do you not favor the sunshine, Mrs. Knight? I find it very invigorating after so much rain."

"I adore sunshine, Mrs. Arden. Mr. Knight simply has not let me step foot out of doors in days."

The other two ladies present exchanged knowing glances. One of them erupted into high giggles,
quickly hidden behind her gloved hand. Knight distinctly heard someone whisper, "Newlyweds!"

Bettina continued to smile blandly at her hostess. If one didn't know better, one would think her
brainless. Knight wasn't going to fall for that again. She was no fool. She was bloody devious!

Mrs. Arden recovered her poise and turned her attention to him. "How has your health been,
Mr. Knight?"

Knight opened his mouth to reply but his bride raced him to it. "Mr. Knight has been suffering some indigestion. I fear he does not bear his own cooking well."

"His own cooking? Have you lost your cook, then, Mrs. Knight?"

"Oh, no," replied the she-devil. "He sent all the servants on holiday. He wanted us to be alone in the house."

Muffled snorts came from the other ladies. Even Mrs. Arden seemed to be having difficulty maintaining
a polite expression. Knight leaned down once more.

"What are you doing?" he hissed.         

"I am conversing with Mrs. Arden, sir," she replied in normal tones.

Mrs. Arden gave a light laugh. "So formal, Mrs. Knight. Do you always address your new husband
thus?"

Knight tensed. Not the harmless change of subject his hostess believed.

Bettina shook her head. "Oh, no, Mrs. Knight. I also call him Alfred Theodious."

She said his second name oddly, almost like—

Alfred the Odious. Knight felt a flush rise. One of the other ladies began to frankly bray. Mrs. Arden herself erupted into giggles that she valiantly tried to cover as a ladylike coughing spell.

"Mrs. Knight," he managed to say past gritted teeth. "Pray stop conversing with Mrs. Arden."

"Certainly."

Mrs. Arden caught up her composure, but the visit was over as far as Knight was concerned. As he
pulled Bettina to her feet a bit too briskly, Mrs. Arden leaned close.

"I like her, Knight," she whispered. "I believe she'll do you good."

"I believe she'll do me in." Knight barely managed to convey the usual pleasantries as he hustled his
wife from the house. Behind him he could feel the gossip flaring like the heat of a flash fire on his back.

The carriage pulled into traffic with a jerk. Kitty let the momentum carry her sprawling back on the cushions while she laughed out loud. "Oh, my, that was enormous fun."

His face showed stark anger. "That was inexcusable."

"Oh, pooh, Knight. What did I say that was so terrible? I told the absolute truth."

"You know precisely what you did! You—they believe—"

"They believe I'm a bit dim and that you are a veritable stallion. Not so far from the truth, I'd wager."

"You are anything but dim," he snarled. "You are as clever as hell."

Kitty blinked. "Truly? Do you think so?" She smiled at him. "That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me." Her smile dimmed slightly. "Of course, it's practically the only thing you've ever said to me, if I don't count the orders you've given."

"That's not so."

"Oh, yes," she told him. "It is so. I sincerely doubt you like me at all. Why did you wish to marry m— Why did you propose?"

He scowled at her. "You know why."

Of course, she didn't. But supposedly Bitty did. "Hmm." Kitty looked away from him.

"You really are the most impossible woman!"

In spite of her efforts to be just that, she was hurt. Bitty truly would be the wife he wanted. She would never oppose him nor would she misbehave in public. Bitty was a lady, through and through. At some point in the past few days, Kitty had ceased to be a caricature of Bitty and had begun to be herself.

And I am an impossible woman.

It was a good thing she would never be his wife in truth. She'd either drive him mad or be locked away herself.

She crossed her arms and made herself grin back into his scowl. "You really are the most overbearing man."

He seemed taken aback. "I am not. I am a most reasonable man."

She rolled her eyes. "Everyone considers themselves reasonable, particularly if they are not."

Mr. Knight opened his mouth to retort, but what could he say that would not prove her point? She waited, but he only huffed a great sigh of irritation and turned to face the window.

Heated silence invaded the carriage, making Kitty uncomfortable. As enjoyable as baiting the bear had been, now she regretted it. She'd thought he needed to be shaken from his stolid ways, but now she
had the feeling there was much more to his aversion to public spectacle.

Unable to fight the feeling that she had gone too far, she turned to him. "Mr. Knight, I am sorry," she
said sincerely. "It was not my intention to hurt you." His dark eyes fixed on her face. Encouraged, Kitty took a breath. "Perhaps if I knew why you recoil from a bit of tittle-tattle so—"

Knight jerked his gaze away and pounded on the trap above his head. The coachman flipped it open. "Stop here," Knight barked. "I've a need to—to purchase something."

The carriage pulled up before a tobacconist, but Knight leaped from it before it came to a complete stop. Kitty watched him flee her innocent question with new unease. Once again, she realized how little she knew of this man she was lying to with her every breath.

Unfair. So unfair, to him and to herself. If Bitty did not come today, she was going to have to tell
Knight the truth.

In the meantime, she couldn't leave it like this, with him thinking her so uncaring and devious. The look on his face when he'd leaped from the carriage ...

Such a fine face—a fine man. What was she doing? To toy with him, trick him like this, was against everything she believed in. What mad impulse had led her to walk down that fraudulent aisle to him, as
if he were no more than a fleshless, heartless statue of a man?
What selfish moment had led Bitty to allow it?

Kitty gazed morosely out of the carriage window. For a moment, she eyed her own reflection in the tobacconist's window, a pale face in a darkened square opening in a fine and shiny carriage. Her
bonnet was a tad off center but she didn't care.

A woman pedestrian stopped to check her own bonnet in the glass, her face appearing slightly lower
than Kitty's. The bonnet was expensive but gaudy. Orange silk ribbon decorated bright scarlet flowers. Absolutely awful. Kitty glanced idly into the woman's reflection, then away.

Then back.

Oh, God. The other woman raised a hand to tuck a free strand of blond hair away, then froze as her
gaze met Kitty's in the glass. Matching brown eyes went wide.

Bitty Trapp turned from the window and ran even as Kitty twisted open the handle to the carriage
door. Nearly falling to her knees as she leaped from the carriage, Kitty swept past the driver to follow
her sister at a dead run. She was barely aware of Knight exiting the shop as she passed the door and frankly ignored his bewildered call.

Bitty's bonnet bobbed on down the street. Kitty tried to keep the scarlet flowers in view as she ran. It wasn't easy, as the heads and shoulders of other pedestrians blocked her line of vision. Damn her height and Bitty's! Was everyone in London taller than they?

Kitty stopped at a collection of crates at the entrance to an alleyway in order to clamber up onto one of them. Frantically, she searched for those scarlet flowers. She could see down the street for nearly a
block, but Bitty's distinctive bonnet was nowhere to be seen.

A clatter and a high feminine yelp echoed from down the shadowed alleyway. Kitty's eyes narrowed. Only Bitty would be silly enough to flee down a dark alley. Kitty hopped down from her perch and
strode down the narrow passage to investigate. When she caught up with her sister she was going to murder her.

Kitty halted in shock at the sight that met her eyes. Bitty—and it was indeed Bitty—stood caught
between three rough characters who had blocked her way. The awful bonnet had been pulled from her head and lay discarded. The three characters did not look as though they regretted its demise.

It seemed everyone had homicidal intentions toward her twin today.

"P-please," stammered Bitty. "Let me by."

Kitty slid one hand into her bodice to touch cold steel. She slipped the knife from its narrow sheath
and held the blade between her fingers. She was too far away for accuracy, unfortunately. Hiding her hand in the folds of her skirts, she hustled forward.

"Bitty, darling! Time to go, dear!"

Forceful assurance usually worked better than cowering fear, and this time was no exception. The three fellows instinctively took steps backward. Kitty barreled onward to grasp Bitty by the elbow.
"Mr. Knight is waiting right out there on the street, dear."

That message was to warn the ruffians. Unfortunately, Bitty took it quite the wrong way. Kitty was dragged to a stop just when they were about to make it out of arm's reach. "No, Kitty! I—"

Kitty turned on her sister with a fierce smile. "Bitty dear, we can discuss this later. Now it is truly time
to go"

The pause had given the men time to recover from their surprise. "Ah, now don't go," one of the men said with a sly smile. "Looks like we got ourselves a matched set, lads!"

Bitty finally caught on, for she shrank against Kitty in fear. It was too late. The third man, a great
hulking fellow with hands like shovels, now blocked their way back to civilization.

"Bitty," Kitty whispered into her sister's fallen hair. "Do you have your knife?"

Bitty made a tiny helpless noise. "I only carry it to balls!"

"Oh, for pity's sake!" Kitty shoved her sister behind her and faced Shovel-hands. "We are awaited,"
she warned him. "Someone will be along to find us at any moment. It would behoove you to let us
pass." She nudged Bitty with her elbow. "Give these men your reticule, dear. I'm sure that will more
than make up for their time spent."

"Why don't you give them yours?" sniffed Bitty.

Kitty bared her teeth in a falsely patient smile and said only, "I left mine in the carriage, dear sister.
Give these gentlemen your reticule now."

Behind her back, Kitty felt her sister's shoulders sway as she tossed the bag to one of the ruffians. She glanced over her shoulder to see the leader, a rat-faced fellow lacking most of his teeth, digging eagerly through Bitty's things.

"Oy, there ain't but a shillin' here!" He angrily flung it to the grimy cobbles and advanced on them.
"What you playin' at?"

Oh, damn. "Bitty, did you forget Mama's first rule of economics?"

"No! But I spent it already, on the bonnet."

"Bloody hell!" said the leader.

"My sentiments exactly," muttered Kitty. She braced herself for battle. "I am getting tired of rescuing
you, Bettina Trapp," she whispered. "When are you going to begin rescuing yourself?"

"Wedding Mr. Knight was your idea, Kitty," came Bitty's hissed reply. They pressed their backs
together as the three men circled in closer. Kitty felt Bitty bend quickly and looked back to see that
her sister had picked up a bit of alley litter—a broken piece of wood no more than a few inches long,
but with a lovely splintered end.

Still, if they were doomed, there was no reason not to have the last word. "Bitty, you've caused the
most awful mess with your Mr. Knight."

Bitty snorted and took a swing at a grimy groping hand with her wooden sliver. "You've been sharing
his bed for two nights, Katrina. I'd say by this point he is your Mr. Knight."

Kitty ground her teeth together. "I only went home with him to avoid a scandal! Why did you run
away?" She raised her knife high enough for their attackers to see. It caused a bit of a stir, but
apparently their blond feminine helplessness was more convincing than their meager weapons. The predatory circling did not abate.

Bitty kicked out at one who came too close and jabbed her splintery dagger at another. "I didn't run away— Ow."

Kitty felt Bitty take a blow from one punishing fist that rang through both their bodies. She spun them both to face her sister's assailant with blade poised. She was now facing up the alley toward the street,
but she could see little past the giant Shovel-hands. "What do you mean?" she said over her shoulder.
"Of course you ran away!"

"No." Bitty's speech was slurred. The bastard had struck her sister in the mouth. Kitty had plans for Shovel-hands. Oh, yes.

"I didn't run," Bitty went on. "I eloped."

Knight was frantic. Bettina had disappeared from one moment to the next. He'd followed her when
she'd passed him but the throngs of Londoners enjoying a bit of afternoon shopping had concealed her petite form almost immediately.

When he'd retreated into the shop it had occurred to him that she was quite right. If he told her of the embarrassments and humiliations he'd suffered in his past, she would be much more likely to conform
to his wishes. After all, she was not cruel. In her finer moments, she was very nearly agreeable. A slight smile had crossed his face when he'd thought of dinner the previous night. If nothing else, she was stimulating company.

He would tell her just as soon as he could find her. He'd thought he'd glimpsed her standing a bit above the crowd, looking for him, but then she'd disappeared once more.

This wasn't the most dangerous section of the city, but neither was it perfectly safe. The very people
who were attracted to spend their blunt here became the attraction themselves to those who did not
wish to work for their wages. Cutpurses and pickpockets abounded, while even more unsavory
characters moved in the shadows and alleyways.

As Knight hovered near where he had last seen Bettina, he noticed just such an alleyway. But his sometimes overly clever bride would never enter such a perilous place. He would have wagered his
estate on it—until he heard her voice, high and angry, coming from just that alleyway.

"You eloped?" Despite Aunt Clara's lessons, Kitty dropped her defenses to spin around in shock. She realized her mistake immediately, but Shovel-hands was faster. His thick arm came around her throat.

As much as she wanted it, vengeance on Bitty would have to wait. A girl had her priorities. Like breathing. Kitty swept her knife upward in a blind slash. The giant twisted sideways and she hit nothing but air. She tried again, but her throat was in agony and her knees had developed the oddest weakness. Through bulging eyes, she saw Bitty overwhelmed and disarmed by the other two men.

The two ruffians pulled Bitty farther down the alley, into the shadows. Kitty squirmed in the giant's
grasp, but she couldn't seem to connect with anything meaningful, although at one point her knife did come back streaked with crimson.

Bitty's squeals rose to a fever pitch. Kitty's sight was beginning to dim. Swift and queasy certainty struck—she and her sister were not going to survive.

A demon came roaring down the alley. A darkly handsome demon with eyes of obsidian and rage.

Knight grabbed a handful of the brute who was choking his woman and spun the bastard around.
Bettina staggered away, stumbling to her knees, chest heaving. Knight's need to run to her vied with
his urge to kill something. The giant chose for him.

With great fists like hams, the ruffian swung at Knight. He ducked most of the blows, took one jarring knock to the shoulder, and managed to get in a few right hooks of his own. He'd expected worse, from the size and roughness of the man. It was almost as though the fellow were holding back, as if he were waiting—

"Knight! Behind you!" Bettina's hoarse cry led him to duck aside just as two more ruffians ran from the shadows at him. Her warning had cost the three an easy victory. One of the men kicked at her crouching form as he passed. She cried out in pain and fell once more.

Knight took him down with one heartfelt blow. The man lay still on the filthy cobbles, jaw askew.
Bettina sat up and sent Knight a wobbly nod, her hand still at her throat. He saluted her quickly, then dove back into the fight.

The other newcomer eyed his comrade lying among the alley litter and took precautions, stooping to
pick up a crusted plank. Knight stepped back warily, for the length of the timber beat his own reach.
He kept moving, trying to keep both men well in sight.

The giant charged. Knight bent to take the impact on his shoulder. They both went down. The man was enormous, a strong and dirty fighter. Knight got in a few blows that sent the great square head rocking backward, but in the end the ruffian got him in a hold that threatened to snap his back.

Kitty watched with horror as the two men began to overwhelm Knight. He needed help—her knife!
She'd dropped it in her daze. Disregarding the filth, she scrabbled madly across the floor of the alley.
The light was dim, the knife was likely grimy now as well—bloody hell, where was the blasted thing?

Her fingers closed on the hilt. Swiftly she wiped the blade on her ruined dress. It wouldn't do to miss because of a slimy grip. She hefted it and focused on the fight, limping around the three men as the smaller ruffian began to beat the immobilized Knight with his plank.

"Coward," she hissed, but he wasn't her target. She must get Shovel-hands. The ratlike leader was nothing without the giant. She couldn't get a clear target. She moved in closer. Knight was still
struggling, but she could see him growing weaker. Then he kicked out fiercely, catching Rat-face
squarely in the groin.

Slowly and without a sound, the man dropped to his knees. Then, with a great helpless gasp in, the fellow's lungs were primed. The resulting howl of agony gave even the giant pause. In that moment,
Kitty had her shot. Knight saw her then, knife poised. His eyes widened. "Knight, down!" she cried. Without hesitation, he ducked in the giant's grip.

The blade went spinning through the air. It was the best throw she had ever made. Deep into the giant's shoulder went five inches of razor-sharp steel. The man's left arm went limp at once. He dropped
Knight and staggered back, looking down at the hilt in disbelief.

Then, stupidly, he pulled it from his flesh. Kitty swallowed. Oh, dear. Blood, and a great deal of it. In dim-witted horror, the giant grabbed his profusely bleeding shoulder with his good hand and took off
at a run.

Knight rose to his feet breathing heavily. With eyes burning with incipient tears, Kitty saw that he was unhurt. Why was it that she only cried when events were over? Most unladylike.

"Are you well, darling?"

The endearment made the tears rise higher. She wished it were true, so wished that she were his darling. With shaking knees, she stepped forward to move into his embrace. Then she saw Rat-face rise behind him.

"No!" But this time she was too late. The swinging plank struck Knight across his head and sent him spinning into the brick wall of the alley. He slid limply to the cobbles.

Rat-face threw down the plank and stepped toward her, nearly purple with rage. "You'll pay for this,
you will. You'll—"

Thud. The man dropped like a stone at Kitty's feet. Too stunned to move, she looked up to see Bitty with the plank hefted in two hands. "Pig!" Bitty snarled down at her victim. "Nasty bloody pig!"

Kitty felt the world as she knew it shift around her. Bitty striking a blow? Bitty cursing? Bitty never cursed!

A muffled groan came from beside her. Knight was slumped against the brick wall of the alley. Kitty limped to kneel beside him.

"By the way." Bitty bent to pick up her ruined bonnet. "I'm Mrs. Wesley Merrick now. Married in Scotland, right and proper, Kitty, and there isn't a thing you and Mama can do about it."

Kitty jerked her head up in shock. "But—but that's bigamy! You're married to Mr. Knight!" Betrayal lanced her chest. "And what of me? I took vows in your name!"

Bitty lifted her chin. "Yes, you took those vows, because you couldn't leave it alone. Why did you
want to force me to marry someone I loathed?"

Kitty laid a protective hand on Knight's shoulder, as if to shield him from Bitty's scorn. "How can you
say you loathe him? He's the finest man I've ever known!"

Bitty glared. "Don't you know who he is? He's John Tuttle's brother, blood of the man who tried to
force me in order to get my inheritance! Mr. Knight came to finish the job, threatening to expose the entire story if I didn't agree to wed him!"

"Impossible," Kitty said flatly. "He said no such thing."

Bitty flipped her tangled hair over her shoulder. "Well, he certainly implied it, if you ask me. Standing there all dark and imposing, telling me his family name depended upon my accepting him. Reminding
me of Tuttle."

Kitty was stunned. All this because Bitty thought Knight had blackmailed her? Her sister's lingering fear and hatred of John Tuttle must have poisoned the few moments she had spent in Knight's company, for her to believe any such thing of this wonderful man. "But—but you eloped with Wesley Merrick? He helped Tuttle that night!"

Bitty folded her arms. "He apologized. Very prettily, too. We've been corresponding for weeks. Tuttle made him do it, you know. Poor Wesley can be a tad too easily influenced. I've taken him in hand, however."

In hand? Bitty was the leader of the two? Merrick must be easily influenced, indeed. Kitty shook her head. "Bitty, we may look alike, but I have never understood you less. How could you do this to me?"

"I simply wanted a head start, with no one trying to stop me."

"You might have told me!"

"I tried, truly I did. But I was afraid you'd tell Mama, and then I would have given in. I'm not like you, Kitty. You always know what you want. I'm never sure. And even when I am, people start talking at
me, and talking at me, and soon I'm all turned around!"

Kitty nodded. It was true.

Bitty looked away. "So I left you to take care of it for me." Then her gaze returned to Kitty's.
"I thought you'd raise the alarm immediately. I didn't think you'd go away with that—that man!"

Kitty could see her sister meant every word, and something in her eased at the knowledge. Bitty's
actions had been thoughtless and cowardly, but not malicious. "Well, I did. Now you must come
home with us to talk to Mama and Papa," Kitty urged. "We must sort this out."

Bitty's face crumpled. "I cannot face them, Kitty! Not yet!" Her gaze flickered down to the unconscious Knight and she retreated a step. "He'll be so angry!" She turned away, obviously ready to flee.

"Bitty, wait! You have to help me with Knight. He's hurt!"

"You help him. I want nothing to do with the man." Bitty ran from the alley, trailing scarlet petals of
silk behind her like falling leaves.

Knight stirred, then lifted a shaking hand to his head. "Ow," he breathed. Kitty sat directly in the muck
to get a look into his eyes. He seemed dazed, but she didn't believe he was going to lose consciousness again. He tried to rise. She braced him, helping him to stand.

He blinked rapidly, finally focusing on her face. "Bettina," he said, as if checking his own ability to identify her. Then he took a great deep breath, letting it out with a short laugh. "At least now I'm only seeing one of you. For a moment there I could have sworn you were two."

Mingled relief and chagrin twined through Kitty's gut. He didn't remember clearly. He was dismissing seeing Bitty and her together as part of the blow to his head. She didn't have to tell him just yet.

But tell him she must. Just as soon as she got him home safely. She wrapped her arms about his waist. He draped his over her shoulders. Together they limped and staggered to the end of the alley, out into
the daylight, and into the capable hands of Knight's coachman, who stood stoically by the carriage still.

Back in the kitchen of his house, Knight poured steaming water into the teapot with one hand while he used the other to press a cool cloth to his aching head. The tea leaves within the pot swirled unpleasantly, making him look away. His vision had finally stopped spinning but the pounding was only now beginning to abate.

Knight turned to see his begrimed bride carefully wiping her hands with another cloth and dabbing at the impossible stains on her gown.

He carried the teapot to set it on the table close to her. "There's no hope of survival, I'm afraid, my dear. You may happily toss it into the rubbish bin."

Knight was stunned to see tears in her eyes as she looked up at him. "It was so beautiful," she said mournfully.

He blinked. "I thought you found it awful."

A half-sob, half-laugh escaped her. "No. I never found it awful. It was the loveliest dress I've ever worn."

Carefully not jarring his head, he sat beside her. "Bettina, I don't understand a single word you're saying."

She looked away, then down. "Mr. Knight, I—"

He put his hand on hers. "Please don't call me that any longer."

She looked up at him in surprise. Her lashes were damp and spiky and her brown eyes were large in her grimy little face. "What should I call you then, sir? You said I mustn't use your Christian name."

Knight winced at this reminder of his own pomposity. "I cannot imagine why I thought it mattered. Call me whatever you wish—although I'd rather not be 'Alfie,' if you don't mind."

She smiled so sadly it pulled at him inside. "I shall simply call you 'Knight,' then. It suits you."

"Not Alfred the Odious?" His teasing didn't have the desired effect. Her face fell once more.

"I've been horrible to you, haven't I?"

He curled his fingers over hers and lifted her hand to lie inside his. "I've been no prize myself." He
looked away. It was time she knew. He ought to have been forthright about his past sooner, even
before his proposal. But the tea was ready.

He poured for them both and pressed her steaming teacup into her hands. "Drink this, it will steady you."

Tell her, you coward. Trust her.

"Bettina, I have to—"

"Knight, there's something you need to know."

He laughed. "I'll go first, shall I? My story has been waiting a bit longer, I believe."

He told her everything, sparing his family no quarter. The anger, the vicious quarrels. Then his mother's abandonment and the subsequent gossip and shame.

How Mrs. Knight had lived openly with her lover in London and how Knight had watched the gossip embitter his father. The scrapes against the other boys when he could bear the name-calling no more. How not a week went by without some new titillating nugget of news for him to discover in the worst way. Hearing that he had a brother. Realizing that his mother loved her new son more.

He paused to gaze seriously at Bettina. "Now do you see why I can never allow that to happen again? You must show more restraint. Our children cannot be put through such a nightmare. Do you agree?"

She blinked, then nodded slowly. Knight reached to push aside a tangled curl from her brow. "So, no more knife fights in the alleyways, then?"

She bit her lip and looked away, then nodded once more. Satisfied, Knight went on with his story.

Childhood became adulthood under the stain of rumor, until he had begun to make the name of Knight stand for acuity and respectability once more. That is, until John Tuttle's active pursuit of further
scandal, ending with his attack upon her at her ball.

"The story came to me through one of Tuttle's friends," he told her, "who felt guilt over his part."

She nodded. "Wesley Merrick."

Knight was surprised. "Why, yes. At any rate, I cornered Turtle about it and finally got an accounting
of the entire affair. In the end, he wasn't even trying to deny it. He was too busy blaming your sister for foiling his master plan."

She was listening carefully, as she had all along, with her chin propped on one fist. "So that's when you came to B—to propose, in order to make an honorable attempt to right Tuttle's wrong?"

"Don't mistake me," he said ruefully. "After I packed John off on a ship to the West Indies, I proposed
in order to preserve the family name."

She frowned slightly. He found it quite attractive, the way her, light brows arched together. "But Knight, you have no family."

"I—" He halted, stunned. If he had no family, then what did his family name mean? Nothing? Then he remembered and sent her a small twist of his lips. "I have you. You are my family." For some reason, that sounded just right.

She blinked. "Oh, Knight. Oh ... no. You don't want me, remember? I'm an impossible woman, you
said so yourself. I—I make trouble. I oppose you constantly. I carry a knife, for pity's sake!"

Knight threw back his head and laughed out loud. It felt wonderful, despite his headache. It felt free.
He gazed at her fondly. "Well, I can't say that I minded it, just this once."                                                        

She smiled slightly, then looked away. "Now I must tell you—"

"You're shivering!" Knight tightened his grip on her hand to still its quivers. "You'll do nothing before
you take a hot bath."

"But—"

"Are you opposing me again, darling?" He smiled to let her know he was teasing. He felt like smiling a great deal suddenly.

Her breath caught slightly and her bottom lip quivered. Knight stood quickly and pulled her to her feet. "On to your chamber, my lady. I'll be your footman and draw your bath."

She nodded limply and turned to go. Then she turned back. "After that, Knight, we must talk."

"As you wish, my lady. Now go."

Upstairs in her chamber, Kitty stripped off the once beautiful green silk, then held it carefully in her
hands for a moment. There truly was no saving it. Perhaps someday she'd have another like it—
although once the scandal ignited, she'd never find a husband to buy her one.

Bitty had her man, one she seemed quite satisfied with. As a properly married woman, although she
was at the heart of the scandal along with Kitty, she would escape mostly unscathed.

As had no doubt been her plan all along. Kitty was seeing Bitty in a clearer light now than ever before. The helpless one, the silly one, the witless one—yet perhaps the clever one after all. It was not Bitty standing here in this intolerable fix. It was not Bitty trapped somewhere between lies and loyalty. Bitty had chosen—and was still choosing—to follow her own heart and no one else's.

Kitty clutched the gown to her breast. "As for me, I would choose Knight," she whispered. In all his stuffy dignity, in all his obsession with the past, in all his longing for the warmth and acceptance he'd never had.

A seed of thought planted itself in her mind. Perhaps she could have him now, every bit of him. After
all, neither of them was rightly married. They could take new vows, make promises of their own. If
they acted quickly—and if secrecy held—she could be safely married to him before the gossip began, which would take most of the salacious pleasure from it. It will still be quite horrible, a voice within reminded her. The very thing he's always dreaded.

Surely she could make it up to him. Somehow.

Pipe dreams, stated the little voice flatly.

The door opened and her new footman came in laden with steaming buckets. He'd stripped off his
filthy shirt and now wore her favorite sultan's dressing gown. She laughed and jumped forward to pull
the copper tub from its hiding place behind the dressing screen. "I cannot wait," she cried. "I smell like
the bottom of a shoe!"

Knight laughed deeply as he poured the hot in, then mixed it with a bit of cold. "You smell better than
I do," he said. "I believe the giant came home with me."

Kitty swished her fingers through the water. The perfect warmth of it made her bruised body ache with longing. "I'm going to wash my hair," she said fervently.

Knight reached to tangle his fingers with hers beneath the water. He pulled her up to stand close to him. "Let me wash your beautiful hair," he whispered. His warm breath in her ear sent quivers through her
and his offer made her toes curl on the carpet. Choose, her heart demanded. She chose.

"If you wish," she whispered back haltingly.

"I wish." His wet hands came up to pull apart the ribbon tie of her chemise. She felt the heat of his
fingers through the dampened fabric and her shivers increased.

"You're shaking." His hands stilled. "Are you cold or frightened?"

"Neither," she said softly. "Quite the opposite."

"Good." Intensity made his deep voice rumble directly through her. He spun her around in his arms, releasing her by the waiting tub with a fierce hug. Then he stripped her chemise from her with greedy delight and stood back to admire her.

She stood shy and proud, quite nude before him. For the first time in her life, she felt beautiful and wanted. Then she saw his face fall.

"You're covered in bruises!"

"So are you, no doubt." She grinned and stepped into the warm water. "But I promise to be kind."

She sank into the heat, so grateful for the bath that she found herself near tears once more. Then when she felt Knight gently pouring warm water over her filthy hair, she closed her eyes and allowed them to leak down her face with the water. He scooped a fistful of soap from the dish he'd brought and began to rub it gently through her hair.

"Do you know that last night was the first time I ever truly saw your hair?" His voice was low and soothing. His hands were sensual magic. "I had no idea it was so beautiful. Like gold." He laughed at himself. "I'm no poet, as you can tell. But it was all I could think about after I left you. I dreamt of
golden hair and you."

He poured another pitcher of water over her scalp. Kitty let her head fall back, then sat up to allow the rest to stream down her bare back. She pressed more water out with her hands, then wiped the water
and the tears from her eyes. Knight was sitting back on his heels watching her, the pitcher hanging unnoticed from his fingers. His eyes had gone quite black. "You're a goddess, do you know that?"

Kitty twisted to lay her folded arms on the edge of the tub. She dropped her chin on her arms and
gazed at her filthy, bath-splashed handsome Knight. "I am when I'm with you."

He leaned forward to kiss her. She lifted her face. But he pulled away, grimacing. "The reeking giant
lives on," he said.

Kitty laughed. "Then change places with me and we'll put him to rest at last."

Knight was more than willing. He wrapped a large piece of toweling about her, stealing a caress or two while he did so, then eagerly climbed into the still hot water.

But Kitty found it very hard to concentrate on washing his hair. Her eyes felt as round as saucers, but
she couldn't help it. That had been such a sight, when he'd stripped his trousers and drawers off—

"Darling, you're pouring water on the rug."

She blinked and changed the angle of the pitcher. "Um, Knight? I was wondering. .. how does it work, precisely?"

"Ah, you saw that, did you?"

"Hmm-mm." She rubbed the soap into his thick hair. It slid through her fingers like black silk. He
groaned and slid further into the tub. His hair-speckled knees rose from the froth. He had very nice
knees, but Kitty was interested in something else entirely.

Supposedly Bitty had been educated in, bridal knowledge. She, however, had been kept in girlish ignorance. Very annoying. "Is it. . . ? Will I... ?" She gusted a frustrated sigh as she rinsed his hair.
"I don't even have words!"

"Then stop talking." Knight erupted from the water and stood naked before her.

It was her turn to sit back on her heels and become breathless. Her mouth was too dry to speak
anyway. He was a masterpiece of male flesh. His flawless form rippled in hills and valleys that dizzied
her as her eyes traveled him hungrily.

And those were still very nice knees.

He stepped dripping from the tub and plucked her from the floor, trailing towel and all.

"My pocket goddess," he murmured. Kitty felt the bed linens at her back but her gaze was locked with Knight's. "My Knight," she whispered back.

He kissed her then, finally, thoroughly, and she returned it without reservation. The toweling was
tugged away and then she was covered by warm, damp man. He lay upon her with one knee between
her thighs and arranged her wet hair upon the pillow, spreading it about in a wanton manner. "There,
just as I pictured it."

Kitty bit his chin. "Stop talking."

Hot skin on her skin. Hot hands on her body. Scalding lips on her flesh. "I'm in heaven," she whispered
to him.

"I've only begun," he whispered back. "Now be quiet."

She didn't say another word, but she wasn't quiet, not at all. When he rolled her rigid nipples with his fingertips, she sighed. When he did it gently with his teeth, she moaned. When he did the same to the sensitive nubbin between her thighs, she squealed.

Then he entered her with his fingers. Yes. She wanted ... something ... so badly. She was so empty
she ached. He stroked her deeply, until a spark came to life in her belly and her thighs quivered around his shoulders. He kissed and stroked, until she drove her fingers through his hair and cried out loud with the pleasure.

Limply, she let her knees go slack and her legs fell from their hold on his shoulders. "Oh, heavens,"
she gasped. "I never knew."

He moved up and over her. "You still don't."

She blinked as she felt a hard blunt presence between her thighs. "Oh. Now?"

"Yes, my love. Now." He kissed her deeply as he pressed within. Kitty squirmed a bit, but he captured her hips with his big hands. "Trust me," he whispered into her hair.

She ran her hands up to lock loosely over the back of his neck. "I trust you." He kissed her once more. She put her whole heart into the kiss. He filled her slowly. She felt a brief instant of pain which she studiously ignored. She stretched as far as she could, then she stretched more.

"Now, you see?" she gasped. "This is what I was talking about."

"All done talking, my love." He kissed her quiet. "Feel."

Kitty let her head roll back on the pillow and felt. The fit wasn't quite as tight as it had been. The fit, in fact, was marvelous. Knight withdrew, leaving her aching for him. But he returned, again and again. Pleasure came back, outrageous and unbelievable. "Oh, Knight."

Each stroke felt like a thousand caresses deep inside her. That spark came to light again in her belly, but grew larger and brighter than before. She opened her eyes to see Knight's large body moving over her. His eyes were black, watching her. She shied away from the intensity of his gaze.

"Look at me," he said, his voice deep and roughened. "I want to watch you ignite."                      

She wasn't so lost in pleasure that she didn't hear the thread of lonely need in his voice. She opened her eyes, shyness be damned. Her gaze never left his as he deepened his thrusts in response.

His jaw hardened. Her back arched. Their quickened breath mingled. They burst into flame.

Together.

A sound echoed through the empty house, waking Kitty. She sat up, then winced at the stinging ache between her thighs. The candles had gone out, but the coals still glowed. She turned to look beside her, but Knight was not there.

"I hope you're getting us some food, Mr. Knight," she murmured to the empty room. "It has been an eternity since breakfast."

She felt sticky and uncomfortable. The cooled tub still stood by the fire. Kitty scuttled across the chilly room and knelt to hold a candle stub to the coals. Mama hated when she did that, for the wax dripped evermore off center. Kitty grinned. This was not her mother's house. In a matter of days, it might even
be hers.

The candle flared and Kitty plunked it next to the tub. The cloth still dangled on the side. Kitty repaired what damage she could, then turned to pull a nightdress from the chest. The Grecian gown beckoned. Kitty weighed her soreness against possible benefits. The decision took no time at all. She pulled the lovely thing on over her head and let the hem drift to the floor. It was nothing more than a moonlight shimmer on bare skin. Perfect.

Perhaps she ought to go surprise Knight in the kitchen. The thought of the vacant house beckoned. All those empty rooms! Feeling very wicked, Kitty pulled her wrapper over the decadent nightdress and ventured down the stairs. She had just turned toward the kitchen when she heard another noise from behind her.

"The study, Mr. Knight? I certainly hope you're planning a carpet picnic." She turned back the other
way. Then she heard something breaking, shattering like glass. She jumped, then pressed her back to the wall. That couldn't be Knight. Only an intruder could cause such a noise. She stepped back until she was around the corner, then she ran for the kitchen.

Knight wasn't there, either. What if the intruder had harmed him? He could be in the study right this moment, bleeding like the giant! Desperately, Kitty grabbed a knife from Mrs. Till's drawer.

The study was at the front of the house, with a street-facing window. Anyone could break the glass and enter, if they wanted to brave the ten-foot drop to the walk.

She moved to the study door on silent bare feet. Years of practice sneaking past Mama's bedchamber were certainly coming in handy. The sounds from within—the scraping sound of drawers being roughly opened, the clatter of their contents being tossed about—led her to think that the intruder either didn't know she was at home or didn't care.

She could hide. The house was large. She was small enough to fit in any number of places. But what if Knight needed her? Not to mention the idea of hiding in the dark, the chill horror of waiting while the burglar came closer and closer ...

Kitty pushed open the study door, knife poised at her shoulder, slightly concealed by her hair. The man digging through the desk jerked in surprise and whirled to face her. Tall, if not as tall as Knight. Handsome in a weak-chinned fashion. Very much thinner and more haggard than when she'd last seen him. Tattered finery now too large and filthy boots completed the picture of a rich man gone bad.

"John Turtle."

Turtle blinked at her, then snorted. "I thought you'd be on your honeymoon with Knight, Bitty. Or
should I say 'dear sister'?"                                         

"I suggest you say good-bye."

A sneer crossed his face. "As if I would listen to you." His eyes narrowed. "Unless, that is, you had something useful to tell me?" He began to move slowly toward her. "I need money. Tell me where
Knight keeps his cash and I'll go."

"Stay back, John."

"Why? Don't you want to take up where we left off?"

Kitty almost hoped he'd rush her, so that she could lodge her knife somewhere defenseless. "Your wits are as dull as ever, John. Don't you recall what will happen to you if you ever touch a Trapp again?"

"Yap, yap." He rolled his eyes. "All the influential ladies of London will hang me out to dry on the social hook. Your sister made that quite clear." He moved closer with a grin. "But she's the strong one, isn't
she, Bitty? You're the silly timid sister, and you won't tell a soul that I've been here. Will you, Bitty?"

Kitty felt her lip lift in contempt. "You unbelievable snot! I ought to—" She stopped, considering. Knight wouldn't be happy about her skewering his brother, she was sure. Ah, well. "So be it." She poised the knife in proper throwing position. "Say good-bye to any little Tut-tles you had planned."

John's eyes widened in sudden recognition. "Kitty?" But it was too late. The knife flew.

Knight froze in the doorway of his study when steel shimmered across the room. He'd stepped out back to wake the coachman and send him on a mission to bring back Mrs. Till at once. There was nothing in the house to eat but crusts of pie and yesterday's bread.

John's screech broke Knight's shock. He lunged forward to support his falling half brother. John clutched at him in horror. "She's unmanned me! She's mad! She—"

"She missed." Bettina's dry comment pierced John's babbling. Knight looked down to see that she was quite correct. John's trousers would never be the same, but there was no blood. The knife had entered
an unoccupied area of fabric provided by John's lost pounds. "

Knight looked up at Bettina in surprise. She shrugged. "What can I say? Kitchen knives aren't quite as accurate."

He stood, dropping John to snivel on the floor. "Did he attack you?"

"It crossed his mind." She was watching him warily. He felt much the same about her. Saving the day
in a back alley was one thing. Flinging knives at family members seemed somewhat—

"Mad!" John was furious now that he'd realized his assets were still intact. "She's a raving lunatic,
Knight! I came for a visit—I didn't want to wake anyone so I waited for you in your study—"

Knight merely cast his gaze around the chaos in the room. John cut the lie off in mid-sentence. "So I
was looking for a bit of blunt to tide me over, what of it? The blokes I paid to get me off that ship you
set me on took all I had. You're my brother, remember?"

Knight lifted a brow. "How could I forget?"

Encouraged, John went on. "I was just leaving when she ran in and attacked me!"

Knight nodded slowly, then slid his gaze sideways to his wife. She seemed calm and blessedly unharmed. "Bettina, why don't you tell me—"

"Bettina?" John's derisive howl drew Knight's attention quickly, but not before he saw Bettina flinch.

John laughed loudly, then seated himself on top of the desk with a genuine smile on his face. Knight watched him, puzzled. John, still grinning, shook an admonishing finger at Bettina. "You've been very naughty, haven't you, my dear?"

Knight was in no mood for John's games. He glanced at his bride apologetically—only to see her eyes were wide and frightened and her face was as pale as a ghost. He stepped toward her, alarmed.
"Bettina?"

John giggled. "I never tire of hearing it," he said.

Knight turned on him in fury. "What the bloody hell are you going on about, John?"

John sighed in disappointment. "Honestly, Knight, you have no patience." He shrugged. "If you must
spoil my fun, I'll tell you."

He hopped off the desk and paced behind Bettina, who stood still and shivering, her gaze locked on Knight's. "Please, Knight—I was going to tell you—" she said.

Knight watched in disbelief as she closed her eyes and swallowed. She looked so—

Guilty.

He moved to stand before her. "Tell me what?"

She licked her lips. John leaned over her shoulder. "Tell him!" he sang lightly into her ear with a grin.

Knight was truly worried now. "Bettina—"

John clapped his hands together sharply. "Wrong answer. To the back of the class!"

Knight flinched. "What is this, Bettina?"

She put one hand behind her to shove John away and took a deep breath. "I am not—"

John slung his arm around her shoulders. "Did your fiancee ever mention that she was a twin, Knight?"

Knight blinked. "Twin? I knew she had a sister.. ."

John shook his head. "Not just a sister. A twin. As in two peas. Both blond, both bosomy, both with terrible taste. Bettina and . . ." He gave her a cordial squeeze. She seemed quite frozen. "Katrina. Kitty
to those of us who know her well." John looked down over her shoulder and plucked her wrapper aside for a peek. "And from the looks of that nightdress, you do know her well."

Knight couldn't seem to wrap his thoughts around what was happening. He could only stare at his
bride's white, guilty face. "Darling?"

John spun away in glee. "Oh, this is so rich! This is a moment I've waited for all my life." He plunked himself down in Knight's chair and crossed his legs. "Big brother tarnished at last. The shock! The scandal! Society will feed on it for years." He smiled and linked his hands over his sunken stomach.
"At least they will when I get through with them."

She moved then. Bettina—no, Katrina—Katrina rounded the desk and approached John. "No you
can't! He didn't do anything! He didn't know!"

John smiled happily at her. "I know. That's what makes it so lovely." He sent Knight a darker smile.
"See, dear brother? Do you see how sometimes these things just happen to a man?" John shook his head sadly. "Tsk-tsk, Alfie."

Knight could not take his gaze from her guilty face. "Even the wedding was a lie, wasn't it? That was
you, not your sister?" Knight closed his eyes as the truth finally began to sink in. He wondered what
they would call him now. The Dupe? The Fool? Whatever, it would be cruel and cleverly unforgettable, he was sure.

She rose—Katrina—and came to stand before him. "Oh, Knight, I'm so sorry—"

"Answer the question," he barked. She flinched, then nodded.

"It was I at the altar."

"The vows are meaningless then. Unless there was a signed proxy?" She only looked away from him.

"I see. Did it not bother you to lie before your church and family? You are—and I can scarcely bear
to state something so obvious—not who I thought you were."

Her chin jerked up. "I know I hurt you—"

"Hurt me, Miss Trapp? You have destroyed me."

John raised his hand in a wave. "I helped!"

She cast John a withering glance. Knight pondered the pot calling the kettle black. Black as her heart,
no doubt. "Tell me, Katrina, was tonight the last piece of the puzzle?" He laughed, the sound spiky in
his own throat. "Was the attack in the alley staged? And the other girl—I did see her, didn't I? Bettina
was a player as well, of course. You could never have pulled it off without her."

She looked at him with those lustrous brown eyes. "It wasn't a play, Knight. I only meant to get through the wedding for Bitty. She was so nervous—"

She looked down at her hands. "No, that's not true. I don't believe she intended to marry you at all by then. I believe she might have planned for me to step into her place. Kitty to save the day, as always." She looked up and shrugged helplessly. "She knows me all too well."

"You're lying again," Knight said calmly. "I can tell because you're speaking." The ice was moving in, stilling the pain, driving it deep and quiet. He turned away. "There is no more need for fairy tales, Miss Trapp. I have ruined a woman of good family. I must marry her." He went to the door, then spoke to
her without turning back. "Do me the small favor of returning to your home until I can make the necessary arrangements—"

"No."

Kitty couldn't take her eyes from the stark pain on his face when he turned back to her. He likely
thought it quite controlled, but she could feel it burning her from across the room. She couldn't take
back what she had done. That was a burden she would carry forever. She could not allow him to
carry it, as well. He looked back at her with dead eyes. "You will not go home?"

She wanted to wrap her arms about him, to stand between him and those who would hurt him. Yet
how could she when it was she who wielded the greatest weapon? "I will go home, Knight. But I will
not marry you."

He did not react, but merely nodded. "That, of course, is your prerogative. My honor demands I offer." He turned back to the door.

"Mine demands that I refuse," she whispered. But he was gone.

John leaned back in his chair. "Now that was truly enj—"

In one swift motion, Kitty bent to retrieve the kitchen knife and sent it spinning once more. John jerked
in shock at the hilt that suddenly erupted between his thighs. "Bloody hell," he wheezed.

"Get out of Knight's house," Kitty said coolly as she left the room. "And never come back."

Three days later, Knight stepped from his silent and gloomy house into pearly gray daylight. There were
a few people on the street and he felt their eyes on him, every one.

The last thing Knight wanted to do was enter society. He remembered all too well how it would be. The sudden quiet when he entered a room. The amused glances, or worse, the pitying ones. The tongue-tying rage at the titters and the innuendo and the certain knowledge that much worse was being said behind his back.

But Helen Arden's accounts were due back to her and Knight refused to dawdle. When he arrived at her house, he was quickly shown into a small side parlor, for the large front one was in the full throes of morning calls. Even with the door closed between, he could hear the interwoven exchange of high voices coming from the other room.

Something certainly had them all in a lather. Knight was fairly certain he knew what it was. Or rather, who. The sound scraped his nerves raw and started his head thumping anew. He put one hand on the lump that still graced his skull. Another bloody reminder of her.

Helen entered almost immediately and carefully shut the door behind her. "My apologies for the to-do," she said. "I cannot seem to slow their discourse. You are bearing up well, I hope?"

Knight avoided her warmly inquiring gaze to shuffle through the leather-bound file he'd brought to her. "I've made a great deal of progress. You'll see here where your properties have begun to bring you
much better rents—"

"Bother the accounts. Knight, what are you going to do about Katrina Trapp?"

The documents swam before Knight's gaze. "What can I do? She's refused me, more than once." He closed the file and rubbed his aching head with one hand. "She wants no more to do with me than I do with her."

Helen chewed her lip. "She was jealous that day you visited, you know."

He snorted. "I doubt that."

She smiled sadly at him. "I don't. Women can tell these things. She knew at once that you and I are
fond of each other. I knew at once that such a thing mattered to her."

Knight stuffed his hands in his pockets and stared at the carpet. "She's a vicious schemer. She played
me for a fool and now—now it has all begun again, just like before."

Helen raised a brow. "Yes, just like before ... but for the part where you are nine years old and defenseless."

Knight jerked his head up at that. She was quite right. He was not powerless this time. He barked a
short laugh. "So forthright. You sound like my w—like Katrina."

Helen folded her arms and gazed at him with profound exasperation. "Really? Can a person truly be
both forthright and a vicious schemer?"

Knight closed his eyes against the truth in her words. None of it mattered. The true problem here was
that Katrina would never be the kind of wife he needed. He wanted a woman who would keep her opinions to herself, who would behave with perfect decorum, who would never become the object of gossip—

Dear God, I'm bored already.

He turned abruptly. "I cannot discuss this further," he said to Helen over ,his shoulder. "I must go."

In the hall, Helen's butler appeared with his hat and gloves. Knight was tugging on the gray gloves
when two women exited the teeming parlor in full tete-a-tete.

"Well, what did you expect from a family like that?" one was saying. The other woman tittered.
"I heard his mother was quite shameless—" They saw him and halted in dismay.

No, not defenseless at all. Knight bowed deeply. For the first time in his life, he knew precisely what to say. "Ladies, I wish you good afternoon." He smiled dryly. "A terrible thing, scandal. Contagious, don't you know? I do hope both your families have their skeletons safely hidden."

Then Knight turned his back on them and left the house wearing his hat at a cocky angle.

The Trapp house was in an uproar, and for the first time in her life, Kitty had no intention of fixing any
of it. The last three days had been laden with pleading and recrimination, but none of it had been hers.

Another note from Knight had come yesterday. Another cool and polite offer of matrimony to save the family name. Kitty wasn't sure anymore if he meant hers or his own. The Trapp name had suffered,
quite true. Bitty had left an ugly mess, costing Papa a great deal of money and future favors to unwind her from the legalities of two marriages. Kitty had been called to testify that she had indeed spoken the vows to Knight and not Bitty, but she wasn't quite sure she'd been believed.

Nevertheless, Kitty was glad for her sister. Wesley Mer-rick might be as passive and spineless as a pudding, but he slavishly adored Bitty, who seemed a veritable Amazon in comparison. Bitty was
happy, living her own dream at last.

At least one of us is.

"Well, once you marry Mr. Knight in truth," Mama was saying with forced assurance, "it will all die down. It isn't nearly so interesting to gossip about the happily married."

"Oh, I believe I will be of interest for a long time to come," replied Kitty. "I refused Mr. Knight."

Beatrice gaped. "But why? It solves everything!"

"Everything for you and Papa, to be sure. It even smooths Bitty's way. But Mr. Knight does not want me. Do you truly wish me to tie myself for life to a man who thinks me an embarrassment? I would suffer a lifetime of hiding my feelings, stifling my thoughts, curbing every action for fear of causing that poor man one more moment of mortification. I doubt very much that would make either of us happy."

"Will being a scandal for the rest of your life make you happy?" Mama was livid. "Ruining us all?"

"If you're ruined—which I doubt—then I am sorry. But truly, how long can it last? Bitty is happy in
her lot and I wish her well. Papa has influence and power that has nothing to do with me. You have connections of your own. Aunt Clara would never allow you to be ostracized. You may hear whispers
for a time, but if I am out of sight they'll soon take their gossip elsewhere."

Kitty crossed her arms. "What matters to me is for all to know that Knight behaved with nothing but honor and integrity, and that it was I who refused his offer. If you'll make sure of that, Mama, then I
can go with good will."

"You—you're going away?" Mama's eyes filled with tears. "I'm to lose you both?"

Surprise washed through Kitty at her mother's emotion. This was not theatrical excess. Beatrice was
truly sad. Kitty relaxed her militant stance to take her mother into her arms. "Oh, Mama, please don't
be upset. I cannot stay now, but I'll likely be back. Perhaps after Mr. Knight marries in truth—"

She couldn't finish that thought. Too painful. Too forceful a pressure on her newly won resolve.
Knight would marry someday. He would choose a perfect lady to be the perfect accessory to his
perfect gentleman. Someone who would never ever appear in the newssheets or on the lips of gossips. Someone who—

The front door knocker clanked downstairs. That alone was a rare occurrence at the moment. There
was nothing like scandal to clear one's parlor. Kitty parted from her mother and sat Beatrice down with
a fresh handkerchief in hand. She went to the top of the stairs. It wouldn't be Knight, she told her naive and hopeful heart. She'd been adamant in her last refusal.

It seemed to be merely a delivery, although Kitty couldn't imagine why it hadn't been taken to the
service entrance. She couldn't see who brought it, but if she sat down on the top step, she could see Rogers the butler as he started up the stairs with a paper-wrapped parcel. When he lifted his eyes to
see Kitty squatting there like an eavesdropping child, he gave no reaction. He merely continued his leisurely dignified way up the stairs.

"Rogers," Kitty said. "Who is it for?"

"It has come from Knight House. It is addressed to you, miss."

Kitty lunged for the package. Rogers merely braced himself as she took it and ran back to her room. Beatrice looked up from her sniffling as Kitty dropped to one knee on her bed and ripped into the
paper covering the parcel. "Who is it from? Someone showing support in our time of trouble?
Someone influential?"

Kitty opened the last layer to reveal a beautifully inlaid box. Expensive. Her heart fell as she realized
that Knight was still trying to do his duty by her. Yet jewels or baubles would not sway her, she
promised herself. Then she opened it anyway.

Inside, the box was formed into six compartments, each lined in purple velvet. In each individual compartment lay a single gleaming throwing knife. Unable to breathe, Kitty lifted one lovely leaf-shaped blade into her hand. The balance was exquisite. She could unman an army of Tuttles with knives like these.

"Oh, dear," murmured Beatrice. "Is that some sort of threat, do you think?"

Kitty returned the knife to its place with a lingering caress. For the first time she noticed that the hasp
was carved with two letters. "KK"—"Katrina Knight." Her throat tightened. He was sharing his name. "No threat," she whispered. "This is a celebration."

"Of what?"

Kitty closed the case, stroking the rich satinwood of the top with a tender caress. "Of me," she said
softly. "Just as I am."

Then she sprang from her seat and dashed to the hall. "Rogers! The delivery, who—"

"Mr. Knight is waiting right downstairs, miss," came the laconic reply.

And he was. He stood there tall and breathtaking, just as she'd seen him that first time—with one
amazing difference. Kitty halted midway down the stairs, stunned by the light of love and approval that gleamed in his intense gaze.

"Hello, Katrina."

She'd missed his voice. Her soul seemed to vibrate in tune with the deepness of it. Still frozen on the landing, she could not answer him. She'd dreamed of him looking at her so. Now that he was, she couldn't bear to trust it.

Knight reached one hand up toward her. "Katrina, come down."

She hesitated. "Knight, I am still quite impossible."

He smiled. "I know. I find I prefer you that way."

Her body warmed from the inside out. "But they'll be talking about us forever."

He nodded. "I imagine they will. I foresee a great deal of gossip about how insufferably in love we are." He held up both hands and tilted his head. "Now come home."

Kitty grinned. This was no time for decorum. With the nimbleness of long practice, she hiked herself to sit on the stair rail. Speed was paramount—for her marvelous, steadfast, handsome Knight awaited her.

"Wheee!"