A TANGLED WEB

"Brock is not my lover! He has never been my lover!"

"Then who!"

Her eyes met his defiantly. "You. Only you. Aboard the Juletta."

He gave a derisive snort. "That! That wasn't your first time, Robbie. Good God! I didn't want to hurt you. But then . . ." He shook his head, cursing himself for every kind of fool. "You loved it, didn't you? Like any good whore. Who was the first, Robbie? LeClerc? One of the other wretches on Montebello? How many of your father's men passed through your bed before I, fool that I was, took you away from that hell-hole?"

Robbie stared at him, confused. Then, abruptly, she understood. He still didn't know it had been her in his bed that first time. He still thought it had been Louise! She was being condemned as a whore for not being a virgin when he himself had taken that prize! Other Leisure Books by Sandra DuBay: FIDELITY'S FLIGHT WHISPERS OF PASSION CRIMSON CONQUEST IN PASSION'S SHADOW WHERE PASSION DWELLS BY LOVE BEGUILED FLAME OF FIDELITY SCARLET SURRENDER WILDER SHORES OF LOVE TEMPEST MISTRESS OF THE SUN KING QUICKSILVER Burn on Sweet Fire Sandra DuBay A LEISURE BOOK^®

February 1991

Published by

Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
276 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10001

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Printed in the United States of America.

1

April1718

He should have known; the voyage had been too perfect. But on that sun-drenched April afternoon Courtland Lennox was too relaxed to be on guard. When his seventeen-year-old sister Ariel, who stood beside him on the fo'c's'le deck of his ship, the Juletta, spied the lifeboat bobbing in the ocean off the port bow, he felt nothing save mild surprise and concern for the ragtag castaways.

"Are you going to rescue them?" Ariel asked excitedly. The ruffled silk parasol that shielded her petal-soft skin quivered in her gloved hand.

Court peered through his telescope, and what he saw was not particularly to his liking.

There were four of them. Even taking into account the ordeal of being adrift for God only knew how long, they were a disreputable lot. One, an enormous bear of a man with wild black hair and a bushy black beard, was lying in the bottom of the boat. His right arm was wrapped in dirty rags that were saturated with dark, dried blood. "Aye," Court answered finally, reluctantly. Had there been any alternative, he would have sailed on. But he could not, in good conscience, leave men to die of thirst and exposure. "Go below and lock your door."

Ariel's pretty, narrow face drooped with disappointment. "But, Court . . . !"

"Now!"

Accustomed to obeying her brother ever since their parents' deaths had made him her guardian, Ariel turned. With a saucy flip of her many-flounced skirts, she stalked. off to the stairs that would take her below.

"It is so unfair!" she said with a pout, flinging her shawl and parasol in the general direction of her maid, Louise, who patiently picked them up. The maid carefully furled the elegant parasol to avoid crumpling the delicate painted silk.

Louise was a level-headed woman, possessed of almost saint-like patience and common sense beyond her twenty-six years. Both were qualities she needed in plenty to deal with Court Lennox's flighty sister. Louise was French, but that was all she would reveal about her background, though there was a sadness in her eyes that bespoke past tragedy.

Now, folding away Ariel's shawl, Louise waited, saying nothing. She knew her charge well enough to realize that the rest of the story would be forthcoming.

"The only excitement of the entire voyage and Court sends me below!"

As she spoke, Ariel did not notice the faint smile that quickly crossed Louise's face. Closing the armoire, the maid sat down to listen to her young lady's complaints.

Abovedecks, Court shouted the orders that sent the Juletta hurtling toward the rickety dinghy and its occupants. That the four men in the boat were, at the very least, smugglers, Court didn't doubt for a moment. He strongly suspected they were pirates. If that proved to be the case, he would have little choice but to order them clapped in irons to safeguard Ariel and the Juletta herself. He would deliver them to the proper authorities upon their making port.

Ariel watched from her cabin as the men were hauled aboard. All of them were dirty, their skins blistered from days beneath the broiling sun. The huge, bearded man Court had spied through his glass was weak from blood loss and nearly delirious with pain, though he clenched his teeth stubbornly against the urge to scream as he was pulled aboard with little more care than his three companions had been.

Court, with a cadre of his men, went to the castaways as they lay in the shade of a hastily erected tarpaulin. Cloths soaked with water from the Juletta's precious store of fresh drinking water were applied to their blistered skin and cracked, swollen lips. Peter Garrison, the ship's doctor, dampened the blood-caked rags that bound the big man's arm.

Little by little the layers of rag came away. As the wound was revealed, more than one of Court's men turned away, stomachs roiling, at the sight of the torn, festering flesh and the fetid odor of decay that rose from it.

"Sweet Jesus," one of them muttered.

"My ship," the big man gritted out, his words taking his mind off the pain, "was blown out from under me. These men"with a jerk of his head, he indicated the three who lay near him"are all that remain of my crew. A hundred and fifty men! Blown to hell!"

"You were attacked?" Court demanded skeptically.

"Aye." Lost in the matted depths of his coal-black beard, the man's mouth twisted bitterly. "Blown out of the water. God curse, the British!"

"Odd," Court murmured. "Generally the British prey only on pirates."

In spite of the pain in his right arm, the man made a sound almost like a chuckle at the knowing look in Court's golden-brown eyes.

"Ye know, don't ye, lad, who I am?"

"I've a suspicion," Court admitted. "What captain plying these waters hasn't heard of Black Jack Tremonte?"

"Ye may well ask." There was more than a trace of pride in his gruff voice. His black eyes narrowed beneath broad, slashing brows. "What will ye do with us?"

"What should I do? What would you do in my place?"

"I'd take ye to Charles Town and collect the bounty," the pirate answered matter-of-factly. His eyes gleamed shrewdly. " 'Less, o'course, I was a merciful man."

Court could not but admire the man's verve. "And then?"

Black Jack hissed as the doctor poured whiskey, his only disinfectant, over the festering flesh. With a low snarl he snatched the bottle from the startled man's hands and raised it to his lips.

"And then," he answered when most of the liquor had flowed down his parched throat, "I'd take the poor man home to die among his own."

"Merciful, indeed," Court agreed dryly. "But wouldn't you shy away from sailing into the heart of a pirate's lair?"

"Not if I was promised protection."

"A pirate's promise?" Court arched one tawny brow.

Black Jack's face twisted into the ferocious scowl that had been the last sight too many men had ever seen. He straightened, teeth clenched against the pain shooting up his arm.

''A man's word!" he thundered. "Pirate I may be, my fine lad, but a man worth the name! My word is as good as any man'sbetter than some who call themselves 'gentlemen'!"

Having himself run afoul of more than one dishonorable "gentleman," Court could not dispute the point. Still, the man was notorious.

"And is it protection that you're promising?" he surprised himself by asking.

Black Jack was careful to hide the glimmer of hope Court's question evoked inside him. From the moment his ship, Black Avenger, had slipped beneath the choppy waters, he'd believed his end was at hand. If the elements or the unforgiving sea didn't claim him and his three crewmen, the gallows would.

His only hope lay in convincing this golden-haired man to take him home to die. That he was going to die, he had no doubt. His arm had been left untreated for too long; he had seen before the creeping rot that claimed men with wounds such as his.

"Aye," he answered at long last. "Protection for you, for your ship, for your crew. Take us home and I'll see you get safely out of Montebello harbor."

Court's golden eyes met the pirate's ebon stare, and they silently took stock of one another. That Black Jack meant what he said, Court did not question. But it was not only his own life he was risking by taking pity on the man, it was the lives of his crew and of his young sister, whom he knew was suffering agonies of curiosity in her cabin below.

He drew the doctor away and spoke to him softly. "Can he survive?"

Peter Garrison lifted his narrow shoulders. "It would take a miracle. Gangrene is setting in. The whole arm would have to come off, and soon. Even then . . ." He shook his head.

Court returned to the pirate's side. "If I were to take you back," he said, "your men would not board my ship and my men would not be allowed to leave it."

"Agreed," Jack answered quickly.

"Your second-in-command?"

"Dead."

Court turned his attention to the other three men. Though none bore wounds anywhere near as serious as that which threatened their captain's life, they seemed in no better health. Exposure to the elements had taken its toll, as had hunger and scurvy; another day or two would have spelled their doom.

"We won't stay on Montebello," Court told him. "You'll be put ashore and then we'll weigh anchor."

Jack nodded, his agreement, but Peter Garrison spoke up.

"Is there a doctor on this island of yours, Tremonte?"

"No."

"What happens to men with wounds such as yours?"

Jack's eyes glinted coldly. "They die, doctor, as we all must in time."

Garrison winced at the pirate's callous disregard for human life. "There is no one to minister to the sick?"

"Robbie does what he can." He saw the questioning looks. "My son. Seventeen, he is."

"Surely a seventeen-year-old boy . . ."

"There was an old woman who knew something of healing. She taught him what she could before she died."

The doctor drew Court aside. "Couldn't we remain long enough for me to see to anyone requiring medical attention?" he asked. "There are very likely women and children on this island. They are not to blame . . ."

"Peter," Court interrupted impatiently, "it is beyond me how I ever came to consider even taking the man to his island. He is a piratea cutthroata criminal. By rights he should end his life on a scaffold as others like him have done. If this were England, they'd hang his body in irons until it rotted."

"The man is dying, Court."

"So you say. And when he does, will we still be on Montebello Island? How do we know his men will honor his word once he's dead? It's not only myself I'm thinking of, nor the crew, nor the Juletta herself. My sister is below. Should I so carelessly expose her to an island of cutthroats?"

"Of course not. You're right. Nevertheless, I would ask that I be allowed to see him settled and made as comfortable as possible before we set out."

Court scowled. His hands, curled into fists, rested on his narrow hips as he gazed out over the doctor's shoulder at the restless sea. He longed to be home. Without this incident they would have entered the Chesapeake Bay in several days' time. Now their voyage would be lengthened by at least a week while they changed course for Montebello Island, in the Bahamas. Was he mad for even considering such an action?

Probably, he told himself ruefully, dragging his long brown fingers through his hair. Still, if he were to take Tremonte to the authorities, it would mean a similar delay. What real difference did it make? The man was dying. As for the othersnot one of the three looked capable of taking on the duties of a pirate captain. Deprived of Tremonte's daring leadership, the pirates on Montebello Island would probably either scatter and join other buccaneer bands in the region or vote one of their number into the captaincy vacated by Tremonte's death.

"Oh, hell," he muttered at last. "We'll go." He looked at Black Jack and nodded. "Give my helmsman directions, Tremonte. We'll take you home."

The big man's cracked lips curved into a pained grin. "Ye won't regret it, lad. I swear ye won't."

But as the Juletta swung about and settled into her new course, Court was less than sure.

High atop the coral hills that were the natural watch-towers of Black Jack's lair, the boy sat gazing out ever the clear sea. The big sorrel stallion beneath him shifted restlessly; his iron-shod hooves rang on the rocks. An oddly delicate hand stretched out to pat the thick, arching neck.

"Soon, Tobias," the boy soothed. "Soon."

The horse nickered and pranced, impatient with the endless waiting, but the boy held him expertly, his long, lithely muscled legs tightening on the glossy barrel sides as he sat astride his saddleless mount.

He glanced out, to sea once more and saw, at long last, a ship. But it was not the one he sought so ferventlyit was not the ominous, looming, fearsome form of Jack's Black Avenger. Instead, a sleek merchantman approached, sailing with apparent unconcern-straight for the mouth of Montebello harbor.

The boy frowned, puzzled, and reached up to scratch the ragged cap of fiery curls that framed his smooth-checked, oval face. Who would be fool enough to approach Montebello, famed as it was for being the home of Black Jack Tremonte? Even with Jack himself away, there were men enough on the island to capture my ship, except, perhaps, the dreaded men-of-war of the British fleet. His curiosity ached for satisfaction, but for the present he contented himself with one last glance at the ship. She was even now changing course to follow the jagged reef to the narrow, treacherous passage through which she must pass to reach the safety of the island's hidden harbor.

On board the ship, Black Jack's eagle-sharp eyes picked out the slender form astride the horse. He beckoned to Court.

"Robbie," he told him, gesturing toward the island.

Court looked up from where he knelt beside the pirate. He watched the boy and horse as they pounded along the rocky path that followed the abrupt, dangerous rises and falls of the coral cliff.

Against the lush green backdrop of the rolling hills, the boy's red-gold hair glowed in the sunshine. He seemed amazingly small to be handling the thundering horse with such ease, but then he was the son of Black Jack Tremonte, though Court could see precious little resemblance.

"He's a rare one, is my Robbie," Jack said softly, sadly.

Court sat down on the deck beside him. In the past few days, as the pirate grew visibly weaker, Court had come to feel a glimmering of pity for the once-proud man.

"Will he follow in his father's footsteps, Jack?" he asked.

Jack frowned. "I had hoped for better for him. His mother, my Corinne, was a lady." He glanced askance at Court and nodded sagely. "Aye, I know what kind of lady ye'd be expectin' to wed with a scurvy wretch like me, but she was a lady, born and bred. She died birthin' Robbie these seventeen years past." He leaned his massive head back on a coil of rope. "She gave me Robbie to remember her by. But I wanted better for him than the life of a pirate." They spoke no more as the ship was piloted through the perilously narrow inlet and into the harbor.

Montebello Island seemed shaped by the divine hand of Providence for pirates. Its harbor was deep enough for the sleek pirate craft but far too shallow to admit the British men of war that were the scourge of the Caribbean brigand bands. The coral reefs surrounding the island teemed with life, and fresh-water springs hidden in the island's lush interior nourished the fruit-laden trees that flourished there.

As the ship's massive anchor dropped through the crystalline water toward the harbor's white sand floor, the island's three hundred inhabitants began to spill out of the cottages that formed a triple-rowed semi-circle around the sprawling, two-storied structure that housed the communal hall and, on the upper floor, Black Jack's private quarters.

Court scanned the curious, swarming mob. He saw mainly women and children. A few men recuperating from wounds suffered in previous battles wore grimy bandages or limped along with the aid of a stick. On the far side of the harbor a ship was being careened. As the Juletta dropped anchor, the men working there boarded their boats and rowed toward her.

They shouted threats; some waved weapons meant to frighten off the foolhardy intruders into their pirates' paradise. It was not until they saw Black Jack being lowered into a longboat to be rowed ashore that their anger turned into curiosity and concern.

Of the crew of the Juletta, only Court and Peter Garrison accompanied Jack and his men to shore. Jack noticed Court's golden eyes scanning the mob of men, women, and children lining the shore.

"I've given ye my word, lad," he told him gravely. "Yer crew and yer ship'll be safe." He smiled a little wanly. "And so will yer sister." Court caught his breath. "How did you know about . . ."

Jack laughed. "I heard one of yer men talk of her. And, if I ain't mistaken, that must be her."

Court looked back at the ship and found Ariel standing on the deck in defiance of his direct orders. He groaned and shook his head.

Jack laughed again. "Never try to tell a woman what to do, lad. They've minds of their own."

Scowling, Court could only agree.

2

The candlelit corridor that ran the length of Black Jack's quarters echoed with the agonized screams he could not suppress. Outside the door, huddled miserably on a velvet-cushioned bench, Robbie Tremonte sat, head between his knees, hands clasped over his ears. But even so he could hear the rising moans of his father who, at that moment, was having his shattered arm removed in a last-ditch effort to save his life.

A sharp kick in the calf brought the boy upright on the bench. He looked up, his long-lashed green eyes hazy with grief and pain, and found René LeClerc, one of Black Jack's men, standing before him.

"Be a man," the swarthy, wiry Frenchman spat, disgusted. "You snivel like a little girl."

"My father is dying," Robbie reminded him pitifully.

The Frenchman's black eyes glittered in their deep sockets. Though it was best to conceal such emotions until Jack was, in fact, dead, he was not at all sorry to see his captain die. He had long ago set his sights on becoming the undisputed ruler of Montebello Island. Everyone said, and LeClerc himself believed, that Jack had stashed away a king's ransom in jewels and gold over the years. Once Jack was dead, René would claim it as his own. All that would stand in his way was . . .

His piercing eyes rested with sly complacence on the slender form of Jack's only offspring. This lissome boy was Jack's only heir. If Jack diedand by the sound of things that would be a mercythis skinny lad would not survive him for longer than it took LeClerc to force him to reveal the whereabouts of his father's treasure.

"I know he's dying," René agreed. "But it is not for you to weep like a woman and cover your ears. You should be there with him, beside him. You should help to save him. You should hold his arm while the doctor plies his saw."

"Stop it!" Robbie shrieked. "I won't listen to you! You're nothing but a cheating son of a whore! You want my father to die! You want"

LeClerc's fist sliced through the air and smashed into Robbie's cheek, sending him sprawling across the flowered runner.

"Speak to me that way once more, you little bastard, and I'll spill your worthless guts for you."

Pushing himself to his feet, Robbie shook out the baggy shirt and tattered trousers he wore. "My father . . ." he began.

LeClerc's scornful laughter interrupted him. "Your father won't be here to protect you much longer, you whining little mongrel. Now get in there where you belong."

Clutching Robbie's arm, the black-eyed pirate dragged him toward the bedroom door. The screams had subsided now; nevertheless, Robbie'shrank from watching his father suffer the agonies of a hideous death. They had nearly reached the door when it opened and Court appeared.

"What's going on here?" he demanded, seeing the determined LeClerc and the frantically fighting boy held in his merciless grasp.

"The boy belongs with his father," LeClerc snarled.

Robbie gazed at Court with entreating eyes. Court himself, inured after years at sea to the more grisly side of life, was feeling queasy after what he'd just witnessed. It was no place for a boy, and particularly not when the patient was the boy's own father.

"Let him go," he told LeClerc.

The ebony-haired pirate sneered. "Is this how you colonials cosset your sons?"

"We aren't deliberately cruel, if that's what you mean," Court hissed. "Now let the boy go."

His full mouth twisted into a cruel parody of a smile, LeClerc released Robbie. His eyes, hard and sparkling as blackest jet, met and fused with Court's golden glare. Their stares locked, and hostility crackled between them until LeClerc spun on his heel and stalked off, disappearing into the shadows like some prowling creature of the night.

Sniffling, Robbie wiped his nose on his sleeve. Court stood before him as though expecting something, but Robbie was cowed by him; in awe of him. Having grown up on Montebello surrounded by the ragged, filthy men of his father's crew and their equally ragged and filthy mob of doxies and ragamuffins, Robbie had never seen anyone like Court Lennox. From the glove-soft brown leather boots that rose to his knees to the smoothly fitted trousers and sparkling white shirt, he seemed to come from another world. His skin had been toasted by the sun to a rich, tawny bronze; his eyes were golden; even his hair had been gilded by sunshine until it seemed touched by some celestial artist's brush. He put his arm around Robbie's shoulders, intending to give him a reassuring hug, but the boy pushed away.

''My father?" he managed.

Court frowned, his tawny brows drawing together. "I won't lie to you, boy. The doctor doesn't think he'll make it." He sighed as the lad turned away, obviously fighting back tears. "What will you do after . . . when he's . . ."

Robbie saved him the trouble of trying to find the right words.

"Ain't none of your concern, is it? I expect you'll be long gone by then."

"I suppose I will. You must understand, lad, only your father's authority is protecting my crew and my ship. Once he's . . . gone . . . we'll be at the mercy of whoever takes over."

"LeClerc," Robbie muttered.

Court didn't bother trying to hide his disgust. "Christ, that bastard." He scowled, troubled. "It isn't only my crew I'm worried about, you see. With a woman aboardwell, you're old enough to know that pirates and women . . ." He shrugged.

"Why the hell don't you just take your ship and your woman and get out of here, then?" Robbie lashed out.

Court felt an overwhelming desire to box the young whelp's ears, but he let the insolence pass since it stemmed, he knew, from the grief and frustration of having to stand by helplessly as someone he loved lay dying.

"Go to bed, lad," he said, more gently then the boy deserved. His golden eyes swept the boy from the top of his tousled head to the worn, scuffed boots on his feet. "Have a bath first, why don't you? It might help you sleep." Robbie drew himself up, insulted. "You're not my bloody mother!" he hissed, fire dancing in his green eyes. "Don't tell me what to do!"

Spinning on his heel, he stormed off up the dark corridor, every fiber of his lithe body bespeaking the self-righteous indignation that filled him.

Hands on hips, Court watched him go. The boy was sorely in need of discipline, that much was clear. If he had to be around Robbie for any length of time, he'd devote many an hour to beating some respect and manners into his insolent hide. But as much as that notion appealed to him, he couldn't help being grateful that he would be leaving this God-forsaken hole with the turning of the tide.

In his room at the far end of the hall, Robbie sat, miserable, in an armchair whose once beautiful tapestry upholstery now hung in tatters. His mind was filled with thoughts of Court Lennox. There was a woman aboard the man's ship. His wife? His mistress, perhaps? She'd be beautiful, of course. Glittering and golden like Court himself.

Robbie's grass-green eyes went to the mirror across the room. Reflected there was a dirty, ragged boy.

"Have a bath," Court had said. Easier said than done. Not only was there no one to tote water up the stairs, there was not a single bathtub on the whole of Montebello Island. Still, a good washing, perhaps . . .

Taking up the cracked, dusty pitcher that stood on the bureau, Robbie went downstairs to the back of the house where a rain barrel stood. Unseen, René LeClerc watched. When Robbie reentered the house LeClerc followed on silent feet like a panther stalking its prey.

Back upstairs, the water sloshing in a deep basin, Robbie washed the fiery curls that fell in lank tangles around his grimy face. His face was next, then his long, slim neck. Generally that would have been that, but with steely resolution, Robbie slipped chipped buttons out of their holes and stripped off the shabby shirt that had not seen the inside of a washtub for far too long.

Unnoticed by Robbie, René LeClerc eased open the door Robbie had forgotten to lock. He watched as the boy washed his hair, his face, his miserable, scrawny neck. LeClerc's black eyes were narrowed, puzzled, as though witnessing a madman at work.

Then they widened, the bewilderment banished by shock, as the grimy shirt was cast aside and the wide, dirty gray strip of gauze that banded the boy's narrow chest was unwound, setting free as perfect a pair of firm young breasts as he had ever seen. A shiver coursed through the black-souled LeClerc as Robbie unknotted the scrap of rope that held up her too-big breeches and let them fall, banishing all possible question of gender.

Robyn Tremonte, son of the infamous pirate Black Jack Tremonte, the scourge of the Caribbean and south Atlantic, was as female as it was possible to be.

Stunned, LeClerc eased the door closed and leaned against the wall beside it. Was it possible? He had just seen it provenjust witnessed it with his own eyes-but how had Tremonte and his sonno, his daughtercarried off the deception for so many years? From the cradle young Robbie had been raised as Jack's son. Had it been for the sake of convenience? Because life on Montebello was easier for a boy than a motherless girl? Had it been to protect. Robbie from Jack's men when Jack himself was not there to protect her?

LeClerc pictured again in his mind's eye the lithe young female body he had just seen. A hawkish smile crept across his narrow face.

"Soon, petite fille, you will have no father to protect you." He laughed softly. "Soon I will rule Montebello Island. Once I do, you will be mine. I will make you mine before any other can discover this secret you have hidden so well."

Pushing himself away from the wall, he disappeared into the shadows of the dimly lit corridor as silently as he had come, leaving his intended victim secure for the moment in her ignorance.

3

Robyn Tremonte was far beyond mere grief. As she knelt beside her father's bed in the murky gray light of dawn, she felt an emptiness inside her, a numbness, as though she'd been left with only the echo of what had once been her heart.

During the night, Jack had sunk into a delirium. He raved, crying out against long-dead enemies, reliving the myriad cruelties of a violent life, raging against the fates that had robbed him of the one woman he had ever truly loved. Then, in the streaked half light of the breaking dawn, he had quieted, lapsed into sleep from which he was not expected to waken.

Wearily, Robyn rose and made her way from the room. No one seemed to notice save for Court, who wished he could say something, do something, to ease the boy's suffering.

As the door closed behind Robbie, Court moved to Peter Garrison's side and reminded him that they must soon weigh anchor. With Jack slipping toward his inevitable end, Montebello Island would soon be in the hands of a man Court knew would never honor Jack's promise of protection for the Juletta and her crew.

Letting herself out into the corridor, Robbie did not at first notice René LeClerc lurking on the opposite side of the hall. It was not until his hand shot out and clamped painfully about her arm that she saw him.

"René!" she cried in the low tone that, mercifully, came naturally to her.

"Is he dead yet?" the black-eyed pirate demanded.

His callous tone pierced to the quick of Robbie's grief.

"Damn you!" she hissed. "I hope one day you swing"

"Mind your tongue, you little bitch!"

"They'll get you, LeClerc," she spat. "They'll hang you so high . . ." The words trailed off, fading into nothingness, as she realized what he'd said.

LeClerc laughed cruelly as understanding crept over Robbie's pale face.

"Aye," he confirmed. "I know your secret. I know you're a woman." His onyx eyes gleamed savagely. "I know what you're hidin' under those rags you wear."

"But when . . . how . . . ?"

LeClerc chuckled. "I saw you last night, at your bath. You're a little beauty, my Robbie."

Raised as she had been, as a boy on an island of unprincipled, undisciplined men used to giving free rein to their hates, their joys, their lusts, life held few secrets for Robbie. She knew full well what René LeClerc was feeling for her at that moment. And she knew what it would mean for her once her father was dead.

"I'm not your Robbie!" she snarled, but the glimmering of fear in her eyes gave the lie to the bravado of her words.

"Before this day is out," LeClerc prophesied grimly, "you will be mine." "Never! I'd rather be dead!"

"You might bewhen I'm through with you." His deep jet eyes swept over her, and Robbie felt sullied, violated. "But for now . . ."

Robbie stiffened as the pirate slammed her against the wall. His lean, hard body, muscles honed and powerful after long years at sea, crushed her against the rough-hewn panels. She twisted her head to elude the lips that would have taken hers.

A door opened behind them. Court Lennox appeared. His mouth gaped at the sight of the Frenchman accosting Jack's son in the shadowy corridor. For a moment his senses were dulled, his reaction slowed by the sheer unexpectedness of the scene. Then, like a great, tawny cat, he leapt across the narrow hall and dragged LeClerc away.

Taken by surprise, the swarthy pirate released Robbie and whirled to face his attacker. His hand went to the razor-sharp dagger he wore at his beltthe dagger he had often plied with such lethal efficiency. His eyes burned with bloodlust as he brandished the weapon in Court's face.

"Come on," he taunted as the two men took one another's measure warily from opposite sides of the dark hallway. "We'll settle this now."

"Let him go, René," Robbie entreated, plucking at the pirate's tattered sleeve. "Let him take his ship and go."

"Stay out of this, boy," Court growled, his narrowed, golden stare never leaving the pirate's vulpine face.

"Aye," René agreed, his face twisted into an ugly sneer, his voice filled with scorn. "Stay out of thisboy."

The door behind Court opened again and Peter Garrison emerged, accompanied by two of Black Jack's men. In an instant the pirates had pinioned René arms behind his back. They held him while he hurled the most foul invectives in all his vast and colorful store.

"Jack gave his word," one of the pirates, a red-haired, one-eyed bear of a man, reminded him.

"Jack's dead!" LeClerc snarled.

"Not yet he ain't," the second pirate grunted. "'Til he is, we're all of us bound by his word." He turned to Court, and his bushy brown brows drew downward over eyes of angel blue. "Take your ship and get out now. Once Jack is dead, we'll be takin' our orders elsewhere."

Court beckoned to Garrison. "Go to the ship. Tell them to be ready to sail on my arrival."

The doctor left, but Robbie scampered after him. She caught at his sleeve and pulled him to a stop.

"My father?" she demanded.

The slender Dutchman shook his head. "I'm sorry, lad. He's in God's hands now. Only a miracle can save him."

"He believed in miracles," Robbie murmured, her eyes distant and wistful, not seeing the pity in the doctor's face.

She hardly acknowledged the comforting hand he placed on her shoulder before he turned and made his way out of the house and toward the harbor where the Juletta rode at anchor, tugging impatiently at her lines.

"Lad?"

Robbie jumped, startled, and stared up into Court's face. In that first, unguarded glance, Court saw a glimmering of something usually hidden beneath a veneer of swaggering bravado. For a moment her face was soft, entreating, her eyes wide with confusion and grief, her red-gold curls brushed against petal soft cheeks that would never know the beard Black Jack's son should, by rights, have begun to sprout years before. Court felt a stirring of something perilously near attraction for the pale young face turned toward his.

"Christ!" he swore softly, "a day on this hell-hole and I'm turning into a goddamned sodomite!"

"What?" Robbie asked, mystified.

Court waved a dismissing hand. "Nothing, boy, nothing. We'll be leaving now. The doctor can do no more for your father. I won't lie to you; he's going to die. When he does, LeClerc will be voted the captaincy." His chiseled face was a mask of disgust. "Apparently, he is the sort who preys on young boys. That's why I'm going to ask you if you want to come away."

"Come away?" Robbie repeated, stunned.

"Yes. I could use a cabin boy. The work will be hard; I won't coddle you. But it will get you the hell out of here."

"Where're you bound?"

"Virginia. I've a plantation on the York."

"What will happen to me when we get there?"

"There's always work for another pair of hands, lad. But you'll be free to leave if you wish. All I ask is that you be honest. No lying, no stealing, no shirking." He saw the flash of defiance in Robbie's green eyes. "And none of your cheek, either, boy. I can promise you the back of my hand for every flick of that saucy tongue of yours."

Robbie scowled up into the hard, uncompromising face above her. She had to leave Montebello; she could not risk the horrors of life at René LeClerc's mercy. This was her last chance; her only hope. She wanted to sail away with this man to another life, a better life.

Another, less welcome thought crossed her mind.

"Your woman," she said. "Will she want me on board?"

"Woman?" Court frowned, then his brow smoothed. "Ah, Ariel. She is my sister; about your age, I should say." He chuckled. "I daresay Ariel will think it a marvelous treat to make the acquaintance of the son of the notorious Black Jack Tremonte."

"I won't be paraded like Jacques Grenier's monkey," she snapped, thinking of one of her father's men, who kept a baboon as a pet. "I won't be your sister's tamed ape!"

Court's eyes flashed with quicksilver anger. "Oh, lad, I can see rough seas ahead for both of us. Now that I think of it, it might be better if you stayed here after all."

Robbie watched, gaping, as he strode away, his long, booted legs taking him quickly along the corridor.

"No!" she shouted after him. "I want to go with you!"

Court paused and glanced over his shoulder. A muscle twitching in his cheek was the only hint of his amusement. "Then fetch your gear, boy; we're sailing within the hour!"

For a moment Robbie stood poised, paralyzed by indecision. On the one hand, she could not suppress a pang of grief and guilt at the thought of fleeing Montebello while her father lay dying. On the other, she knew that she had to seize this chancethe only one she was likely to get. The moment the breath left Black Jack's body, Montebello would be plunged into chaos. René LeClerc was not the only man who coveted Jack's captaincy and his mythical treasure. There was likely to be a long and bloody war for the right to rule Montebello Island, and Robbie, whom everyone believed held the secret to Black Jack's legendary riches, would be in the center of it all.

Feeling as though she were moving through a nightmare, Robbie retraced her steps up the corridor to her father's room.

The large, dark chamber with its hodgepodge of furnishings culled from twenty-five years of plunder, was hot; it stank with the fetid odor of infection and death. Jack was alone in the room, his body prone in the center of a big tester bed taken in a raid on a Portuguese merchantman.

''Papa?" Robbie said softly. She knelt on the edge of the bed. "Papa, can you hear me?"

There was no response. Leaning close, Robbie could not detect the slightest trace of breathingthe most minute flicker of life.

Bending, Robbie pressed a kiss to the furrowed brow of the man whose mere name struck terror into the hearts of thousands, but who had never been other than a loving father.

Slipping out of her father's room, Robbie ran to her own and gathered her meager possessions. It was a pitiful bundle save for one precious item she had kept hidden all the years of her life.

The box was small, wrought of gold, and on its hinged oval lid two sets of initials had been intertwined. One set was that of her mother, the other belonged to the gentleman of Virginia to whom her mother had been betrothed. She had been on her way to the colonies to wed him when her ship had been seized by the young Black Jack Tremonte.

The story of how she'd been taken hostage by the dashing pirate was one Robbie had never tired of hearing. Corinne had quickly fallen passionately in love with her buccaneer captor. For his part, Black Jack had worshiped the ground she set her tiny feet upon. Though both Corinne's artistocratic family in England and her planter fiancé had offered generous rewards for her return, Corinne and Jack had married and spent the next three years in a state of utter bliss. For her, Jack had built a cottage hidden deep in the island's interior. It resembled nothing so much as an English country house in miniature. Over the course of their all too brief marriage he had filled it to overflowing with priceless treasures gathered from both sides of the Atlantic. They lay there still, shrouded with dusty sheets, forever frozen in time, for Jack had locked the cottage door on the day of Corinne's deaththe day of Robbie's birthand never set foot in it again.

Robbie sighed. It was such a beautiful house and it held so much love in it still. The very air seemed imbued with the happiness that had been Jack and Corinne's. Robbie visited it now and thenshe loved itand she dreamed of what her life might have been had her mother not died giving her life. She could not understand her father's abhorrence for the place because, never having known the heaven of the kind of love her parents had shared, she could not begin to comprehend the hell into which those memories would have plunged her father.

It was the distant tolling of a ship's bell that snapped Robbie out of her reverie. Tying her bundle in a scrap of sheeting, she made her way down the stairs and out of the house. It was not without difficulty that she wove her way unnoticed, unmolested, to the shore, where she rowed herself out to the Juletta. Casting the longboat adrift, she climbed onto the ship and leapt over the rail. She landed in an unceremonious heap at Court's feet.

"We were almost ready to sail without you, boy," Court muttered, scowling. "Perform your duties so laggardly and you'll find my boot up your skinny backside."

Robbie bit her tongue to force back the snarled epithet that sprang readily to her lips. Her fate lay in the hands of this arrogant, overbearing colonial and she would have to live by his rules if she didn't want to live by René LeClerc's. "Go down to my cabin and see that everything is as it should be," Court said offhandedly between shouted orders to his crew, who were completing the grueling task of raising the ponderous anchors that had kept the Juletta a prisoner of Montebello harbor.

"Now I'm to be a bloody maidservant," Robbie groused under her breath. She screamed with pain as her ear was suddenly pinched between Court's thumb and forefinger.

"What did you say, boy?" he demanded, his face scant inches from hers.

"As you say," Robbie muttered.

"'As you, say, sir,'" Court corrected grimly.

"As you say, sir," Robbie ground out, seething.

Court released her ear and gave her a shove that sent her sprawling across the deck. The crew laughed, and Robbie's cheeks burned with fiery indignation as she pushed herself to her feet.

"You must be the pirate's son!" A high, feminine voice squealed very near.

Robbie whirled and found herself face to face with a tall, slender blonde dressed in a lavishly trimmed gown of exquisite champagne silk. Her golden hair, so like Court's, was simply dressed to frame a face of angelic fairness. In that instant, Robbie felt as if a gulf had opened beneath her feet. This, then, was the sort of creature she might have been, this pampered, petted, pretty girl who had been raised to love clothes and baubles and scent.

"Ariel!" Court roared. He strode toward them, fire in his eyes. "Dammit, I thought I told you to stay below until we were clear of the harbor!"

Ariel pouted prettily. "Oh, Court, it's so hot down there. And so boring. In any case, Louise is here."

She nodded in the direction of the French duenna. Court's expression softened in spite of himself. "Well, at least try to stay out of sight of the island until we've cleared the inlet. Will you do that much for me?"

"Of course I will," she simpered. "You know I'm nothing if not an obedient sister." She smiled complacently as Court chuckled, shaking his head.

Watching them, Robbie felt the first pang of jealousy she'd ever known. Court was so gentle with his sister, so adoring, so easygoing. He would never threaten this gently bred creature with a boot up the backside.

"And this," Ariel was saying, "this must be Black Jack's son. What is your name?"

"Robbie," she snapped.

She reeled backward as Court clouted her on the ear.

"Mind your manners, boy!"

Robbie shook her head. Her eyes flashed as she shot him a glare of stark hatred. "I'm sorry," she snarled. He opened his mouth, and she quickly added, "Sir!"

"Go about your duties before I throw you overboard." His golden eyes were filled with disdain as they swept over her. "Not that you'd make a decent meal for the sharks."

Ariel giggled. "Don't worry, Court, Elvira will fatten him up when we get home."

"If he makes it home," Court replied, sounding frankly skeptical. "If I don't wring his scrawny neck first."

Robbie had walked away, making for the gangway that lead down to the captain's cabin, but Court's words reached her stinging ears.

"Or if I don't slit your bragging gullet first, you poxy bastard!" she muttered darkly, relishing the prospect.

4

"Bloody hell!"

Sitting back on her heels, Robbie glared down at her palm, where yet another ugly, painful blister had burst. She wiped her sleeve across her sweaty forehead and cast a hate-filled glance toward the burning sun.

Though Court had warned her that her lot aboard the Juletta would be a hard one, she had not expected slave labor. And that, in her opinion, was what her duties amounted to. Her back ached, her arms ached, her legs, feet, her handsit seemed she had more aches and pains than she had places to put them. And still Court harangued her endlessly for being a laggard.

Court . . . She looked for him and found him on the fo'c's'le. Stripped to the waist, his body bronzed by the merciless sun and gleaming with sweat, he was a splendid specimen, and Robbie could not help admiring him.

"Son of a whore," she muttered. Though she often reminded herself that she loathed him in a thousand ways, it seemed she could never quite force her eyes away from him once they'd found him.

And it was worse at night. Acting as Court's cabin boy meant she slept every night on a cot at The foot of his great, curtained bed. She helped him dRess in the morning, undress at night. She scrubbed his back as he sat in his ridiculously small oak tub and bathed, a luxury that was possible only because of the supplies of fresh water they had taken on while on Montebello Island. Court had no compunctions about appearing nude before his "cabin boy," and so there was no part of him that Robbie had not seen. And the worst part of thatthe part that irritated her to the end of her never vast patiencewas that there was nothing about him with which she could find fault, no matter how much she would have liked to.

"Get back to work, Tremonte," came the shouted order from the fo'c's'le, "or there'll be no supper for you tonight."

Robbie scowled ferociously. "Stick your supper in your . . ." She plunged her brush back into the bucket, and the hot, soapy water bathed her freshly broken blisters. "Sweet Jesu . . .!"

"What's wrong, Robbie?"

She looked up to find Peter Garrison standing beside her. She shrugged, biting back the tart retort she might have given someone else. To the ship's doctor alone she gave her genuine, if grudging, respect, for he had tried to save her father's life. She owed him a debt of gratitude.

"Let me see."

He squatted down beside her and she held out her blistered hands to him. Taking one, then the other between his own gentle, healing hands, he examined them.

"I'll give you a salve for them," he told her. "These mustn't be allowed to become infected." "Won't make no difference what you give me," she answered rather bitterly as she pulled her hands away. "I'll just get more like those."

"I suppose you're right," he admitted. "Until your hands toughen and grow callused, you're going to get blisters. Still, if I give you a salve, will you put it on at night?"

Had it been anyone else, she would have told him where to put his salve, along with the compassion that shone from his kind eyes. In the end, she only nodded.

"I'll put it on," she agreed.

The doctor left her side and she ventured one last glance toward Court. He had turned away, talking to his sister, who stood beside him, her delicate complexion shielded by a fringed parasol. Her hands were protected from the harsh salt air by creamy, butter-soft gloves of the finest kid. Robbie's eyes narrowed with resentment. That pampered little chit had probably never seen anything as vulgar as a blister, let alone had one of her own.

An emotion that was equal parts jealousy and resentment welled in Robbie's bosom. She tore her gaze away from the girl, feeling an unwelcome pang of conscience. On more than one occasion Ariel Lennox had tried to be cordial to her. Robbie had repulsed her overtures as brusquely as she dared. Of course, Court would never countenance her being out-and-out rude to his sister, but Robbie had made it clear that she meant to do her duties and had no interest in making friends with the captain's little sister.

Her duties kept her busy from dawn until she fell gratefully into her cot long after dusk, but she wished she could be friends with Ariel. To her, Ariel was all that her mother, the fabled Corinne, must have been. By making friends with Court's sister, she could learn something of what her mother had been like and know, perhaps, what she herself might have been had Black Jack Tremonte not prevented her mother from completing her journey to Virginia and the planter who was to have been her husband.

But being friendly with Ariel was a risk Robbie could not afford to take. It was too small a step from friend to confidante. If she grew too friendly with Ariel, she might betray herself, and then what would become of her? But even that was not the whole reason, she admitted. She did not truly wish to discover the life that might have been. She did not want to lie awake and wonder what it would have been like to be the daughter of some great and respected planter rather than the "son" of a feared and dreaded pirate. She had to admit that her life had been filled with far more excitement and adventure than that of a carefully nurtured planter's daughter, but it had also been fraught with fear and the ever present danger of discovery. From the moment of her birth her life had been a lie, a masquerade, and though her love for her father had never wavered, there lay inside her a kernel of resentment for what had been taken away from her in return for the freedom of life as a boy.

"Robbie?"

She started, dropping her brush. Lost in her thoughts, she had not heard Court approaching. He squatted down beside her. She could smell the musky, salty, masculine aroma of his sweatthe same sweat that sheened on the rippling muscles of his chest and arms and darkened the golden hair on both. Against her will she remembered the play of those taut muscles beneath her hands when she had soaped him in his bath.

Her fingers itched to touch him, her throat tightened, her heart beat heavily in her throat; somewhere in the depths of her belly she felt a dull, sweet ache for which she knew no name. She closed her eyes against the maddening, confusing emotions whirling inside her. Hell's fire! What were these feelings and why, oh why, was it only this infuriating man who seemed able to bring them alive in her!

Court was continuing: "Peter Garrison tells me you should keep your hands dry and do lighter work until your blisters heal."

Robbie would not, could not meeT his golden gaze. "Peter Garrison worries like an old woman."

"I could find other tasks for you to do in the meantime."

"Oh, aye! Then you'd have a fine excuse to accuse me of shirkin' my duties!"

Court sighed. The boy sorely tried his patience, but he could never quite bring himself to punish him as he would have any other member of his crew. He seemed so young, so . . . so . . . He couldn't put a name to it, but there was something about the boy that touched some chord inside him. He looked at Robbie, who stared out over the gently rolling sea, jaw set stubbornly.

The sun-kissed skin of Robbie's face was stretched taut over bones that seemed too fragile. The nose, with its sprinkling of red-brown freckles, was small and ever so slightly retroussé. There was no trace of a whisker to be found anywhere on those flawlessly smooth cheeks. Of course, some boys matured later than others. Still, considering how hirsute Jack Tremonte had been . . .

"What're you starin' at?" Robbie demanded peevishly. His minute examination was making her nervous.

Court came back to himself with a start. A dark flush spread beneath his golden skin. "Govern your tongue!" he snarled, rising to tower over her. "Go below and see to my cabin. And keep your hands dry. I don't want you dying of infection after only a week on my crew." Robbie thrust herself to her feet and stormed off. "Better that I should die of overwork!" she groused.

Court watched her go. Unbidden, his eyes lingered on the slight sway of her narrow hips. A glimmering of something unexpected and far from welcome stirred hotly in his loins.

The realization of his desire shocked him. What was happening to him? Was there some contagion in the air on Montebello? Had he contracted a pirate's debauchery merely by venturing into their lair?

Ariel appeared on deck, closely followed by Louise. Court's golden eyes skimmed admiringly over the French governess's lithe figure. The feelings of a moment before swept over him with a vengeance, and his grin was one of purest relief. He had been at sea too long, that was all. He watched as the two women approached. For the first time he really looked at Louise.

As with so many Frenchwomen, Louise was an intriguing mixture of piquant innocence and dark, smoldering promise. Though she dressed plainly, modestly, her thick, ebony hair always drawn into a severe chignon at the back of her long neck, she was, now that he noticed, a very lovely woman. His eyes narrowed in speculation. Perhaps it was time he became better acquainted with his little sister's duenna.

Belowdecks, in the large, comfortable cabin she had shared with Court since leaving Montebello, Robbie straightened the few objects Court had left out of place that morning. There was really very little for her to do. Used to the cramped quarters of his ship, Court had become accustomed to keeping his surroundings neat. Habitually impatient, he could not bear to have to sort through a jumble to find anything. He expected everything to be in its proper place so that there was nothing he couldn't find within moments of his wanting it. Straightening the papers on Court's desk, Robbie knocked over the delicate, elegant, gilded frame holding a brilliantly executed miniature of a spectacularly beautiful woman.

Juletta Kearny. Robbie's green eyes narrowed. Her lush little mouth tightened with displeasure. Juletta . . . Court's fiancée. No, not yet his fiancée, she reminded herself. Court had said that the girl had yet to say yes. She was the prize in a friendly rivalry between Court and his best friend, Brock Demorest, whose plantation, Avondale, was near Court's own Greenbrier. The matter was far from settled, but Court seemed confident. After all, hadn't he named his ship after her?

Robbie sank into the big, tufted leather chair. Too often in the days since they'd left Montebello had she noticed Court gazing at the miniature. The look in his clear amber eyes disquieted her. He was, if not in love with the beauteous Juletta, at least deeply infatuated. His desire was evident. His was not the leering look of lust she'd seen displayed all too often in the eyes of her father's men when they returned from a long voyage to see their women again. This was something differentsomething deeper and far more disheartening to Robbie. Court had told her of Julettaof her beauty, of her desirability both as a woman and as the mistress of his plantation. In his eyes, it seemed to Robbie, the woman was already as much Court's property as Greenbrier itself. He seemed to regard the winning of her hand as a foregone conclusion.

The prospect of arriving in Virginia and watching as Court was reunited with Juletta tore at Robbie. For reasons she didn't care to delve into too deeply, she couldn't bear to think of him wooing the lovely Juletta. She felt a raw, dull aching inside her when she looked at the blond beauty in the golden frame. If she was half as lovely as the miniature made her out to be, then she was far and away the most beautiful woman Robbie had ever seen.

Glancing down at the patched, ill-fitting breeches and shirt she wore, Robbie felt again the glimmering of resentment at the unfairness of life. Her blistered fingers twined themselves in her own ragged curls. Juletta's blond curls, like Ariel's, were carefully arranged to caress her milky skin, to lie against the soft cheeks that had never known the harsh, damaging rays of the unmerciful sun.

What would it be like, she wondered, to be pursued by a man like Court Lennox? She wondered what Court's friend, Brock Demorest, was like. Was he also handsome? But no, no other man could possibly be as handsome as Court.

''God's teeth!" Thrusting herself out of the chair, she cast the miniature aside. Mercifully, it fell onto a stack of papers and so spared Robbie a certain beating. But at that moment she couldn't have cared less what became of Juletta Kearny or her portrait. "Damn her!" she spat to the empty cabin. "Damn him! Damn them all! I wish I'd stayed on Montebello!"

She threw herself across Court's high bed and allowed herself the rare luxUry of tears. She had seldom cried on Montebelloit seemed she had never really regretted her life as a boy until she had met Court Lennox.

She rolled onto her back and wiped at her wet cheeks with the backs of her hands.

"Court," she whispered, her voice soft and raw with a longing she, in her innocence, could not begin to comprehend. Then, fiercely, "I hate him!"

Still, she could not resist reaching out to the table beside the bed and taking up the whimsically painted, blue glass bottle that held the musky cologne Court splashed onto his face every morning after shaving. Removing the chased gold cap, Robbie held it beneath her nose. Its scent reminded her of the mornings when she'd watched him shave and dress, when she'd reveled in the intimacy they'd shared, delighted in being close to him, even if it was merely in the guise of a lowly cabin boy.

The bottle tipped in her hands, made clumsy by the pain of her blisters. A drop of cologne fell into the largest, the rawest of the broken blisters and Robbie, reacting solely on reflex, dropped the bottle.

The rich, musky liquid spilled over her, soaking her shirt and the binder she wore beneath. She grasped at the bottle, clutching it despite the pain of the cologne in her blisters, and recapped it, knowing all the while that she would be punished when Court found how little of it was left.

Sliding off the bed, she plucked at her stained, wet shirt. "Hell and damnation!" she swore. "I smell like a tuppeny whore!"

Burning fingers working at the buttons, she stripped off the shirt and unwrapped the binder she wore beneath. Both would have to be soaked, and soon, if they were to be fit to be worn again.

She flung them into a basin, then dipped a cloth into the bucket of wash water kept in the corner. Her skin was soaked with the cologne; she reeked of it. Just how in the hell, she wondered, could it smell so good on Court and stink so on her? It was the difference in quantity, she supposed. Court did not, as a rule, douse himself with it.

When she'd finished washing she flung the washcloth into the basin with her shirt and binder. There was no way she was going to be able to hide what had happened. Court was naturally going to notice how little was left in the bottle, but she was damned if she was going to be accused of not cleaning up the mess once she'd made it. So intent was she on her actions, that she did not hear the footsteps approaching along the companionway outside the cabin door. The door had opened and Ariel Lennox had stepped inside before she had the slightest inkling that discovery was at hand.

"Robbie," Ariel said, as the flounces of her multilayered skirts settled around her pink slippered feet, "would you be a darling and come help me with . . ."

Her wide, golden-lashed eyes rounded with surprise and her dainty little mouth gaped as Robbie swung toward her, poised like a doe before the hunter's guns. Robbie's arms swept up and crossed over her bared breasts but it was too late. Ariel had seen, and though scarcely able to believe the evidence of her own eyes, had realized the truth.

"You . . . you . . ." she stuttered, unable to force the astonishing words out of her mouth. "Robbie! You're a girl!"

5

Recovering herself, Ariel turned to shut the cabin door while Robbie snatched up one of Court's shirts and pulled it over her nudity.

"You're a girl!" Ariel repeated breathlessly. She seemed half scandalized and half delighted.

"So it would seem," Robbie murmured, resigned to facing her punishment at Court's hands. She had firmly, if reasonably politely, rebuffed Ariel's every overture of friendship. Why should the girl have any reason to protect her secret?

With a toss of her flounced skirt, Ariel sank into a chair. She pulled off her bonnet and ran her hand through her golden curls in unconscious imitation of her adored brother.

"Well, I confess, I'm shocked," she said after a long, awkward silence. "Whatever could Court have been thinking of to bring a girl aboard disguised as his cabin boy? And to think of the way he lectures me on propriety!" Her pretty mouth was set in a prim, unyielding line. "I've a few choice words to say to that brother of mine!"

"No, please!" Robbie thrust out an entreating hand.

"Now, Robbie . . ." Ariel clucked like a maiden aunt. "Even you must admit that this arrangement is perfectly scandalous!"

"It's not an arrangement." She bit her lip, torn between the uncertainty of confiding in Ariel and the dread that Court would arrive unexpectedly and be confronted by his indignant sister over a situation about which he was truly ignorant. "What I mean is that Court doesn't knowthat I'm a girl."

"Come now, Robbie, the game is up . . ."

"I'm telling you the truth, damn it all! He doesn't know!"

Ariel gaped at her, amazed. "You can't really mean to say that he truly believes you're a boy?"

"That's just what he thinks."

"But how . . . ? Why?"

Robbie shrugged. "He sees what he expects to see, I suppose. As to why . . ." She sat with one hip on the edge of Court's desk. "After my father died there was a man, one of my father's men, who was to have become the next captain; the next lord of Montebello Island. His name was René LeClerc. He told me that once my father was dead, he would force me to . . . to . . . to be his . . ." She was unsure as to how to phrase it to make it fit for Ariel's sheltered sensibilities.

Ariel spared her the trouble. "His mistress?" she supplied.

"Aye. His mistress." A shudder of revulsion tore through her. "It wouldn't have been for long, though. Once he was tired of me he'd have slit my gullet like a chicken and fed me to the sharks."

"Oh, surely not!" Ariel was plainly horrified. "He would. He's a cruel man. So, when your brother offered to make me his cabin boy"

"You leapt at the chance to escape Montebello Island and René LeClerc."

"I did."

"But surely you could have told Court the truth."

"The truth." Robbie sighed. "Since I was a babe in arms this has been the truth for me." She indicated the boyish garb that seemed so ludicrously transparent a disguise now that Ariel knew the truth. "I've always been Black Jack's son.''

"To protect you from your father's men?"

Robbie nodded thoughtfully. "My father was gone from Montebello for weeks, sometimes for months. I was alone. As Black Jack's son, I was merely another boy, not a female at the mercy of some pirate's lust."

Ariel shivered at the thought of such a life. "But now all that's changed," she pointed out. "Now you've no need for your disguise. Court must be told."

Robbie shot to her feet. "No! You can't! Please!"

"Robbie," Ariel said with exaggerated patience. "You don't seem to realize the position you're in. You've lived on terms of extraordinary intimacy with my brother. You, an unmarried girl, living in the same cabin, sleeping here. . . . It's outrageous. He's compromised you hopelessly."

Robbie could not contain a mirthless laugh. "Compromised me? After the life I've lived, Ariel, do you imagine that's possible? I'm a pirate's daughter who, for the first seventeen years of her life, was a pirate's son. I've seen things most people never even read about." She shrugged. "No, I don't think Court would concern himself with the morals involved. Oh, he might keel-haul me for making him look like a fool, but that's all."

"Do you hate Court, Robbie? I know he's been very hard on you since you've come aboard."

"No, I don't hate him. I only wish I did." There was a wistfulness in Robbie's eyes that spoke volumes.

Ariel's eyes twinkled with delighted surprise. "Do you love him, then? Secretly, in your heart of hearts? How romantic!"

"I didn't say that!"

"You don't have to. Perhaps if Court knew the truth, he'd love you in return."

"Not bloody likely!" Robbie's mouth twisted with the bitterness that had fermented in her secret heart.

"Well, how do you know?" Ariel demanded pettishly, annoyed at Robbie's irritating lack of romantic imagination.

"Because of her" She jerked her head toward the miniature on the desk. "Juletta Kearny."

"Juletta!" Ariel hissed, her voice filled with uncharacteristic venom.

Robbie sighed wistfully. "Court has told me a lot about her. He says she's everything a woman should be."

"She's everything a trollop should be!"

The virulence in Ariel's tone and the malevolence plainly etched on her usually serene face confused Robbie. "What do you mean? Court says she's a lady. Her father is master of a great plantation."

"Oh, yes. And if that's all it takes to be a lady, then Juletta is certainly a lady. Windover, her father's plantation, is one of the richest in Virginia. Her father, Lucius Kearny, is a great friend of both Alexander Spotswood, the Royal Governor of Virginia, and Robert Johnson, the Royal Governor of South Carolina. She's the belle of every ball. But she uses her beauty and her father's wealth to captivate every man she sees. Then she plays one off against another."

"The way she does with Court and Brock Demorest?" Ariel dropped her lashes to mask the hurt in her expressive blue eyes. "Yes. Exactly so. She's so certain she could have either of them with the merest flick of a finger."

"Could she?"

"Probably." Ariel caught her breath. "Men are such fools!"

"Well, then, if you hate her so much, you should hope she flicks her finger in Brock Demorest's direction."

The tears that welled in Ariel's eyes bewildered Robbie until she realized what it was she had said.

The light dawned.

"Ariel. Do you love Brock Demorest?"

"Yes," she whispered. "I have for so very long." She raised entreating eyes to Robbie. "You won't tell Court, will you? He'd only laugh at me."

"But why?"

"Because Brock thinks of me as a child. It's always been as if he were merely another brother, like Court. It would never occur to him that I had grown upthat I was a woman worthy of his consideration."

Robbie felt awkward. Affairs of the heart were far beyond her ken. On Montebello, if a man fancied a woman, or a woman fancied a man, there was no pretense, no coyness, no coquetry. Masking one's emotions, one's desires, moping in corners was not how it was done among the pirates with whom she had grown up.

"But what if you . . ." she began.

"Ariel?" It was Court. "Ariel!"

Robbie and Ariel tensed, exchanging an apprehensive glance.

"You won't tell him, will you?" Robbie pleaded, nearly frantic. "Say you won't!"

"You can't hide it forever," Ariel pointed out. "I don't know how you've hidden it this long. Now that I really look at you . . ." She shook her head, bewildered. "We are all of us blind."

"Please, Ariel! Only until we get to Virginia. I'll go away; I'll never trouble you gain. Court doesn't ever have to know. Please!"

Before Ariel could answer the cabin door was flung open and Court appeared. His arched, golden brows shot upward as he looked from his sister to his cabin boy, who stood beside the desk she had only moments before been sitting on. Robbie wore Court's shirt, it swam on her slight frame, adding to the incongruity of the scene.

"Ariel." Court's voice dripped icy disapproval. "What are you doing here? Where is Louise?"

"She is attending to some mending," his sister replied softly.

"Well, you shouldn't be wandering about the ship alone. And you shouldn't be behind closed doors with anyone, including Robbie."

For one horrifying moment it seemed as if Ariel were about to burst out laughing, but she managed to restrain herself after one glance into Robbie's panic-stricken eyes.

"Oh, Court," she said, pushing herself to her feet and making an elaborate show of smoothing her skirts, "do be serious. Robbie couldn't possibly do me any harm."

Ariel, please, be careful, Robbie pleaded silently.

Court's sister went on: "You are too prudish by half, dear brother. Why really, you're more like a duenna than Louise!"

With a saucy toss of her gleaming blond curls and a lift of her small, dimpled chin, Ariel flounced out of the cabin and down the companionway toward her own cabin.

Court turned his attention back to Robbie. For the first time he noticed the delicacy of her body beneath the enveloping shirt. Where before he had merely thought of her as a skinny boy, he now found himself thinking of how long and creamy her throat was above the gaping collar, of how fragile her wrists and hands were as they stuck out of the rolled-up ends of the sleeves. He found himself annoyingly and unaccountably charmed by the sight of his cabin boy wrapped in one of his too-big shirts. Bewildering and irritating emotions returned to plague him. Tensing, he brought himself sharply back to reality.

"Keep your scurvy hands off my clothes, you little barnacle," he snarled, thrusting open the door. "And keep your distance from my sister or I'll feed you to the sharks!"

Before Robbie could even begin to think of a reply, Court was gone, only too pleased to go out on the deck and let himself be drenched by the chilling rain that had begun to fall.

6

If Robbie felt any better for having gained Ariel's friendship and confidence, she was uneasy at the thought of someone else's knowing her secret. She liked Ariel; the girl was kind-hearted and compassionate, if somewhat featherbrained on the surface, but it was clear to any who observed her that she was harboring what she considered a delicious secret. It worried Robbie, who feared that the girl might not be able to keep herself from confiding in someone.

There was another consideration, another worry, one that she hadn't foreseen. Having taken Ariel into her confidence, albeit involuntarily, she had gained a friend who was almost fanatically admiring. To Ariel, Robbie was the very epitome of adventure. A pirate captain's daughter, raised on the most notorious isle in the Atlantic, running away to sea disguised as a boythough Ariel knew she was far better suited to the quiet, genteel life she herself had led, she couldn't help wondering if it was all as fantastically exciting as it sounded. From the first morning after her discovery Ariel contrived to spend as much time as she could around Robbie. She pressed her for details that Robbie was loath to give her. Her life on Montebello Island had been far from the glamorous adventure Ariel imagined. There had been so much ugliness, so much loneliness, and the ever present fear of discovery. Then there had been that terrible day when Court's ship had sailed into the harbor bearing home her dying father. No, hers was not a past she cared to discuss at any length with anyone, regardless of how much she was coming to like Ariel. Ariel became almost Robbie's shadow and Court, like Louise and many of the crewmen, noticed it.

It had been all Robbie could do to keep from laughing when Court had taken her aside and sternly warned her not to "get any foolish notions" about his sister. She and Ariel laughed about it together, but it was enough to warn Ariel that they were spending too much time together and, if they were to keep Court from asking difficult questions, must be more discreet in the future.

It was a few days later when, as Court had told her they were but a few days from landfall, Ariel approached Robbie. The girl's eyes were sparkling, her lips pinched, as though to prevent a secret from escapingit was an expression Robbie was coming to recognize and dread, for it meant that Ariel had come up with yet another scheme.

"Robbie," she said as she stood in the doorway of Court's cabin.

Robbie looked up from the pair of tall leather boots Court had set her to polishing. "You know you're not supposed to come here," she chided. "You know Court doesn't approve."

"Oh, pish." Ariel waved an airily dismissive hand. "He imagines that Jack Tremonte's son has designs on my virtue. What twaddle!"

Robbie couldn't help smiling. "It is twaddle," she agreed. "But how could Court know that?" She gave Ariel a stern look. "And we don't want him to find out, do we?"

Ariel's answering look was rebellious. In her secret heart she would like nothing better than to see the expression on her big brother's face when he learned that the "boy" who had been living with him for nearly a fortnight on the most intimate terms was really a young girl. Still, she had given Robbie her word.

"No, we don't," she agreed grudgingly. "But I wanted to speak to you alone. I've had the most exciting idea."

Robbie groaned. Most of Ariel's ideas seemed to put her in more danger of exposure.

"What is it?" she asked wearily, turning her attention to Court's other boot.

Ariel sank into a chair. With one finger she toyed with her long curls, something she always did when anxious or excited, although Louise said it was unseemly.

"I was thinking, Robbie," she said softly, leaning forward. "If you were raised as a boy, I don't imagine you had much opportunity to put off your disguise and simply be a girl for a time."

"I never could," Robbie admitted. "It would have been foolish, dangerous."

"Well, we're well away from Montebello now and I thought perhaps you might like to try it."

"What are you talking about, Ariel?"

"I'm talking about you!" The girl was irritated by Robbie's failure to join into her plan with enthusiasm. "I'm talking about letting the real Robbie out, if only for a short time, in secret."

"You're talking about getting me killed when Court finds out!"

"He won't find out!" Ariel persisted. "And even if he did, he'd hardly kill you. Oh, he might bluster and shout, but that's all. And it wouldn't even be anger, really, only embarrassment."

But Robbie was not so sure. She'd seen Court's temper, had had it directed toward her. Court was gentler with Ariel; he was careful around her. Robbie doubted if the girl had ever, in the course of her entire sheltered existence, been treatedor was it subjected?to the awesome sight of Court Lennox's fury.

"It's foolish, Ariel. Another few days and we'll make landfall. Once we dock I'll disappear, go somewhere, do something. Then, if you want to, you can tell Court the truth. But only after I'm far away."

Ariel slumped in her chair, bitterly disappointed. "You're not even curious?" she demanded pettishly.

"Of course I'm curious!" Robbie snapped, the bitterness all too evident in her voice. "But I'm damned if I'll risk everything just to join in your bloody silly games!"

Ariel's great blue eyes were immediately awash with tears. "Oh! You are so cruel sometimes, Robbie! You won't even listen to my plan!"

"Bloody hell!" Robbie closed her eyes. If Ariel's brand of histrionics were part and parcel of being female, she was grateful for once that she'd been raised as she had. "What's your plan, then?"

The tears disappeared as quickly as they'd come and Ariel's eyes sparkled with pleasure.

"You come to my cabin tonight, after Court is asleep. We'll dress you in one of Louise's gownsI'd let you have one of mine, but I'm much taller than you. Louise's would fit you perfectly."

"And what if Court wakes up after I'm gone?"

"He won't." As usual, Ariel rejected any possibility that might interfere with her will. "But if he did, he'd only think you had gotten restless and gone up on deck for some fresh air. He'd never think to look for you in my cabin."

"Oh, Ariel, I don't know. . . ."

"Come on, Robbie," she wheedled. "It would be such fun. No one has to know."

Robbie stared at her reflection in the gleaming leather of the boot she was polishing. A pale young boy with tousled red curls stared back at her. If she left Court the moment they docked in Virginia, she would be forced to keep up her guisethe wilds of America was no place for a young girl alone. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt, just once, to know what it was like. Perhaps Ariel was rightno one had to know.

"All right," she sighed at last.

"Hooray!" Ariel whooped, then clapped her hand over her mouth at Robbie's hissed "Shhh!" "You won't regret it, Robbie," she promised, her whisper exaggerated. "I'll wait for you tonight."

"It might not be possible tonight," Robbie warned her. "Sometimes Court is restless at night."

"I'll still wait for you. You'll be glad you did this, I know you will!"

Buoyantly happy at her success, Ariel skipped from the cabin, leaving Robbie to resume her work. But as she sat staring at the second boot, Robbie couldn't help believing she was being foolhardy.

As Ariel had predicted, Court fell into bed that night exhausted and went almost immediately into a deep, sound sleep.

At the foot of his bed, Robbie lay in her cot listening to the stentorian rhythm of his breathing. She heard the clock on his desk strike midnight, then one, and knew there was nothing to keep her from her rendezvous with Ariel. But she hesitated. It was a needless risk she was contemplating. And for what? For the momentary satisfaction of her curiosity? She had lived eighteen years without knowing what it was to assume the garb of her true sexwhy risk everything to know now? What did it matter?

Still, once Ariel had sown the seed in her mind, it had flourished, growing into a gnawing curiosity that demanded satisfaction.

Taking care to avoid any noise, Robbie slipped from her cot and tiptoed out of the cabin.

Ariel's cabin was at the opposite end of the companionway. It was obvious that she had been watching for Robbie; before she could even raise a hand to knock on the carved oak door she was pulled inside.

''At last!" Ariel cried. "I thought you'd never come!"

"I almost didn't," Robbie admitted. "I'm still not sure I should have."

"Nonsense. Come here now."

She took Robbie to the wide, curtained berth. On the ruffled coverlet lay two gowns, both of silk. One was a brilliant, glowing scarlet. The low neckline and boned bodice were trimmed with ruching of ivory chiffon. The elbow-length sleeves sported satin bows and frills of ivory chiffon. The second gown, very much like the first, was of emerald green trimmed with white. Frilly petticoats lay' in a lacy pile nearby and a diaphanous smock and satin corselet lay on a chair.

"These belong to Louise?" Robbie asked. She had never seen the French governess in anything save her plain, modest cloth gowns.

"Astonishing, isn't it?" Ariel agreed. "She showed them to me once. She keeps them in a trunk in her cabin. . . ." Ariel nodded toward the door that led to the storage room, which had been transformed into a tiny cabin for Louise's use on this voyage.

"But why doesn't she wear them?" "I don't know. It has something to do with her past in France. I suspect there's some broken romance she refuses to speak ofsomething of that sort. She keeps the gowns as mementos, apparently."

"Wouldn't she be angry at our taking them?"

"But we're not taking them, are we? Only borrowing them. I'll put them back tomorrow when she goes out for her morning turn on the deck. She'll never know. I doubt she ever even looks in the trunk. Come on now, Robbie, off with your disguise."

With Ariel's eager help, Robbie was stripped in a trice. Ariel pulled the lacy chemise over her head. Its delicate softness caressed Robbie's skin, sending a shiver of some undreamed of emotion coursing down her spine.

"Now the corselet," Ariel announced.

Before Robbie knew what was happening, she found herself being laced into a creation that, for all its beauty and lacy femininity, felt like nothing less than one of the most brutal tortures ever concocted by man.

"Sweet Christ!" she gasped as Ariel yanked on the laces with a strength Robbie would never have imagined the reed-slender, fragile-looking girl possessed. "I can't breathe, Ariel!"

"You're not supposed to breathe," Ariel replied, unconcerned by Robbie's alarm. "When a lady is dressed so grandly she is supposed to be thinking of other things than her own comfort." She went for the petticoats and enveloped Robbie in a cloud of silk and lace. "You're supposed to be breathless with anticipation."

Robbie gazed with chagrin at the blatant display of her breasts above the indecently low neck of the corset. Deprived of their bindings and pushed up by the boning of the corset, they seemed far too large for her delicate frame. Ariel noticed and sighed, glancing down at her own slim figure. "You're lucky," she murmured enviously. "I wish . . ."

"Anticipation of what?" Robbie asked suddenly.

"What?"

"You said a lady was supposed to be 'breathless with anticipation.' Anticipation of what?"

"Well." Ariel pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I'm not sure, actually. Apparently it's one of those things a young lady isn't supposed to know. Innocence is so boring!" Her eyes sparkled with sudden deviltry. "But it sounds deliciously wicked!" She turned her attention to the gowns. "The green, I think, would go better with your hair. Is that all right?''

Robbie glanced at the clock as it chimed the passing of another hour. She was terrified that Court would find her missing and come looking for her.

"It doesn't matter, Ariel, only hurry!"

"Oh, pish, Robbie, do relax. Court sleeps like a rock."

Robbie remembered the number of nights she'd awakened in the wee hours of the morning and found Court at his desk, the glow of a single candle glinting on his golden hair as he bent over his ledgers. Yet again she cursed her foolhardiness for agreeing with Ariel's plan. She thought of calling a halt to the proceedings and making her escape, but Ariel was pulling the luscious green satin gown over her head and settling it over her petticoats. In a matter of moments the laces were fastened and Ariel stood back to survey her handiwork.

"How does it feel?" she demanded eagerly.

"Like a suit of armor," Robbie complained, the dig of bone through satin poking her in the ribs.

"In a way, I suppose that's what it is. Our armor, our protection. To protect our virtue."

Robbie moved to the mirror, staggering a little with the unexpected weight and sway of the petticoats. "If ladies go to so much trouble to protect their virtue," she told Ariel, "then why do they make such a display of themselves?"

Ariel laughed. "Such modesty," she chuckled, pulling Robbie's hands away as she would have covered her breasts. "I shouldn't have thought you'd be so concerned about such things."

"It seems foolish, that's all." Robbie swung away from the mirror. "A woman puts herself on display for a man, then if he tries to take what she's offering . . ."

"She's not offering it to him," Ariel protested, running a tortoiseshell comb through Robbie's bouncing curls. "She's only showing him the reward he might garner if he woos her and courts her and wins her heart."

"A kind of bribe, is that it?"

Ariel sighed. "You've no feminine wiles at all. It's a kind of game, actuallyflirting and courting. It's as old as time. You might enjoy it if you ever permitted yourself to try it." She frowned, and her delicately arched brows drew downward. "I do wish your beautiful hair was longer." She nodded as Robbie would have objected. ''I know, I know, it's part of your disguise. It doesn't matter. You're really quite lovely. Do you know that, Robbie? I do wish Court could see you like this."

Court! Robbie panicked as the clock struck the half hour. Every minute she dallied here brought her closer to disaster.

"Help me out of this, Ariel!" she ordered. "I've got to get back!"

"Oh, not so soon." Ariel pouted. "I had hoped we might go up on deck."

"Are you out of your mind!"

"The cabin is too small for you to get the feel of . . ."

"I'll get the feel of the ocean when Court throws me overboard if he catches us! Now get me out of this!"

Pink lip jutting in a peevish moue, Ariel undid the laces that held Robbie a prisoner in the gown and petticoats and corset. It was not until she was once again dressed in her old shirt and breeches that Robbie felt a modicum of security against discovery.

"Can we do this again?" Ariel asked.

"I don't think . . ."

"Oh, please, Robbie! Please!"

Anxious to be gone and fearful that Ariel's pleading would awaken Louise in the next cabin, Robbie nodded. "All right, perhaps."

"It was fun, wasn't it?"

Letting herself out of Ariel's cabin, Robbie left the question unanswered. She peered cautiously into Court's cabin, but he still lay in the great curtained bed, moonlight bathing his golden flesh in silver. He couldn't have awakened, she reasoned as she let herself into the cabin and crawled into her cot. If he had, he would surely have come looking for her.

She lay in her cot, relieved to have escaped detection, but sleep eluded her. Though she had not admitted it to Arielhad, in fact, scarcely admitted it to herselfshe had relished the softness of the satin against her skin, liked the unyielding embrace of the boned corselet that had molded her body into the very picture of full-blown femininity, adored the soft rustling of the wide, oval skirts as they'd swirled about her legs.

Rolling over, she tried in vain to thrust the memories out of her mind, but it was impossible. For the first time in her life she had been Robyn Tremonte, Black Jack's daughter, instead of Robbie, his son, and she had loved it!

7

"Robbie?"

Ariel appeared beside Robbie as she emptied dirty scrub water into the churning sea. Robbie turned, the empty bucket dangling from her half-healed hands.

"I have chores to do, Ariel," she said tersely. It was not her intention to be cold or harsh with Ariel, but she was troubled by what had gone on the night before in the girl's cabintroubled by her own turbulent emotions. She had lived her whole life as a boytaken pride in her lack of feminine weaknessesand never once regretted the sequence of events that had made her masquerade a necessity.

But now . . . Could she honestly say that was the truth? Now, when she had felt, if only for a few moments, what it was to be the woman she was born to be? She was maddeningly unsure. Angry at her own folly in allowing Ariel to talk her into it, fairly or not, she was taking her feelings out on Ariel.

Ariel hesitated, little guessing the reason for Robbie's coldness. "I wasn't trying to keep you from your chores," she said softly, eyes downcast. "I only wanted to speak to you about last night."

Robbie looked past Ariel toward the fo'c's'le, where Court stood, hands clasped behind his back, bending solicitously over Louise, who looked remarkably pretty, the cherry red of her gown accentuating her Gallic darkness.

"I think we might be better off if we forgot about last night," Robbie replied slowly, her eyes narrowing as Louise's musical laughter rang out over something Court had said to her.

"Forget about it! Robbie!" Ariel pouted, annoyed at the thought of losing what she'd hoped would become an enjoyable way to pass the remaining days of their voyage. "You liked it, didn't you?"

Robbie tore her eyes away from the fo'c's'le. "What did you say?"

"Last night. You enjoyed yourself."

"It was interesting," Robbie allowed, her gaze straying back to the tall, golden-haired man and his exotic companion.

"Interesting! Is that all you can say?"

What are they talking about? Robbie wondered. What does he want from her? Does he fancy her? Perhaps she is his mistress. But no, Court's slept alone every night since I've been aboard. Of course, he's been gone standing watch some nights. But he wouldn't leave the watch to go to her. Or would he?

"Robbie?" Ariel prompted impatiently.

"What is it, Ariel?" Robbie snapped.

Court's sister lifted her chin with a hauteur that could not quite mask her hurt. "You needn't take that tone!"

Robbie sighed, heartily tired of Ariel's nagging. "I'm sorry," she said tightly, anxious to have Ariel say whatever it was she had to say and be done with it. "What can I do for you?" "I want you to come back to my cabin again tonight."

"I can't."

"But I've kept Louise's gowns and . . ."

She broke off as she at last noticed the way Robbie kept staring off into the distance. Turning, she followed the direction of Robbie's gaze and discovered what it was that was so fascinating.

"Ah, Louise." She chuckled. "Court's finally noticed her, has he? I wondered how long it would take him."

"Then he hasn't been dallying with her? I thought she might be"Robbie shrugged, feigning a nonchalance that she was far from feeling"his mistress."

Ariel's eyes widened. "His mistress! Louise!"

"Well, why not? She's a pretty woman. And Court, even though you may not want to admit it, is only a man."

"Oh, I'm not saying he wouldn't wish for her to be his mistress. I'm sure he would. He cut quite a swath when we were visiting our sister in England. Left a fair number of broken hearts, too, from scullery maids to ladies-in-waiting. But he won't get far with Louise."

"She likes him," Robbie observed, not missing the way the pretty governess's cheeks dimpled at some witty remark Court directed to her.

"She adores him."

"Well, then . . . Or does she have a man waiting for her in Virginia?"

Ariel shook her head, setting her shimmering curls to bouncing. "No, she doesn't. But you remember that I told you there was some secret in her past? Something romantic, I feel sure. I believeand this is only speculation, mind youthat Louise was in love with a man who couldn't, or wouldn't, marry her. He ended it, or she simply found it impossible to go on with the affair, or perhaps he died. But whatever, her heart was broken and she came to Charles Town. That's where Court found her several years ago. She was companion to an imperious old woman who was cruel to her. Court asked her to become my governess. And that's how she came to Greenbrier. But she was never, and I'm convinced will never be Court's mistress, no matter that he should desire it."

Robbie watched as Court helped Louise descend the steep steps to the upper deck. He was so terribly, awesomely handsome. . . .

"Then Louise is a fool!"

Ariel was plainly shocked. "Robbie! You can't mean that!"

"I do mean it."

"Would you be a man's mistress?"

"We're not talking about me. We're talking about Louise. And if she fancies Court and he fancies her, what's wrong with them enjoying each other?"

"Is that the way it's done by pirates?" Ariel asked primly.

Robbie's eyes flashed in anger. "Aye, Mistress Lennox, it is. Forgive me if I've spoiled your lily-white ears with my bawdy talk!"

Swinging her bucket by its rope handle, Robbie stalked away. She was too sensitive by half, she knew, and Ariel had been shocked and hadn't really meant to offend. Still, she could not help her past and she, quite honestly, could see no harm in two people taking pleasure with one another if there was no one else to be hurt in the process. It was true that pirates lived by their own rules and that the niceties by which polite society lived had no place in their lawless lives, but it seemed to Robbie that all the primping and posturing and pretended virtue that masked human emotions and desires were a foolish waste of time. <><><><><><><><><><><><> That night, as Robbie lay sleepless in her cot, she watched through slitted eyes as Court poured over his meticulously kept log. There were so many questions crowding her mind, puzzles to which there seemed no solutions, paradoxes which, when pondered, seemed only to breed others. She pushed herself upright in her bed.

"Court?"

He looked up. Gone was the formality they adopted toward one another during the day. It was necessary, Court insisted, to provide an example for the crew. It would not be wise, he had told Robbie, for his cabin boy to enjoy liberties the other men did not.

"Still awake?" he asked, blowing out the candle that burned in the brass gimbal on his desk. "I thought you had long since fallen asleep."

"I was wondering . . ."

Court left his desk and crossed the cabin to sit on the foot of his bed, near Robbie's cot. As she always did, Robbie admired the lithe grace with which he moved; it was surprising in such a large, powerful man, but at the same time, it seemed natural.

"What were you wondering?" he asked as he pulled off one, then the other of his boots.

"About women."

Court's deep laughter rumbled in his broad chest. "Were you now? Anyone in particular or the sex in general?"

"I was wondering about Louise."

Court paused as he was about to pull his creamy linen shirt over her head. "Louise! Ariel's Louise?" He grinned and drew the shift off. "Well, boy, I can't fault your taste. She's a damned handsome woman." He ran his fingers through the mat of chest hair which, deprived of the bleaching sunshine that had streaked his hair to the color of molten gold, was several shades darker than that on his head. "I confess, I was worried you'd set your sights on Ariel."

"Ariel! Oh, no!" Robbie shook her head emphatically, then quickly added: "That is to say, I haven't really set my sights on any woman. I was just curious."

Court's laugh was knowing, filled with confident complacence. "So was I at your age. No, wait, you're what? Seventeen? Just eighteen? I do believe I had satisfied my curiosity about the fair sex by your age. In any case, I think you'd best wait until we reach Virginia and try your luck there. If anyone is going to breach the fair Louise's virtue on this voyage, I intend that it be me!

"What about Juletta?"

"Miss Kearney, lad. I've allowed your impudence with me, but show a little respect."

"That's just what I mean," Robbie persisted. "Why is Louise 'Louise' but Juletta 'Miss Kearney'?"

"Because Miss Kearney is a lady."

"What is Louise?"

"Louise is a woman, which is a different thing altogether. She's respectableshe wouldn't be Ariel's governess if she weren't. But she hasn't breeding. Her people weren't landed; they weren't gentry."

"So if she's willing to be a man's mistress . . ."

"It's no dishonor either to her or to the man. Do you see the difference?"

Robbie shrugged. "They're either ladies or doxies, then?"

"Ah," Court lifted a finger in instruction. "Now doxies are a different animal entirely. They're there for your pleasure, but you needn't worry about their sensibilities."

"It's confusing, Court," Robbie said with a sigh.

"Aye," he agreed, chuckling, "I expect it is, for you. On Montebello there was only one kind of womanwhores."

"My mother was a lady!" Robbie snarled, the fierceness glinting in her green eyes taking Court entirely by surprise.

"God's garters, I do believe I just saw a flash of Black Jack Tremonte in those eyes of yours, Rob!" he marveled.

"She was a lady, Court! She was no doxy!"

Court sobered, sensing that this was one area where his cabin boy would brook no teasing. His eyes softened and his tone gentled. "I'm sorry, lad. I stand corrected. Now, what else do you want to know about women?"

"About Louise . . ."

"She's really captured your fancy, eh, lad?"

"Not mine! Yours!" Robbie caught herself and wondered anxiously if Court had noticed the edge of jealousy in her voice. She lowered her eyes. "You've been paying court to her these past few days."

"Have I?" Court shrugged as he stripped off his breeches and slipped between the sheets of his bed. Propping his arms behind his head, he gazed off into the darkness. "I suppose I have. Well, why not? It's been a long time since England, lad. And as I said, Louise is a beautiful woman, and nothing's lost for the trying, is it?"

"And what if she . . . she . . ."

"Came to my bed?" Court supplied. "What if she did?"

"Could she still be Ariel's governess?"

"Why not? Virginity isn't a requirement for the position. Louise isn't a harlot, after all. And I'd be a damned hypocrite to turn her out for letting me seduce her." He waggled a rakish brow in Robbie's direction. "Who could blame the poor wench? I'm damned hard to resist." In spite of her best efforts, Robbie could not stifle a giggle. She was almost immediately flattened by one of Court's heavy feather pillows, flung at full force against her head. Knocked half out of her cot, she started to laugh, half upside down, one hand braced on the floor to keep from falling.

"Are you laughing at me, you pirate-blooded mongrel!" Court shouted from the bed.

Robbie's sides ached, but she was helpless. She felt his hand close about her arm and found herself jerked upward and sent sprawling half on her cot, half on the foot of Court's bed. She writhed, gasping, as his hard, merciless finger dug painfully into her ribs, hips, and the tender flesh of her thighs, where her threadbare nightshirt had ridden up.

"Mock me, will you?" Court demanded, still laughing.

He tickled her, but Robbie's laughter was suddenly stilled. His teasing fingers were bound to discover the secret she strove to hide. In spite of the bindings, her breasts were all too evident. Deprived of their protective breeches, her legs were far too soft, too shapely for a boy. Panicking, she twisted away.

"Let me go!" she screamed. "Stop it. Don't touch me!"

Puzzled, Court freed her. His eyes caught a single glimpse of her white thigh before she scrambled back beneath the thin blanket on her cot. He felt a twinge of the strange, disquieting desire that had so plagued him of late and thought he understood what it was that Robbie feared.

"Easy, Rob," he soothed, tucking himself back into his big bed. "You know I was only teasing you. I'm not like LeClerc."

Oh, yes you are, Robbie thought. Whether you know it or not, you and René are very much alike in your desires. From the depths of the blanket she had pulled about her, her back to him, she said, ''I know you're not, Court. It's just that . . ."

He spared her the trouble of fabricating an explanation. "Never mind, lad. Just go to sleep. It won't be long before we're in Virginia and we can all start living again." He blew out the candle that burned beside the bed and turned onto his side. "Oh, and lad?"

"Aye?" Robbie said softly.

"Remember, don't take any notions of seducing the fair Louise. You'd be no match for me."

"Aye, Court," Robbie agreed.

There was silence in the darkness, then Court's voice, low and musing, came to Robbie. "I wonder why she's so skittish."

Aye, Robbie agreed silently, the image of Court, tall and powerful and golden like some pagan god of ancient legend dancing tauntingly in her mind, stirring senses that had lain unawakened in her, I wonder too!

8

Thoughts of Court obsessed Robbie for the rest of that night and all the next day. What did she want? Even she wasn't sure. But the more she thought about it, the more she knew that she wanted him to look at her the same way he looked at Louise. She remembered the warmth of his hand on her thighremembered the strange sensation, of pleasure mixed with fear, his touch had evoked in herremembered the sense of loss, of wistful longing, when she had pulled away and clambered back into the solitary safety of her narrow cot at the foot of his bed.

She wanted him. Suddenly she knew with a certainty that shook her to her very marrow that she wanted him to touch her again, not accidentally, or playfully, but with the same desire she saw in his eyes when they came to rest on Louise.

Robbie went about her duties haphazardly, performing them by rote, while her mind began formulating wild schemes.

She would, she decided, disappear as soon as the Juletta docked. She would go away, somewhere, anywhere, and abandon her boy's disguise. She would learn to be a lady with all the graces and charms of one born and bred. Then, when her lessons were complete, she would appear at Greenbrier. Perhaps if Court saw her as a lady and not merely as an impudent boy, the son of a man whose principles Court despised, he would take note of her, find her worthy of his consideration, his attention, his desire.

But no, she decided dismally. It would never work. It was madness to consider such a scheme. By the time she became the kind of woman a man like Court would want he would be long married to Juletta Kearny.

The precious few days that remained in their voyage were all that she would have with him. She must make the most of them, find what comfort she could in being closer to him than anyone else, in being privy to his secrets, his thoughts, his ambitions; even, she thought, her eyes narrowing as she saw him gazing toward Louise, his lusts.

For Louise, he was there for the taking. There was no chance of a permanent liaison between them, of course, although she might become his mistress were she so inclined. She could have him, if only temporarily, if only in the shadow world of paramours and lovers. He would be hers, if only for those stolen hours that he could put off the cares and responsibilities of the grand planter and steal away to her arms.

Robbie sighed. Louise was a fool to spurn him, whatever her reasons. Ariel had hinted at some long-ago heartbreak, but did that justify burying herself for the rest of her life? Locking herself away from the fleeting joys life had to offer for those brave enough to risk the consequences? Robbie thought not. If Court could be hers, if only for the moment, if only in secret, she would seize the opportunity with both hands. She knew with a certainty she did not begin to question that she would never meet another man like Courtland Lennox, though she searched the seas and lands of all the legends her father had told her as a child. If they could not share a lifetime, she thought she might be content to share an hour or a day and remember it with fondness all the rest of her life.

She sought out Ariel. From the disapproving looks Louise gave her as she took Ariel's wrist and drew her away, she knew that Court's sister had not confided the truth about her friend to her beloved governess.

"What is it, Robbie?" Ariel asked excitedly. "Has something happened?"

"I'm not sure," Robbie admitted. "I need your help, Ariel. Promise me you won't laugh if I tell you what I want."

"Of course I won't laugh," Ariel promised solemnly. "Tell me what it is."

"I want to come to your cabin tonight, after Court is asleep. I want you to help me dress and then show me something of how to be a lady."

Robbie braced herself, expecting Ariel to roar with laughter, but Ariel's azure eyes sparkled with excitement.

"Oh, yes, Robbie! I knew you'd feel that way! I just knew it!"

"We're only three days out of port, Ariel," Robbie reminded her.

It was a challenge, but then, Ariel reminded herself, no true Lennox ever shrank from a challenge.

"We can make a start," she decided at last.

It seemed to Robbie that Court tossed and turned for hours before the deep, even, familiar rhythms of his breathing told her he had at last fallen asleep. She held her breath as she slipped from her cot and tiptoed through the darkness of the cabin to the door. Why Court had drawn the heavy draperies across the bank of windows at the end of the cabin was a mystery to her. She couldn't see an inch in front of her nose. For once she blessed the side of Court's nature that demanded that his cabin be kept immaculately cleanhad there been anything lying discarded on the floor between Robbie and the door, it would have been impossible for her to see it.

The companionway was filled with shadows as she hurried to Ariel's cabin. Ariel, waiting, opened the door as Robbie approached.

The green satin gown Robbie had worn before was lying at the ready, and she eagerly threw off her threadbare shirt and worked at the knot of her rope belt.

Ariel asked no questions as she helped Robbie to dress. There was a grim desperation in the way Robbie stood, hands on hips, while Ariel laced her into the gown. She stood before the mirror, staring at her own reflection with an expression of sorrow.

"It's no good." She sighed, turning away from the glass. "No one would mistake me for any kind of a lady. Not in a hundred years."

Ariel was not so easily discouraged. "That's only because you've never learned how to be one. Let me see you walk across the cabin."

Robbie complied, but after only a few steps she tripped on the trailing hem of the full skirt.

"Lift it, like this," Ariel instructed. Taking the front of her bedgown between her thumbs and index fingers, she lifted the hem from the floor and sallied across the tiny cabin with as much grace as a princess. "It takes practice, that's all." She frowned, taking stock of the tiny cabin. "There's not enough room here," she decided. "Why don't you go up on deck and practice?'' "Go up on . . ." Robbie gaped at her, astonished at the mere suggestion. "Are you crazy!"

"Court's asleep. There's only the night watch." Ariel's shrug was an imitation of Louise's Gallic gesture. "Stay in the shadows."

"Ariel . . ."

"Wait! I have an idea!"

Going to her chest, Ariel rummaged through it until she found an exquisite lace mantilla, a gift from her sister, Alexandra, Duchess of Brookfield, and the delicately carved tortoiseshell comb that supported it.

"Put this over your hair. Anyone who sees you will think you are Louise."

"Ariel. It's foolish! The risk . . ."

"Oh, pish! What risk? Court's men know better than to try and trifle with Louise. You'll be perfectly safe. If you stay in the shadows of the upper deck, no one will be the wiser."

"I don't know. . . ." Robbie watched in the mirror while Ariel placed the mantilla over her fiery curls. If she kept her head down, let the fine black lace veil her face . . .

"Robbie, you said you want to be a lady."

"I do!" Robbie insisted.

"Well, then, you must learn to walk like one. You must learn to be comfortable in a lady's clothing. In short, you must learn to be a woman before you can learn to be a lady."

Still skeptical, Robbie could not help being excited by the notion of venturing out of Ariel's cramped cabin and up onto the deck. The risk of discovery, present regardless of the way Ariel tried to minimize it, intrigued her.

"All right," she agreed at last. "I'll go. But if I'm found out . . ."

"You won't be," Ariel assured her. She gave a firm shake of her head at Robbie's uncertain look. "You won't! Now go, and don't come back until you've mastered that skirt."

Leaving the cabin, Robbie made her way to the upper deck. The shadows were long just in front of the overhanging quarterdeck, and she took care not to venture out into the moonlight that bathed the ship whenever the inky black clouds broke enough to let it peep through. The two men Court had left on watch for the night either did not notice her there or, as Ariel had said, knew better than to approach the haughty Louise.

In the enveloping shadows of the upper deck, Robbie moved carefully, gingerly, tripping from time to time on the voluminous skirts of the governess's gown. She concentrated on each step, holding the skirt as Ariel had shown her, until it seemed almost natural, instinctive, until she learned to turn, kicking the skirt behind her with a quick, deft movement, with a grace she desperately wanted to believe she'd inherited from her mother.

After her first successful crossing from one side of the deck to the other, she paused and gazed out over the dark, swelling, endless ocean. She wondered what her father would say if he could see her, dressed like a lady, behaving as befitted a lady.

She smiled softly to herself, but the smile vanished as a low, velvety voice cut through the stillness of the night.

"Couldn't you sleep, my dear?"

It was Court! Robbie froze, praying that the shadows hid the coppery glints of her hair through the lace of Ariel's mantilla. She lowered her face so that the lace fell across her cheek, obscuring her features.

She had to escape! She had to flee back to the safety of Ariel's cabin, where she could resume her disguise.

As if reading her thoughts, Court moved closer. She could feel his nearness, his warmth, and gasped as his hands spanned her tightly laced waist.

"How delicate you are," he breathed, his words a hot, sweet caress against her veiled cheek. "You're a beautiful woman, Louise. I've longed to tell you so."

Robbie's heart pounded against her ribs. She glanced anxiously toward the sky, but the betraying moon was safely shrouded in a concealing cloak of clouds. But for how long? She looked toward the door that lead down to Ariel's cabin and safety. It seemed so near and yet, as Court moved closer, as he took her continued silence for acquiescence, she grew reckless, found an unexpected willingness inside her to run the risk of discovery for the reward of a few stolen moments in Court's arms.

A gasp rose to her lips as the smooth heat of his mouth touched the cool flesh of her shoulder above the ruching of her gown. His hands caressed her waist, drawing her nearer, then rose slowly, teasingly to the swell of her breasts.

Robbie cried out, a softly despairing sound that was half smothered in the sudden tightness that gripped her throat. She trembled as Court enveloped her in his arms. His lips worked across the nape of her neck, and she felt the scratch of the lace against her skin.

"No," she breathed, suddenly afraid of the strange thrumming of her blood and the unfamiliar longing spreading through her like the entwining tentacles of some beguiling beast. "Please."

"You don't meant that, chérie," Court whispered, his finger burrowing its way beneath the edge of her gown to ease it from the succulent flesh of her shoulder. "You know you don't and I know you don't, so why pretend?" He nuzzled her shoulder, and the warm, throbbing base of her throat, where her pulse pounded a wild tattoo.

"Please," Robbie sighed, the word scarcely a whisper on the ocean winds that drove the ship forward.

"You're lying," he insisted, his lips moving gently against the tender lobe of her ear. "Your lips tell me lies, but your body betrays you."

His hands caressed her taut, aching breasts, his fingers lingering on the tight buds of her nipples as they strained against the thin silk of her gown.

Robbie moaned deep in her throat. She felt herself swept away on a wave of emotions, most of which she could not begin to comprehend. Passion, desire, needin her guise as a boy she had never encountered these at first hand. She quivered as Court turned her in his arms. Her eyes darted again toward the door, her only hope of escape. She was frightenedfrightened of discovery, frightened of the unknown, frightened of the aching that had mounted deep inside her.

Court touched her cheek gently. His broad-shouldered body blocked out the tenuous starlight that might have revealed his mistake to him. All he knew was that the woman in his arms was trembling and soft and that he wanted her with a fervor that bordered on desperation.

He pulled her hard against him, and the contact of their bodies wrenched a groan of desire from him. It had been far too long since he had held a woman in his arms. He knew he should go slowly, take time, but his need was too great, his desire too urgent. There would be other times to make leisurely love both aboard the ship and at Greenbrier.

"Come with me," he hissed, already drawing Robbie toward the door, through which only moments before she had contemplated making her escape.

Robbie held back, knowing what would happen when they reached Court's cabinCourt's bed. It was all too new: these feelings, these emotions. Then, too, she had witnessed the lust of the pirates on Montebello. She had seen them and their doxies together, not caring who might observe them, rutting in any available corner during the bawdy bacchanalia that marked their festivals.

But then, she thought as Court pulled her through the door and down the short stairway, hadn't she cursed Louise for a fool just that morning? Hadn't she said that Louise should take the opportunity Court offeredthat she should be his and he hers if only for the stolen moments aboard the Juletta? Hadn't she vowed that she would seize just such an opportunity as this with both hands? Why then, when fate had given her that for which she had asked, did she quail like a sniveling child and balk at the unknown?

Pushing her fears behind her, she followed Court into the blackness of the cabin.

"Mind you, don't wake the boy," Court rasped as they crossed the floor in the blinding darkness.

Robbie realized, with a giddy sense of elation, that he had no idea of the mistake he was making. He still believed she was Louise! The truism that had gotten her through her perilous childhood still heldpeople saw what they wanted to see, believed what they wanted to believe. As far as Court knew, there were only two women aboard his ship: his sister and her governess. Since he knew it wasn't Ariel he was pulling into his arms, it must, then, be Louise.

His mouth slanted across hers, savage, demanding, and Robbie thought her heart would stop. The knowledge that he thought she was someone else somehow set her free to accept the passion he offered herto release the desire for him that roiled, molten and seething, inside her.

With practiced ease, he loosened the laces of her borrowed finery. The gown fell about her ankles in a silken puddle, and with it the foamy petticoats and fragile chemise. His arms enfolded her; he bent his golden head and kissed the small, rounded breasts that quivered with her trembling. Robbie's breath came in short, harsh gasps. Her desire had built until there was no fear, only the delicious warmth, the glorious hardness of him as she arched against him, moving slowly, instinctively, arousing him beyond all control until he could stand the waiting no longer. Effortlessly he lifted her and laid her back on the bed. His great, golden-haired body covered hers, pinioning her, driving her deep into the yielding mattress. His hands and mouth explored her, tasted her, claimed her, roused in her a longing of wild, primitive savagery. She whimpered softly, twining her arms and legs about him, drawing him over her, willing him to take her.

When at last he did she screamed against the punishing hardness of his mouthit was a wordless, mindless sound that was equal parts surprise and delight. Robbie lay still beneath him for a momenttwothen the heat inside her became an inferno of purest sensation. She began to move with him in the ritual of love that was as old and as awesomely beautiful as the churning sea.

In the warm, drowsy aftermath, while the sultry musk of passion still hung heavily in the air, Robbie lay silently, her mind a torrent of emotions. Her body ached, but the pain in her heart was no less severe. She didn't know what to think, what to feel.

Taking care not to wake Court, she slipped from the high bed and struggled into the green satin gown. Not bothering to attempt to fasten the back laces, she fled the room and ran to Ariel.

"Robbie!" From the swiftness of her answer to Robbie's knock, it was apparent that Ariel had been waiting for her to return. She was not, however, prepared for the glassy-eyed, tousle-haired girl who pushed past her and began immediately pulling the rumpled gown from her body.

Robbie said not a word as she dragged on her own worn breeches and shirt. She ran a hand through her hair, keeping her eyes carefully averted from Ariel's questioning gaze.

"What happened?" Ariel demanded.

Robbie only shook her head.

"Robbie?" Ariel put a restraining hand on Robbie's arm, but Robbie shook it off and tore out of the room, leaving a bewildered Ariel to deal with the shambles Court had made of Louise's finery.

Unable to bear the thought of returning to Court's cabin, Robbie went up on deck. Dawn was breaking; the eastern sky over the endless, black ocean was streaked with bands of mauve and gray. In a corner, beneath the overhang of the quarterdeck, she found a coil of rope to cradle her and cried herself to sleep without knowing the reason for her tears.

9

The morning sun was glowing behind the dark, heavy brocade draperies of the Juletta's master cabin when Court awoke. He stretched, a languid, self-satisfied smile playing about his lips. Louise, ah, Louise, he thought, remembering the beautiful, impassioned woman with whom he'd shared his bed the night before.

Throwing back the coverlet, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up. He glanced toward Robbie's cot, finding it empty. He hoped the lad had slept soundly. For Louise's sake as well as the boy's, Court hoped Robbie had remained blissfully unaware of what was happening so close to him. It was not Court's habit to flaunt his amours, taking a woman into his bed with a third person in the room, but the circumstances had been extraordinary. He'd been stunned to find the governess on deck and then, when it had become apparent that she was willing . . .

Court shook his head and said a silent prayer of thanks to the goddess of love, who must surely have been watching over him the night before. The woman had been everything he would have wished for in a lover, and yet . . . He frowned, unable to pinpoint the precise source of the unease he suddenly felt gnawing at the back of his mind. There had been somethinga certain tentativeness, a shyness, a reluctance he couldn't put down to the coquetry one occasionally found in women.

Shrugging, he rose and reached for his breeches. It was late and he was dangerously near to being derelict in his duties as captain. He would make the morning rounds, check on the weather and their progress, then return for a wash and a welcome change of . . .

By chance his gaze fell on the rumpled bed. There, on the creamy linen of the sheet, lay the accusing proof that the woman in his arms the night before had had every right to be shyto be hesitantto be reluctant.

"God's teeth!" Court cursed, stunned. "A virgin! But she couldn't! It's not possible!"

His mind rebelled at the thought of using an innocent to slake the simple desires of the moment. He didn't want to believe it. And yet there could be no doubtthe evidence was there, plain as day, starkly vivid in the uncompromising light of day.

"Christ!" Court muttered. "Now what am I supposed to do? She wouldn't expect marriage, surely! She must have known that all I wanted last night was to . . ."

He scowled as he pulled on a full-sleeved, open-necked shirt. Why did things have to be so damned complicated? All he'd wanted was a simple, pleasant . . . A twinge of guilt assailed him. A virgin! Couldn't she have told him? What could have been in her mind to come down to his cabin so meekly?

He spied a familiar form as he stepped out into the hot, golden sunshine of the upper deck.

"Robbie!" The boy turned and, from the crimson blush that flooded those girlishly smooth cheeks, Court surmised that his cabin boy must have witnessed something of what had happened in his bed the night before. Well, that was too damned bad, he told himself, refusing to accept any more guilt for his impulsiveness. After all, after eighteen years on Montebello, the lad couldn't be that innocent of what happened between men and women.

Robbie turned, knowing full well that her cheeks were blazing with a hot blush she could not hope to suppress. As Court strode toward her, she could not help remembering the pleasure and pain of the previous night. Court's lips, his hands, the searing heat of his skin against hers, the ache of her need, the pain of his entrya pain that had so quickly given way to the pleasure of fulfillment. She kept her eyes downcast lest she betray herself with a glance.

''Aye?" she answered softly.

"Have you seen Louise this morning, Rob?"

Robbie stole a glance at Court and found his amber eyes busily scanning the deck.

"She's on the quarterdeck," she replied. "With Ariel."

Court turned without another word. It was as if Robbie, having provided the information he desired, had ceased to exist for him.

Robbie's kiss-bruised lips twisted wryly as she watched Court striding purposefully toward the quarter deck. He had undoubtedly discovered that the woman in his arms had not been the experienced beauty he'd imagined her to be. Was his conscience troubling him? It hardly seemed possible. She couldn't remember any of her father's men expressing the slightest concern about the experience or lack of same of the women they encountered on their rovings. And yet it did seem as if something was troubling Court. She watched with interest as Court approached Louise, who stood alone at the rail, Ariel having descended the short, steep stairs to the upper deck.

"Robbie?" Ariel came to stand beside her, but Robbie paid her no heedher entire attention was riveted on Court, who had moved up behind Louise and slid his arms about her waist. "What are you looking . . . Ah, Court is up to his old tricks again, is he?"

"Watch closely," Robbie instructed. "He's about to get a nasty surprise."

As Robbie predicted, Court bent and whispered something into Louise's ear even as the governess tried to pull away from him. Louise froze; her dusky skin paled, she whirled in Court's arms, and, like quicksilver, brought a hand slashing through the air. She connected with Court's cheek, and the sound of flesh striking flesh resounded across the deck. To a man, the crew averted their eyes, pretending they hadn't seen, but most wore insolent smirks and a few laughed outright, earning themselves Court's most ferocious glare. He stood, the picture of bewilderment, as Louise lifted her chin imperiously and marched down the stairs, disappearing belowdecks.

"What was that all about?" Ariel asked.

Robbie, smirking, said nothing as Court strode angrily past on his way to the fo'c's'le.

"Goddamned women!" he muttered. "Ariel! Go below!"

"But Court!" Ariel wailed. "Why do I have to"

"I said go below!" he bellowed and, without waiting to see that she obeyed him, stormed on.

Robbie watched him go and wondered, in spite of herself, what it was he had said to Louise. Obviously he had made reference to the night before and to Louise's apparent loss of virginity. It was funny, she supposed. Louise must have been appalled. And yet, at that moment, Robbie would have given much to have Court take her into his arms and speak some small words of comfort. She felt alone, uncertain, the pain in her heart and the ache of her tender, torn flesh reminding her that she had become a womanwithout ever truly having been a girl.

Throughout the day the memories of those stolen hours weighed on Robbie's mind. She wished she could confide in someone, but who? Ariel? Ariel, who was the complete innocent? Who wouldn't have the vaguest notion of what it meant to make the transition from child to woman? But who else was there? She wouldn't have to tell Ariel everything and she might be able to get something of her turbulent emotions across to her. With any luck, the girl would prove more perceptive than she seemed.

Leaving the deck, Robbie sought out Ariel, who was pouting in the companionway outside her cabin.

"Ariel, I need to talk . . ."

Robbie broke off as Court appeared at the foot of the stairs.

"I thought I told you to go to your cabin," he snapped, scowling blackly at his sister.

"You told me to go below!" Ariel retorted.

"Well, now I'm telling you to go to your cabin." His brow furrowed menacingly when she did not move immediately. "Now!"

Ariel beat a prudent retreat and Court turned on Robbie.

"You have duties to be about, Tremonte," he snarled.

"I know," Robbie allowed. "I was only . . ."

"Go about them!" "I was only . . ."

"Is there something wrong with your ears, Tremonte!" Court's roar reverberated along the narrow passage.

"No, cap'n," Robbie gritted. Turning, she stalked away.

"And Tremonte?"

Robbie looked back. "Aye, cap'n?"

"I thought I told you to stay away from my sister!"

Robbie bit back a retort that would surely have earned her the back of Court's hand. The hypocrite! her mind screamed. The damned bloody hypocrite! It was fine for the rutting bastard to drag any half willing female into his bed, but let him think a man might be interested in his sister . . . !

"Aye, cap'n," she hissed, then stalked away, fuming at the blatant duplicity of it all.

Though she was eager to get to Ariel's cabin that night, Robbie took an undeniably malicious pleasure in Court's restless tossings and turnings. He was wrestling with his own emotions, she knew, bewildered and, she hoped, more than a little guilt-ridden that he had so insistently and carelessly relieved an innocent of her virginity. She had watched him through the day. His eyes had followed Louise wherever she went, and there had been in his golden gaze an unease that went far toward salving Robbie's anger and resentment.

At last he settled down. Holding her breath, Robbie slipped from her cot and made her way across the moonlit room to the door.

Ariel's cabin door opened before Robbie could lift a hand to knock.

"What took you so long?" she hissed as she seized Robbie's wrist and pulled her into a room as shadow-filled as the one Robbie had just left. "My curiosity has been driving me mad!" "Why don't you light a . . ."

"Shhh!" Ariel nodded toward the door that connected her cabin with Louise's. "Louise is still awake. We must be as quiet as mice. Come on . . ."

Still holding Robbie's wrist, Ariel led the way to her curtained berth. She slid beneath the covers, pulling Robbie with her, and drew the blankets over both their heads.

"We'll smother!" Robbie protested.

"No we won't. Don't be such a goose! Now tell me everything. Something happened last night, didn't it?"

Robbie sighed. She was having misgivings about coming to Ariel. The girl was completely innocent about life. She had been sheltered, protected. How could she be expected to understand what had happened between Robbie and Court? How could she begin to comprehend the turmoil it had created in Robbie's mind, the jumble of emotions inside her?

"Tell me, Robbie," Ariel prompted, as always the very soul of impatience. "Tell me!"

"Oh, Ariel, I don't know where to begin. I'm not at all sure I should tell you anything."

"Does it have to do with Court?" Ariel's lovely blue eyes darkened with concern. She might chafe under Court's stiflingly protective care and yearn to live the life of an adventuress, but she loved her brother dearly and worried over his well-being. "It does, doesn't it! You must tell me! What's wrong!"

"Nothing is wrong," Robbie hastened to assure her. She was beginning to perspire beneath the heavy coverlet. "Court is fine." She wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. "Do we have to stay under here?'' she demanded. "It's goddamned hot, Ariel!"

Ariel giggled, blushing as she always did when Robbie swore. It shocked her to hear a girl her own age swearing like a sailor, and yet it endeared Robbie to her. She would have emulated her had she had the nerve. "Louise will hear us," she reminded Robbie. "If you're hot, take your breeches off."

Sighing impatiently, Robbie untied the rope belt and slid her breeches down over her hips. Working an arm outside the coverlet, she dropped the trousers to the carpet beside the bed.

"Now tell me," Ariel ordered. "You've no more excuses."

"All right." Robbie searched for the words. "This is what happened."

As Robbie paused, phrases forming in her mind, there came a soft knock at the cabin door. A pair of heads, one golden blond, one red as fire, both covered with glossy, tousled curls, appeared. They stared, dumbfounded, as the connecting door swung open and Louise appeared.

"Mademoiselle?" she said softly, bathed in the glow of the lamplight that spilled through the open doorway. "Are you ill? I thought I heard . . ."

"Louise . . ." Ariel began. But before she could continue the silence of the night was shattered by the ear-splitting sound of Louise's scream.

In the breadth of a second, the opposite door crashed open and Court appeared. When Louise's scream had echoed down the companionway he had leapt from his bed and, scarcely taking time to pull on his breeches, pounded down the hall to his sister's cabin.

"What the hell is going . . ." He stopped, stunned into silence by the sight of the two disheveled heads that had swiveled toward him. His amber eyes blazed with quicksilver fury and the hot blood of a murderous rage mottled his sun-burnished face.

He started toward the bed, and Ariel held out a hand as though to ward him off.

"Now, Court," she quavered, frightened by the blood glowing in his eyes. Court's ferocious glare never left Robbie's pale face. "I'm going to kill you, you little bastard," he snarled. "By God! I'll tear you apart for this!"

"It's not what you think!" Robbie told him, but the air of bravado that usually served her so well had deserted her, leaving her utterly terrified. Looking into his eyes, she thought she understood what it must be to face a certain and painful death.

"Not a word," Court ground out. "Not one damned word!"

"Court . . ." Ariel breathed. She screamed as he seized Robbie's arm and dragged her from the bed. "Court, no!"

Robbie lay stunned at Court's feet, where he'd flung her. She shook her head, her senses reeling. Only dimly did she hear Ariel's panicked cries and Court's snarled orders for her to leave him alone and let him give the "whoring little bastard" what he deserved.

In desperation, Ariel flung herself out of the bed and threw herself between Court and Robbie.

"Don't hurt her, Court! Don't hurt her! It's not what you think! None of it is what you think!"

"Get out of my way," Court growled, beyond all logical thought.

Ariel wrapped herself around him and tried to push him back. "You'll kill her, Court," she cried, weeping with fear. "Please, don't hit her!"

Grasping Ariel's slender shoulders, Court started to push her away. On the floor, Robbie stirred and rolled over. She tried to sit up, but the cabin whirled lazily, sickeningly around her. Court and Ariel blurred into a single, swirling mass.

The mass became two as Court pushed his sister into Louise's arms, then bent to yank Robbie to her feet. Then he froze, one arm outstretched. As she lay on the floor, sprawled on the blood-red Turkish carpet, she did not know, nor would she have cared at that moment, that the force of Court's seizure had torn the cracked buttons of her threadbare shirt from their frayed holes, exposing one perfect, rounded, coral-tipped breast.

Though she could not see the astonishment that drove the mottled rage from Court's face, Robbie knew, even as she lapsed into the welcoming darkness of unconsciousness, that she had been saved from the certain death of Court's vengeance. Relief was the last of the string of emotions that swept over her. Had she been more rational, she might have felt no small sense of apprehension for what was to come.

10

Sprawled in a tufted leather wing chair at the foot of Ariel's bed, Court pondered the events of the past few days. He felt sorely beset, completely engulfed by his myriad troubles. And all of them, every last nagging one, seemed to have at its center the dainty, flame-haired girl who was even then stirring restlessly in the big, beruffled bed.

Scenes from the past days replayed themselves tauntingly in his mind. The way he'd dressed and undressed so carelessly in Robbie's presence; sometimes, he cringed to remember, with her help. He'd bathed in her presence, even ordering her to scrub his back. He'd bragged to her of his conquests on the fields of passion. Good God! A torrent of selfloathing washed over him as he remembered taking Louise into his bed with the girl lying in her narrow cot but a few feet away!

If there was a single bright spot amid the black clouds of his dilemma, it was that the troubling feelings he'd been having toward his erstwhile "cabin boy" were finally vindicated.

Rising, he moved to the side of the bed and stood gazing down at Robbie, who thrashed beneath the coverlet, hovering on the edge of consciousness. Her hands, with their red network of half-healed blisters, lay atop the coverlet. They seemed so small, so delicate, and her face, with its fragile, exquisitely delicate bones beneath the flawless, sun-kissed flesh . . .

"What a fool I was," he muttered to himself. "What a blind, credulous fool!"

The truth was finally exposed. No longer would Robbie need her disguise, but instead of solving their problems, it merely created a whole new set. Here he was, about to arrive home with a pirate's daughter. Pirates were an abomination to the people of the coast coloniespeople who had every reason to fear the blood-thirsty, plundering buccaneers who preyed on their ships, their homes, their women. . . . And Black Jack Tremonte had been one of the most notorious. Should the good people of Yorktown discover the truth of Robbie's parentage, a fair number of them would happily lynch her, female or not, and he himself was just as likely to hang from the same bough for having brought the pirate's whelp into their midst. But what was he to do with her? Throw her overboard? Where could she go? Who could she turn to? LeClerc?

Court's brow furrowed at the memory of the devil-dark Frenchman he'd found struggling with Robbie in the corridor outside Black Jack's sick room on Montebello. Had Robbie stayed there after her father's death, she would surely have fallen prey to LeClerc's lusts and his ambitions to assume the captaincy of the Montebello Island pirates.

A soft, breathy moan captured his attention. Robbie shivered. Her lashes fluttered, then lifted to reveal the exquisite green eyes that, Court now realized, were far too beautiful to belong to any mere boy.

Those same eyes widened with instinctive fear when they caught sight of him standing beside the bed. She cringed, as though afraid he would strike her, and Court remembered, with an annoying, unfamiliar sense of guilt, the number of times since taking her away from Montebello that he had done just that.

"Don't be afraid," he said gently, sitting on the corner of the wide bed and trying not to notice how she edged away from him. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"Then what are you going to do?" she asked warily, not at all reassured by his soft, tender tone.

"I haven't decided," he replied honestly. "But I haven't many options when you stop to think about it." He couldn't help noticing the way her breasts, freed at last from their binding, thrust against the thin cotton of her shirt. ''Whatever possessed you to adopt this clumsy disguise? Surely you must have known you'd be discovered."

"But I wasn't discovered," she disagreed, a note of pride evident in her voice. "Not for seventeen years, at least."

"You don't mean to say you've been playing at being a boy all your life?"

"I wasn't playing," Robbie replied tightly. "It wasn't a game. I was raised as a boy for my own protection. Only my father knew, and the midwife who attended my birth. She was devoted to my mother and she took care of me when my mother died. She herself died five years ago. She took my secret to her grave."

"And no one else knew?"

"No one. Not until René LeClerc found out. That's why I had to leave. He said if I stayed he would force me . . . force me . . ."

Her cheeks colored, and Court nodded. "I see what you mean. The question is, what will I do with you now?"

Robbie's eyes flashed with the quick, green fire of the temper she'd inherited from her father.

"There's no need for you to 'do' anything with me. I can take care of myself. As soon as we dock, I'll be on my way. You needn't trouble yourself."

"You can't do that, Robbie. I can't let you. A young girl on her own in a strange place . . ."

"It didn't trouble you before. When you asked me to come with you you said I'd be free to leave once we reached Virginia."

"That was before. When I thought you were a boy."

Robbie's little jaw was set stubbornly. "I'm not your responsibility."

"Just be quiet and listen to me. Within fortyeight hours we'll be docking in Yorktown. Between now and then, Ariel will teach you what she can of manners and the deportment expected of a lady."

"Ariel's not going to teach me anything!"

"Shut up. When we dock I'll have Ariel and Louise go ashore and see what they can find for you to wear. Some of the dress shops may have something that will do for the present."

Robbie stuck her face close to his. "Do you know what you can bloody well do with your dresses and your manners, Mr. High-and-Mighty Courtland Lennox?"

Court returned her stare impassively. "I'll tell Ariel to pay special attention to your language."

"My language ain't none of your business!" she retorted, deliberately using poor grammer.

"Your language isn't any of my business," he corrected.

"That's what I just said!"

"No, it isn't," he disagreed patiently, determined that if he were being given the task of making a lady out of this pirate princess, the lessons couldn't start soon enough. "What you said is . . ."

Robbie ground her teeth, scarcely reining in her frustration. "God's bloody eyeballs!" she muttered.

Court pretended not to hear. "Then there's your hair. . . ."

Robbie lifted her hands to her silken curls. Despite the fact that she'd been forced by circumstances to keep it cut in a gleaming, tousled cap that hugged her small head, she'd always been proud of her beautiful, shining red curls.

"What's wrong with my hair?"

Court sighed. "No lady cuts her hair, Robbie."

"She does if she doesn't want to be tossed onto her back by a randy pirate every time she steps out her doorway."

In spite of himself, Court smiled. He could imagine Robbie imparting such pearls of wisdom to the staid and proper matrons of Yorktown.

"Nevertheless, people will wonder." He thought a moment. "We'll have to tell them you were ill and your hair was cut during the fever."

Robbie rolled her eyes. "And just where are you going to tell your fine friends you found me? Floating on a kelp bed in mid-Atlantic?"

"You came from England."

"England! Then they've moved it since last I heard."

Court's eyes were like twin spheres of golden ice. "I've had about enough of your insolence!" he snapped. "I'm trying to help you!"

Robbie's gaze met his defiantly. "I didn't ask for your help!"

"And I didn't ask to be saddled with a pirate's daughter to turn into a lady! But for both our sakes that's what I'm going to have to do. So shut that saucy mouth of yours and listen!"

Pouting, Robbie settled back against the pillows while Court went on.

"We'll tell them you're an orphan." He cocked a mocking brow at her. "You can't argue with that, can you?" Robbie stuck out her tongue at him. He brandished a threatening fist in her face and felt no little glimmering of admiration when she refused to flinch. "You'll be a distant cousin. What's your name? Is Robbie a nickname?"

"Robyn," she supplied grudgingly.

"Robyn. Let me see. Robyn . . . Robyn . . ."

"Tremonte."

"Don't be foolish. Pirates, your father included, have been terrorizing the coast for years. How do you think people would feel about having Black Jack Tremonte's daughter in their midst?"

Robbie smiled sweetly. "I don't give a bloody damn how they'd feel."

Court was grim. "You'd better give a bloody damn, and I'll tell you again to watch that tongue of yours. Now, let's decide on a name. What about your mother's family?"

"I don't know who they were. All I know is that my father captured her off a ship sailing to Virginia, where she was to marry a planter."

"It's a pity you don't know who she was. We could use her name. It doesn't matter in any case. No one in Virginia will know the difference."

"Then any name will do."

Court shrugged. "Perhaps we could say you're a relative of my sister's husband. No one in Virginia is familiar with him or his family." He smiled. "In fact, I seem to recall seeing a few redheads in his ancestral portrait gallery. How does Robyn Fitzalan sound to you?" Robbie wrinkled her freckled nose. "I like Tremonte better."

"That may well be, but do you like it well enough to risk feeling a noose about that pretty neck of yours?" He scowled at Robbie's frankly skeptical look. "You may not believe me, my dear, but we colonials take pirates very seriously. We've been plundered, raided, blockaded. . . ."

"That's hardly my fault," she reminded him coldly.

"You're Black Jack's daughter."

"And that makes me someone to despise?"

"Of course it doesn't. And yet . . ." He sighed and ran his fingers through his sun-streaked mane of golden hair. "I know it seems unfair, but you must remember. However much you loved your fatherhowever good he was to youhe was still a pirate, one of the most infamous, notorious, feared pirates who ever plied these waters. There are people living in Virginia and in the Carolinas who lost loved ones when their ships were sunk at your father's order. Men have been killed, husbands, fathers, sons, brothers, women have been raped."

Robbie's green eyes flashed angrily. "Not by my father!"

Out of respect for the love that Robbie bore for her father, Court did not argue the point. But the fact remained that Black Jack and his Montebello pirates were among the most feared, and their reputation was the result of their ferocity and mercilessness toward any who had the misfortune to meet them at sea or on land.

"Robbie," Court said softly, gently, with far more patience than he might have expected to find within himself for this maddening little spitfire, "trust me, believe me, I know these people. If the truth about your identity were discovered, the best you could hope for would be to be ridden out of town on a rail. The worstwell, I don't even like to think about it. There are so many peole hereabouts who bear bitter grudges against your father. They might well like to take that bitterness out on you."

Robbie was quiet, pondering all that Court had told her. "And what about you?" she asked at last. "What risk do you run by protecting me?"

"A great risk. Almost as great as yours."

"Then why are you willing to do it?"

Court shook his head, and a small smile filled with self-mockery creased his face. "I'm damned if I know." He rose and crossed to the door. "But I am determined. In the next forty-eight hours you're going to learn more about femininity than you ever wanted to know. That I do promise you."

Robbie opened her mouth to protest, but no words sprang to her lips. In her heart she knew that his was the only solution. And perhaps, just perhaps, though she wouldn't have admitted it to a soul, she was more than a little excited by the prospect of becoming Miss Robyn Fitzalan, cousin to the Lennoxes of Greenbrier, a young lady of family and breeding, instead of Robbie Tremonte, pirate's whelp.

11

For the next forty-eight hours Robbie underwent what she could only describe as the "most God awful two days" of her entire life. It seemed that her every waking moment was spent listening to Ariel, Louise, Court, and every combination of the three lecturing her on what a real lady would or wouldn't do. They seemed to expect her to assimilate a lifetime of training in etiquette in two days, and the worst part of it was that most of it made little or no sense to her.

"I never thought," she told Ariel on the morning of the second day, "that it was so much work to be a lady. I thought all ladies did all day was lie about and think of orders to give their servants."

Ariel's musical laughter filled the cabin she and Robbie had shared from the moment Court had discovered her secret.

"Everything is governed by a rather strict set of rules," Ariel allowed.

"But most of them seem foolish," Robbie argued. "A lady never laughs too loudly. A lady pretends to know nothing about men. God's teeth, Ariel! How stupid d'ye have to be to be a real lady!"

Ariel sighed and sank onto a stool with a sibilant rustling of her skirts and petticoats. "I know it all sounds ridiculous, Robbie, but it is what is expected. If a woman hopes to marry a gentleman one day, she must be seen to be respectable and well-bred." She shrugged. "It's not so bad, really, when it's all you've ever known. Actually, things are much less formal in Virginia than in England. My sister, Alexandra, lives thereher husband is the Duke of Brookfield. She wanted me to stay with her so that she could introduce me to some gentlementitled gentlemenwith hopes that I might marry one of them. Actually, there were one or two who seemed interested." Ariel blushed becomingly at this, but there was an undeniable note of pride in her voice.

"Why didn't you stay?" Robbie asked.

"Oh, I had to come back. I love Virginia and Greenbrier. And then, of course, there's Brock. I can't stop hoping that one day he'll notice me."

"I'm sure he'll come to see you as a beautiful woman in your own right," Robbie assured her.

Ariel looked skeptical but didn't argue. She fell into a brooding silence, and Robbie rose and left the cabin.

As Robbie emerged onto the upper deck of the Juletta, she could feel the massed stares of the crew turning toward her. By now they all knew the truth about their captain's former cabin boy. Some were amused, some angry, some frankly doubted that Court had ever thought Robbie a boy, choosing rather to believe that he had spirited her aboard in disguise in order to keep her as his doxy for the remainder of the voyage.

Head held high, refusing to turn away from a single curious glance, Robbie moved with dignified resolution toward Court, who stood, legs braced wide apart, at the rail of the fo'c's'le.

As though sensing her approach, Court turned and watched as Robbie moved across the deck. Dressed in one of Louise's modest linsey-woolsey gowns, her flaming curls peeping from beneath the hood of the brown camlet mantle that she thought unnecessary but which Ariel had insisted a lady wore to protect her from the harsh, salty sea air, she moved gracefully. A small hand, upon which only the faintest traces of blisters remained, delicately lifted her skirts as she ascended from the upper deck to the fo'c's'le.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Lennox," she said in the soft, melodious tones Louise had insisted were the hallmark of a lady's conversation.

"You needn't be so formal, Robbie," he assured her, a dimple appearing in his lean, bronzed cheek.

"A lady does not address a gentleman by his Christian name," she pronounced haughtily.

Court chuckled, but he was pleased even though he knew that most of her newly acquired airs were merely a mocking parroting of the manners Ariel and Louise had so fervently tried to instill in her.

"Ah, but we are cousins and so may be more familiar."

"Very well, then . . ." She hesitated, casting him a coquettishly demure glance from beneath lowered lashes. "Court."

Court felt his breath catch in his throat. Even in her boy's garb the man in him had responded to the woman hidden beneath her threadbare rags. Now, her womanhood unveiled, she was using all the instinctive tricks of a flirt, and he found her charms devastating. Deliberately, he turned his attention to the horizon.

"Look there." He raised a hand and pointed off into the distance. Robbie saw what he meant. "Land?"

"We're nearly home. Within a few hours we'll enter the Chesapeake Bay and then . . ." He sighed. ". . . home. Tonight well sleep at Greenbrier."

A sudden gust of wind lashed the ship, and Court reached out a hand to steady Robbie. Her skirts whirled about her and she knew, when she looked up to find Court scowling down at her, what he had seen.

"Where are your shoes and stockings?" he demanded, his tone as hard as the ice in his golden eyes.

"In the cabin," she answered honestly. "The shoes hurt my feet and without them the stockings would be ruined."

"Now, Robbie," he told her sternly, "no lady would . . ."

"Bloody hell!" she swore. "If I hear one more 'no lady would' I'm going to puke!"

"No lady would use such a vulgar term."

"Ladies be damned!" Robbie exploded. "I don't want to be a lady!"

"I haven't time to argue with you about it," Court snapped. "But if you feel you're not capable . . ."

Robbie lifted her chin and shot him a scathing glare. "Not capable, is it? We'll damned well see who is not capable!"

With a swish of her skirts, Robbie stalked off toward the upper deck. Behind her, a triumphant grin on his handsome face, Court turned his attention toward the land mass looming in the distance. It was home, and his heart leapt at the sight of it.

Yorktown, the principal port of call between Philadelphia and Charles Town, lay near the mouth of the York River on Chesapeake Bay. No ship outward or inward bound could bypass its teeming Customhouse. Across its docks rolled the most important crop of Virginiatobaccoa commodity so in demand that it was a more reliable currency than any silver or gold piece in circulation. From Europe the bounty bought by Virginia's green gold returned in the form of tools and clothing, firearms and liquor. The plantations that dotted the banks of the York, the Severn, and the James had been built by the tobacco trade, and with them had come another kind of tradethe trading in human flesh. The slave trade had come about because the plantations required huge labor forces, and the buying and breeding of slaves was far less costly than the importation and maintenance of indentured servants.

The afternoon was fast giving way to evening when the Juletta was at long last moored at the Yorktown wharves. As Court had promised, Ariel and Louise hurried ashore to go in search of any suitable clothing they could find in the dress shops that catered to the elegant wives and daughters of the planters along the river.

''What good will all this do, Court?" Robbie asked as she stood at the rail, gazing out at the town.

"What do you mean?"

"Your men all know who I am. What will stop them from telling everyone?"

"Loyalty. I trust them, to a man. They've given their word and I believe they will keep it."

"I suppose you're . . ."

Robbie glanced up at Court and found him staring off toward the wharf. She turned as she heard a clattering of hooves. There, amid a crowd of men all clambering to help her down from the snowy mare she rode, was Juletta Kearny, big as life and far more beautiful than the exquisite miniature in Court's cabin.

Juletta's huge, cerulean eyes never left Court's face as she stepped daintily aboard the ship named in her honor. She seemed, to Robbie, the very essence of femininity, from the small, befeathered tricorn that perched, precariously atop her glossy curls to the impossibly small boots that peeked from beneath the gold-braid trimmed skirt of her blue grogram riding habit.The braid, which trimmed both the skirt and the tailored jacket with its wide, turn-back cuffs, glittered in the light of the lowering sun, eclipsing the glint of the brass buttons that ran in a close-set row down the front. The linen of her neckcloth was crisp and snowy and her spotless kid gloves looked as though they had just been taken from some scented bureau drawer.

"Court, darling," she purred, her gaze demurely lowered. "Can you possibly know how I've missed you?"

"I should have thought Brock would have kept you amused," he replied, and Robbie felt a twinge of envy when she noticed the note of jealousy in his voice.

"Of course, Brock is so kind, so charming, so very . . ."

"If I agree that he's a saint, can we dispense with the topic?" Court asked tightly.

"But of course, darling." Juletta feigned innocence, but Robbie recognized her pleasure in having so easily provoked Court into displaying his feelings.

For the first time, it seemed, Juletta noticed the girl standing beside Court. Her blue eyes, so wide and soft when they rested on Court, hardened and narrowed as she let them run quickly and appraisingly over the intruder.

"Why, Court! Who have we here?"

"Juletta-Kearny, I should like you to meet Miss Robyn Fitzalan. A cousin of mine."

"A cousin? But I thought Alexandra's husband was the Fitzalan connection."

"A cousin by marriage," he amended. "Is that better? Robyn has come to spend some time with Ariel. RobynJuletta Kearny." "How do you do?" Robbie said dutifully. "Court has spoken of you quite frequently since we left . . . since we left England."

She glanced up at Court and was rewarded with an approving look. Before Juletta could reply, a betraying gust of wind tore Robbie's hood away from her tousled red curls.

"Oh, dear!" Juletta's eyes grew round, but this time it was no mere affectation. She had never heard of a woman cropping her hair. It simply wasn't done!

Robbie pulled up her hood, blushing, while Court smoothly explained.

"Robyn was quite ill, Juletta. This voyage is part of her convalescence. She had a fever. The doctors had to cut her hair."

"How unfortunate for you, my dear," Juletta said, her caressing voice rife with sympathy. "Tell me, did the doctor also prescribe sunshine?"

"Juletta, you must tell me the news," Court began, seeing the flush of anger rising into Robbie's cheeks.

But Juletta was not so easily deterred. "I thought perhaps he might have, since no lady ever permits the sun to color her skin. After all, who wants to be afflicted with . . ." Juletta's eyes lingered with malicious satisfaction on the freckles spattered over Robbie's little nose and she gave a delicate shudder of dismay. ". . . spots!"

Seeing Robbie's hands curl into fists, Court quickly excused them and, taking her arm, steered Robbie down the stairs to the companionway below decks.

"Spots!" Robbie raged. "I'll give that she-cat spots! Black and blue spots!"

"Calm down, Robbie," Court urged. "It's nothing to get so upset about."

"Not for you! It wasn't you she insulted!" She planted her fists on her hips. "Is that the way you want me to act, Court!" "Robbie, there's a lot you don't understand. You have a lot to learn."

"Apparently so!"

"Look, Robbie," he said, his tone coaxing, cajoling. "Ariel and Louise will be back soon. Then we can all go home to Greenbrier."

Robbie jerked her head in Juletta's direction. "Her too?"

"Probably not tonight. We're all tired, and it would be better to put off company for a little while. But you may as well understand from the outset that Juletta is a frequent and welcome visitor to Greenbrier. She may even be its mistress one day."

Robbie felt suddenly dull, awkward, like some gauche, homely child who is left out, never considered, overshadowed by the radiance of another.

"Whatever you say," she assented listlessly.

Court studied her for a long, silent moment. He was unused to finding such meek acquiescence in Robbie. Then, hearing Juletta's voice raised in greeting to Ariel who, followed by Louise, had just boarded the ship, he gave Robbie a brief, reassuring pat and turned away.

From above, Robbie could hear Juletta chattering gaily. Her laughter, rising and falling musically, wafted down the stairs, and Robbie knew, with that unwelcome, uncanny instinct that so often reveals the most unpleasant of truths, that she was laughing at her.

12

Robbie smoothed the heather-blue silk damask of her gown and drew back the edges of the open skirt to better show the white, quilted satin petticoat beneath.

"Do you like it?" Ariel asked anxiously. "There wasn't a great deal to choose from. Most of the modistes don't make much in advance."

"It's beautiful," Robbie murmured, swaying slightly to hear the rustling of the shimmering silk.

"We found a cloak and hood and a bed gown and robe and one other gown. It's pink, not a particularly flattering shade with your hair, but it will have to do until we have time to have some others made."

"They'll be fine. Thank you so much, Ariel." She smiled uncertainly at the chaperone who hadn't said much at all. "And thank you, Louise."

By way of reply, Louise shrugged and, turning her back, left Ariel's cabin for her own.

"What the devil is wrong with her?" Robbie demanded, jamming her fists into the gathered silk at her hips. Ariel giggled as she draped Robbie's cloak of cherry silk over her shoulders. "I don't think she's quite gotten over the shock of discovering that you're a girl. But there's something more. I'm not sure, but I think it has to do with Court. She's been acting strangely with him for the past few days. I'm sure I can't imagine why. They've always gotten on famously."

Robbie turned away, making a great show of adjusting the hood that matched her cloak. She knew what was wrong with Louise. Court was behaving as though he had been the governess's lover, and Louise had no notion of why he should do so. Only Robbie knew the truth of the identity of Court's bed partner that night, and she could not dare shed the feeblest ray of light on the matter.

"Perhaps it's a private matter between them," she said cryptically.

Ariel, adjusting her own apple-green hood in the mirror, was about to speak when there was the briefest of knocks at the door and then Court appeared.

"Ladies," he said pleasantly, "shall we go? I confess, I'm impatient to see Greenbrier again."

"So am I!" Ariel agreed fervently. "You're going to love it, Robbie. I know you will."

"Robyn," Court corrected sternly.

"Oh, Court, don't be so stuffy!"

He scowled at his sister as she rustled past him, a vision in shimmering silk. When she'd left he turned his attention to Robbie.

"You make a very fetching young lady, Miss Tremonte," he said softly.

"Miss Fitzalan," she corrected, matching his tone of a moment before.

"Touché," he acquiesced gracefully.

"You look . . ." Robbie began, then looked away, embarrassed.

"Yes, I look?" he prompted. His long coat was of buff camlet, braided and buttoned with gold. Beneath, his waistcoat and breeches were black. It was a simple ensemble, and his own hair was tied at the back of his neck with a plain black ribbon, unlike some of the elaborately curled, full-bottom wigs she had seen sported by some of the merchants on the wharves. Still, it suited him as a more foppish style never would.

"Very handsome," she murmured.

"Thank you, milady," he said with a mocking bow and a smug smile.

"Don't laugh at me," she warned grimly, a little of the old Robbie glinting through her newly applied coat of feminine polish.

"I never would," he promised, his tone and expression solemn.

Robbie wasn't sure, even as he offered her his arm, but she said no more as he led her out to the waiting carriage and then returned to the ship to discover the whereabouts of Louise.

When at last they were all assembled Court signaled to the coachman to drive on. They had not gotten far from the wharves when their progress was impeded by a swarm of townspeople gathered around a nearly hysterical man on a busy street corner.

Court called to one of the onlookers, who extricated herself from the crowd and made her way to the carriage.

"Good evening, Minerva," he said, tipping his gold-braided, three-cornered hat.

"I heard you'd come back, Court," the old lady said, "and not too soon by the looks of things."

"Why? What's happened?"

"Offer me a ride home and I'll tell you."

Laughing, Court jumped down and assisted the old woman into the carriage.

"My apologies, madam, I've been at sea too long and have forgotten my manners."

"You've been in England too long," the querulous woman contradicted, "and everyone knows what a scurvy lot they art."

Minerva Gilmore settled her dove-colored damask skirts around her. With quick, sure movements of her frail, spiderlike hands, she adjusted her hood, drawing out the long, lace-edged lappets of her starched pinner. Her withered cheeks were dusted with bright spots of rouge and her eyebrows were startlingly black when compared to the steel gray of the waves of hair visible beneath her hood and pinner. But for all that, there was a shrewdness in her bright blue eyes that dared the world to take her with anything less than total seriousness.

"Ariel, my dear," she said, a smile curving her red-painted mouth, "I am glad that sister of yours didn't convince you to marry some Englishman." Without waiting for a reply, she fixed her piercing gaze on Robbie. She slapped Court lightly on the arm. "Introduce me, my boy, to this pretty creature."

Court smiled, amused by the color that rose into Robbie's cheeks.

"Minerva Gilmore," he said, "this 'pretty creature' as you so aptly describe her, is Miss Robyn Fitzalan, who has come to spend some time in the wilds of America."

"Fitzalan? Fitzalan? She is a relative of the duke's, then?"

"Yes. She is a cousin of my brother-in-law. Her parents are both dead and she, herself, has been quite ill. A change was thought to do her the world of good."

"And so it shall," Minerva agreed. "A little time here, my dear, and you'll not wish to return to England."

From the inflection in the old woman's voice when she mentioned the mother country of the American colonies, it was not hard to discover that Minerva Gilmore bore the English and their country no great love. Robbie wondered why.

"I'm sure I shall never want to go to England," she told Minerva.

"Hah!" The old lady was triumphant. I like this child, Court. I do like this child!"

"I'm glad." Court nodded toward the mob that was beginning to take up the as yet indecipherable cry of the man to whom they had been listening. "Now tell me what is keeping us from going home."

"Pirates," Minerva hissed. Her gaze, fastened on the crowd, missed Robbie's fitful start and the little sidelong glance Ariel threw Robbie's way.

"Pirates?" Court prompted calmly.

"The beasts have blockaded Charles Town. Naturally, everyone fears we are next."

"And so we may be. Any clues as to which pirate this is?" Court's eyes met Robbie's, and he knew their minds were running in the same direction. Such a bold maneuver might well be the first act of René LeClerc as captain of the Montebello pirates.

"Blackbeard," Minerva told him, her thin lip curling with distaste. "None of this would have happened if Charles Eden hadn't granted the wretch parole."

Court nodded. The alliance between the notorious pirate and the Royal Governor of neighboring North Carolina was the scandal of the southern colonies.

"Eden wanted a share of Blackbeard's booty," Court reminded her.

"And he got it. And now Blackbeard's holding one of the governor's council from South Carolina and his little son hostage. He threatens to send their heads to the Royal Governor if he doesn't give him medical supplies and gold." "And what will Governor Johnson do?"

"Oh, comply, without doubt. What else can he do?" She shook her head. "Pirates! What an evil lot they are. Every one of them deserves to hang. They're worse than the English. Not much worse, mind you, but worse."

A cry rang from the throats of the crowd: "Death to all pirates!" It grew, until it seemed to echo from every tree, from every building.

Court shot a look at Robbie, a look that said plainly: "I told you so." And Robbie replied with the saucy tip of her tongue waggled in his direction.

Court scowled ferociously, but turned his head, ostensibly to watch the chanting crowd but really to hide an amused smile.

When at last the carriage was free to move on, Robbie was relieved to hear the taunting chant fading into the distance.

"So," Minerva observed. "You must be glad to be home. I'm sure Juletta is pleased. You've seen her already, I suppose?"

"She came to the ship as soon as we'd docked," he replied.

"I'm not surprised. She's led Brock a merry dance since you've been gone."

"How is Brock?" Ariel asked, unable to keep the breathlessness from her voice.

"As always," Minerva sighed. "I wish the young scalawag would settle down with some girl worthy of him." Her eyes skimmed over Robbie with undisguised speculation. "You'll be meeting my grand-nephew soon, Miss Fitzalan. I hope the two of you will become fast friends."

"I'm sure we shall," Robbie answered demurely. "Ariel has told me a great deal about Mr. Demorest."

"Yes." Minerva's tone was fond. "Brock is very much attached to Ariel. She's the little sister he never had.''

Only Robbie heard Ariel's strangled cry of dismay and despair for the carriage was drawing to a halt before a neat house of whitewashed brick laid in Flemish bond. A tall brick chimney rose at either end and the roof was pierced by a row of four small dormers. A split-rail fence encircled the immaculately kept yard.

Court climbed down and helped the old woman out of the carriage. She turned in a swirl of damask and smiled up at the two girls.

"You must both come and visit. Try and get this philandering wretch to bring you." She gave Court a playful nudge and then turned with a laugh and started toward her gate.

Court laughed as he climbed lightly into the carriage and sprawled on the seat opposite his sister and Robbie.

"She's quite an old girl," he said with fond admiration, watching Minerva disappear into her house. "I always rather envied Brock his great-aunt Minerva. You could confess anything to her and she wouldn't bat an eye. Oh, she might berate you for being a scoundrel and tell you you were naught but an imp of Satan, but she always seemed to understand."

Pulling off his hat, he leaned his head back and let the glow of the fast-setting sun bathe his face.

"And now, at long last," he sighed, looking utterly content, "home."

The three of them rode in silence along the lanes that took them out of Yorktown proper and toward the plantations that lined the banks of the river. To Robbie, who had heard so much of Greenbrier, the ride seemed interminable. To Court and Ariel, who longed for home after so many months away, it seemed an eternity.

At last the carriage slowed and turned into a long, lazily curving drive. Court sat up, his amber eyes sparkling with eagerness, and Ariel craned her neck for her rirst sight of the home she so loved. Robbie heard her gasp and saw the brilliant grin that split Court's handsome face and knew they'd arrived. As the carriage emerged from a thick copse of trees, she too turned and caught her first glimpse of the Lennoxs' beloved Greenbrier.

13

Shaded by the interlocking branches of ancient oaks, Greenbrier stood on the crest of a small hill facing the York River. It was red brick and two stories tall, and looked like nothing so much as a much larger version of the house at which they had just left Minerva Gilmore. Its detailing was far more ornate, from the intricately carved bracketed cornice to the gracefully elegant pediment and pilasters that decorated the front doorway. It seemed solid, permanent; the very bricks seemed to radiate a promise of safe haven for generations to come.

As the carriage drew up the drive, Ariel pointed out the twin clapboard and brick outbuildings standing on opposite corners at the far end of the backyard. One housed the kitchen, she said, and the other an icehouse.

As Court helped them down, the door opened and a pretty woman with a starched white apron over a plain gown of cinnamon cloth appeared. She smoothed an errant lock of her heavy chestnut hair back as she descended the front steps to the drive. "Mr. Court! Miss Ariel!" She smiled a little shyly at Robbie.

"Miss Robyn Fitzalan," Court informed her. "She will be our guest for some time. Robyn, this is Elvira."

"Miss," the woman said softly, bobbing a peculiar half-curtsy.

Robbie nodded, smiling. This, then, was Court's housekeeper. She had expected a slave, for she knew that Court owned them to grow the tobacco that was the backbone of Virginia economy. A little smirk crept into her smile. Trust Court to have a pretty housekeeper. She wondered if the fair Elvira was also Court's mistress.

"Come into the house," Elvira urged. "I've begun heating water for your baths. When you're finished I'll have supper sent up on trays to your rooms." She smiled anxiously up at Court. "Will that be satisfactory?"

Sliding an arm about the woman's waist, Court gave her a fond little squeeze. "You're a wonder, my dear."

The four of them started toward the house, and only Robbie noticed when Ariel stopped and went back toward the carriages where Louise was supervising the unloading of the baggage.

"Aren't you coming, Louise?" she called. "The men can take care of all that."

"I'll be along," the governess assured her. "I just want to see it done properly."

Shrugging, Ariel started toward the house and Robbie fell into step with her.

"Ariel," she said softly, "what is Elvira to your brother?"

"What do you mean? She's an indentured servant. She's obligated to stay at Greenbrier until she's twenty-four. All the house servants are indentured except for the ones who elected to stay after their period of indentureship was over." "No, no. What I meant was, is there anything between them?"

Ariel seemed confused. Then her sky-blue eyes widened. "Oh! You mean . . ." A becoming flush pinkened her cheeks. "Oh, no! I'm sure not. Well, perhaps . . . Goodness! I never thought of it before!"

"Never mind." With a wave of her hand, Robbie dismissed the subject, but a glance at Ariel as they mounted the gracefully curving stairs to the second floor told Robbie that she had planted the seeds of suspicion in the fertile ground of Ariel's mind.

"Mister Court said to put you in this room, miss," Elvira told her as she opened the door to the bedroom at the far end of the wide, rectangular hall. "Your trunk and your bath will be up shortly."

"Thank you." Robbie entered the room. "Oh, and Elvira?" The housekeeper stopped just as she was about to close the door. "Which is Mister Court's room?"

"Head of the stairs. At the other end of the hall."

"Thank you."

The room into which Elvira had shown her was done in palest yellow. The windows and the tall, mahogany tester bed were draped with English crewelwork with Oriental birds and flowers in jewel-toned silks on a creamy background. The light was subdued, for the glow of the lowering sun had long since faded as evening had given way to night.

Shrugging off her cloak and hood, Robbie draped them over the brass-studded trunk at the foot of the bed and crossed the room to sink into the velvet-cushioned softness of a daybed placed between the two windows facing the river.

The scene from her window seemed so sereneidyllic. The river flowed past, emptying into the Chesapeake Bay. In the willow-swept shallows swans glided along the glassy surface. It all had a dreamlike quality; Robbie felt a strange sense of unreality. After eighteen years of living among the pirates of Montebello, it seemed that no place could be as quiet, as peaceful, as this one.

And yet she was here. When the servants arrived with the tub and heated water for her bath, they averted their eyes as though they were not fit to look at her. A maid hovered about the tub with towels and little, sweetly scented cakes of soap. She seemed almost distraught when Robbie dismissed her, preferring to disrobe, bathe, and dress herself in privacy.

Then, after her bath was finished and the tub had been removed, Robbie's supper was brought. The same maid took pains in laying the plate of venison, oysters, and hoecakes and a tall tankard of ale, that Robbie thought she'd never get to cat at all.

"Is there anything else, miss?" the girl asked, her starched linen mobcap bobbing as she nodded her curly head.

Robbie sat down, relishing the succulent aromas and realizing, for the first time, that she was famished. "No, thank you," she replied off-handedly.

The girl backed out of the room, and Robbie breathed a sigh of relief. She'd never had servants looking after her and she wondered at the necessity of having people swarming about her like drones tending a queen bee.

Still, it had its advantages, she thought, smiling as she attacked the venison with a zest that all of Ariel and Louise's training in the fine art of feminine delicacy could not take away.

When at last she rose from the little table before the empty fireplace, Robbie was replete. She had dressed once more in the heather-blue gown and quilted petticoat for she hadn't been sure if she would be expected to appear downstairs after supper, but now she was wishing she had merely put on her bedgown and robe. Laces and stays might well be fashionable attire for a lady of breeding, she reflected, but they were damned uncomfortable after a big meal!

She wondered if Ariel was downstairs. If she was, perhaps she could be prevailed upon to go walking.

Leaving her room, Robbie crossed the hall and descended the stairs. It was only as she neared the bottom that she heard the rumble of low, masculine laughter from the parlor.

Court's laughter she recognized. But there was someone else. Robbie stood at the foot of the stairs, her hand resting atop the turned newel, unsure of whether to make her presence known or hurry back up the stairs and pretend she'd never left her room.

Fate decided the matter, for at that moment the parlor door swung open and a tall, broad-shouldered man as dark as Court was fair appeared.

He was dressed soberly in a suit of sable-colored velvet, and his thick brown hair was caught back with a black ribbon. His eyes, almond-shaped and heavily lashed, widened as they found Robbie poised there, the light of the brass hall chandelier glimmering in her fiery curls.

"Well, well, well," he said softly, and Robbie felt, with alarm, as though he had caressed her. "Good evening. You must be Miss Fitzalan."

"And you must be Mr. Demorest?" she countered, wondering at the peculiar quaver in her voice.

He made her a little bow, but his eyes, now alight with admiration, never left her face. "At your service."

Court appeared, a wineglass in his hand. He had cast off his coat and cravat and his angel's fairness was more than a match for Brock Demorest's dark good looks, but Robbie spared him scarcely a glance. She had heard too much of the wonders of Brock Demorest from Ariel not to devote her entire attention to him on this, their first meeting.

"I should have thought you'd be in bed by now, Robyn," Court said, his stern tone clearly imparting the message that she should retire.

Robbie tore her eyes from Brock's smiling visage and replied, unconcernedly, "I ate far too much for supper. I thought Ariel might be about and we could go walking."

"It's darktoo dark to be strolling the grounds."

"Nonsense," Brock disagreed, ignoring Court's scowl with a blithe unconcern that was part of their lifelong friendship. "The moonlight is bright and the lanterns are lit along the drive."

"In any event," Court went on tightly, "Ariel has already gone to bed."

"Then perhaps I could" Brock began.

"Out of the question!" Court snapped, far too vehemently.

Brock laughed. "Ah! I can see your cousin plans to keep you all to himself, Miss Fitzalan."

"Robyn, please," Robbie corrected, thoroughly enjoying Court's burgeoning anger.

Brock moved closer. His nostrils quivered as the fresh floral scent of the soap she'd used in her bath wafted up to him. "Robyn," he repeated, his voice scarcely audible to Court, who still stood in the doorway. "And you must call me 'Brock.' "

Robbie lowered her eyes demurely, wishing she had a fan like the ones Ariel had shown her and which every lady learned to ply with the skill of a born coquette.

"Thank youBrock," she murmured.

His voice was low, almost a murmur, musical, seductive. "Since Court and I are like brothers, I hope you will regard me as you do him."

"Oh, dear," she said, casting up a wide-eyed look from beneath her lashes, "you should hope for much better than that, sir."

Taken by surprise, Brock's laughter filled the hall, and Court flushed a deep, angry red. "Good night, Robyn," he muttered between clenched teeth.

"Good night, Court," she said sweetly. Smiling up at Brock, she arched a delicate brow. "Will you excuse me, Brock?"

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the backs of her fingers. "Reluctantly."

Turning, she moved with studied languor up the stairs, pausing on the first landing when Brock called after her. "Will you allow me to take you riding? I'd like to show you my homeAvondale."

"We'd be happy to visit," Court snapped before Robbie could open her mouth. "I'm sure Ariel would enjoy the outing."

"Hmmm?" Brock looked at him in surprise, then a mocking grin crept across his sharply planed face. A deep dimple appeared in his tanned cheek. "Of course she would. I'll look forward to seeing you thereall of you."

He smiled up at Robbie and she cast him a last, flirtatious look before disappearing up the next flight of stairs.

Smug with the memory of Court's all too obvious possessiveness, Robbie undressed and pulled on the lace-trimmed linen nightrail. It was sheer and delicate, with ribbons at the low, ruffled neck and gathering the full sleeves at the wrists. Robbie draped the matching robe over the trunk at the foot of the bed and blew out all the candles in the room save one on the table next to the bed. Taking up the tortoiseshell-and-silver brush from the dressing table, she sat on the edge of the bed and stroked the brush through her curls.

She scarcely heard the knock at her door. It seemed that all was silent one moment and the next Court was standing in the doorway, his amber eyes glowing with golden fires.

Robbie stood to face him. The sight of her there, with the candlelight glowing behind her throwing her lush young body into silhouette through the thin linen of her gown, seemed to stun him. He gazed at her, his anger giving way to a kind of awe, until she, blushing, pulled on the robe and drew it closed.

"What do you want, Court?" she demanded, shivering despite herself. His gaze seemed to touch her as intimately as his hands had that night, that glorious night, aboard, the Juletta.

He came back to himself with a start, but he seemed shaken all the same.

"You needn't try so hard to charm Brock Demorest," he said sternly, his eyes not quite meeting hers.

"I was only trying to be a ladylike Juletta Kearny."

"Did I ever say I wanted you to be like Juletta?"

Robbie sighed. "I don't know what you want, Court. Truly I don't. If I act like myself, you aren't satisfied. If I act like a lady, you aren't satisfied. What did you expect me to do with Brock Demorest? Clap him on the back and tell him the story of the highwayman and the parson's widow?"

Court said nothing. Standing before him, head held high, fists on hips, breasts rising and falling beneath the low, lacy neck of her sheer gown, she was incredibly alluring to him. He'd been attracted to her before; even, though the emotions had tormented him, as a boy. But now, her beauty uncovered, enhanced, he felt the heat rising inside him.

He moved toward her, and Robbie fell back a step, then another. She knew with frightening certainty that if he touched her, if he kissed her and caressed her, she would be powerless to stop him.

He reached for her, his hand trembling, but his fingertips only grazed her cheek when the door, partly open, was pushed wide. Ariel appeared. ''Court! I've been looking for you!" She looked young and innocent in her lace-trimmed, high-buttoned nightrail. Her blond hair streamed down her back and the loosened curls bobbed with her agitation.

"What is it, Ariel?" Court demanded, fighting for control of his emotions.

"It's Louise! She's gone! She's disappeared!"

"Oh, Christ!" Court rubbed his forehead. "Can't it wait until morning?"

"But what if something's happened to her? Something terrible!

"All right. Stop wailing. I'll look into it."

Ariel hurried out of the room, apparently unconcerned at finding her brother and Robbie alone in such compromising circumstances. Court followed, but at the door he looked back, regarding Robbie with amused curiosity.

"The highwayman and the parson's wife?" he asked.

Robbie shrugged. "Good night, Court," she said simply, hands clasped before her, the picture of demureness.

Shaking his head, Court left. But Robbie could hear him chuckling as the door closed behind him.

14

It was mid-morning when Robbie, bathed and dressed in the second of the two gowns Ariel and Louise had purchased for her, descended the stairs. She didn't know what to expect. Mae, the maid into whose care she seemed to have been given, said that Elvira laid breakfast in the dining room and that the family was free to come and eat when they pleased.

At the foot of the stairs she turned toward the dining room, which was at the front of the house on the opposite side of the main hall from the parlor. Its scarlet draperies glowed against the almost blinding white of the walls, and the brass and crystal chandelier that hung over the table gleamed with the polish that Elvira lovingly applied.

In the doorway, Robbie paused. Court, in his shirt-sleeves, stood gazing out the window, hands clasped behind his back. Only the tautness in his body and the rigidity in his jaw betrayed his anger. Ariel, blond curls caught up by a yellow ribbon that matched her ruffled frock, sat sideways on one of the crimson-cushioned chairs and stared at her brother's back entreatingly.

"I'm worried about her, Court," she said, a tremor in her voice. The knotted handkerchief she held wadded in her hand showed every sign of having been well used to dry her tears of fear and frustration.

"Let it go, Ariel," he replied, his tone so stern that even Robbie would have hesitated to pursue the matter further.

Feeling as though she was intruding on a family discussion, Robbie turned to leave. But the click of her heels on the polished mahogany floor and the swish of her pink silk damask skirts drew their attention.

"Robbie!" Ariel skirted the table and came to draw her into the room. "Come and tell Court I'm right!"

Court glanced at them impassively. "Leave Robbie out of this, Ariel. She has nothing to do with it."

Gently, Robbie extricated her arm from Ariel's hand. "Court's right. I have nothing to say in anything between you and your brother."

"But it isn't just between us," Ariel insisted. "It's Louise!"

Robbie glanced at Court, who had resumed scowling out the window.

"Louise?" she asked.

"She's gone!" Ariel's voice rose to a wail and both Robbie and Court winced.

"So you said last night." Robbie shrugged. "But what has this to do with me?"

"Tell Court to go and look for her!"

"Ariel! " Court's voice was cold and tight. "Louise left of her own free will. She wanted to go!" He looked at Robbie, and she recognized the weariness in his eyes. "Apparently Louise stayed outside last night on the pretext of supervising the unloading of the trunks. She got the driver of the baggage cart to take her and her trunks back into Yorktown." "She may still be there!" Ariel insisted. "Go and see, Court! Persuade her to stay!"

"No!" The whiplike crack of the word seemed to echo off the white walls. Both Ariel and Robbie started and instinctively stepped back. "You're too old for a governess now anyway and you have Robbie to keep you company. The woman wanted to goshe went. And that's an end to it!"

A tense, awkward silence filled the room. For Court's part, he was just as glad that Louise had gone. Though he didn't like to make the admission, even to himself, he felt guilty for having seduced Ariel's pretty governess. For all her dark, exotically promising allure, she had, by all indications, been an innocent, and if there was one thing he loathed, it was men who preyed on the innocent for their careless pleasures.

Since his shocking discovery the following morning, he'd wanted to make amends to the woman, but every time he'd approached her on the subject, she'd acted as though she didn't know anything about it. And what was even more maddening, she had acted insulted, outraged that he should so much as suggest that there had been anything intimate between them.

Mercifully, the silence was shattered by a knock on the front door. Elvira's footsteps crossed the hall. There was the sound of muffled conversation, then more footsteps before the housekeeper appeared in the doorway. In her arms, she cradled a bouquet of spring blossoms, lilacs and tulips, tied with a scarlet ribbon.

"From Avondale," she announced. "From . . ."

"Brock!" Ariel squealed. She moved toward Elvira, arms outstretched to receive the sweet-smelling bouquet.

"For Miss Robyn," Elvira finished.

Ariel froze. Her slender body swayed as if buffeted by an unseen wind. Her usually pale complexion whitened to the color of a summer cloud. Unaware of either his sister's shock or the reason for it, Court chuckled.

"Well! Brock must have been quite taken with you, Robbie."

"Brock?" Ariel whispered, stunned. "Brock was here? But when?"

"Last night. After you were in bed."

"You saw him?" Ariel's huge, accusing eyes searched Robbie's face.

"Saw him!" Court cried, before Robbie could think of something to say that would soothe Ariel's hurt. "Why, she had him wrapped around her little finger!"

Ariel trembled. A soft, strangled moan forced itself between her quivering lips. "I wish I'd never come home! I wish I'd stayed in England with Alexandra!"

Whirling about, she ran from the room and pounded across the hall. Court turned to Robbie as the slam of the front door echoed through the house.

"What the devil is wrong with her?" he demanded.

Unable to restrain herself, Robbie doubled her fist and sent it crashing into Court's chest. He reeled back with a satisfying groan of pain.

"Damn you, Court!" she snarled. "Don't you know anything about women!"

Turning on her heel, she stalked out of the room, leaving Court to stare after her, one hand absently rubbing the sore spot in the center of his chest.

"I thought I did," he muttered lamely, as the front door crashed a second time.

Outside, in the dappled sunshine of the tree-shaded front yard, Robbie shielded her eyes and searched for some glimpse of Ariel. In the distance, between the swaying boughs of an ancient willow, she saw a flash of yellow.

She went slowly toward the river. From some distance away she could hear the sound of Ariel's sobbing. She stopped, debating whether to go ahead or slip away and leave her to her grief. But no, she decided, steeling herself for the recriminations Ariel might well make, to slip away and hope that Ariel had not seen her was the coward's way out. She had done nothing wrong. She had not encouraged Brock's attentions. Well, perhaps she had flirted with him a bit, but that had been to annoy Court. She would tell Ariel that.

"Ariel?"

The girl on the bench started. With the backs of her shaking hands, she scrubbed at her tear-stained cheeks.

"Oh, Robbie," she whispered as she drew her skirts aside to make room for the other girl on the bench beside her, "I'm so mortified."

Robbie was taken aback. Accusations, she had expected, anger, betrayal, but mortification?

"For heaven's sake, why?"

Ariel sighed. "Brock came and I was already tucked into bed like a child. It's no wonder he thinks of me as a little girl!"

"Oh, Ariel, I'm sure he doesn't think of you that way."

"Yes, he does." Ariel's tone was resigned, hopeless. "Did he ask about me last night?"

Robbie lifted her shoulders. "He might have. He'd been talking to Court before I came downstairs. He may well have asked about you." Robbie forced a brilliant smile that somehow could not make it to her eyes. "I'm sure he did."

Ariel shook her head and gazed off down the flowing river. "No, I'm sure he didn't. First it was Juletta, now you."

"That's nonsense, Ariel. I . . ."

"It's all right," she interrupted. "I bear you no grudge. In fact, I'd much rather see you have Brock than that nasty old Juletta Kearny."

"Ariel!" Robbie adopted a stern tone that was unintentionally reminiscent, of Court's. "You mustn't torture yourself so! Brock was only being gentlemanly. He was being kind to a strangera cousin, so he thinks, in his friend's home."

A new ray of hope sprang into Ariel's eyes. She blinked, and her tear-dewed lashes wet her cheeks.

"Do you think so, Robbie? Do you truly?"

Robbie, relieved to have allayed, if only temporarily, Ariel's fears, patted her hand. "I do, sincerely," she assured her, though in her heart of hearts she was far from sure.

"Miss Ariel?" A voice called from beyond the willows. "Miss Robyn?"

"Who is that?" Ariel asked.

Robbie peered between the long, verdant boughs. "It's Mae, I think. The upstairs maid?"

"Yes, Mae." She raised her voice to a shout. "Over here, Mae!"

The pretty, curly-haired maid appeared, clutching at her mobcap as the branches would have torn it off her head.

"Pardon, Miss Ariel, Miss Robyn. Mister Court wants to know if you will be going to town today as you had planned."

"To town!" Ariel cried, her natural buoyancy restored by a fresh resurgence of the hope for the future that sustained her. "Oh, yes! Tell him we will!"

"To town?" Robbie asked as the maid disappeared beyond the boughs once more.

"Your clothes! Oh, Robbie, you can't really think to make do with two gowns and one cloak and hood! Really, it's every woman's dream! A brand-new wardrobe! Perhaps Mrs. Tubbs will have some new fashion dolls from the Continent."

"Oh, Ariel, I don't know." Robbie frowned, troubled. "It would cost a fortune." "Court has lots of money."

"But it's Court's money. How could I ever repay him?"

"He'd never expect you to. Do come along, Robbie. I'd get a new wardrobe, but I just got one in London and I know Court would have my head if I ordered another thing." Her azure eyes took on a mischievous twinkle. "Come on, Robbie! Say you will! I'm just in the mood this morning to spend lots and lots of my dear brother's money!"

Thinking of Court's insensitivity toward his sister and of the way he'd accused her of flirting with Brock, Robbie could see Ariel's point.

"You will come, won't you?" Ariel whispered gleefully. "Yes! You will! I can see it in your eyes! Court has given us permission to order whatever you need! Let's take him up on that offer, shall we?"

"Oh, yes," Robbie agreed, completely caught up in the spirit of the game. "With a vengeance!"

Laughing like conspirators, the two left the willow copse arm in arm, their brains buzzing with lists of gowns and shoes and stockings, of hats and cloaks and fans and . . . and . . . and . . .

15

It was while Robbie and Ariel were waiting for the coachman to fetch Ariel's fan from the house that Court appeared astride the prancing white stallion that was the pride of Greenbrier's stables. The royal blue of Court's coat and breeches and the gleaming white of the magnificent animal was such a heart-stoppingly arresting combination that Robbie could not help staring. Court lifted his three-cornered hat and smiled down at her. She looked away with a saucy tilt of her chin. He was laughing at her, she told herself. He'd seen how she'd gaped at him, and it appealed to that colossal ego of his. Lord! What an infuriating man he was! If only . . .

Unbidden, her gaze drifted back to Court, whose attention had strayed to his sister. His hat still hung in his hand and, unobserved, Robbie admired the way the sunshine glowed amid the golden depths of his hair.

If only he weren't so damned handsome, she told herself, then she could stop gaping at him and he'd stop being so damned smug! She scowled, gathering her wits about her, and forged a new determination to ignore him and his maddeningly superior attitude.

"Are you looking forward to choosing your wardrobe?" he was saying, having once more focused his attention on Robbie.

She feigned inattention. "I'm sorry, Court, were you saying something?"

His smile lost none of its supremely confident brilliance. "I asked if you were excited about your outing to Mrs. Tubbs'."

She shrugged. "Oh, certainly. I expect I shall simply ask for one of everything in every possible color."

If she'd hoped to rattle him with the threat of a monstrous dressmaker's bill, she was disappointed. He merely lifted a brow and let his eyes wander with lingering insolence from the tips of her slippers to the top of her hood.

"I'd stay away from pinks if I were you," he advised thoughtfully. "I've always thought redheads looked rather poorly in pinks."

Burying her clenched fists in the folds of her pink damask skirts, Robbie seethed. She tried another tack.

"You may be right," she agreed good-naturedly. "And I certainly want to look my best."

"I'm sure I'll always rind you lovely,". he murmured, his amber eyes lazy with amusement.

Robbie's emerald eyes widened. The utter conceit of the man! He took it completely for granted that the only man any woman might wish to please was him!

"Well," she said with a faint, inscrutable smile, "that's flattering, of course, but it isn't only you I'm concerned about."

His smile faltered almost imperceptibly. "Oh, no?" he asked, his voice noticably cooler.

Robbie's smile was beatific, innocent. "Yesterday, in Yorktown, I noticed several quite attractive young men.''

"Who!"

Robbie felt a wild surge of elation. She had found the chink in his sterling armor. He obviously couldn't stand the thought of a woman finding any other man attractive.

"Well, really, Court, I can hardly be expected to know their names. But they were well-dressed. I expect they are men of some consequence. Perhaps, if you were to introduce them to me . . ."

"Oh, Court!" Ariel squealed. "Wouldn't it be marvelous! Robbie could have suitors and perhaps even a husband! Don't you think all the young men will be dying for her hand?"

Court's eyes glinted like tempered steel. "Dying, perhaps, for the hand of the cousin of the Duke of Brookfield, for that is who they will think she is. And they will doubtless imagine that an equally impressive dowry goes with it." The smile crept back to his lips, but there was no merriment in it. "I wonder how eager they would be if they knew the truth."

Robbie caught her breath. "Would you tell them?"

"Not if you behave yourself."

Their eyes locked. The bastard! Robbie's inner voice screamed. The damned, double-tongued bastard! He was willing to blackmail her to keep her away from other men. What difference did it make to him? Wasn't he all but formally affianced to Juletta Kearny? As they glared at one another, a challenge was issued and accepted. A battle of wills had commenced that neither was willing to lose.

They scarcely heard Ariel as she objected. "Oh, Court, Black Jack Tremonte is dead! What harm can it do to let everyone think that Robbie is the duke's cousin?" Court tore his eyes from Robbie's and turned to his sister with bland unconcern. "No harm at all, to us, my dear. But you know how lineage-proud most of the old families are. It wouldn't be right to pass off a pirate's daughter as the descendant of an ancient and noble familynot in a matter so serious as marriage and the begetting of an heir. People naturally want to know the quality of their children's blood."

"Damn you, Court Lennox!" Robbie hissed. He looked inordinately pleased at the fury he'd managed to whip her into. "My mother was a lady! She was to marry one of your fine Virginia planters!"

"However noble your mother's blood may have been," Court drawled, his tone leaving not the slightest doubt as to his skepticism in the matter, "the fact remains that your father was a notorious pirate. Hardly the sort of grandpapa most in-laws wish for their grandchildren."

"And I suppose you, of course, are descended from holy Moses himselfon both sides!"

"My grandfather on my mother's side," he informed her frostily, "was Charles the Second, by the grace of God, King of Great Britain and Ireland."

"Then why aren't you a prince or something?"

Court reddened a shade. "We are descended through one of His Majesty's mistresses," he admitted, daring her to make an issue of it.

She gladly accepted the dare. Sitting back against the velvet squabs of the carriage, she lifted a narrow, arching brow.

"No wonder being a bastard comes so naturally to you!"

"Turner!" Court bellowed, bringing the coachman out of the house on a run. "Get this carriage the hell out of here!"

Climbing onto the box and taking up the reins, the startled coachman took them off down the shaded drive at an alarming speed.

Robbie gave Ariel a sheepish look. "I don't know why I said that," she admitted. "I shouldn't have insulted your family."

"It doesn't matter," Ariel assured her. "And anyway, Court had it coming." She frowned, a furrow appearing between her blond brows. "I don't know why he's behaving this way toward you. He's normally so kind and generous."

"He holds my father against me," Robbie told her.

Ariel shook her head, setting free a pale yellow curl that escaped from the edge of her jonquil-colored hood.

"No, it's more than that. I can't quite put my finger on it. But it will come to me."

They rode on in silence until Robbie noticed Court in the distance, galloping at breakneck speed across a clearing in the fields.

"Where's he going?" she asked, admiring, in spite of herself, the expertise of his horsemanship.

"To Windover. It lies in that direction. The way across the fields is miles shorter than the road."

"Windover," Robbie repeated softly. The Kearny plantation. A sick feeling blossomed in the pit of her stomach as she watched Court disappear into a copse of trees at the edge of the field. He was going to Juletta.

What difference did that make to her? she demanded furiously of herself. Hadn't she always known he was Juletta's beau? Hadn't she listened during those unbearably long nights in his cabin aboard ship when he'd sung the praises of the fair Juletta ad nauseam? Why should this surprise her? Why should it make her feel as if the sunshine had been suddenly dulled, the fragrant air of the early summer polluted with the aroma of something stale?

She forced the troubling thoughts from her mind. She refused to love Court Lennox! He was everything she loathedhe was the very bane of her existence. And for all that he had taken her from childhood and introduced her to the joys of her new-found womanhood, she wanted to hate him with every fiber of her being!

As ever, Yorktown hummed with the constant flow of commerce that came of its enviable position between Philadelphia and Charles Town. As Robbie and Ariel descended from their carriage in front of Mrs. Tubbs' modest shop, they were engulfed by the surging traffic of the streets.

Mrs. Tubbs, whose slender, graceful appearance belied her name, greeted them effusively and took them to the back of the shop, where she had laid out a selection of her finest materials and the latest shipment of fashion dolls to arrive from Europe.

From among them, Robbie chose carefully, not taking too many of any one item nor choosing the most expensive fabrics or ensembles. Despite Ariel's urgings, she chose prudently, with an eye toward the final reckoning that would be presented to Court.

"Take this one," Ariel pleaded, brandishing a doll dressed in an elaborate ball gown with more frills and furbelows than the others combined.

"I don't think I should; Robbie demurred.

"Court won't care. He probably won't even see the bill. He'll just order his man of business to pay it."

Though the gown was by far the most beautiful confection Robbie had ever seen, it was also the most expensive of the lot. The ragged boy she had been quailed at the thought of so much gold being expended for such an unnecessary luxury.

"It's beautiful, but I don't think . . ."

"Oh, look." Ariel touched her arm to gain her attention. "There's Courtand Juletta." Robbie looked out the window and saw Court and Juletta Kearny, on horseback, riding along the street. Juletta leaned toward Court and murmured something and he threw back his head and laughed. His laughter faded and he gazed at her with unbridled admiration as he touched her cheek with tender fingers.

Robbie turned back toward Mrs. Tubbs with a furious scowl. "What colors does that gown come in?" she demanded.

"Pink, pale green, pale blue, lilac, yellow, and cherry."

"I'll take one of each." She winced as Ariel squealed with delight. "Except the pink," she amended. Much as it annoyed her to admit it, Court was rightshe was definitely not at her best in pink.

"Perhaps I'll take the pink one," Ariel mused thoughtfully.

"Why don't you?" Robbie's gaze was once again wandering toward the street.

As Ariel began the painstaking process of choosing the lace and accessories for her gown, Robbie rose and went to the front of the shop. She was so engrossed in the maddening, fascinating sight of Court and Juletta that it was not until Brock Demorest waggled his fingers in front of the glass that she noticed him standing there.

With a quick backward glance to be sure Ariel was well occupied, Robbie slipped out into the sunshine.

"Good morning, Robyn," he said, tipping his tricorn.

She nodded, smiling. "Brock."

"Visiting Mrs. Tubbs?"

Robbie glanced back at the shop window. "Court has decreed that I must have a new wardrobe. It's very generous of him, of course, but quite unnecessary."

"Beautiful clothes are never unnecessaryto a beautiful woman," he disagreed gallantly.

Offering her his arm, they strolled up the street past shops displaying all the bounty brought to Yorktown by the trade that flowed to its bustling wharves.

"You're a born flatterer," she murmured, gazing up at him through the feathery screen of her lashes. Her smile grew warmer as she noticed Court and Juletta approaching.

"It's not flattery," he assured her. "I find you quite . . ."

He looked up, startled, as Court reined in his big stallion dangerously close to them.

"Aren't you supposed to be in Mrs. Tubbs' shop?" he dgmanded of Robbie without even bothering to acknowledge Brock's greeting.

"I've made my choices," she replied coolly. "Ariel is choosing one for herself."

"Then I should think you would help. I've no doubt she helped you."

"Ariel is an intelligent girl, Court. She can choose a gown for herself."

"Robbie's right, Court," Brock ventured, but he was interrupted by Juletta's bored sigh.

"Oh, pooh," she muttered, smoothing one of her embroidered riding gloves. "All this talk of choosing gowns. It's fine, I suppose, when at the modiste's, but I am quite profoundly bored by it now."

Court straightened in his saddle. "And so am I," he agreed. "Perhaps if Robbie will go back to Mrs. Tubbs', where she belongs, Brock would like to join us for a ride?"

Delighted at the prospect of snatching the beau she considered her private property out of this red-haired upstart's grasp, Juletta flashed a brilliant smile.

"Oh, yes, Brock! Do join us!"

"Thank you, no," he declined. "I prefer to stay with Robyn. And Ariel, of course," he added hastily.

Wheeling her horse in disgust, Juletta rode away, careening down the street heedless of pedestrians, who had to scramble to get out of her way. Court, bound by propriety, had no choice but to follow since it was he who had brought Juletta from her home into town.

"I should go back to the shop," Robbie admitted. "Ariel will be wondering what has become of me."

"Will you allow me to accompany you?"

Robbie smiled up into his handsome face. "I should be pleased if you did. And I know Ariel would be delighted."

"You're very fond of Ariel, aren't you?" he asked as they retraced their steps toward the shop.

"Yes, I am. Aren't you?"

"She's charming, of course," he agreed. "I'm sure that when she's grown she'll have a string of beaux that stretches from here to Charles Town and back."

"When she's grown? In case you haven't noticed, Brock, she's not a child anymore."

He smiled. "I suppose she isn't. It's only that I've seen her grow up. To me she'll always be Court's little sister."

Robbie sighed. Ariel was hopelessly infatuated with Brock, but Brock saw only the child she had been. How, then, could she, a virtual stranger, change his perception of Ariel?

"She and I are almost the same age, you know," she told him.

"Are you? You seem much more mature. I suppose that comes with London society."

Robbie said nothing, but she could have told him stories of the source of her maturity that would have straightened the lush waves of his sable hair.

"Here we are," she said as they reached the shop.

Brock opened the door and held it as Robbie entered.

"Here you are, Robbie," Ariel said. "I wondered where you'd gone and . . ." Her voice faltered as she noticed Brock behind Robbie. A pretty flush rose into her normally pale cheeks. "Brock . . ." she murmured.

"May I escort you ladies to your carriage?" he asked.

"Oh, yes!" Ariel accepted gleefully before Robbie could open her mouth.

Surreptitiously, Robbie slipped her gloves onto a table, half hiding them beneath a bolt of silk. With Brock and Ariel, she left the shop and strolled down the street. They were nearly halfway to the carriage when she gave a little, despairing cry.

"My gloves! I've left them at the shop!"

"We'll all go back for them," Brock offered.

"Nonsense. Why should you have to go back for my mistake? The two of you go on. I'll be but a moment."

Ariel shot Robbie a grateful, nervous look, and before Brock could protest further, Robbie was off, vanished in the swirling crowd.

She retrieved her gloves and pulled them on. Sighing, she shook her head. "It was all so much easier when I was a boy," she mused to herself. "So much simpler!"

16

Robbie and Ariel faced one another across the gleaming width of the long mahogany dining table. They were strangely silent, but the empty chair at the table's head seemed to dominate the softly lit room.

Court had earlier sent word that he would be dining with the Kearnys and the news, combined with the amount of time he had been spending with Juletta since their return to Yorktown, seemed to indicate that matters between the two of them were coming swiftly to their inevitable end.

"Do you suppose," Ariel ventured haltingly, "that Court and Juletta . . . that is to say, that Court will soon . . ."

"Propose?" Robbie supplied.

"Hmmm."

Both women fell silent, their concentration suddenly given entirely to the barely touched plates of food before them.

"He might," Robbie allowed. "If he does, will she accept?" "Oh, I expect so. I do think she prefers Court to Brock. Or perhaps it is that she prefers Greenbrier to Avondale."

Robbie glanced up and saw the bitterness in Ariel's usually sweet face. The expression vanished instantly and a look of guilt replaced it.

"I shouldn't have said that," Ariel admitted, somewhat sheepishly. "It was unkind."

But true, Robbie thought, though she could not be so cruel as to say so. Not for a moment did she believe that love was the motive behind Juletta's attachment to Court. Or to Brock, for that matter. It pleased her, inordinately by all appearances, to keep the county's two most eligible bachelors dancing attendance upon her, vying to gratify her every whim. Robbie had seen the look of anger in her eyes when Brock had declined Court and Juletta's invitation to ride. She imagined it was not often that either of them said no to the fair Juletta. And it was obvious that no was not an answer Juletta took gracefully.

She looked up and found Ariel watching her. Green eyes met blue in a look filled with mutual understanding. If Juletta Kearny were to become mistress of Greenbrier, life under Court's roof would be unbearable for both of them. There was really no problem as far as Robbie was concerned. She would merely take what belonged to her and go on her travelsdisguised, if need be, as a boy once again. But for Ariel there could be no such escape. She would have to remain at Greenbrier until she marrieduntil Juletta arranged her marriagebecause there seemed little doubt that Juletta, once ensconced as Greenbrier's mistress, would take the running of Ariel's life into her manipulating hands as well. Even if Ariel's fondest wish were to come true and she married Brock Demorest, Juletta would let it be known far and wide that Brock had ''settled for poor, little Ariel" because she herself had spurned him. But it was doubtful that Juletta would permit Ariel to marry Brock even should he desire it. It was far more likely that Juletta would work for a union with her own brotherPierceand thus keep Ariel's not insubstantial share of Greenbrier's profits in the family.

"There's no sense in worrying about it until it happens," Robbie said philosophically. It sounded good. She only wished she believed it. "I think I've had enough to eat."

"So have I Ariel agreed. And both tacitly ignored the fact that neither had taken more than two bites of the supper Elvira had prepared especially to please them.

"Shall we go into the parlor?"

Nodding, Robbie rose and followed Ariel out of the dining room.

The soft blue of the walls was comforting and the shadows cast by the few candles Elvira had lit to dispel the gathering darkness cast dancing silhouettes on the paneled walls. Robbie and Ariel sat in matching wing chairs near the fireplace. In the distance thunder rolled. The hollow, melancholy sound matched their moods far too well. Gazing out the gold-draped windows, they could see the lightning flashing amid the roiling black clouds that obscured the moon and the stars.

"A storm is coming," Ariel remarked idly.

"Ummm-hmmm," Robbie murmured. She felt sad, wistful. It was a shame, really, she thought, watching the thick, inky clouds roll across the sky. It should have been a clear nightshe could have used a little starlight just then.

Taking up a book of poetry that had been left lying on the table, Ariel began to read, softly, with much feeling. Robbie leaned her head back against the chair and closed her eyes. The poem was long, and lovely, and sad. When Ariel finished, Robbie smiled across at her.

"That was beautiful," she said quietly.

"Thank you," Ariel answered, flushing with pleasure.

"It was also the most damned depressing tale I've ever heard."

Ariel stared at her in surprise, then shook her head and laughed.

"You're absolutely right," she agreed, putting the book aside. "And I think I've had done with it all for one night." She rose and started toward the door. ''Are you coming up?"

Robbie shook her head and turned her gaze once more toward the window. "I think I'll stay up for a bit."

"Suit yourself. Good night."

"Good night, Ariel."

In the silence of the parlor, Robbie watched the lightning flashing among the thunderheads. The storm was moving closer, gathering strength.

"I hope Court gets home before . . ." she began, musing aloud to herself. She stopped. Scowled. "No!" she snarled, furious with herself for such a charitable thought toward that infuriating man. "I hope he gets caught in the storm! I hope he drowns! I hope a lightning bolt hits him square in the . . ."

"Miss?" Elvira stood in the doorway eyeing her peculiarly.

"Yes, Elvira?" Robbie could feel the warm flush in her cheeks. It was not so much that she was embarrassed at having been caught talking to herself as it was that Elvira might have overheard what she'd said.

"Will you need anything else before you go up to bed?"

"No, no. I can manage. Dismiss the staff." "Should I leave someone to tend to Mister Court if he doesn't decide to stay at Windover?"

Stay at Windover . . . A frown creased Robbie's brow. This was a possibility she hadn't considered. She realized that Elvira was waiting for an answer.

"No, no. So long as there is a groom to take his horse if he returns, I'm sure he can manage."

Elvira left and Robbie, deciding that her musing was better done in an atmosphere of more assured privacy, left the parlor and went out the front door.

In the distance, at the river's edge, the dark water lapped hungrily at the bank and the willows swayed in sensuous synchronization. The wind whipped Robbie's curls and tugged playfully at her skirts as she walked across the manicured lawns beyond the graveled drive. The air was heavy with the promise of rain and lightning crackled through the moisture-laden sky. Not so far away, she could see the jagged, forking bolts striking the ground. The thunder crashed, its rumblings rolling across the countryside, echoing, threatening. A burning tree glowed against the blackness.

Nearing the river bank, Robbie leaned against the trunk of a gnarled oak and closed her eyes. The breeze played across her face and she felt, for the first time in a long time, a longing for the warm, salty caress of the winds that blew across Montebello. She laughed, but her laughter was rife with self-mockery.

"Montebello," she murmured. "Why anyone would be homesick for that hell-hole, I can't imagine." And yet she had been as happy there as she could have hoped to be. She had known no other way of lifeshe had not known the things other girls her age longed for. Hers had been a simple lifeher only care, her only worry, had been the threat of discovery. And as the years passed it had become increasingly obvious that she'd been accepted as the boy she pretended to be. What the future might have brought had her father not died she could not imagine. She might have married, borne children. Likely she would have married a man like her fathera man who would one day be blown out of the water in battle or dance at the end of a British noose and leave her with children to raise as best she could.

Her speculations came abruptly to an end as she heard, during a lull in the thunder, the sound of horse's hooves crunching on the gravel of the drive.

Court! She glanced toward the house just in time to see him emerge from behind the trees that lined the drive almost to the house.

She slipped around to the opposite side of the treetrunk and gathered her skirts to conceal them. Her green eyes glinted in the darkness. She might have been left a widow had she married a buccaneer, she might have died in poverty or ignominy, but by God! she wouldn't have been driven to an early grave by a puffed-up, overbearing, braggart like Courtland Lennox!

She heard the muffled exchange between Court and the groom, who had appeared from the stables to take the stallion. As the horse was led away, Robbie waited for the sound of the door closing to tell her Court had gone into the house and would not trouble her.

She was not so fortunate.

"Robbie? Is that you behind that tree?"

"Oh, sweet Christ!" she muttered.

She stayed where she was, hoping he'd think he was mistaken and leave, but he crossed the lawn in long strides and appeared beside her.

"Where's Ariel?" he asked, silhouetted by the flashing of the lightning behind him.

"She's gone to bed." Robbie refused to look at him.

"Couldn't you sleep?" "I didn't try."

"It was kind of you to wait up for me."

Robbie's laugh was short and harsh. "You'd like to think so, wouldn't you?"

"I would." His voice was soft, completely serious, without the usual trace of mockery she found so enraging.

She glanced up at him, then looked away. There was a light in his eyes that frightened her. She swallowed hard as the rhythm of her pounding heart seemed to leap.

"You should have asked Ariel to come walking with you," he said. He brushed a curl from her cheek with a fingertip, and she shuddered.

"Ariel and I do not need to spend every moment together, Court," she replied icily.

"So I noticed in town. You seemed rather pleased with yourself for having escaped the boredom of Mrs. Tubbs' for the excitement of chasing after Brock."

"I did not chase Brock!" she hissed. "He was outside Mrs. Tubbs' and he wished to speak with me. Ariel was choosing a gown and . . ." She glared at him, but the brunt of her anger she reserved for herself. "I don't have to explain a damned thing to you, you know!"

"So long as you've living under my roof"

"I don't have to live under your roof either. I'll leave!"

"And go where?"

"I'll find somewhere to go!"

"And do what?"

"I'll work."

He sneered. "Labor hereabouts is done by slaves or indentured servants. Are you prepared to sign a contract binding you to a master for the next seven years?" He waited for an answer, but the only reply was the sight of her haughtily raised chin. "I'm waiting, Robbie. Tell me, can you cook? Can you sew? Can you manage a household?"

"I'll find something!" she repeated stubbornly.

"There's only one occupation open to a woman who has no domestic skills, sweetheart." His eyes darkened as they moved slowly over her, lingering on her face and then sliding along the creamy column of her throat to her breasts. His mouth curved into an insolent smirk. "Though with your looks, you could doubtless . . ."

Suddenly comprehending what it was he meant, Robbie swung her doubled fist, bringing it up against his jaw with a force that staggered him and sent white-hot pains knifing up her arm.

"God damn you, Court Lennox!" she growled, her slender body trembling with the force of her fury. "God damn you to hell!"

She whirled and stalked off, but he caught her skirt. Yanking it viciously, she freed herself and broke into a run.

"Come back here!" Court shouted, but his words were drowned by the deafening thunder of the storm that seemed poised directly over Greenbrier.

His longer strides swiftly ate up the distance between them. Robbie screamed as his arm encircled her waist.

"Let me go!" she shrieked, her fists swinging wildly. Her fear turned to panic as she realized that he was beyond all reason. In terror she raked his cheeks with the jagged nails that had not yet grown smooth after her work aboard ship.

They left four raw welts in their path. Court clamped a hand over the beads of blood that oozed into the angry red tracks. He stared at her as she began to back away.

"Come here, Robbie," he said softly, sternly, his voice filled with implications that terrified her. "You're foxed," she hissed, never pausing in her agonizingly slow backward retreat. Some instinct told her that to run would prove disastrous. "Do they drink their dinner at Windover?"

A raindrop struck her cheek, startling her, and in the flicker of a second, while her attention was diverted, Court lunged toward her. Robbie panicked. Catching up her skirts, she ran for the house, but her legs, hampered by yards and pounds of fabric, were no match for his. She felt herself seized, felt herself falling, felt the thud as their bodies struck the ground and rolled on the soft, damp grass.

Court was above her. His hands pinned her wrists to the ground, protecting him from her punishing nails. Robbie stared up at him, still, frightened, eyes wide, glassy.

"What do you want, Court?" she whispered, her voice quivering with unshed tears.

A raindrop trickled down his marred cheek. "You," he breathed. A mocking smile curved his lips and he tipped back his head and closed his eyes, letting the cool, soothing drops bathe his face. "Christ, it seems I've always wanted you. Even when I thought you were a boy I felt the desire. I thought I'd gone mad; I thought I was turning into a sodomite."

"You're drunk. You don't mean any of this."

"Oh, but I do," he murmured, a wistful note in his husky voice. "If I weren't drunk, I'd never admit it." He bent his head, and his lips touched her throat. "Robbie," he breathed. "Oh, God, Robbie. I want you!''

Robbie bit her lip to force back the moan that welled from deep inside her. I hate you! her mind screamed. But while her mind believed it, her body did not. Her skin, her nerves, her very blood seemed to yearn for him, and yet she knew she could not have himknew that if this happened he would only loathe her, despise her, condemn her, saying, "What more could be expected from a pirate's whelp?"

A lightning bolt, aimed by the hand of Providence itself, struck a tree at the edge of the drive, splintering it like a matchstick in the grasp of a giant. Court gasped, head rearing in surprise, and Robbie arched up against him, pushing with all the strength in her, toppling him over and freeing herself.

She was on her feet in a bound, running desperately, recklessly, toward the house, not realizing that Court had not moved but only sat on the grass watching her flee. She did not care what he did; it didn't matter a whit to her if he stayed on the lawn until the rain pounded him into the ground; before the next raindrop fell, the next lightning bolt struck, she was in her room with the door securely locked. Then, and only then, did she allow herself the luxury of tears.

17

For weeks afterward, Greenbrier was in the grip of a silent strugglea struggle in which Court and Robbie were the only participants and the othersAriel, Elvira, the servants and the slaveswere merely bewildered onlookers. Where before relations between the master of Greenbrier and his "English cousin" had been frostily cordial they now appeared to regard one another as enemies, foes to be watched with wary expectations. Though the explosion was inevitable, the minutes and hours and days ticked by maddeningly, awaiting the spark that would set off the charge.

"I can't bear this anymore!" Ariel cried one morning, throwing her spoon onto the table and skidding back her chair.

Court regarded her with bored indifference. "Can't bear what, my dear?"

"The way you and Robbie act toward one another!"

Court cast a glance toward Robbie, whose place had been moved from the side of the table, opposite Ariel, to the far endthe mistress's place. Though his aim had been to remove her to the chair most distant from his own, the change had been duly reported by gossiping servants at Greenbrier to those at neighboring Avondale and Windover. Both Brock and Juletta heard the news with alarm; Brock, for he had fallen hard under the spell of the flame-haired "Miss Fitzalan," and Juletta, because for the first time she actually paused to consider the unthinkablethat the exalted position of mistress of Greenbrier might not be hers merely for the snap of a dainty, perfumed finger.

Court neither knew nor would have cared what the effect of his decision might be on either of those two people. For now, he was only concerned with what was happening at that moment, under his own roof.

He arched a tawny, mocking brow. "I don't know what you mean, Ariel. Robbie and I are perfectly cordial toward"

"You are not!" Ariel looked at Robbie, but those green eyes that so often met her own with understanding were downcast, as though afraid to risk revealing too much. "The two of you are like . . . like . . . stalking cats awaiting the right moment to pounce!"

Court gave a profoundly bored sigh and sipped his coffee. "You're imagining things. Eat your breakfast."

"I don't want to eat my breakfast!" She turned toward the opposite end of the table. "Robbie . . ."

Patting her lips with her napkin, Robbie rose. "If you'll both excuse me, I want to check and see how Elvira and the maids are coming with my new clothes."

Sweeping out of the room, she left Ariel sputtering, entirely unappeased by Court's promise to take her into town as soon as he'd had a word with his factor and his overseer.

Robbie breathed a sigh of relief when, little more than an hour later, she watched from the parlor window as Court drove off in the carriage, a pouting Ariel by his side. She sank onto the settee beneath the windows; her heart pounded, she trembled. So great was the strain of being constantly alert to Court's every move that in moments like this, when he was gone and she knew he would not return for some time, she nearly collapsed.

The room seemed to sway. Covering her face with her hands, she half lay across the gold-brocade cushions of the settee. She did not hear the crunch of the hooves on the drive, nor the knock at the door, nor the footsteps in the hall. She knew nothing at all, until a hand touched her shoulder.

"No!" she screamed, shooting up from the settee. She was several feet away, poised for flight, before she realized that it was Brock and not Court who had touched her.

His handsome, sharply planed face was the picture of shock as he stared at her. He reached a hand toward her, then drew it back, as though unsure of whether he dared try to get closer to her.

"Robyn?" he said softly, his tone one he might have used to soothe a frightened child. "I didn't mean to scare you."

The concern in his dark eyes was so genuine, so gentle, that Robbie yearned to run to him, take comfort in the arms she knew would open to welcome her. Instead, she wrapped her own arms about herself and turned her back.

"You didn't scare me," she said, fighting to keep her voice steady and strong. "I was only startled a little."

She heard his footsteps approaching and closed her eyes, knowing what was about to happen. She feared it and yearned for it at the same time, but when Brock's arms closed about her, the contact made her jump. A little cry leapt to her lips. "What's happened to you?" he demanded. "Please, tell me."

Robbie stroked his arm, her fingers savoring the rich blue broadcloth and toying with the brass buttons on the wide cuffs. She leaned her head back against his shoulder.

"I can't. Please don't ask me to explain."

"Is it Court?"

"Don't, Brock," she begged, tears welling into her eyes.

"I've known him for a long time. Perhaps there's something. I can . . ."

"No, there's nothing you can do. Nothing." She turned in the circle of his arms and reached up to touch his cheek. "Nothing. But you can't imagine what it means to me to know you would do something if you could."

"I would do anything," he told her fervently, expectantly. When again she shook her head, he asked, "Where is he?"

"He took Ariel to town. They won't be back for some time." I hope, she added silently.

"Then perhaps I could interest you in an outing."

"An outing?"

"Would you like to go riding?" His dark brows knit with concern. "You do ride?"

"Oh, yes. At home, I had a magnificent sorrel stallion. His name was Tobias."

"Do you miss him?"

She nodded wistfully. "I do."

"Do you miss your home?"

"Sometimes," she admitted quietly.

"Do you miss your family?"

"My family is dead."

"But your cousin? Court's sister's husband."

"My immediate family," she amended. She wished she could take Brock into her confidence, but even in the face of his obvious infatuation, she could not be sure how he would react to learning the truth about her. She forced a dazzling smile. "Shall I go and change into my habit?"

He nodded, releasing her. "Why don't I go to the stables and order a horse for you?"

She nodded. "Ask for one with spirit, Brock. Don't settle for some docile lady's mount. I like my horses to be up to a good gallop."

It was not long afterward that Robbie descended the stairs in her newly made riding habit. Of emerald green camlet trimmed and embroidered with gold, it was worn with a cravat of ivory lace and a little three-cornered hat trimmed with green feathers.

Brock's eyes gleamed with appreciation as he lifted her into her precarious perch on the tool-leather sidesaddle. He smiled as he swung into the saddle of his chestnut stallion, whose great strides he shortened to accommodate the daintier steps of Robbie's bay mare.

Despite her request for a horse with spirit, Robbie was just as glad Brock had chosen this gentle creature. She was an expert horsewoman, but astride, as she had ridden Tobias on Montebello. Perched on the sidesaddle, her knee hooked about the pommel, her leg already aching, she felt far from equal to a wild gallop along the river bank.

"Where would you like to go?" Brock asked as they passed through the dappled shade of a stand of hundred-foot tulip poplars.

"It doesn't matter," Robbie replied, head tipped back to admire the majestic trees. "Wherever you like."

"I'd like to visit my great-aunt."

"Mrs. Gilmore?"

"Miss," he corrected. "She was my mother's aunt. She never married, though why I couldn't say. I'm told she was quite a belle in her day and could have had her pick of any number of beaux. There's a portrait of her painted in her youth at Avondale that certainly would seem to confirm it." He shrugged. "She had her reasons, I suppose. In any case, she told me she'd met you."

"On the day we arrived," Robbie confirmed. "Court offered her a ride home from town."

"She was very impressed with you. 'That pretty Miss Fitzalan,' she said to me. 'Why don't you bring her to visit me?' "

"She didn't really say that." Robbie eyed him skeptically.

"I assure you, she did. It's my fervent belief that she intends me to court you."

Blushing, Robbie looked away. Court her. She wondered how Minerva Gilmore, with her loathing for pirates, would feel about her adored grand-nephew courting Jack Tremonte's daughter.

"Have I said something wrong?" Brock asked, when they had ridden some time in silence.

"Of course not," she murmured.

"The notion of my courting you displeases you?"

She gave him a little reassuring smile that, had he but noticed, trembled at the corners. "Nothing you could do would displease me, Brock. You're a very dear, very charming man. Any woman would be lucky to find you interested in her."

"I'm more than merely interested in you, Robyn."

"Robbie," she corrected. "Call me Robbie. And . . ." She hesitated, not wishing to hurt him, but knowing she did not dare let him get any notions that could only lead to hurt for them both. " . . . and we mustn't talk about things like courting, Brock. Please, I can't explain, but it would be impossible for me to become involved with any man hereabouts, however charming."

"As you wish," he acquiesced, and from the look in his eyes, Robbie knew he was wondering if perhaps there was someone she'd left behind to whom her heart already belonged.

They talked, mostly about the weather and the beauty of early summer and the animals they chanced upon, until at last they reached Minerva Gilmore's white-washed house.

Tethering his horse to the fence, Brock came to help Robbie dismount. Together they walked up the brick path and were met by Miss Gilmore herself.

"Come in, children, come in," the old woman invited.

In a gown of cherry-colored tabby open over a petticoat of bright blue silk, Minerva seemed quite the brightest object in the cozy little parlor into which she led them. The furniture, the draperies, the pictures, all seemed of dark or, at best, neutral colors. Even the fat tabby cat sleeping on the hearth was obligingly colored in shades of brown and black. Nothing detracted from Minerva herself, and Robbie had the distinct impression that this was precisely how the old woman intended it.

"I'm glad you've come," she said, offering a plate of cakes from which Robbie selected the smallest. "I've been telling Brock that I think he should set about courting you, my dear."

Robbie was amazed by the flush that rose into Brock's already ruddy cheeks.

"Aunt Minerva!" Brock protested. "Really!"

"Well? Why not?" she demanded, entirely unrepentant. "You've dallied after Juletta Kearny far too long. and you know my feelings on that subject."

"I'm sure we could find a more pleasant topic," Brock insisted, with an apologetic glance toward an amused Robbie.

Minerva settled back in her chair and fingered one of the long lappets of her cap, her blue eyes mutinous. "And what might that be?" she snapped, annoyed that her matchmaking efforts should have been so swiftly dispensed with.

Brock shrugged. "What about Charles Town? The blockade has ended now that Governor Johnson has given Blackbeard the ransom he demanded."

"Gold," Minerva added. "And medicine." She glanced at Robbie. "Mercury. Four hundred pounds worth.'' She pursed her wrinkled lips, nodding sagely. "The pirates are desperate for mercury. It's all that syphilis, you know."

"Aunt Minerva!" Brock nearly shot out of his seat with shock.

"It's only the truth, my dear boy," she assured him placidly. "And not at all surprising." She cast Robbie a resigned glance. "The filthy wretches don't care in the least who they lie with."

"Good God!"

Robbie bit her lip to hold back a giggle. Brock was stunned that his great-aunt should speak of such things before a young, unmarried girl. If only he knew the things she'd seen during her lifetime, the things she'd heard, he'd know that Minerva's words came as no great revelation to her. There'd been no shortage of syphilis among the men and women of Montebello, and a lively black market existed in the sale of mercurial drugs, the only treatment believed effective.

Minerva sighed. "You're such a prig sometimes, Brock. Another cake, my dear?"

Robbie was about to decline when the room seemed to echo with the reverberations of a thunderous pounding at the front door. "Ye gods!" Minerva muttered, rising and crossing the room with surprising agility. "Leave me a door!"

The hall outside the snug little parlor was lit by sunshine as Minerva opened the door. Brock and Robbie strained to see who was there. Robbie paled as Court's voice filled the room.

"Where's Robbie?" he demanded. "I know she's here. The bay mare outside is one of mine."

"Yes, she's here," Minerva admitted. "In the parlor. But what is the mat"

Court strode past her, not even bothering to wait for her to finish her question. In the parlor door he paused, his eyes narrowed, as though the quiet couple before him displeased him.

"Come on, Robbie," he ordered. "We have to leave."

"Court!" She was stunned by his rudenessCourt, who, to his neighbors at least, was usually the soul of gallantry. "I've come with Brock and I . . ."

"I don't give a damn who you've come with. You're leaving nowwith me!"

"Here now, Court," Brock protested, rising. "Robbie's right, she came with . . ."

Court's golden eyes never left Robbie's face. "Stay out of it, Brock. Robbie . . ."

Something in his look warned Robbie that this was no idle act of possessivenessno simple show of power on Court's part. Something had happened. Something that would have a profound effect on her, perhaps on them both. She rose.

Brock caught at her sleeve. "You don't have to go," he told her.

Robbie stared at Court, unable to tear her gaze away to so much as glance at Brock. "I think I do," she disagreed softly.

Gathering her skirts, she went to Court, who took her arm and steered her from the room.

"Come back soon, won't you, dear?" Minerva called after her.

"I will," Robbie promised. "Won't I?" she asked Court softly.

Court said nothing and his silence seemed unbearably ominous. Outside, a carriage stood in the road and Robbie's bay mare was already tied to the back. Court handed Robbie up into the vehicle then climbed in, took up the reins, and started off.

"What is it, Court?" she demanded. "What's happened?"

They were heading out of town now and Court drew the carriage to the side of the road. Jumping out, he helped Robbie down and walked with her to the base of an enormous tulip popular in the center of a clearing, where it was certain they could not be overheard.

"There's been another pirate raid on Charles Town," he told her, his voice low and tight, barely audible over the whooshing of the wind through the tall, dry grass.

"What has that to do with me? With us?"

Court glowered off into the distance. When his gaze returned, reluctantly, to her face, she could see he was deeply troubled.

"Court?" she prompted nervously.

"It was Black Jack."

The words hung between them and Robbie's mind reeled. "That's . . . no! . . . that's impossible! It must be René LeClerc! He must have taken over after"

"It was Jack, Robbie. Not LeClerc. Not any of the others. Jack!

"He's dead!"

"He's alive!"

Robbie pressed a hand to her pounding heart. The exultation that swept over her made her giddy. The world seemed to turn in a lazy, swirling spiral.

"Alive," she whispered, awed. Her eyes filled with tears. "My father is alive!"

"Not for long." Court knew it was cruel, but he couldn't let her hope for what could never be. "He was captured, Robbie. The British were waiting for him with two men o'war. Someone betrayed him. He's going on trial."

"He'll be convicted, won't he?" The exultation of a moment before gave way and she was plunged into the depths of fear and despair. "He'll hang."

Court let out a long, resigned breath. "He'll hang."

She swayed, and Court took her into his arms.

"I have to see him," she murmured against the soft cloth of his coat. "I have to see him once more."

Court held her tightly, his cheek against the softness of her silky curls. "It might be better if you didn't."

"I must." She gazed up at him, eyes pleading. "Take me to Charles Town, Court."

"It will only be like losing him again," Court reasoned. "All that pain againand for what?"

"To say good-bye. To tell him that I love him. Oh, Court! He's alive! That means that he survived that terrible sickness. The fever. Losing his arm. When he recovered and found me gone, what do you suppose he thought? How do you think he felt? I know he must be worried about me. I want him to know I'm all right." She looked down at the elegant emerald-green habit. "I want him to see me now, Court. I'm the daughter I could never be for him. He loved my mother, you see. She was a lady. I want him to see that there is something of her in me." She flattened her hands on the broad expanse of his chest. "Please, take me to Charles Town." Court sighed. He had only intended to tell her so that she would not hear the news in the street and be taken by surprise. He had never intended to arrange a meeting between father and daughter. And yet, it did not seem to him an unreasonable request. He, himself, would have moved heaven and earth had there been any chance of his seeing his own beloved parents again.

Still, it was against his better judgment that he agreed. "I'm sure I'll regret it, but I'll take you to Charles Town."

Robbie hugged him fiercely, then danced out of his arms and ran toward the carriage. "Come on, Court!" she shouted back. "Let's hurry! I want to go now! Today! Come on!"

Already cursing himself for having agreed to so foolhardy a venture, Court started toward the carriage, where Robbie, fidgeting in her impatience, waited.

18

The Juletta sailed out of the Chesapeake Bay with the tide, bound for Charles Town. Though Ariel had begged to be allowed to go on this voyagethe nature of which Court steadfastly refused to reveal even to his sisterCourt took only Robbie and enough crew to man the ship.

"I'm beginning to regret ever telling you about your father," he told her as they stood at the rail.

They were sailing the coast, and Robbie turned her back to the scenery that seemed to move past at a snail's pace.

"You couldn't have let me go on believing my father died on Montebello Island," she replied. Her eyes rose and bore into his. "Could you?"

"I suppose not. But I don't know what good this will do. There's nothing I can do to save him. There is nothing anyone can do."

"I know." She fought against the lump that had risen in her throat. "But I have to see him. I have to!"

Court gazed off toward the shore. "Robbie, you understand that by the time the news of his capture reached Virginia . . . Oh, damn! What I'm trying to say is . . ."

"He may already be dead," she supplied dully.

"They wouldn't want to keep him a prisoner for too long. There are other pirates about who might take it upon themselves to try and free him."

Robbie sighed. "You're right, I know. But I've got to try."

"And even if he is still alive, they may not let anyone see him."

"Don't try so hard to be encouraging!" she snapped, her nerves frayed to the breaking point.

"I'm not trying to dishearten you. But you must be prepared for the worst."

"Where will we stay?"

"On board the ship. If your father is still alive, he'll be kept in the Provost dungeon, on the waterfront. It would be better for us to stay aboard. More discreet. I know people in Charles Town. Planters. It might be hard to explain our interest in Jack Tremonte.

"Curiosity?" she suggested.

Court shook his head. "They know me too well to think I'd travel this far just to watch a pirate hang." His golden eyes caressed Robbie's pale cheeks and the concern in them was touchingly genuine. "Why don't you go below and rest? I've a feeling you won't be getting much sleep until all this is over."

For once, Robbie did not argue with him. She was grateful to leave the deck and go down to the cabin that had been Ariel's. Pulling'off her gown, she lay across the bed in her petticoats and willed the hours to pass more quickly.

When at last the Juletta lay moored in Charles Town Harbor, Robbie waited, suffering agonies of impatience, while Court was rowed ashore. She stood at the rail, the wind whipping at her skirts and tearing at her hair, until she caught sight of him being rowed out again.

"What did you learn?" she demanded the moment his foot hit the deck. "Is he here? Is he alive? Court!"

Taking her arm, he drew her away from the crew, who had not been told precisely why their captain had ordered this impulsive voyage.

"The crew was tried a week ago. Twenty-five of them. They were hanged four days ago and their bodies buried in the marshes off White Point."

Robbie trembled. Had she known the names of the hanged men, there was no doubt she would have remembered them allremembered their faces, their characters, their families . . .

"And my father?"

"Jack was tried three days ago."

"And?"

"He'll be hanged in the morning."

Robbie felt her stomach roil. Instinctively, she bent over the rail, but the feeling soon passed, leaving her dizzy and weak.

Court steadied her as she straightened. "Where is he?" she demanded.

"The Provost dungeon." Court jerked his head in the direction of the shore. "Tomorrow he'll be marched through the streets behind the Chief Justice of the Admiralty Court, who'll carry the silver oar. They'll go to White Point."

"And hang him. And bury him in the marshes." She closed her eyes and leaned gratefully against Court as he drew her into his arms. "I have to see him," she whispered against his shoulder. "I have to. You can understand that, can't you?"

"I understand. But it would be difficult. The town is terrified. There are rumors that other pirates are coming to attack Charles Town. Some say Stede Bonnet is coming. Others say it's Blackbeard or even Kidd."

"Kidd!" Robbie's laugh was toneless, cynical. She had been raised on legends of the great Captain Kidd the way other children were raised on fairy tales and nursery rhymes. "Kidd's been dead nearly twenty years!"

"That will show you how frightened they are."

"But there must be a way, Court. There must be!

"I don't know." It seemed impossible, but one look into her moist, pleading eyes convinced him that he had to try. "All right. I'll see what I can do. Tonight."

For the rest of the day, Robbie prayed that Court would find a way to help her see her father. She had to! Surely God would not have given her this second chance only to deny her when she was so close.

She ran to the door when Court tapped upon it.

"You've thought of something?" she asked eagerly.

He entered the cabin. "I'm not sure, but it's a possibility. I want you to wear your prettiest gown and cloak. And when we go ashore, I want you to be quiet, do you hear me? Let me take care of it."

Knowing she had no choice but to leave the matter in Court's hands, Robbie meekly agreed to his terms. Court left, and she set about dressing.

Darkness had fallen by the time Court returned.

Robbie rose as the door opened and Court appeared. For a long, silent moment they took stock of one another. Robbie's gown of white brocaded satin gleamed in the candlelight. It was open over a white petticoat embroidered with a garden of red silk flowers. Over the whole she had drawn a hooded cloak of scarlet watered silk, the edge of which had been embroidered with flowers of white silk. Court, on the other hand, was dressed in black. His coat and breeches were of figured silk and the gold buttons glittered, as did the gold embroidery on his long waistcoat. Snowy lace edged his cravat and the ruffles that half covered his tanned hands. But what amazed Robbie most was the elaborately curled, full-bottomed wig that covered his own tawny mane.

He fingered the trailing curls self-consciously. "I brought it in case I decided to call on any of my acquaintances here in Charles Town," he explained. "They can be a rather formal lot when the notion takes them."

He set his three-cornered hat carefully atop the snowy confection and came to offer Robbie his arm. As he did, she noticed that the heels of his shoes were a brilliant scarlet.

"I'm not always the complete Virginia farmer, my dear," he assured her, amused by her astonishment. "I promise you I cut quite a figure in London society."

"I'm sure you did," she agreed without the least trace of mockery. In fact, she found him awe-inspiring. This was a side of Court she hadn't seen before. Had her mind not been so occupied with thoughts of her father, she might well have found even more reason to hate Juletta Kearny.

Together, they left the ship and were rowed ashore. In the darkness near the spot they landed, a carriage was waiting, and Robbie recognized the driver as one of Court's men.

Court helped her inside and Robbie obeyed without question, though his actions bewildered her. Her father was held in the Provost dungeon, within sight of where they had stepped ashore. Why, then, the need for a carriage? Why the need for such elaborate preparations?

She turned questioning eyes toward Court as the carriage turned in a wide arc and headed away from the Provost.

''No questions," he reminded her, knowing without looking at her anxious face that there were a dozen she was longing to ask.

Robbie held her tongue for once, and soon they were riding back toward the harbor, heading directly toward the Provost, where several armed men stood guard.

As the carriage rocked to a halt before the Provost, Court climbed out and sauntered toward the guards. They sprang into action, stopping him before he could get near the door. With a few terse questions, Court found himself directed to the ranking guard. This man he drew aside. They spoke in whispers, laughing now and then, glancing in the direction of the carriage through whose window Robbie watched, her heart pounding. At last the man nodded. Court reached into his pocket and took out a packet, which the man accepted, touching his hat brim respectfully with one hand while slipping the packet into his coat with the other.

Court came and opened the carriage door.

"Come on," he ordered, swinging her down. "Pull your hood forward and say nothing."

"What did you"

He aimed a finger at her nose. "Say nothing! I mean it, Robbie!"

Silently, her head bowed, her arm in the firm, imprisoning grasp of Court's hand, Robbie moved forward to be swallowed by the shadows of the Provost. The guard who had accepted Court's bribe lit their way down to the dungeon and then, relinquishing the lantern to Court, retreated up the stairs.

The dungeon was dark and dank. The fetid odor of soiled and rotting straw hung heavily in the stale, damp air. The vaulted ceiling made every noise echo and re-echo until their very breaths seemed to hiss back at them from every black corner.

Court held the lantern up to light their way. "Jack?" he called. "Jack Tremonte?"

There was silence, and for a long, terrifying moment Robbie thought they had been the victims of a cruel joke. But then there came a scraping, the rattle and clank of a heavy chain on the straw-covered floor. A heartbreakingly familiar voice rumbled in the shadows.

"What do ye want? Can't ye leave a man in peace on the last night of his life?"

Restrained by Court's grasp, Robbie moved carefully toward the voice. Her eyes strained into the darkness that seemed maddeningly empty. But at last they rounded one of the thick, square columns that supported the vaulted roof, and there he was.

He was thinner than Robbie could ever remember, but it was Jack, nonetheless. His dark eyes gleamed with life though they were sunken into his head. His black hair and beard, now streaked with gray, were tangled and lank for want of care in the weeks of his imprisonment. One sleeve of his stained coat hung limp and empty, dangling from the elbow.

He squinted in the unaccustomed glow of the lantern. "What do ye want?" he demanded again, some of the fire returning if only for effect. "What am I, then? An animal on show for the gawkin' gentry?"

Court released Robbie and she stepped toward her father. A heavy chain shackled his leg to the column, and it scraped against the floor gratingly with his every movement.

"Papa?" she whispered. She moved toward him, her satin skirts whispering in the trampled straw. "Papa?" Jack drew back, black eyes narrowed. "What cruelty is this? Who are ye?"

With trembling fingers, she pushed back the hood, and her fiery curls shimmered in the lantern's golden light. "It's me, Papa. It's Robbie."

"Robbie." Jack's voice failed, cracked. He shook as he pushed himself to his feet. "Can it be?"

"It is." Her eyes swam with tears. "Oh, Papa! I had to see you!"

In an instant she was in his arms, weeping, her tears a bittersweet mixture of sorrow and joy, happiness and grief. He had been given back to her, but only for an instant. He had been brought back from the dead, but come the morning he would be banished from the realm of the living.

"Robbie, Robbie," he crooned, rocking her as he had when she was a tiny child and he had just returned from yet another perilous voyage. "My little Rob. I never thought to see yet sweet face again."

At last he put her from him. "Let me look at ye, sweetheart. 'Tis the first time I've seen ye as ye were meant to be."

His eyes moved lingeringly, lovingly, over her, missing no single detail of her new appearance.

"Yer a beauty, Rob," he murmured, his throat choked with emotion. "Yer the spit and image of yer mother."

"Am I, Papa?" Robbie breathed. There was no higher praise her father could have bestowed, for she knew he held no other woman in as high regard. "Do you mean that?"

"I do, Robbie, that I do." He looked past her toward the dandified stranger who held the lantern. "And who might ye be?"

"Papa!" Robbie laughed, the musical notes sounding alien in that dark, miserable place. "It's Court! Court Lennox. He brought you back to Monte-bello."

"Did he, by God! Ye weren't such a dandy then, my boy. What's happened to ye?"

Court laughed. "We had to have a plan to get Robbie in here. This was part of it."

"Well, it worked. And I'm beholden to ye."

"Papa," Robbie said softly, wonderingly. "When I left Montebello with Court, I thought you were . . . That is, they said you were going to . . ."

Jack saw the guilt and pain in her face and shook his head. "Ye were right to go, Rob," he told her. "The men told me LeClerc was sniffin' about ye. He tried to take Montebello for himself."

"Is he dead then?" She could not keep the hope from her voice.

"No! Damned dog!" Jack scowled ferociously. 'Twas he that betrayed us. He took a ship and some of the men and struck out on his own." He blew out a long, disgusted breath. "Hell, it don't matter now. I lived my life as I pleased, child, and now 'tis time to pay the price." Robbie's agonized cry tore at his heart. "None o' that, my girl," he said sternly. His eyes were soft with adoration as he reached out to touch her half-grown curls. "Are ye happy, Robbie? What's yer life like?"

Robbie forced a small, tremulous smile to her lips. "I live at Greenbrier, Papa. It's beautiful there, in Virginia, on the York. It's Court's plantation." She glanced over her shoulder at Court, and he smiled. "I live there with Court and his sister, Ariel. I've met other people. There's Miss Gilmore. Minerva. You'd like her, though she hates pirates with a passion!" She trembled as her father's laughter boomed in the dungeon. "And I've met Court's friend, Brock Demorest, and . . ."

The rattle of keys turning in a lock and the scraping of a heavy door echoed down the stairs. Court stepped forward.

"It's time to go, Robbie," he hissed urgently.

"No!" Robbie clung to her father. "Court! Not yet!"

Court appealed to Jack. "We have to."

"Aye, ye do," Jack confirmed sadly.

Robbie threw her arms about her father's neck and her fingers dug into the rough cloth of his coat.

"Papa! Oh, Papa!" she wept. "I love you so!

Tears stung Jack's eyes, and he buried his face in the soft, sweet-smelling curls that framed her face. "And I you, sweetheart. Always remember that."

Gently but firmly, he put her from him and pulled up her hood to conceal her tear-stained face. He gave her a little push in Court's direction and Court took her arm to pull her away.

"Papa," Robbie whispered. She stretched out her hand and touched him until Court pulled her out of reach.

"Lennox." Jack's voice was soft in the darkness that engulfed him as the lantern's glow receded.

"Wait here," Court ordered. He left Robbie at the foot of the stairs and went back to the chained pirate.

"My thanks to ye," Jack said, clasping Court's hand in his. "Ye saved my life and ye saved my Robbie's life. Ye've made her the lady she was meant to be and I'm grateful to ye."

"Not quite the lady," Court disagreed. "She's a streak of the spitfire in her that will never be tamed. I wonder where she got it?"

Jack chuckled deep in his barrel chest. "Her mother's side of the family, doubtless." His amusement faded. "Take care of her, won't ye?" Court nodded and moved away. "And Lennox?" Court leaned back to hear the pirate's last words. "Fer God's sweet sake, man, tie her down if ye have to, but don't let her come to the hangin'!"

Court promised then, pulling a weeping Robbie along with him, climbed the stairs and left the Provost to return to his ship as it lay at anchor in the harbor.

19

"What do you mean, no!"

Court looked down at the tousle-haired hoyden before him. She glared up, green eyes blazing, cheeks crimson with temper, fists jammed into her hips.

"Just what I said," he replied sternly. "No. You are not going to leave this ship."

"We're talking about my father, Court!"

"Precisely. That is why you are not going."

Robbie stamped her bare foot against the colorful carpet. "Damnit, Court! You don't understand!"

"I understand better than you think," he disagreed gently.

"You don't understand anything! I left Montebello believing my father was dying, if not already dead. He didn't die. Don't ask me to do that again. Don't ask me to live with that uncertainty!"

"I'm not asking you to do anything of the kind," Court explained, trying hard not to notice that she had been in the middle of dressing when he had come to her cabin and that she now stood before him in her lacy petticoats and sheer chemise. "I'm going to the hanging . . ." He broke off and waited patiently for her cry of protest to be stilled. ". . . . I'm going to the hanging," he went on, "and I'll make sure."

"Court!"

"Robbie!" His patience, never abundant, had come to an end. "That's an end to it!"

Furious, Robbie turned her back as Court went toward the door. She heard the click of the latch and the squeak of the hinges before she swung around.

"Court!" Her voice was high and plaintive. "Why are you doing this to me!"

Closing the door, Court came to her. He pulled her close. "Because your father asked me to." He brushed back her disheveled curls as she gazed up at him, tears glistening like dew drops on her lashes. "He loves you, Robbie. Just as you love him. Do you really think he wants you to stand there and watch him die?"

Robbie pulled away and went to steady herself against one of the fluted bedposts. "No," she whispered brokenly, "I know he doesn't. But I have to know this time, Court. I have to! I've grieved for him all this time, week after week after week. And now I have to begin grieving all over again." She pressed a trembling hand to her heart. "God, it hurts so much!"

The Admiralty Court would be far more thorough than Peter Garrison had been, Court thought, though he would never have voiced such a callous notion to her. Nicholas Trott, the Chief Justice, would leave no doubt as to the presence or absence of life within the great body of Black Jack Tremonte before it was lowered into the marsh of White Point to rest with his men.

"I'll make sure," he said simply. "You'll never have to wonder."

Robbie nodded, fighting back her tears, as Court left the cabin. The hours that followed ticked by slowly. Robbie paced the floor, wondering if it was over yet but wishing it was not, for that would mean that the father she adored was dead and she would never see him againnever hear his booming laughter, never be smothered in the all-encompassing warmth of his embrace.

As morning gave way to afternoon and afternoon faded into twilight, Robbie gave up her vigil at the window of her cabin. She pulled a cloak over her hastily donned gown and went up on deck.

"No sign of the captain, Mr. Rhodes?"

Court's second-in-command plucked the pipe from between his teeth. "There was a message a few hours ago," he told her, tapping the pipe against the railing. "The captain sent for a half-dozen of the crew to row out to White Point soon as the light faded. If you look sharp, you can see them."

Robbie squinted in the direction he indicated and there, just as he said, was a long boat from the Juletta being rowed by six of the ship's biggest, strongest crewmen.

"Why does he want them?" she asked.

He shook his gray, grizzled head. "Wouldn't know, miss. Not my place to question the captain's orders."

"No, of course it isn't," she agreed. But the mystery only heightened her tension and anxiety. Had something gone wrong? Was Court in trouble? Had she, by her impetuous need to come to Charles Town, put Court and his men in danger? Only time would tell and time, it seemed, as the minutes dragged by like hours, appeared to be at a surplus.

Night had fallen and the ship's lanterns had been lit by the time the two long boats, Court's and the second carrying the six crewmen, returned. Court was the first on board. "When everyone's aboard," he told Daniel Rhodes, his tone low and confidential, "slip the cable and take us out of the harbor."

"Out of the harbor? Now, cap'n?"

"Now, Mr. Rhodes. And with as little fuss as possible."

"Set a course for home?"

"No." Court squinted as his men worked at the railing. "Take us out to sea."

"Out to" The man's words were drowned as Robbie's cry shattered the calm quiet of the summer night. As she watched, horrified, Court's men pulled the shrouded body of Black Jack Tremonte over the railing and laid him on the deck.

"Don't look at him, Robbie. Hanging's not a pretty way to die."

"But how . . . how . . ." She turned streaming eyes up to his shadowed face.

"The good people of Charles Town weren't much interested in him once he was dead. He was left with the gravediggers. It didn't take much to convince them to sell his body to me. No one would ever know, and it's all clear profit to them." He slid an arm about her and pulled her close. Despite the warmth of the summer night, he could feel her shivering. "I thought you'd rather we gave him a Christian burial at sea. You would, wouldn't you?"

Robbie threw her arms about his neck and wept with great wracking sobs that shook her slender frame. "Yes! Oh, yes, Court!"

"Here. I thought you might want to keep this."

From his pocket he drew a bedraggled nosegay. Robbie knew what it was. It was as much a tradition for a condemned pirate marching to the gallows to carry a nosegay of flowers as it was for him to be preceded by the Chief Justice of the Admiralty Court, carrying the two-foot long, embossed silver oar that was his badge of office.

Robbie took it and cradled it in her hands. ''Did he suffer, Court?" she asked softly, fearfully.

"It was over quickly," Court assured her. "Before he died, he asked God's pardon for his crimes and thanked Him for his blessings, the chiefest of which were the love of a great lady and a beautiful, loving daughter of whom he was very proud."

Hot, salt tears stung her eyes. "Did he say that, Court? Did he really?"

Court held her gently. "He did, sweetheart. He did. He saw me in the crowd and I think he knew I would tell you. It was his farewell message to you, Robbie."

Reaching out a trembling hand, Robbie touched the still, shrouded form on the deck. "I loved him, Court. To me he was all in the world that was warm and loving and gentle."

"I know." Court pulled her to her feet. "Now I think you should go below and go to bed."

"I couldn't sleep," she protested feebly.

"Robbie. Come along. By morning we'll be out in open water and we'll put your father to rest in peace in the sea he loved."

Robbie allowed herself to be led down to her cabin.

"Go to bed now," Court ordered gently. "Can you manage by yourself?"

Robbie nodded, but when Court would have turned away, she grasped his hand to stop him. "Court?" He looked back at her. "There's nothing I can ever do to repay . . ."

"Hush." He touched her lips with a quieting finger. "Go to bed now, sweetheart. After tomorrow all this wondering will be over."

Releasing him, she sank down onto the edge of the bed and buried her face in her hands. At the door, Court paused and gazed at her in the shadows of the cabin. She seemed so small, so fragile, so helpless. Robbie. Blustering, saucy, maddening Robbie. He had never thought to see her this wayher spirit utterly broken. It was a temporary condition, he knew; she had far too much fire in her to let even such a tragedy as this break her, But for now she was lost and alone, grieving and frightened. His heart ached for herhe longed to hold her, comfort her, even, a niggling voice whispered slyly in the back of his mind, love her. He scowled, steeling himself against this last, treacherous thought. He didn't love Robbie! He didn't! Oh, perhaps he desired herthat was understandable. She was a beautiful woman even if she sometimes drove him to distraction with her impudence. He did desire her, he admitted to himself. That was all. Not lovemerely lust.

Comforted by the thought, he left Robbie's cabin and went on deck to check on the preparations for leaving Charles Town harbor.

The day was gray with a steely sky and chilling winds that whipped the black, turgid sea against the hull of the ship and sent flecks of foam over the rail to bespeckle the somber garments of the people gathered on the deck.

The crew of the Juletta stood in a semi-circle around Court and Robbie, both of whom were dressed in starkest black. Court's voice was low and sonorous as he read from his Bible, commending the restless soul of Black Jack Tremonte to heaven.

At Court's signal, six crewmen tipped up the plank on which the body lay and it slid smoothly, soundlessly, into the sea that had been Jack's love, his life, and, ultimately, his death. As the body slipped beneath the waves, Robbie slipped as gracefully, and as silently, to the deck at Court's feet.

Handing his Bible to Mr. Rhodes, Court gathered Robbie into his arms and carried her down to her cabin. Gently, tenderly, he undressed her and tucked her into the big, curtained bed. He made no attempt to awaken her. Sleep was what she needed noweven the dreamless sleep of unconsciousness. There would be time enough for tears when she awoke.

"Papa!" Robbie sat bolt upright in the bed, her eyes unseeing, staring out into the empty darkness. "Papa!"

The door opened and Court appeared. "Robbie?" He crossed the cabin, which was lit by the silvery moonglow streaming through the windows. "I'm here."

"Court!" She clung to him as he sat on the edge of the bed. "Oh, Court, I dreamed of Papa."

"Hush now," he soothed. "It's all right. Your father's at rest now, sweetheart."

"I know. I'll always be grateful to you for seeing to his burial. I couldn't have borne thinking about him in that foul marsh in Charles Town."

She shuddered with revulsion and he took her into his arms. "You don't have to think about it," he breathed. He stroked her curls as she nestled against him.

"He loved the sea," she whispered. "He would have wanted to be buried there."

Court held her against him, his hands caressing her curls, and Robbie closed her eyes and cuddled close to him. As he felt her body relaxing, Court settled her back on the pillows. She smiled at him hesitantly, like a shy little girl, and her hand rose to stroke his cheek.

"You're so good to me, Court," she murmured. Turning his head, Court kissed the small hand that seemed to brand his flesh with its soft warmth. He heard Robbie's sharply indrawn breath and looked down to find her watching him, her beautiful green eyes wide and wondering in the moonlit twilight of the curtained bed.

"I want to be good to you, Robbie," he breathed, shifting his body so that he lay half across her. "Very goodright now."

The warm weight of his body, the heated caress of his breath on her cheek, her throat, her breasts, the dark seductive, masculine scent of his skin, were an incredible, irresistible aphrodisiac working their magic on Robbie's all too willing senses. The longingthe secret, aching desireshe'd tried so hard to suppress sprang to life inside her, bursting into a flame so hot it seared her tender, woman's flesh, leaving her weak with the need of him.

Her body grew taut and moisthis every touch was a revelation. She arched against him eagerly, inflamed beyond imagning by the nearness of him, by the knowledge of the sweetness and the fire that was to come, and by the memories of their last joining.

She touched him, her fingertips savoring the hot, muscular hardness of him even as he explored the petal-soft hills and valleys of her succulent young body. But it wasn't enough, not nearly enough. He wanted to touch her, all of her, with all of him. His hands moved swiftly, purposefully, drawing off first his robe then her filmy silk chemise. Robbie gasped when she saw his arousalsaw the splendid, sun-bronzed body the darkness had kept hidden from her that first time on the voyage from Montebello. She reached for him. Her fingers grazed the hard, throbbing length of him, and she reveled in the harsh, impassioned moan her touch wrung from him. He had planned to take time with her, use patience, gentleness, but her eagerness drove him beyond all control. Poising himself over her, he entered her quickly, hoping to spare her too much discomfort. But rather than the tears and pain of virginity impaled, he heard only Robbie's low, shuddering sigh of fulfillment. Her body arched to meet his, to draw him deeper inside her. Court's senses reeled, all reason fled. His hands closed about her narrow hips and he took her savagely, mercilessly, driving them both beyond ecstacy's brink to passion's paradise, where only lovers go.

In the sweet, musky aftermath of their passion, Robbie sighed as Court drew out of her arms and reached for his robe.

"Court?" she breathed. "Don't go. Stay with me."

"Good-night, Robbie," he said flatly.

There was an edge in his voice that stung her. She sat up in the bed and watched in stunned silence as he left the cabin.

"Court?" she called after him, her voice softly plaintive. "Court? Come back."

But he was gone, and the banging of the cabin door sounded so angry, so final, that Robbie knew something had gone terribly, dreadfully wrong.

20

It was apparent, from the moment Court left Robbie's bed, that he held against her some incomprehensible, inexplicable grudge. What it could be, Robbie could not imagine. Their coming together had been everything she could have hoped for, everything she had imagined it would be in all those wonderful, agonizing daydreams that had haunted her days since he had rescued her from the clutches of René LeClerc on Montebello Island.

Even after they had returned to Greenbrier, Court's coldness continued, until it became a fact of life. He seldom addressed a word to her, and when circumstances forced a conversation between them, it was awkward on her part, strained and grudging on his.

"What is wrong between the two of you?" Ariel asked, time and time again. Robbie could only shrug, shaking her head, as mystified as Ariel herself. Ariel put the question to her brother only once and, upon being told in no uncertain terms to "mind your own goddamn business," did not dare pose it again.

The very atmosphere at Greenbrier seemed to take on the chilled, angry tone that perpetually surrounded Court. The inhabitants of the big brick house walked on tiptoe, always aware that the master was like a walking powder keg, needing only the smallest spark to make him explode. They were a household living on tenterhooks, one from which Ariel made it a point to escape with increasing frequency.

"Robbie?" She stood in the doorway of the library at the back of the house on a magnificent summer's day a fortnight after Robbie and Court's return from Charles Town. Robbie looked up from the book she'd been reading. "I'm going out for a ride. Will you come with me?"

"I don't think so." Robbie smiled. "Is that your new habit? It suits you."

Pleased, Ariel smoothed the silver-braided azure silk grogram. "Do you think so? I had a gown this color once and Brock said he'd never seen me looking so pretty."

"I'm sure he was right. Enjoy yourself, Ariel."

Robbie settled back in her chair as Ariel swept out to the front drive, where her horse waited, held by a groom ready to help lift her into the sidesaddle. Robbie heard the sound of retreating hooves then, a few moments later, the crunch of the gravel once more.

"Perhaps she forgot something," she mused to herself. She listened absently, but her ears perked up when she heard the knock on the door and Elvira's footsteps as she went to answer it.

"Good afternoon, Elvira," Brock Demorest said brightly. "Is Miss Robbie in?"

Putting aside her book, Robbie went to the hall. "I'm here, Brock," she called. "Come into the library."

Nodding a dismissal to Elvira, Brock followed Robbie into the mahogany-paneled, book-lined room. "It's very quiet here today," he observed, shaking his head when Robbie offered him a drink.

"Ariel went riding and Court . . ." The smile faded from her face. "I don't know where Court is. Plantation business, I suppose."

"I haven't seen either of you since you returned from your trip. Rather sudden, wasn't it?"

"I suppose it seemed that way," she allowed.

"Where did you go? If I'm not being too forward in asking."

Robbie's smile was strained. "We went to Charles Town. Court knows a great many people there."

"I see." With a sinking heart, Brock wondered if Court had taken Robbie there to introduce her to the Low Country gentryperhaps to meet a prospective groom or, worst yet, to introduce her as his future wife. It was, and had been for some time, obvious that Court's interest in his young English cousin was far from familial. And yet Brock didn't dare ask. He wasn't at all sure he wanted to know, particularly if the answer to his unspoken question was what he feared it might be.

Another thought crossed his mind. "Good Lord! Two weeks ago! Wasn't that when they hanged that pirate? What was his name?"

"Jack Tremonte," Robbie supplied softly.

"Yes. Court didn't let you go to that hanging, did he?"

"No. Of course not. I . . ." Tears welled into her eyes and she turned away.

"Robbie?" Brock went to her side, his darkly handsome face the picture of tender solicitude. "Robbie, what is it? Have I said something to hurt you?"

She shook her head. "Not at all."

He touched her cheek gently, almost reverently. "You know I'd never purposely hurt you, don't you?"

"Yes, Brock. I know." She allowed him to draw her into the welcome comfort of his encircling arms.

"You know how I feel about you."

Robbie tried to pull away, but he held her fast. "You mustn't talk about feelings; not between us," she cautioned.

"I can't help it. I've fallen in love with you."

"Oh, Brock, no," Robbie breathed, dismayed. "You can't. You don't even know me. You know nothing about me."

"What is there to know?" he asked ingenuously.

"So much. Things I can never dare to tell you."

"Nothing that can possibly matter more than the fact that I love you."

Robbie closed her eyes wearily. "It's not possible. Please believe that, Brock."

He released her with the greatest reluctance. "Is it Court, then? Have you an understanding between you?"

"Court?" Her voice was edged with disbelief.

Brock steeled himself, fearing her answer and yet needing to ask the question. "Are you in love with Court, Robbie?"

"In love? With Court?" Her laughter had a hollow, eerie ring to it.

"Then there is someone else."

"No, there's no one else."

"Then don't reject me out of hand. I know you don't love me now, but it may come in time. If you let it." His long, dark eyes were bright and fervent. He reached for her and drew her back to him. "Give it a chance, that's all I ask. Nothing more."

Robbie melted into the warmth of his embrace, taking comfort in the love he offered. She knew he would never try to take from her more than she was willing and able to give him. She closed her eyes and gave herself up to the gentle, tender kiss he pressed on her lips.

"I love you, Robbie," he murmured, kissing her again, reveling in her softness, her beauty, the sweetness of her lips and her skin.

Robbie sighed and tilted her face toward his. He was so gentle, so very tender, so unlike . . . Resolutely, she banished all treacherous thought of Court from her mind. She would think of nothing, no one, save the moment at hand and the innocent pleasure it offered.

Neither heard the sound of hooves on the gravel nor the tap-tapping of high-heeled boots on the hall floor. Neither heard the strangled, agonized cry that tore itself up from the very heart of Ariel as she appeared in the library doorway. They heard nothing, but she heard, all too clearly, the low, husky sound of Brock's voice as he kissed the petal-soft lobe of Robbie's ear and murmured the words Ariel had only heard him say in her dreams: "I love you."

By the time they stepped apart, the doorway was empty. The carpet on the stairs had muffled the sounds of Ariel's flight to her room.

Brock looked almost sheepish, as if he had committed some mortifying faux pas by so forgetting himself. "Perhaps I should tell you what I came for," he said haltingly.

Robbie laughed. She had never known a man to blush, and yet there was a definite pinkish glow beneath the tanned skin of his handsome face. "I thought I knew," she teased, smiling when the color staining his cheekbones deepened.

He stuck a finger inside his cravat, as if it was suddenly choking him. "Actually," he said, "I got a new carriage and thought you might do me the honor of riding with me." ''I'd love to. Let me get a scarf."

Leaving Brock in the hall, she climbed the stairs and went to her room. Passing Ariel's door, she thought she heard noisesthe sound of muffled weepingbut when she tapped at the door and called Ariel's name, there was no response. Shrugging, she draped her black silk scarf about her shoulders and went down to join Brock.

It was nearly two hours later that Court returned home. He spent as little time as possible at the house for the simple reason that he could not bear the sight of Robbie. Whenever he saw her he remembered the night aboard the Juletta, outward bound from Charles Town. He had expected her to be a virgin that nighthadn't she said that no man, save her father and he himself, knew she was a woman? What a fool he'd been to believe her! Another man had known the truth about Robbie Tremontethe man who had so considerately relieved her of her virginity! Who had it been? One of her father's pirates, no doubt. LeClerc? One of the others? All of the others? Whenever his eyes lit upon her, he longed in equal measure to kill her and love her. He wanted to force the truth out of her, hear the names of her lovers, yet he couldn't bear the thought of another man's hand touching her. It tortured him wherever he went, whatever he did. That he could have rid himself of her troubling presence was a possibility he had never considered. By the mere act of turning her out of Greenbrier, he could have relieved himself of the torturous sight of her, but the thought of life without her, the notion that she would go somewhere else, might belong to someone else, was a worse torment than the images that already plagued him.

The house was silent as he entered the central hall through the back door. The silence in itself was not unusual. Everyone was making a point of staying out of his way of late. He had been a bastard to live with; even he did not dispute that. But the tension in the air was almost as nerve-wracking as anything any of the servants or Ariel or even Robbie could have done.

He heard footsteps on the stairs and looked up to find Ariel leaning over the rail. Her hair was tousled and her new riding habit wrinkled. Her eyes looked red and puffed.

"Have you been crying?" he asked.

She looked away. "Whatever made you think so?"

He sighed. Couldn't anyone give him a simple, honest answer anymore? "What's wrong?" Ariel only shrugged. "Where's Robbie?"

Those two little words brought the crimson flush of anger into Ariel's pale cheeks. "With her lover!" she hissed.

Golden fires blazed in Court's eyes. "What the devil are you talking about?" he demanded.

"Brock! I'm talking about Brock Demorest! I hate him! I hate Robbie!" Taking up her skirts, she whirled to flee back to her room. But Court bounded up the stairs and caught her on the landing. Seizing her arm, he swung her around.

"Explain yourself!" he ordered fiercely.

"I went riding," she whimpered, trying vainly to free her aching arm from his numbing grasp. "I asked Robbie to go with me. She wouldn't. When I came back I saw Brock's new carriage standing in front of the house. I came in. He and Robbie were in the librarythey were making love."

"Making love!" Court's voice trembled with fury. "He was making love to her!"

Ariel frowned. She wasn't quite sure exactly what "making love" entailed, but judging from Court's reaction, perhaps it was more than what she had seen. "Well, he was kissing her," she qualified. ''He was holding her. I heard him tell her he loved her." Her voice caught in her throat. "I went up to my room. When I came down they had gone."

"Brock and Robbie? Alone?"

"Yes. Alone. In his carriage." The hot, salt tears spilled down her satiny cheeks once more. "I hate them, Court! I hate them both! I never want to see them again!"

Court released his sister's arm. Brockhis best friend. It wasn't possible, and yet . . . Had Brock been the first lover in Robbies life? Or merely the first in Virginia? Had she let him make love to her? Ariel had seen them together . . .

"Court?" Ariel tugged at her brother's sleeve. "Court, I don't want to stay here anymore. Can't I go to visit Aunt D'Arcy in Williamsburg? Court, are you listening?"

"What was that?" He looked up, as though surprised to find her still there.

"I said I want to visit Aunt D'Arcy."

"Yes. All right. We'll talk about it when I get back."

"Where are you going?" She leaned over the railing as he took the stairs two at a time. "Court! Where are you going?"

Her only reply was the slamming of the back door as he left the house.

The clearing was surrounded by forest, making it seem isolated, somehow a magical place where wild flowers grew in the soft, fragrant grass and rabbits and chipmunks scampered in the undergrowth. Robbie smiled as Brock tickled her ear with a long blade of grass.

"You had all this planned from the start, didn't you?" she accused, but her eyes were soft and her expression one of lazy contentment.

Brock looked down at the blanket upon which they sat and the hamper of food he'd had his housekeeper pack and store in the back of his carriage.

"Now whatever makes you think so?" he asked, sublimely innocent. "You are shamefully suspicious, Mistress Fitzalan."

Robbie laughed. "And they accuse women of being devious schemers!"

"Would you like some more wine?"

She shook her head. "I couldn't eat another bite or drink another drop." She glanced up at the summer sky. "Oh, look! A dog!"

"A what?" He looked up mystified.

"A dog. Well, a puppy, really. There, in the clouds." She sighed. "When I was a child I used to lie in the grass for hours and try to find shapes in the clouds. Sometimes I'd find a ship and pretend it was my father coming home."

"Your father was a seaman?"

Robbie looked away. "He captained his own ship."

"In the Royal Navy?"

"It was a private enterprise, actually."

"What happened?"

Robbie bit her lip. "He's buried at sea."

"I'm sorry. And your mother?"

"She died when I was born." A wistful little smile touched her lips. "My father said I was very like her."

"Then she must have been very beautiful."

Robbie lifted her eyes to Brock's face, and the adoration there made her wish she were the kind of woman a man like him should have for a wife. But she wasn't, and even if she were, the fact of the matter was that she did not love Brock. She loved . . . loved . . .

She forced that thought out of her mind and lay back on the blanket. "Find me a shape in the clouds," she told Brock. "I'll wager I can find one before you can."

"I'll bet you can," he agreed, his voice husky as he leaned over her.

Robbie gazed up at him, and when he leaned down and touched his lips to hers, she sighed and slid her arms about his neck.

At the edge of the clearing, not far from where he had tethered his horse, Court watched themhis best friend and the woman his foolish heart had chosen to love. It was true! They were lovers! How long had they been carrying on beneath his very nose! Why had he been so blind as to miss the looks, the touches that must have passed between them?

Retracing his steps, he mounted his horse and turned him back in the direction of Greenbrier. Hatred and a lust for vengeance roiled in his heart. He would deal with Brock in good time, but first . . . first he would deal with herthat treacherous, betraying little slut he'd been fool enough to pluck from her pirates' isle.

As he turned his horse into the lane that led to Greenbrier, a plan was already forming in his mind.

21

Gently but firmly, Robbie pushed Brock away. "We mustn't," she told him. "I can't."

He moved away, his eyes, his face, his voice filled with infinite regret. "You know I'd never try to force you to do anything."

She touched his cheek, her fingers outlining the cleft there that deepened when he smiled. "I know that." Standing, she shook out her sea-green, lutestring skirts. "Perhaps we should go now. It must be getting late."

While she drew on her scarf, Brock packed away the remnants of their picnic. With the blanket folded over his arm, he walked her back to the carriage and helped her inside.

"How long will you stay at Greenbrier?" he asked as they rode back along the shady lanes that had brought them to the enchanted clearing.

"I don't know," she answered honestly. "I may be leaving soon."

"To return to England?" "I don't know. All I know is that I may not be able to stay at Greenbrier much longer."

"You know you'd always be welcome at Avondale," he offered, almost shyly.

Robbie squeezed his arm. "You're too kind to me, Brock. And I will come to you if I need help."

"Is that a promise?"

She smiled up into his shining eyes. "That's a promise."

She refused his offer to see her into the house and stood on the steps watching as he turned the carriage around and disappeared down the tree-shaded drive. When she opened the door, though, she wished she had not dismissed him so casually.

Mae, the upstairs maid, met her at the door.

"Mr. Court and Miss Ariel are gone," the maid told her, her voice quavering. She seemed to be hovering on the very brink of hysteria. "They took Elvira with them!"

"Court and Ariel are gone? Where did they go?"

"To Williamsburg. Mr. Court is taking Miss Ariel to visit her aunt there."

"And Elvira?"

Mae shrugged. "I don't know why he took her. But I'm supposed to run the house! Oh, Miss Robyn! I don't know how to run a house!"

Robbie pressed the girl's trembling hand. "Don't worry about it, Mae. If I know Elvira, the house is so well organized it will run itself until she gets back. Did Court say when they'd be back?"

"No. But it seemed like he was leaving Miss Ariel and Elvira there and coming back by himself."

Though she didn't know precisely why it should, the thought of Court's deliberately taking Ariel and Elvira away, then coming back to be alone with her frightened her. She looked toward the door. An insane impulse to run after Brock, to beg him to take her away to the safety of Avondale, gripped her. But she resisted. After all, there was nothing to fear from Court, was there? Was there?

Though she tried, as she climbed the stairs to her room, to convince herself that the trip to Williamsburg had likely been in the planning stages for some time, she couldn't rid herself of the nagging feeling of impending danger. Even when she had bathed and climbed into bed for the night the feeling was there. It was a long, lonely time before she managed to slip off to sleep.

It seemed only moments later that she woke with a violent start. She sat up in the darkness, trembling, though she didn't know why. She listened, though for what she wasn't sure. Then . . .

There! A thud. As of something heavy being dropped onto the floorsaved from shattering by the thick, cushioning carpet.

Throwing back the coverlet, Robbie climbed down from her bed. She tiptoed to her door and eased it open. A lamp burned on a hall table. At the far end of the wide hall, Court's door stood half open, but the room itself was dark.

"Court's back," she murmured, wondering why the thought of his return filled her with such dread.

She skittered across the hall to Ariel's door and opened it. The room was empty. Court had come back alone. Her apprehension grew into something close, very close, to fear, and yet some perverse instinct drew her to the head of the stairs.

One by one, she descended the stairs. As her foot came to rest on each and every tread, some small, warning voice told her to retreatshe advanced, despite the warnings within her. It was as if she knew this moment had to come. If not tonight, then tomorrow. A confrontation between them was inevitable. She longed to have it over and done with.

Light spilled through the half-open door of the library. It was a weak light, as from a single guttering candle, but it shone like a beacon in the darkness of the downstairs hall. Robbie went to it, pushed open the door, and saw Court.

In his shirt-sleeves, he sprawled in a chair near the fireplace. A bottle, half full of Jamaican rum, hung in his hand. A second, the source of the thud she had heard, lay at his feet, the dregs of the emptied bottle leaving a trail on the fine Persian carpet where it had rolled after falling.

Court lifted the bottle to his lips, but before he could drink he saw her there, framed in the doorway, her filmy nightrail swirling about her. He lowered the bottle slowly and an ugly, leering smile crept across his face.

"Well, who have we here?" he muttered, a sneer in his voice.

"You're drunk," she hissed, disgusted.

"Am I? Don't you think I have a right to be?"

Robbie lifted her chin, haughty as a princess. "I don't know what you mean."

"'I don't know what you mean.' " He mocked her tone perfectly, cruelly. "What a fine lady you've become. Particularly considering what you were to start withand what you still are beneath that fine veneer you've acquired."

"Are you saying it's somehow my fault that you're drunk?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying. And you know it!"

Robbie's sigh was filled with exasperated impatience. "Any time you'd like to explain what the hell you're talking about, Court . . ." "I'm talking about you, you little slut!" His eyes blazed with shimmering, golden fires. "I'm talking about taking you into my home, caring for you, supporting you, dragging your worthless ass all the way to Charles Town just so you could say good-bye to that no-account criminal who sired you. And all the while, you were playing the bitch with my best friend!"

Robbie listened in amazement, and Court raised his bottle once more. "You're out of your mind," she snarled. "We'll talk about this when you're sober."

"We'll talk about this now!" Shoving himself to his feet, Court flung the bottle away to smash against the fine carving of the mahogany mantel.

Robbie took a step back, then another, but as she whirled to flee, Court leapt forward and slammed the door with a deafening crash that drowned her terrified scream.

"How long have you been lying with Brock?" he demanded. "Did it start as soon as we arrived? A week later? A month?"

"I've never lain with Brock!"

"Don't lie to me!" His thundering shout echoed in the room, setting the very lustres on the chandelier atremble. "Ariel saw you together!"

"Ariel mistook what she saw!"

"I saw you together!"

"Then you mistook what you saw! Brock is not my lover! He has never been my lover!"

"Then who!"

Her eyes met his defiantly. "You. Only you. Aboard the Juletta."

He gave a derisive snort. "That! That wasn't your first time, Robbie. Good God! I tried to be so careful, so considerate. I didn't want to hurt you. But then . . ." He shook his head, cursing himself for every kind of a fool. "You loved it, didn't you? Like any good whore. Who was the first, Robbie? LeClerc? One of the other wretches on Montebello? How many of your father's men passed through your bed before I, fool that I was, took you away from that hell-hole?"

Robbie stared at him, confused. Then, abruptly, she understood. He still didn't know it had been her in his bed that first time. He still thought it had been Louise! She was being condemned as a whore for not being a virgin when he himself had taken that prize. The utter absurdity of it all brought a hollow, mirthless laugh bubbling to her lips.

Court's fury tripled. "By God, don't you laugh at me, you little bitch! You've made a fool"

"No!" she screamed. "You've made a fool of yourself, Court Lennox! You don't know anything! Nothing! And I'll be damned if I'll listen to any more of your drunken rantings!"

She tried to leave, but he seized her arm and sent her sprawling on the carpet, her head narrowly missing the sharp edge of a gilded table.

"Don't tell me what you don't have to do," Court growled, towering over her. "You'll do anything I tell you." His eyes glittered with hard, uncompromising savagery. "Anything!"

Robbie lay on the carpet, sprawled at his feet. One look into his stormy face was enough for her to realize the futility of any hope of escape. Her eyes, wide and haunted, followed his fingers as one by one they loosed the buttons of his shirt. When they moved lower, to his breeches, she moaned and edged away, cringing on the rug.

"It's useless to try to get away," he told her, his voice low and dangerous. "Useless."

And yet she had to try. Rolling over, she scrambled to her feet and stumbled away. In an instant Court was upon her, bearing them both to the floor, landing atop her with enough force to drive the very breath from her body, leaving her weak, stunned, helpless. She felt him against her, felt him seeking entrance into her. She struggled, her anger giving way to fear, her fear to terror. She twisted, writhing like a mad thing, but he was too large, too powerful. A scream, high and wild, tore out of her as he thrust himself inside her.

When at last it was done Court climbed to his feet and stood over her. He glared down, his face a mask of contempt and disgust, at the huddled, miserable form curled like a wounded animal on the carpet.

''Is that what you're used to, you little bitch?" he snarled, wiping the sweat from his flushed face with his shirt sleeve. "Is that the way they do it on Montebello Island?"

Without waiting for an answer, he strode away. Robbie, lying dazed and sickened where he'd left her, scarcely heard his uneven footfalls as he stumbled up the stairs.

It was mid-morning when a teary-eyed Mae admitted Brock Demorest to the hall at Greenbrier.

"Where's your master?" he asked, assuming her tears were the result of some dressing-down she'd gotten for a chore ill done.

"Mister Court is still abed, sir," the girl replied.

"Abed?" Incredulous, Brock consulted his watch. "At this hour?" The girl nodded, her chin quivering anew. "Well, where is Miss Robyn? Surely she's not still abed."

Mae sniffled, dabbing at her eyes with the corner of her apron. "No, sir. Miss Robyn is in her room. Packing."

"Packing! To leave?"

"Aye, sir." Mae scrubbed at her nose with the back of her hand. "But she didn't say anything about leaving when I saw her yesterday."

"I know, sir. Nor to me. But something happened last night. Something fearful. I heard terrible sounds, shouting and screaming. I was too afraid to come down from the attic, but this morning there was a fearful mess in the library. And Mister Court, he were sprawled across his bed, stinking of rum, and Miss Robyn be packing to leave."

"Which room is hers?"

"End of the hall, sir." Mae pointed to a place on the ceiling that coincided with Robbie's room.

Brock took the stairs two at a time and knocked at Robbie's closed and bolted door.

"Who is it?" she asked from within, and there was an edge to her voice, a note of fear and of loathing, like nothing Brock had ever heard before.

"It's Brock," he replied. "Are you all right? Mae said you were leaving."

There was the sound of a key being turned, then it stopped. "Are you alone?" she asked.

"Yes, quite alone. Why?"

The door opened, but by the time Brock had entered the room, Robbie had turned her back to him. "I thought perhaps Court was with you."

Brock looked around at the half-packed trunks and the armoires and chests standing open. "No, Court's still in bed."

Robbie's lip curled in repugnance. "Still sleeping it off, no doubt!"

"Where are you going, Robbie?" Brock asked, wishing she would look at him, wondering why she so studiously avoided facing him.

"Away," she answered simply. "As far away from here as I can get!"

"I thought you liked it here." "That was before . . ."

"Before what?"

She remained silent, and he reached out and took her arm to pull her toward him. Robbie winced, paled, and Brock saw the livid bruises that marred the soft, tawny skin of her forearm.

"Good God! Who did this!" He was clearly appalled that anyone would handle so delicate a creature with such callous cruelty.

"Who indeed," she snapped, jerking her arm out of his grasp. "Why not ask Court?"

"Court!" Brock was stunned. For the first time he noticed the bruising of her lips, the purple-red marks on her throat, the slight stiffness that marked all her usually graceful movements. His normally swarthy skin paled. "You can't mean to say that Court . . ."

Robbie eyed him defiantly, though her mind, her pride, and her heart were all far more bruised than her body. "I can. And he did," she answered simply, quietly.

Brock sank into a chair. For a long time his mind simply could not grasp the fact that his friend, his best friend from childhood, could be capable of such wanton viciousness, such violence toward a woman.

"But where was Ariel? Where was Elvira? Why wouldn't anyone help you?"

Robbie tucked the lacy edge of a petticoat into a trunk. "He took them away. Yesterday. He took Ariel to visit an aunt in Williamsburg and sent Elvira as her companion." A sour smile twisted her lips. "It was just an excuse to get them out of the house."

"But the other servants?"

"The other servants sleep in the attics. They're all so in awe of Court that they wouldn't come down without his permission if he set the house afire."

Brock shook his head, troubled. "I can't believe it of Court. Why would he do such a dreadful thing?"

Wearily, Robbie pushed down the lid of a trunk and sat on it. "He saw us together yesterday. He believes we are lovers."

"I'll talk to him. I'll tell him the truth."

Robbie waved a hand toward the door. "He's in his room at the other end of the hall. Passed out. Dead drunk. Even when he wakes up he'll have the disposition of a wounded bear."

"Then I'll wait until he's sober. But I'll tell him."

"It won't do you any good." She sighed. "He won't believe you. And even if he did, he'd only accuse me of lying with someone else." Gingerly, she massaged the stiff muscles of her shoulders. "It won't make any difference either way. I'm leaving, Brock. I can't stay here. Not now."

Brock leaned forward eagerly. "Then come with me!" I'll take you away from here. Now, before Court wakes up."

"To Avondale?" She shook her head. "I can't live with you. You must see that."

"To my great-aunt's, then. She likes you and she longs for company. Say you'll come."

"I don't know." She frowned, troubled. "Perhaps it would be better if I simply went away."

"Is that what you want?"

Looking into the liquid depths of his dark eyes, Robbie knew it wasn't what she wanted. She wanted to be here, in Virginia, in Yorktown. God help her, she thought, filled with self-loathing, she wanted to be at Greenbrier! Flushing, she looked away. "No," she admitted, her voice a harsh whisper. "It isn't what I want."

"Then come to Minerva's. Try it for a while. If it doesn't work, then we'll talk about something else."

Robbie leaned her head back against the edge of the high bed. Perhaps it would be for the best, a voice told her. A quiet time away from Greenbrier, away from Court. A time to think. To heal. At last, she nodded.

"All right, I'll come, if you think your Aunt Minerva will take me in."

"I know she will. Finish packing. I'll get a wagon hitched in the stables. We want to be away before Court comes around."

Brock left, and Robbie redoubled her packing efforts. She didn't feel the least bit guilty about taking the expensive wardrobe Court had paid for. He owed her that much and more, so much more, for the pain, both physical and mental, he had put her through the night before.

22

"Are you sure your Aunt Minerva won't mind my appearing on her doorstep this way?" Robbie asked for the dozenth time as they approached the neat little house on the outskirts of Yorktown.

"I'm sure." Brock pulled on the reins and steered the wagon to the front of Minerva's house. "Here we are. Why don't I go in first and explain the situation?"

He leapt down from the wagon and turned to lift Robbie down. As he would have started away, she caught at his sleeve.

"Must you tell her . . . everything?" she whispered, her cheeks on fire, her eyes fastened to a point somewhere on his chest.

Brock slipped a finger beneath her chin and tilted her face up to his. "Listen to me, Robbie. You have nothing to be ashamed of. What Court did was wrong. You have nothing to feel guilty about. I think I should tell Minerva everything. You need not worry. Though she likes to gossip, on matters such as these she is the soul of discretion." Robbie nodded her reluctant assent, but as Brock strode toward the house she knew she could not move into Minerva Gilmore's hometake advantage of her generosityunless she were totally honest with her, and with Brock himself.

The minutes dragged by until at last Robbie heard the door open. She looked around to find Minerva bustling toward her, followed closely by Brock.

"My dear girl," the old woman said, enveloping Robbie in her rose-scented embrace. "Of course you must stay here; I would be delighted with your company." Her blue eyes grew soft with compassion. "We'll keep you safe here, my dear."

Robbie's answering smile was tremulous. She brushed back a curl disarranged by the wind off the river and took a deep breath before going on.

"Before you invite me to live with you," she told Minerva, "before you are so generous with me, there is something about me you must know."

"Brock told me, dear."

"No. Not this. Even Brock doesn't know this." She stole a glance at him and found him frowning, curious. "I'm not who Court told you I was. I'm not Robyn Fitzalan. I'm no relation to Court and Ariel, even by marriage. I've never been to England."

"But Court said . . ." Brock began.

"Yes, I know what Court said. But that was only a tale he made up to protect me. And himself. My name is Robyn Tremonte. Black Jack Tremonte was my father."

Ignoring the stunned looks on both their faces, Robbie told them briefly how she had met Court and how he had taken her away from Montebello when they had thought her father was dying. She did not detail how Court had come to Montebello in the first place. It might not sit well with the pirate-hating people of Yorktown to know that one of their own had rescued a notorious pirate from certain death on the open ocean and taken him home where he could recover and live to plunder again.

When she finally finished she steeled herself, expecting to be ordered off Minerva Gilmore's land. Instead, the old woman clasped her hands over her chest. Her eyes shone with excitement.

"Jack Tremonte! You are the daughter of Black Jack Tremonte!"

Brock's usually ruddy complexion seemed to have lost a considerable amount of color. "The trip to Charles Town!" he breathed, astonished. "They hanged Jack Tremonte!"

"And most of his crew," Robbie confirmed. "Court took me to say good-bye. I had no idea my father was alive; I thought he had died of gangrene on Montebello. Court bribed the guards at the Provost in Charles Town so that I could see my father one last time. Then, after the"she drew a deep, shuddering breath"after the hanging, Court bribed the grave-diggers to let him have my father's body. We buried him at sea."

"How exciting!" Minerva breathed. "How romantic! I simply can't believe it! Black Jack's daughter!" She squeezed Robbie's arm. "You must tell me everything, my dear, everything!"

Robbie's relief was mixed with bewilderment. "But I thought you hated pirates, Minerva."

The old woman waved a wrinkled hand. "Oh, posh! Everyone hates pirates! It's expected! After all, the wretches wreak all kinds of havoc. They make perfect nuisances of themselves. One could hardly go about saying one liked pirates. It would be like saying one liked floods or epidemics. But everyoneeveryone, I tell youwonders what they're really like! Come along; my dear." She took Robbie's arm. "You must tell me everything."

The two women started toward the house and Minerva waved a dismissing hand toward Brock. "Bring in Robbie's things, dear," she ordered absently. "Now . . ." She leaned her head close to Robbie's and lowered her voice to an excited whisper. "Tell me. Is it true that Blackbeard has fourteen wives?"

Behind them, Brock watched the women enter the house. He was stunned, unable to quite comprehend just how it had come about that he had gone from playing beau to a duke's cousin to playing gallant to a pirate's daughter.

He was still trying to puzzle it out in the early evening when he sat in the exquisite front parlor of Avondale where the pale blue wainscoting perfectly complemented the hand-painted French wallpaper above.

There was a knock at the door and Mrs. Hatch, Avondale's housekeeper, appeared.

"Mr. Lennox is here asking to see you, sir," she announced.

"Show him in."

Court appeared, looking worse than Brock had ever seen him. His clothes were rumpled, his hair in wild disarray, his face stubbly and drawn, and from the way he blanched when Mrs. Hatch slammed the parlor door, it was apparent that he was suffering with a hangover that would have felled an ox dead in its tracks.

"You look like hell," Brock told him bluntly. "Would you like a drink?"

"I don't want anything from you," Court snarled. "Except Robbie."

Unperturbed, Brock poured himself some rum, all the while eyeing Court with obvious disdain. "She's not here."

"I don't believe you. Mae, my maid, said you took her from Greenbrier."

"And so I did. But I didn't bring her here. Did you really think I would? Did you imagine I would ask her to live with me?" He studied Court over the rim of his tankard. "Yes, I can see that you did. Why? So I could rape her?"

"Why should you have to?" Court hissed. "You're already her lover!"

Brock slammed the tankard down onto the polished tabletop and rose, trembling with anger. His dark eyes flashed, and only the long years of friendship that had formed a bond like brotherhood between the two men kept him from flying at Court.

"You're an idiot if you believe that," he snarled. "And now I think you'd better leave my houseand my property."

"Not before you tell me where she is."

"Why should I? After what you've done?"

"Aren't you the gallant swain?" Court sneered. "Ever the gentleman. Who do you think you're protecting? Robyn Fitzalan?"

"Robbie Tremonte." Brock relished the shock on Court's face. "Yes, she told me the truth. Did you think she wouldn't? Better a pirate's daughter than a rapist's cousin!"

Court's face flushed scarlet. His fists were white and straining. "Goddammit, Demorest, when I want a lecture from you, I'll ask for it! Now where is she?"

"She's at Minerva's and yes, Minerva knows the truth about her too. And, in case you're wondering, she's delighted. But Robbie doesn't want to see you."

"Why don't we let Robbie decide that?" Wheeling, Court strode out of the house and leapt on his horse. As he galloped off down the graveled drive of Avondale, Brock wondered if he should go after him to protect Robbie. But no, he decided, with Minerva's help and that of Minerva's loyal servants, Robbie would be safe from anything Court should decide to try.

Minerva and Robbie looked up from the flower bed they were weeding as the hoofbeats of Court's stallion echoed along the lane.

''Go into the house, dear," Minerva instructed. "I'll send the young scalawag packing."

"No," Robbie disagreed softly. "I'll speak to him."

Minerva pursed her wrinkled lips. "As you wish, dear, but Thomas and I will be within earshot." She arched a glance at her hulking, indentured handyman, who nodded gravely.

Though Robbie privately doubted whether it would be necessary to call upon the huge, dim-witted, though undeniably well-meaning Thomas for help, he was certainly worth having around for intimidation's sake, if nothing else.

Court threw himself off his horse and stormed toward her, but Robbie held her ground. It pleased her to see how dreadful he looked. She could only hope he felt worse.

"Don't you touch me, Court," she warned as he came toward her.

He stopped a few feet from her, and she saw the flicker of guilt, of remorse, in his golden eyes as he noted the finger-size bruises on her arms where she had rolled up the sleeves of her gown.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"I should think that would be obvious. I'm living here. You couldn't really expect me to stay at Green-brier, could you?" "What happened last night"

"Happened. I don't want to talk about it, Court. I don't want to hear about it. I don't want to think about it."

"It won't happen again."

"You're damned right it won't. Because I'm not going to let it!"

"Come back to Greenbrier," he said softly, forlornly.

Robbie tried to steel her heart against him. "You must be insane to even think I would go back."

"Robbie . . ."

She turned her back to him. "Go away, Court. Go and marry your precious Juletta Kearny. God forbid she ever finds out just what a first-rate bastard you can be."

"Is that the way you truly feel?"

The plaintive note in his voice tore at her heart, but she nodded. "It is."

There was a long, tense silence until Court rasped: "Then to hell with you! They may coddle you and pet you here, Robbie, but only because you're a novelty. The pirate girl! Like the six-toed cat. That's all you are to them."

"And what am I to you?"

She didn't dare look up at him even when he replied, "You're nothing to me! Not a damned thing!"

She forced her voice to be strong and true; buried her trembling hands in the folds of her skirt. "Then why don't you go away and leave me alone?"

"I will! By God, I will!"

Robbie didn't even hazard a glance as Court stormed away. She didn't look back as he galloped off up the lane. But the tears welled in her eyes and her treacherous heart cried out for the tenderness he had shown her aboard the Juletta after her father's hanging.

"What did he want, dear?" Minerva asked, squinting up the lane as Court disappeared around a bend.

"He wanted me to go back to' Greenbrier," she said softly.

"Go back! After what he did!" Minerva snorted derisively. "Is he mad?"

"One of us is," Robbie murmured, more to herself than to the old woman at her side. "But I'm not sure which."

23

The days and weeks passed pleasantly, lazily for Robbie as she settled into the routine of life with Minerva Gilmore. They spent their days walking and talking, paying calls on the citizens of Yorktown who, although curious about Robbie's sudden departure from Greenbrier, nevertheless seemed to accept the explanation that Minerva needed a companion more than Court Lennox needed a house guest.

And there was Brock. He came to visit every day, generally took at least one meal with his great-aunt and Robbie, and, as soon became a tradition, came for them in his carriage, drawn by a magnificent pair of matched greys, and drove them to church.

It was there that they most often came face to face with Court. He, accompanied most Sundays by Juletta and Ariel, who had returned from Williamsburg, arrived and sat near Brock, Minerva, and Robbie. But except for the briefest of pleasantries, performed primarily for the benefit of the curious and the eager gossips, they had little to say to one another. Though Robbie could often feel Court's gaze lingering on her, she was careful never to return his glances. But she was all too aware of his presence, of his nearness, of his fatal attraction for her. And she knew, beyond all doubt, that he still felt the powerful pull that had existed between them even from Robbie's days as his lowly cabin boy.

For Juletta's part, she was delighted to have Court dancing such lavish attention on her. But she was piqued at the loss of Brock, who had eyes for no one these days but Court's "cousin." Brock's defection cut her pride and Juletta, though recognizing Court as the richer prize, was not about to let Robbie have the satisfaction of having stolen one of her beaux.

From the moment of Ariel's return from Williamsburg, she pestered the girl for information about Robbie. There was something, she was sure, that she could use to ruin her, and she was sure Ariel knew what it was. But Ariel, angry though she was at Brock's infatuation for Robbie, refused to provide the kind of sordid gossip Juletta wanted. It was all incredibly frustrating for her, and frustrated Juletta was like a wounded lionessdoubly dangerous.

Robbie was never sorry for these public ordeals to end. She was never sorry to close the door of her little room at Minerva's and relax, away from Court's resentful yet yearning gazes, away from Ariel's hurt, accusatory glances, away from Juletta's calculating, malevolent glares, and yes, away from Brock's adoring, eyes that seemed to follow her everywhere, wanting so much more than she could ever give him.

It was a strain on her already frayed nerves to see Court in the daytimeto be cool to him; polite, cordial strangers. But it was the nights that were the worst torment to her.

It happened for the first time not long after she moved in with Minerva. It was a warm, scented summer night and though Minerva, like most, believed that the night air off the river was harmful to delicate lungs, Robbie longed for fresh, moisture-laden air, particularly that of the night, which seemed to carry with it the perfume of a thousand dark mysteries.

That night, Robbie had awakened. Night birds were singing; their music wafted into her room on the breezes that stirred the crewelwork draperies at her window. She gazed toward the window, where the shadows of trees danced in the silvery moonglow. For a while she watched the patterns undulate, gracefully, sensually, their everchanging silhouettes fascinated her. Then she heard it. Soft, so soft she couldn't be sure . . . It came again. The low nickering of a horsea restless, impatient sound, like the noises her own beloved Tobias used to make when she'd sat atop the coral cliffs of Montebello for hours watching for some sign of her father's ship.

She'd thrown back the coverlet and slipped down from the high bed. Her feet made no sound on the carpet as she crossed to the window. The draperies stirred and reached out toward her, enveloped her, drew her closer.

At first she saw nothing, only the trees and the stars and the black and silver river in the distance. Then she heard it againthe horse. Her eyes peered into the darkness. She saw it. The gleaming white horse was bathed in the shimmering moonlight. He was tethered to a tree and moved restlessly, wanting to be away, tired of the endless waiting.

A little thrill that was equal parts excitement and despair shivered through her. She knew the horse. It was Court's magnificent, snowy stallion. And Court . . . He was there, leaning against the tree, a long blade of grass in his teeth, gazing, simply gazing, at the house. She drew back. Had he seen her? She chanced another look, peering between the draperies. Still he stood; still he watched.

Robbie's heart Pounted. What did he want? What would happen if she went to him? Somehow she felt sure she knew what he wanted. From the first there had been a bond between them. A mere attraction at first, but it had grown to an obsession as powerful on her part as on his. Despite what had happened between them at Greenbrier, despite the fact that she knew it could never be anything more than an affair of the senses, she yearned for him, longed for his touch, his possession.

Pride alone kept her from abandoning all caution and going out to him. He thought her beneath him, for he was the great Courtland Lennox, master of Greenbrier, descended of English gentry, brother to a duchess, and she was a mere slip of a girl, a "pirate's whelp," as he was so fond of putting it. The thought of the superior, self-satisfied look that would gleam in his golden eyes at the thought of her running out to him in the night-shrouded forest held her back, tempered her desire, sent her back to the safety of her solitary bed within the chaste confines of Minerva Gilmore's home.

But the days, and the nights, passed, and more often than not Robbie would lie awake in the darkness listening for the soft whinny, the restless nicker that told her Court had returned. Some nights she would merely lie in the darkness imagining him there, seeing in her mind's eye the tall, broad-shouldered man standing in the shadow of a spreading oak, gazing watchfully toward the house he dared not approach. Other nights she would rise and go to the window. Peering out from the concealing shelter of the draperies, she would watch him, heart pounding, blood stirring, her every nerve attuned to the longing in him.

She began to look back with fondness to the nights when nightmares of that last, ugly night at Greenbrier would leave her trembling, drenched with perspiration, sleepless for hours, only to fall into a light, fitful sleep as dawn's first fingers crept across the sky. Even those vivid, terrifying nightmares were preferable to the hauntingly erotic dreams she'd begun to havedreams in which she left the house and went to Court. Dreams in which they made passionate, magical love in the moonlight. Dreams that left her quivering, restless, her very blood on fire with need for him.

That she would one day give in to the powerful lure of Court's yearning and her answering need was inevitable. It needed only a catalyst to set it in motion.

That catalyst came on a hot July Sunday when the congregation had gathered after services to toast the proud parents of a newly christened son. Lemonade in hand, they wished the child long life and prosperity. As Robbie raised her glass to drink, she suddenly realized that Court was beside her. When he'd come, how he'd appeared so unexpectedly, she did not know. But there he was, and the spark of their mutual desire seemed to crackle between them. She looked up as she lowered her glass and found him staring at her. His eyes were like molten amber, and the heat of his stare seared her tender, prickling flesh. For a moment they were adrift in time, in space, their only reality each other. Court lifted a hand to touch her and she trembled. With a gentle, caressing finger, he took a drop of lemonade from the pink fullness of her lower lip. Unbidden, Robbie's tongue flickd out, and she tasted the warm saltiness of his skin.

Then the moment was gone. They were parted by the crowd. And yet each knew, with a certainty neither could explain, that the die had been cast. And in their pounding hearts each longed for the all-concealing darkness of the coming night when the moment of reckoning would comewhen the aching longing of their bodies would be appeased in the fiery mingling of their flesh.

The evening seemed eternal, but at last the lights were out and Robbie lay in her bed, ears straining for some sound that would herald Court's arrival. She listened to the night birds' songs, the chirruping of the insects attacking Minerva's garden, the gentle whoosh of the wind through the trees outside her window. And then, at last, at long last, she heard itthe dull thud of the horse's hooves on the hard-packed earth, the soft whinny of Court's stallion as he was tethered to a tree.

She slipped out of bed and out of her room, not even bothering to look out the window. It was Courtshe knew it was. She could feel his nearness in every fiber of her body; she could feel his desire calling out to her own.

The wind rippled her nightrail as she made her way barefoot across the lawn to the edge of the forest. There, clad in black, his golden hair catching the moonlight in its glistening strands, he waited, knowing she would come to him, knowing that this moment was as inevitable as the coming of the dawn.

"I've seen you here so many nights," Robbie whispered.

"I know. I've seen you watching from your window."

"What do you want?"

The words hung between them unansweredno answer was necessary. Court's eyes glistened. He reached a hand toward her, and Robbie felt a sweet, aching weakness spreading through the pit of her belly. His fingertips touched her throat, just below her ear, and she trembled. They trailed down her throat, a tortuous, tantalizing path that paused at her collarbone, then followed the low, curving line of her nightrail's neckline, over the gentle swells of her breasts, and up to the other ear.

"Court . . ." she breathed, half of her frightened of his touch, the other half begging for it.

And then, suddenly, they were in one another's arms. Need answered need, desire begat desire; the past, the future, nothing mattered but the moment and the hot, sweet, aching longing that demanded appeasement thenand there.

Locked in a lovers' embrace, they sank to the welcoming softness of the grass at the base of a spreading oak. They needed no preliminaries, for each had savored the raw, dark, savage need of passion for the other on those long, hot nights when pride and anger had kept them apart. There were no sweet murmurings, no promises for days to come, no coy, languid retreats, no coaxing, no demurring. There was only the fierce, driving desirethe ravenous craving of flesh for flesh that forced them onward, upward, inward, to the very edge of ecstacy and beyond, until at last they lay, moonlight gleaming on their sleek, moist bodies, clinging to one another, awed, sated, exhausted.

"Robbie! Robbie! Do wake up!"

Robbie groaned, slitting one reluctant eye. Her body ached as she shifted beneath the coverlet. "Minerva?" she rasped. Something pricked her cheek, and she plucked a twig from her curls. "Minerva, what time is it?"

"Past noon, dear! I've been waiting and waiting for you to come down. I simply cannot wait any longer!"

Yawning, Robbie pushed her tousled curls out of her eyes and leaned up on one elbow. The noonday sun glowed behind the drawn draperies, and yet she felt sleepy, so very sleepy. ''What's wrong?" she asked, realizing that Minerva looked about ready to burst into tears.

"We've had a messenger! From Greenbrier! Oh, hours since!"

"From Greenbrier?" She was wide awake in an instant. "From Court?"

"Yes!"

Minerva held out the missive, and Robbie snatched it from her hand. The seal had been broken and she wondered, with rising panic, if Minerva had read something intended for her eyes alonesomething that might reveal the secret of their tryst in the moonlight.

Opening the message, she scanned the contents. The room tilted, the bright, jewel-toned colors of the crewelwork embroidery on the bed curtains and draperies ran together crazily. Her stomach roiled.

"It can't be," she whispered. "Oh God, it can't be!"

"Whatever is wrong, dear?" Minerva demanded, alarmed by Robbie's sudden pallor. "Hadn't you been expecting it? I thought you had."

Robbie let the finely printed parchment slip from her fingersthe delicately written invitation to the engagement ball of Courtland Lennox and Juletta Kearny.

24

Court's slow smile was one of lazy amusement as he was ushered into Juletta's boudoir, the bowed windows of which overlooked the Kearnys' spectacular garden. The long, oval room was a vision in white and gold; every piece of furniture, every fixture, every bit of plaster-work that could be gilded had been, and then it was draped in fine white silk, itself heavy with intricate golden embroidery.

In the center of it all, like a flawless jewel in a priceless setting, Julleta reclined on a day bed. Her scarlet silk dressing gown was the perfect foil for her golden beauty, a dramatic splash of color in the pristine, glittering chamber.

"Have they moved the dining room up here since last I visited?" Court drawled.

Juletta chose, wisely, to ignore the mockery in his tone. "You didn't really think I invited you here for luncheon, did you, darling? Not after I told you Mama and Papa were off to Williamsburg for a few days."

She shifted on the day bed, allowing her dressing gown to fall open, treating him to an unhampered view of her long, lovely legs. She leaned over to pat the cushions beside her, and her gown slipped from her shoulder, baring one full, luscious breast for a long moment before she smiled coyly and drew the robe closed.

"Come sit here by me, Court," she purred, her eyes slitted, her bee-stung lips pouting an invitation.

Court sat on the edge of the wide day bed facing her. He did not resist as her arms wound about his neck and drew him down. His lips moved over hers, his hands caressed her, but his actions seemed more a matter of habit than desire.

Juletta sensed the difference. "What is it, darling? What's wrong?" She shivered as he slipped a hand inside her robe and toyed with the taut, ruby tip of one breast.

"Nothing's wrong," he said simply, but there was an edge to his voice, a terseness that did not belong between a man and his intendedthe woman he was supposed to love above all others.

"I love you, you know that," she breathed, her fingers working at the complicated knot of his cravat. "Haven't I proved that to you often enough?"

He said nothing, and she felt a little knot of panic pulling taut in the pit of her belly. She had never seen him this way. There had always been an openness between them, a kinship based on mutual desire, mutual admiration, and an understanding, even if not always acknowledged, that one day they would wed. It seemed, and had always seemed, that they were the perfect mates for one another.

But it was different now. Oh yes, Court had proposed as she'd always known he would. But it had seemed almost the act of a desperate man, running for the safety and security of marriage to prevent a mad impulse from driving him to commit some consummate foolishness.

When had he changed? Juletta could name the day. She'd noticed it that first day, when he'd returned from England. On the day they'd docked and she'd gone down to the wharves to meet him, she'd sensed a difference in him. At times he seemed distracted, as though his mind and, though she feared to admit it even in her most private moments, his heart, were somewhere else. She had heard through the courtesy of servants' gossip, always a rich source of information, that Court often left the house late at night, galloping off into the darkness, not to return until the break of day, when he would fall into bed for a few hours' sleep before rising to attend to plantation business.

Where did he go? Whom did he see? The image she most loathed appeared in her mindthe small, freckled face wreathed in red curls. Robbie Fitzalan!

The girl was living at Minerva's now. Could Court be going to her? But no. Minerva would never allow Court and Robbie to carry on an affair beneath her roof. And if they were lovers, why had the girl left Greenbrier? What could be more convenient than keeping one's mistress in one's own house? Her presence there had been accepted. As Court and Ariel's cousin, no one questioned her right to live there.

Juletta scowled, then smoothed her brow before Court could notice. What did it matter? He was hers now. Hers! They were betrothed; they would be married soon. Then no red-haired, freckle-faced bitch could take him from her.

She shrugged her dressing gown from her shoulders and ran her hands slowly, languidly, up the long, hard muscles of his thighs. "Lie here beside me, Court," she whispered. "Make love to me."

She was stunned by the look of complete ennui he wore on his handsome face. His hands closed about her wrists and pulled hers away.

"I'm sorry, Juletta," he said without the least note of regret. "I've just remembered a previous engagement."

"A previous . . ." She pulled on her robe, her nudity seeming somehow foolish in the face of his disinterest. Her eyes fell; she was shocked to discover that there was not the least sign of arousal in him. "But Court!"

"Another day, my dear."

Without another word he strode toward the door, his fingers busily rearranging his shirt and cravat, leaving his fiancée to stare after him, a look of sick foreboding on her beautiful face.

The moment he had left the room, Juletta was on her feet, ringing for her maid. She ordered her riding habit and a horse. She'd find out what this previous engagement was or die trying!

At that same moment, at the edge of a sparkling creek that fed into the York some miles upriver from Yorktown, Robbie and Brock glared at one another, each convinced that the other was being pigheaded to an unusual degree.

"Robbie!" Brock exhorted for what seemed the hundredth time. "Be reasonable!"

Leaning back against the trunk of an ancient, half-dead willow, Robbie rolled her eyes. She was weary of the argument that had been running from the moment Brock had picked her up for an afternoon drive until now, when they had paused near the creek on their way home.

"I don't know why you think I'm not being reasonable," she snapped. "Just because I don't want to go to this stupid ball." Brock came to stand before her. His voice was soft, gentle, but with an underlying edge of impatience. "It's not that you don't want to go. It's why you don't want to go."

"I will explain it to you once more," she ground out, fingernails digging into the bark of the tree, "and then, if you don't mind, I'd like to go home. All this is giving me a headache!" She took a deep breath. "I don't want to go because I have no wish to see Court Lennox, Juletta Kearny, or Greenbrier!"

"It's being held at Windover," Brock corrected.

"God's teeth!" Robbie's cheeks were flushed with anger. As she did in any moment of stress, she reverted to the old, wild, undisciplined hoyden she had been on Montebello. "I don't give a bloody hoot in hell where it's being held, Brock! I don't want to see them! I have to see enough of them both in church or in town. There's no reason for me to deliberately go to Juletta's father's home!" She stalked past him toward the carriage that waited in the lane. "Now could we please have an end to it?"

As she passed, Brock reached out and caught her arm. "Not until you understand. Everyone knew you were living under Court's roof. Most everyone still thinks you are Court and Ariel's cousin by marriage. There's been talk of why you so suddenly left Greenbrier. Speculation. Rumors of a broken romance. If you don't go to the ballif you don't appear and pretend to be happy for Court and Julettaeveryone will say you stayed away from your cousin's ball out of pique and jealousy."

"I don't care what eveyone will say! I don't want to see Court! I hate him! Do you hear me? Hate him!"

The scalding tears came without warning. One moment she was arguing defiantly, the next she was in Brock's arms, weeping helplessly as he held her. "I don't think you hate him at all," Brock disagreed, his own emotions a muddle of compassion for Robbie and melancholy that it should be Court and not him she loved.

"I do hate him," she insisted brokenly.

"You love him."

She pushed out of his arms. "You're wrong!"

She yanked her arm from his grasp but did not attempt to leave him. His voice, low and tinged with a wistfulness that touched her heart, filled her ears.

"If that's true, why don't you go to the ball? Go to Windover with your nose in the air. Show Court how little you care about his marriage to Juletta."

"I don't see the point," she hedged. "I don't have to prove anything. Not to anybody. I know the truth and that's all that matters. I could go if I wanted to. It wouldn't matter to me"

"Unless," Brock continued, as though she had never spoken. "Unless you really do care about Court. Unless you truly can't bear to see him betrothed to Juletta."

"No!" She glared at him, her eyes gleaming like twin emerald fires of anger and resentment. "I don't give a damn what Court does! I've told you that! I'll go to that damned ball and I'll show you and I'll show Court, and I'll show everyone just how little I care what that bastard does!"

She stalked away toward the carriage, and Brock watched her go. He felt an indescribable sadness and he nearly, but not quite completely, resigned himself to the fact that she would never be his. It seemed to him that he had begun to love her on that first night when she had appeared in the hall at Greenbrier. From that moment he had not cared if Court married Juletta, for even that lady's spectacular beauty paled beside the fiery attractions of this obstinate little hoyden. He followed her to the carriage and helped her up.

"Why don't you let me show you Avondale?" he suggested. "You know I've been wanting to."

"Now?" Robbie squinted toward the sun, which was well down in the western sky. "Minerva might worry about us."

"She won't worry as long as she knows you're with me." His dark eyes twinkled mischievously. "Who knows? She might be delighted."

A new thought dawned in Robbie's mind. "You had this planned, didn't you? That's why Minerva suddenly didn't feel up to coming along. Brock! You devious son of a"

"I admit it," he interrupted, still more than a little shocked at the language that fell on occasion from those pretty pink lips. "I discussed it with her. She was quite taken with the idea."

"Minerva is a shameless matchmaker," Robbie stated, trying without much success to hold back the smile that played at the corners of her mouth. "I think the two of you are in league against me."

Brock slapped the reins and they were off, turning in a wide are and heading toward the tree-shaded lane that would take them to Avondale.

"I will admit," he allowed, grinning sheepishly, "that neither Aunt Minerva nor myself would be unduly disappointed if you found you could care for me."

Robbie felt a pang of remorse. Brock cared deeply for her, perhaps even loved her, and yet there seemed only room in her treacherous heart for one manfor Courtcheating bastard that he was!

"I do care for you," she told him, her eyes straying restlessly from a direct confrontation with his.

"But you don't love me."

She toyed nervously with the ribbons of the bonnet she held in her lap. "You're asking for more than I can give you."

He sighed, softly and with great sadness. "I know it. But I can't help hoping."

A troubled frown furrowed her brow. "Sometimes I think it would be better if I simply left Yorktown and . . ."

Brock hauled on the reins, bringing the carriage to a rocking halt. He turned to her, and she was surprised at the depth of distress in his handsome face.

"Don't say that!" he cried, clutching her hand fervently, almost fearfully. "Don't ever go away, Robbie. I'd rather see you with Court than not see you at all!"

The stunned surprise on her face brought him sharply back to his senses. He took up the reins once more.

"Would you rather I took you back to Minerva's?" he asked quietly.

Robbie looked at him askance, affecting an air of flirtatious coquetry she was far from feeling. "Why, Brock Demorest, you promised to show me Avondale! Are you breaking your promise?"

"Do you truly want to see it?" he asked, the eternal note of hopefulness creeping back into his voice.

"I do," she answered honestly. "I truly do."

Brock turned the carriage into the lane that led to Avondale. At the far end, framed in the interlocking branches of an avenue of live oak, Robbie could see the rich red brick house glowing warmly in the sunshine. Avondale was unusual in that it was a mixture of several architectural styles, from the English-bond of the brickwork to the gambrel roof with its Flemish-inspired, flared eaves, to the twin pavilions that flanked it, their turreted tops surmounted by ornate brass weathervanes. White shutters were bright and gleaming against the dark brick, and the walled drive that circled around a garden plot was covered with neatly raked white gravel.

"It's lovely," Robbie complimented sincerely.

Brock beamed with pride as he helped her down from the carriage. With her hand securely in the crook of his arm, he led her into the hall, where the sunlight streaming through a pair of tall, west-facing windows played among the lustres of a long, teardrop chandelier.

"Mrs. Hatch," Brock said as he handed his hat and Robbie's bonnet to the housekeeper, "this is Miss Robbie Fitzalan. I hope she'll be a frequent visitor. She is to be accorded every courtesy we can offer."

Dismissed, the housekeeper left them, and Brock led Robbie into a drawing room, where the creamy walls were bordered with a bright blue that was repeated in the moldings and painted mantel.

"Sit down," he invited. "I'll take you on a tour if you like, but let me speak to Mrs. Hatch first about some supper."

"Don't go to any trouble."

He lifted her hand to his lips. "It's no trouble." He grinned. "How do you know our supper isn't already cooking? Perhaps an intimate, candlelit dinner was a part of my plan."

Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Was it?"

He waggled a comical brow. "You'll never know, my sweet."

They both started as a shout shattered the calm intimacy of the moment.

"Sir? Mist' Demorest!"

"In here, Sadler!" Brock called. "My overseer," he told Robbie.

A man appeared in the doorway. His clothes were splashed with something that could only be blood. Robbie gasped, paling, and Brock moved between them to shield her from the sight. ''Good God, Sadler! What the devil"

"There's been an accident, sir, down at the mill. You'd best come."

"I'm sorry, Robbie," he said, already moving toward the door. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Of course," she murmured, watching them go. When she was alone she wandered about the long, narrow room. She wished, suddenly, that she hadn't come with Brock today. Wished she hadn't allowed him to goad her into agreeing to attend Court and Juletta's ball. What would she do when the betrothal was announced? How would she hide her emotions? Her treacherous heart had a will of its own. She could not force it to cease loving Court any more than she could force her traitorous body to stop aching for him.

She heard footsteps enter the room. "Back so quickly?" she asked, swinging around. "The accident must not have been as bad as"

Framed in the doorway, fair as an angel, his amber eyes glowing like ice on fire, stood Court.

Instinctively, Robbie took a step back, then another.

"Get out!" she ordered.

He arched a taunting brow. "You're not mistress of this house, my dear. It's not for you to order people out of it." He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Or are you? Has Brock proposed? Have you accepted?"

She grasped the back of an armchair for support. "What makes you think I want to speak to you?"

"You're quite right," he agreed, stepping into the room and swinging the door closed behind him. "There are far more enjoyable pastimes. As we have demonstrated in the past."

She held out a hand. "Stay away from me!"

"I can't." He shrugged, sighing. "I've tried. It's impossible." She edged around the chair, putting its ineffectual protection between them. "All I have to do is scream and someone will come! Mrs. Hatch will come."

"Then why don't you scream?"

Robbie backed away as he skirted the chair. Why, indeed? A single cry would have brought someone to her aida shout would have rescued her from the situation. But she made no sound. Her tongue flicked out and wet her lips. Her mouth was dry. Her heart throbbed against her ribs. Her every breath seemed to catch somewhere in her throat.

"Court, please . . ." She cried out as she felt the hard, unyielding wall behind her back. "Please . . ."

His smile was sensual, erotic, diabolical. "You don't have to beg," he breathed, laughing softly as he came to her where she stood, trembling uncontrollably, against the wall.

She moaned as he pressed himself against her, buried his face in the soft, scented, pulsing hollow of her throat. Her hands pushed at his shoulders, slid on the soft cloth of his jacket, yanked at the silky waves of his hair.

He only laughed at herlow, deep in his throat. "You're mine, Robbie," he muttered against the valley of her breasts. "Mine! I'll take you when I please. Where I please. And how I please!"

"No," she sobbed, her body quivering, her senses completely under his control, answering to his every touch, his every caress, his every kiss. "I hate you! God! How I hate you!"

He raised his head and kissed her throat, her cheek, nipped at the pouting softness of her lower lip. "Tell me again."

"I hate you," she wept, loathing herself for her weakness.

"But you want me! Now, here, in Brock's house. You want me!"

"No!" She struggled, but the strength had drained out of her body, leaving her helpless against him. "I don't want you. I don't!"

Taking her hand, he guided it between them to the place where his desire most forcefully manifested itself.

"Tell me now," he hissed in her ear.

The floor seemed to sway beneath Robbie's feet; helpless, she fell against him, at his mercy, wholly subject to his will. She was his to do with as he pleased.

Locked in their battle of willsshe, desolate in her surrender, he, triumphant in his victoryneither heard the door opening on the other side of the room.

"Court Lennox! You rutting bastard! I'll kill you for this!"

Both Robbie and Court started, gasping, and were stunned to find Juletta Kearny bearing down on them like an avenging angel, her riding quirt raised to strike.

Court whirled to ward off the blow and, as he did, Robbie slipped out from behind him. Leaving him to battle his furious fiancée, she fled the drawing room and the house. Stumbling out through the garden, she took refuge in the forest that surrounded the grounds.

She had not gone far into its sheltering darkness before she sank to the base of a gnarled old oak and dissolved into tears that were partly the anguish of knowing how easily her pliant senses gave themselves up to Court's mastery and partly the agony of the unappeased desire that wracked her all too susceptible flesh.

25

As far as Robbie was concerned, a state of war existed between Court and herself. She despised hima fact she reminded herself of a hundred times a day when thoughts of him crept insidiously into her mind from some dark, perverse corner of her brain. There he sat, she told herself bitterly, inside his elegant walls at Greenbrier. One of God's chosen, master of all he surveyed, literally holding the power of life and death over the hundreds of slaves who labored in his fields, pontificating on the rules of etiquette, looking down his aristocratic nose at her because her father had been a pirate, a buccaneer, had raided and plundered and looted. But was he, in his own way, any less ruthless?

And so they were at war. It was to be a war of wills, a war of minds, a war of the senses. It was a war she had no intention of losing.

Sweet thoughts of vengeance played in the pathways of her mind as she rode with Minerva and Brock along a dusty lane two weeks after her visit to Avondale.

"You seem to be in a good mood," Brock observed. "I hadn't thought you would be. Court and Juletta will be at the Kurlands' ball tonight, you know."

"Yes," Robbie murmured, one gloved finger toying with a tassel that hung on the coach window. "I know."

"You didn't want to go to their engagement ball."

Robbie's eyes flashed a warning. "I still don't." She saw the concern leap into Brock's face. "But I will. I have said I will and I have no intention of taking the coward's way out. But this is different. They will be guests. It's not as if the ball is in their honor."

She lapsed into silence, gazing out of the window at the passing scenery. If the truth be known, she was more than a little excited at the prospect of seeing Court for the first time since their meeting at Avondale. By the time Brock had found her in the forest that night, Court and Juletta were long gone. But Brock had described the scene in the drawing room, and she had taken perverse pleasure in the knowledge that although Court had managed to disarm Juletta before she'd done him any grievous injury, she had managed, with the fury of a wronged woman, to inflict several rather respectable bruises on her philandering fiancé Robbie smiled secretively. Tonight, though Court didn't know it, the first battle of their private war would be fought, and it would be fought on neutral ground, within the elegantly paneled walls of Kurland Hall.

Newly completed, the Hall was the home of Tarleton Kurland, scion of the Richmond Kurlands. A lawyer and a member of the House of Burgesses, he and his wife, Jane, a first cousin and member of the North Carolina branch of his distinguished family, had built Kurland Hall on a tract of land left him by his father. The ball would serve not only as a housewarming but to introduce the Kurlands to local society. It was to be attended, so the rumor ran, by Governor Spotswood himself, an old and dear friend of both Tarleton Kurland and his father, the late Banastre Kurland.

The house, sprawling and built of gray stone, was reputedly modeled after the family's ancestral home in Sussex, England. It was approached along a lane lined by ancient oak and walnut trees that were, so it was said, in danger of being replaced by an allée of yews shipped from England at Tarleton Kurland's request.

"But I like the trees," Robbie protested as Brock related this particular bit of gossip.

"Apparently Master Kurland doesn't. He wants to make Kurland Hall as much like England as possible."

Robbie pursed her lips mutinously. She was feeling feisty; she was warming up for her confrontation with Court.

"If he loves England so much," she purred demurely, "why in bloody hell doesn't he go back?"

Minerva choked as she tried to stifle a chuckle, and Brock, as he often did, seemed startled by Robbie's outspokenness.

"Actually, I don't think he's ever been there," Brock told them. "It was his father who emigrated to Virginia long before Tarleton was born."

"I see." Robbie nodded gravely. "It's just that he doesn't want any of us benighted colonials to forget that his family came from the Mother Country, is that it?"

"I suppose so," Brock allowed.

"Well, if they loved it so much, why did they leave?"

"I don't know."

Robbie shrugged, feigning indifference. "Probably chucked 'em out for thievery." She glanced askance at Brock, eyes twinkling with deviltry. "Shall I ask him?"

"Good God, no!" Brock paled at the thought.

"Brock, dear," Minerva soothed, "I think Robbie was only teasing you." Brock settled back against the seat and made a wan attempt at a smile. "Of course she was," he agreed, rather too hastily and too tentatively to be convincing. "I knew that."

"No more was said of the grand affectations of the Kurlands, but Robbie noticed that Brock was looking decidedly nervous when they were admitted to the exquisite white and pink marble entrance hall by a liveried footman and ushered into the Kurlands' presence with all the pomp of a royal presentation.

And, in fact, Tarleton and Jane Kurland gave every appearance of believing that they were the center of some grand ducal, if not actually royal, court.

Dressed in gold brocade, his own red hair covered by an elaborate white full-bottomed wig, Tarleton Kurland lifted first Minerva's then Robbie's hand to his lips. He presented them to his tiny, shy wife Jane, who seemed all but buried under an avalanche of silver lace. The up-standing collar that surmounted the confection reached almost to the top of her high-dressed, powdered hair. Diamonds twinkled in her curls and at her ears and throat and in among the folds of the lace flounces that bobbed on her gown and petticoat. She might have been a pretty creature, in a rather colorless way, but the overpowering magnificence of her attire completely overshadowed her.

Still, if she lacked the air of the strutting peacock her grandoise husband exuded, she behaved with a quiet dignity that spoke even more clearly of her breeding.

Tarleton lingered over Robbie's gloved hand, his green-gold eyes gazing deeply into her own.

"I am told,' he said softly, his voice low and melodious, displaying none of the vibrant power for which his long-winded speeches in the House of Burgesses were noted, "that you are a cousin of the Duke of Brookfield." Robbie hesitated. For a moment she had an overwhelming impulse to tell him the truth. She wondered at the reaction of such a haughty, snobbish man if he discovered just whose hand it was he had been slobbering over for the past five minutes. A rougish light glimmered in her eyes, but it died a premature death when a hand clamped down on her shoulder and an all too familiar voice drawled lazily in her ear.

"Robyn is a second cousin to the duke," Court informed the Kurlands. "Her late father was the duke's first cousin." His fingers tightened painfully on her bare shoulder. "Isn't that right, Robyn?"

With a sweet smile curving her lips and a pleasing twinkle in her eyes, Robbie shifted her foot until the two-inch wooden heel of her silk damask shoe was poised just above his toe. Shifting slightly, she leaned all her weight on it. His sharp gasp of pain was music to her ears.

"That's quite right, Court," she said sweetly. She glanced up at him over her shoulder and feigned surprise at his unusually pale complexion. "Why, cousin! Is something wrong?"

"Nothing at all," he hissed through gritted teeth. His eyes were glittering with suppressed rage as he said to Tarleton Kurland, "Will you excuse us, sir? I've a few matters to discuss with my sweet little cousin."

"What do you want, Court!" she demanded as he took her arm and half dragged her into an anteroom off the exquisite entrance hall.

"You blood-thirsty little bitch!" He sat on the edge of a velvet settee and slipped off his shoe to massage his foot. "Was this supposed to be amusing?"

"It was no more than you deserved for minding my business!"

"Minding your! You little fool! You were going to tell him who you are! Weren't you? Don't tell me you weren't tempted!"

"Maybe I was tempted," she admitted. "It would have saved him right! He's so pompous! So superior!" Her lips curled in malicious glee as Court gingerly rebuckled his shoe. "And you got what you deserved! Now, if you've no more to say . . ."

"I'm not through with you ye"

Before Court could go on, the anteroom door opened and Brock appeared.

"Here you are, Robbie. Court." His nod was noticably cool. The two men's eyes met and held in mutual accusation. "Your fiancée is looking for you."

Smiling, more than a touch of triumph in his very stance, Brock linked Robbie's arm through his and led her from the room. Standing in the deserted anteroom, Court knew that though he had won the hand of the richest, most beautiful woman in Virginia, he was in danger of losing something far more precious in a rivalry he had never expected to be a part of.

As he left the anteroom, his eyes scanned the entrance hall and the long, glittering parlor beyond. Those who saw him, those who knew that he and Juletta Kearny were betrothed, might have thought it was his intended he sought. It wasn't. Juletta, he found with no difficulty. Her glistening fairness, enhanced by a gown of shimmering pink moiré sewn with thousands of tiny pink pearls that matched the strands woven through her curls, stood out amid the glittering throng. No, it was not Juletta for whom he searched. It was Robbie. And when he found herwhen his searching gaze at last picked out her fiery curls in the distancehis eyes narrowed with jealousy and resentment. She was there, in a secluded corner, seated like a queen in a gilded chair, and Brock was still with her, acting the part of her fawning, adoring lacky. She sipped champagne from a glass he held and smiled softly, gently, as Court could never remember her smiling at him.

"Court?" Ariel tugged at her brother's sleeve. "Can you make Pierce Kearny leave me alone?" She frowned when he ignored her. "Court!"

"What is it!"

"You needn't bite my head off! All I ask is that you tell Pierce to leave me alone!"

"It wouldn't hurt you to be nice to him."

Ariel pouted. She opened her mouth to protest but noticed that Court's attention had' once again wandered. Following the direction of his gaze, she discovered who it was he was watching with such intensity.

"You may as well give up," she taunted. "Brock is wooing Robbie."

Court swung toward her, his eyes flashing. "How would you know?"

Ariel looked away. "I've seen the way they are together." She shrugged. "I shouldn't be surprised if there wasn't another betrothal announced before too long."

"Then I should say it might behoove you to be kinder to Pierce," Court snapped, his tone far cooler than any he had ever used with her. It chilled her, frightened her, even as the icy indifference in his eyes made her feel as though she had been cast adrift in unfriendly seas. He continued, his every word clear as crystal and cold as ice. "He may, after all, be the best, perhaps the only prospect you have."

Ariel gaped at him as he turned on his heel and strode away. Tears of hurt and fear welled in her beautiful eyes. Not knowing who else she could turn to, she went in search of Robbie. Her anger at her friend and Brock had long since mellowed into resignation.

She found Robbie on the terrace, a chilled glass of champagne in her hand and Brock at her elbow.

"Robbie! Robbie! You've got to help me!" Though they had exchanged only polite greetings since Robbie had left Greenbrier, there was an edge to the girl's voice now, a note of hysteria that aroused her friend's concern.

''What is it? Calm down, Ariel. Please!"

"I can't calm down!" She shook her head, setting her elegantly arranged curls to bouncing. "You must speak to Court! You must!"

Robbie and Brock exchanged a quick, exasperated glance. "Ariel, I would rather be keel-hauled over a coral reef!".

"Robbie!" She clutched Robbie's arm, upsetting her glass and sending the golden champagne spilling over the flagstones. "Talk to him! I'm begging you! I don't know what's wrong with him!"

"He's an overbearing, arrogant, puffed-up tyrant!" Robbie hissed. "Or is there something new?"

Tears spilled down Ariel's porcelain cheeks and Robbie, sensing Ariel's desperation, dropped her cavalier attitude. "Ariel," she said softly, soothingly, leading the girl to sit on the wide stone balustrade. "What has happened?"

Ariel shook her head, the picture of misery. Robbie glanced at Brock, who mumbled an excuse and left them alone in the lantern light.

"It's Juletta," the girl sobbed, brokenhearted. "Now that she and Court are to be married, she acts as though she's my mother!"

"Just as you feared she would."

Ariel nodded. "She orders me about. Changes the house. She moved me out of my own room to make a sewing room for herself because the light was better! That room has been mine since the nursery!" A deep shuddering sigh wrenched its way up from the depths of her. "But none of that is the worst. She is already making remarks about my futureabout my being of an age to think about marrying." Her eyes were dark with anger and loathing when she raised them to Robbie's face. "Do you know whom she wants me to marry?"

It wasn't hard for Robbie to guess. "Her brother?"

"Pierce!" Ariel spat out the name like a loathsome bit of spoiled meat. "I hate him! He's a perfect wretch!"

Robbie felt at a loss. She didn't know all the facts of the matter and so it was difficult for her to know what to say to comfort the girl. Besides which, she felt it was hardly her place to meddle in the affairs of the Lennox family. Still, there ought to be something she could say to comfort the girl.

"Ariel," she began tentatively, "if you don't want to marry Pierce, I'm sure Court wouldn't force you."

"Oh, I'm not so sure. I asked Court just a few moments ago to make Pierce leave me alone . . ."

"And?"

"He was so cold. So cruel. He said I should be kinder to Pierce since he may be the best, perhaps the only prospect I have."

"He said that to you!" Robbie was astonished. Court was generally the soul of kindness and consideration toward his little sister.

"Will you speak to him, Robbie? Please!"

"Ariel, this is a family matter."

"Robbie! I have no one else!"

As a motherless girl herself, Robbie had often known the need to turn to another woman for help, for support, for comfort. She'd had no one and she knew the loneliness of that feeling. Could she, then, turn her back on Ariel at just such a time of need?

Sighing, she nodded. "All right," she agreed, feeling as though she had just consented to her own execution. "I'll talk to him." Steeling herself, girding her loins like a knight riding off to battle a particularly nasty dragon, Robbie squared her shoulders and marched into the ballroom to find Court.

26

Robbie's eyes scanned the long, candlelit parlor for some sign of Court. His blond hair, so golden in a room filled with white-powdered wigs, should stand out, particularly when combined with the bright, spring green damask of his suit.

She scowled, straining her eyes to peer into the shadowy distance. Perhaps he'd left. Perhaps he and Juletta . . . But no. There was Juletta, radiant as always, holding court near the black marble fireplace on whose cold, empty hearth had been placed a spray of summer blossoms from the Royal Governor's garden in Williamsburg. If Juletta was there, Court should be . . .

"Hell fire!" She steadied herself against the back of a chair, glaring at Court, who had come up behind her and given her a hard, painful pinch through the lilac satin skirts of her gown. "You do that again and I'll kick you right in the"

"Language, my dear," he cautioned. His golden eyes twinkled with roguish merriment.

Robbie's answering smile was angelically innocent, enticingly sweet. "Why, cousin," she purred, "how delightful to see you again. Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Indeed, I am."

"And will you do me a small favor?"

He made her a shallow, mocking bow. "You have only to name it, my pet."

"Will you go straight to hell?"

Laughter rumbled in his chest, and the diamond in his lacy jabot winked in the candlelight. "I was there, sweetheart," he answered softly, tightly, "that's where I found you."

They lifted their glasses in a toast, each recognizing, with grudging admiration, a worthy adversary. If there was another emotion present in the lingering glance they exchanged over the glistening rims of their glasses, neither would acknowledge it, even to themselves.

Robbie looked away discreetly as she spoke. "Is there somewhere we could go, Court? Somewhere quiet? Private?"

"I'm sure we could find a place where we wouldn't be disturbed," he replied, a sudden huskiness in his voice, a sudden heat in his eyes.

Robbie scowled, as angry at herself for the fluttering in the pit of her stomach at the note of desire in his voice as at him for deliberately misunderstanding her.

"I only want to talk to you," she hissed.

His smirk was as smug as it was skeptical. "Whatever you say."

Taking her elbow, he steered her into the now deserted entrance hall, where the soaring spiral staircase was lighted by a brass and crystal chandelier hanging on a long golden chain that reached to the exquisitely painted dome three stories Above.

Together they mounted the stairs and Court took Robbie down a long, dimly lit corridor to a small, elegant sitting room whose crimson-hung, bowed windows overlooked the newly planted gardens.

"You seem to know your way around this house," she observed. "Are you well acquainted with Tarleton Kurland?"

"I've met him only recently," Court replied, lighting a single candle in a silver candlestick whose long, crystal prisms tinkled like bells. "But I've known Jane Kurland quite a while." His full lips twitched into a smile. "And quite well. Such a pity her husband is so involved with his work in Williamsburg. She gets terribly lonely, you know."

The implications were not lost on Robbie. "Court! Not you and . . ." She pictured the small, meek hostess to whom she had been introduced upon her arrival. "I don't believe you!"

Court laughed, reading her thoughts as he always seemed to do so easily. "Appearances are deceiving, my sweet. You, above all people, should know that. Some women may look like kittens when they are, in fact, tigresses." He came to her, and the play of the candlelight across the sharp, strong planes of his face and in the gilded depths of his hair gave him the look of some diabolical angelso fair and pure and yet burning with hidden fires that simmered constantly just beneath the surface, needing only the smallest breath of air to turn them into a roaring inferno.

Without a word, he pulled her hard against him. His hand closed on the back of her head. His mouth slanted across hers, hard, urgent, demanding.

Robbie pummeled his shoulders, twisting her head, fighting her way out of his embrace.

"You boor!" she snarled. "You arrogant ass! Did you really think that was the reason I wanted to be alone with you!" He snapped his fingers. "Oh, I forgot. You wanted to talk."

Robbie went to the window and stood staring down into the lantern-lit darkness of the garden. If she affected an air of scarcely controlled rage, it was merely to mask the tumult of her real emotions. In those few moments that she'd been in his arms, in his power, some dark, treacherous part of her had wanted him, madly, desperately. She despised herself for the weakness she had for hima weakness he knew so well how to exploit.

"What would your precious Juletta have to say about this, Court?" she demanded venomously. "Have you forgotten her reaction the last time she found us together."

He came up behind her. With the flick of one beruffled wrist, he released the draperies from their gilded restraints and let them fall. With the sibilant whisper of stiffened silk, they blocked out the garden below.

"I haven't forgotten," he said smoothly. "But she needn't concern us."

"She's going to be your wife. Or have you forgotten?"

"I haven't forgotten." She felt, rather than saw him shrug. "A necessary evilthat's what a wife is. There are more pleasant things for a woman to be."

Robbie thought she could almost hear the muffled pounding of her heart. "Such as?" she couldn't resist asking.

His strong hands, toughened by years at sea, spanned her tightly laced waist. "A mistress. A man can be kind to a woman he desires. He can make her life one other women would envy. Every man needs a wife but wants a mistress." His lips moved against her curls. He inhaled deeply of her subtle perfume. "I'd like you to be mine."

"Your mistress!" Robbie whirled to face him. Her green eyes blazed with outrage. Ariel, and her problems, were forgotten. "You want me to be your mistress! Your whore! You goddamned, conceited"

"What did you expect!" Court snarled, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. "Marriage!"

Robbie looked him up and down with an air of profound digust. "With you?"

The change in him was dramatic. He drew himself up with all the loftiness of centuries of breeding and arrogance.

"There are women aplenty, my dear, beautiful, well-bred heiresses who would die for the chance to marry me!"

Robbie eyed him with cool, defiant skepticism. She arched a brow in a perfect imitation of him. "Well, there you are. It only shows you that some women are damned easily satisfied!"

A flush of anger stained Court's cheeks and grim determination glittered behind the golden screen of his thick lashes.

"I can damned well satisfy you!"

He lunged toward her, and before Robbie could react he had tumbled them both across the Genoa velvet cushions of a gilt-wood day bed.

"Let me up, you bastard!" Robbie ordered as he knelt astride her, his knees pinning her heavy skirts to the deep, welcoming softness of the cushions. "What in hell do you think you're doing!"

By way of reply, Court's mouth covered hers with a savage, devouring violence that took her breath away. Her hands, which had pounded and pushed at his broad, unyielding shoulders, now clutched at him, her fingers digging deeply into the slippery damask of his jacket.

"Court!" Her voice was breathy, desperate, as his mouth left hers and traveled in a hot, lingering line down her throat to her breast, which his strong, caressing hand had pushed far above the low décolletage of her gown. Robbie felt the heat, the betraying, aching hunger that swept over her and drew her down, down, into the waiting arms of Eros.

His lips caressed her cheek so gently, so tenderly that it took her breath away. She looked up at himat his taut, handsome face, at his eyes, burning, fervent, glowing like molten gold in the flickering light of the single candle. He kissed her again and againher cheeks,her lips, her throat, the pulsing hollow where her neck met her shoulder, the small reddish mole on the white curve of her breast. His hands pushed at the frothy mass of her lacy skirts and petticoats, and Robbie stiffened as she felt his warm hand through the fine silk of her stocking. Robbie shuddered as she felt the first caressing touches of his ringers moving upward along the satiny curves above the tops of her stockings. She felt the warm exhalation of his breath against her thigh, the quick, playful touch of his tongue, and she could not stifle the little cry that rose in her throat.

Court chuckled, a low, rumbling sound so filled with triumph that it bought Robbie hurtling back to reality. He knew she was his to possess as he willed; he knew her senses were his to command, that she could not resist him, much though she might try. No matter how vehemently she claimed to hate him, the very blood in her veins leapt at his merest touch and always would.

Still, she could not deny the pleasure, the sheer, rapturous bliss that his hands, his mouth, gave her at that moment. Arching against him, she buried her fingers in the thick, silken softness of his hair and gave herself up to it, let it carry her along, away, feeling the heat, the flawless, burgeoning sensation within her building and building until she seemed to shatter into a thousand glistening shards of pure, crystalline ecstacy.

Court moved away as she lay, warm and drowsy, half swooning. She watched from beneath half-closed lids as he slipped off his coat, kicked off his shoes. His fingers worked at the buttons of his breeches. Robbie's eyes followed their movementssaw the hard ridge of his unfulfilled desire straining against the green damask. He wanted her, needed her, desired her with all the heat, all the passion she'd felt for him, and the knowledge spurred her into action.

For a moment his eyes left her, and she slid from the day bed and moved quickly toward the door, shaking her skirts into place and tidying her curls. Stunned, Court stared at her from where he stood, half dressed, at the foot of the chaise.

"You're right, Court," she admitted, her voice sliding over the words with sly amusement, "you can satisfy me." Her eyes lingered pointedly on the blatant evidence of his desire. "I certainly hope you can satisfy yourself as well."

"Robbie!" Court's voice was like the crack of a whip as he struggled to refasten his clothes. "You little bitch!"

With a chuckle, she left the room and sauntered down the corridor, inordinately pleased with herself. At a jog in the hall, she found Brock, who had just come up the stairs.

"Here you are," he said, slipping her hand through his arm, "did you and Court come to an understanding?"

Robbie glanced back down the corridor and saw the sitting room door open. Court, his face mottled with fury, glared at her and at the tall, dark man who stood beside her.

''Oh, I think we understand one another perfectly," she purred as she and Brock disappeared down the spiraling staircase.

27

"Robbie! You didn't even talk to Court!"

Robbie ground her teeth. She was getting damned sick and tired of Ariel's complaints and now, in the middle of church services, after Ariel's repeated psssts had gone ignored, the girl had taken advantage of a lull in the service to slip along the Lennox family pew until she was behind Robbie, who sat in the pew traditionally occupied by the Demorests.

"I tried, Ariel," Robbie muttered, forcing a smile that was more like a grimace for the benefit of the dour-faced young deacon who brought around the plate for collections. "I did try!"

"The two of you left the ball together. You were gone so long that Brock went looking for you! And yet you obviously didn't even broach the subject! Court is still hinting about my marrying Pierce Kearny and Juletta acts as though the matter's settled!"

"I'm sorry, Ariel, I"

"Ariel!" Court's summons carried a little too far, and heads turned in pews all around them. Obediently, if grudgingly, Ariel slid back along the pew to her brother's side. Brock, sitting beside Robbie, whispered in her ear: "What was that all about?"

Robbie shook her head and pretended to be engrossed in the hymnal she held in her hands. "Oh, Ariel is annoyed because I didn't talk to Court about her betrothal to Pierce Kearny."

"You didn't? What were the two of you doing up there all that time if you didn't"

"Not another word, Brock Demorest! I swear, I don't want to hear another word on the subject!"

They rose to sing a hymn, and for once Robbie was grateful that the parson, Reverend Roger Euston, believed that if eight verses had been written to a hymn then all eight should be sung.

As the music swelled and the massed voices of the congregation rose, mercifully drowning out Minerva's off-key warbling, Robbie could feel the force of Court's stare boring into her back. Lifting her chin in defiance, she concentrated on the hymn, letting the music flow through her, trying to feel only the secure presence of Brock beside her. She felt the warmth of his body, the softness of his sleeve against her bare forearm, the touch of his hand against hers as they held the hymnal they shared. But still she could feel Court's gaze; it was palpable, like a caressor a blow.

At last, in the middle of the next to last verse, she could resist no longer. Her will, as they both knew it always would, bent to his. She ventured a glance over her shoulder and, as she'd known she would, found him staring at her. He seemed oblivious to his surroundings, oblivious to the beauty and serenity of the moment.

Robbie shivered and forced her gaze away from his, breaking the spell. Brock nudged her gently as the last note of the hymn echoed into silence.

"Are you all right? You've suddenly gone so pale." She gave him a bright smilehad he looked closely enough, he would have noticed that it trembled at the corners.

"I'm fine," she assured him wanly. But she wasn't fine and she knew it. And Brock knew it. And she was desperately afraid that Court, conceited jackass that he was, knew it as well.

She was glad when it was time to leave the church and go out into the fresh, warm air of the summer Sunday morning. She raised her face to the sunshine and reveled in its caressing warmth, feeling a mad desire to run away to the meadow where she and Brock occasionally picnicked. She wanted to pull off her shoes and her stockings, cast aside her hat, and run barefoot through the clover. How carefree, how deliciously lighthearted it sounded.

"Robbie!"

Ariel's voice brought Robbie's daydreams crashing down around her ears.

She blew out her cheeks in exasperation. Taking Ariel by the arm, she dragged her off, away from the milling congregation gathered in front of the church to visit before going off to their Sunday dinners.

"If you want to know the truth," Robbie told Ariel frankly, "I can't be in the same room with that brother of yours without wanting to bash his brains out with anything heavy I can lay my hands on! I don't see the least sense in your asking me to talk to him because we don't talkwe shout! We don't discuss thingswe fight! It's foolish of you to think that I could influence Court in anything and cruel of me to even agree to try!"

"But you're my last hope!" Ariel protested. "Try once more! At Windover. Please!"

Robbie shook her head. "It's no good, Ariel. He won't listen. If I ask to speak to him in private, he thinks all I want is to" She caught herself just in time. "He thinks it's merely an excuse to start an argument," she amended.

"Miss Ariel? Your brother is ready to leave."

Pierce Kearny, tall, broad-shouldered, and not nearly as fair-skinned or blond-haired as his sister, came up from behind Ariel. He tipped his hat and, Robbie was not a little startled to see, winked at her. "Miss Fitzalan. I've heard a great deal about you from my sister."

"No doubt," Robbie agreed dryly. "How do you do, Mister Kearny."

"I'm sorry we haven't had the opportunity to meet before now."

His look was openly flirtatious, and Robbie wondered if he knew that Court and Juletta were match-making for him and Ariel.

"I understand you've been away. Family business, I believe?"

"Indeed. I was visiting cousins. Their land lies along the James River. But now that I'm returned, I trust I shall be seeing more of you?"

"Oh, no doubt we will meet, sir, in church, and perhaps on social occasions."

If her coolness bordered on the rude, it did not seem to put Pierce off a whit. If anything, he seemed challenged by her obvious disdain.

"Just as you say, Miss Fitzalan. And now, shall we be going, Miss Ariel?"

"Actually," Ariel hedged, "I was thinking of leaving with Robbie. She and Miss Gilmore have invited me to supper. Isn't that right, Robbie?"

"I . . . Oh! Well, yes, of course it is," Robbie agreed uncertainly.

"Now that is inconvenient." Pierce's tone, so condescending, grated on Robbie's nerves. "You are already engaged to dine at Windover with your brother and my sister and me."

"I didn't agree to that!" Ariel protested.

Pierce lifted his broad shoulder. "I expect Court accepted for you. He is, after all, master of Greenbrier."

"And all who sail in her," Robbie muttered sarcastically.

Pierce looked at her, and a faint air of disapproval crept into his manner. "You and Miss Gilmore should have applied to Court for permission to invite Ariel to dinner, Miss Fitzalan."

"I wasn't aware that Ariel needed Court's permission to dine with friends, Mister Kearny," Robbie retorted haughtily.

"Perhaps in England a woman makes her own decisionsfor better or worsebut in Virginia our ladies trust their men to guide them. Permit me to say, not meaning to offend, that the Englishwomen I have met seem forward and in need of masculine guidance."

"Guidance, Mister Kearny, or domination?"

Pierce Kearny smiled and there was, in his brown eyes, a feral gleam that sent shivers down Robbie's spine.

"Guidance, Miss Fitzalan. However, some women are not unhappy to be dominated by a man who knows what he is about. A man worthy of being called "master.' "

"It will be a cold day in hell, Mister Kearny, when I call any man, 'master.' "

If anything, Robbie's insolence seemed to pique Pierce's interest still more. "You have spirit, Miss Fitzalan. A spirited woman is a challenge. Has anyone ever told you that?"

"A truly spirited woman is up to any challenge, sir. But a man who is worthy of being called a man does not feel it necessary to challenge women. A man secure in his manhood does not need to break any woman's spirit. On the contrary, if such a woman gives her respect to a man of her own free will, it is a tribute to that man. There is no honor in forcing anyone to your will."

"Touché, my dear." He lifted his hat to her, and she noticed that the gleam in his eyes had, if anything, intensified. "Come along, Ariel."

"You will talk to Court just once more, won't you?" Ariel managed to ask before Pierce led her away.

Robbie could only nod. The thought of Ariel's fragile innocence being placed in the hands of such a man appalled her. She would do what she could to help save the girl from marriage to a man she despised, even if it meant talking to Court at Windover.

As Robbie watched, Ariel was bundled into a carriage with Court and Pierce. The girl's obvious distress tore at Robbie's heart. Ariel had been a friend to her and she felt so helpless now, when Ariel needed her most. She didn't hold out much hope that Court would listen to hershe couldn't even be sure he would give her the opportunity to present Ariel's case. But as the carriage pulled away and her eyes met the blatantly predatory stare of Pierce Kearny, she knew she had to try.

For the first time in her life, Juletta Kearny was afraidmortally afraidof losing something she'd always believed was hers. From the first, she'd sensed an attraction on Court's part for his young, pretty cousin. But then, since he had begun immediately upon his return to pay court so assiduously to her, she'd dismissed her fears as irrational. Of course Court was solicitous of the red-haired, befreckled chit he'd brought back from England. After all, she was young and attractiveJuletta might have said beautiful had the matter not touched so near her prideand she had, so Court said, been deathly ill. She was bound to appeal to that masculine side of him that wanted to cosset pretty women, treat them as little more than china dolls to be petted and pampered and admired.

But then the doubts had begun, the suspicions, the worries. After Robbie's sudden departure from Greenbrier Court had seemed so touchy on the subject. He'd utterly refused to discuss it with her, and when she'd become too insistent in her demands for an explanation, had told her in no uncertain terms to mind her own business. That, if nothing else, had shaken Juletta's confidence to its very foundations. It was a family matter, he had said, and yet, as his fiancée, soon to be his wife, didn't she qualify as family?

Still, she had tried to push the troubling thoughts to the back of her mind. Court loved hershe knew he did. He told her so, with words and gestures. He was a forceful, passionate lover, as he had been since they'd first made love several years before in a moment of youthful abandon that she'd never regretted. He'd asked her to marry him, hadn't he? That, in itself, must go far to banish her doubts.

But it hadn't banished her doubtsher fears. Not by any means. For hard on the heels of Robbie's sudden, mysterious resettlement at Minerva Gilmore's had come the rumors of Court's midnight rides. Where was he going? She'd never managed to find out. All she knew was that whenever their paths chanced to cross Robbie'san unfortunately frequent occurrence due to the small circle of society in which the York River planters movedCourt's eyes followed Robbie like slaves. He flushed with jealous anger when he saw her with Brock, indeed, when she favored any male of reasonable age with so much as a smile. He never seemed to have a good word to say about the girl, but woe betide anyone else who criticized so much as a hair on her head. He didn't seem to want to see her, and yet when they did meet he couldn't seem to stay away from her. It seemed sometimes that he almost hated her. And yet he was obsessed by her.

Alone, in the solitude of her airy, sun-filled bedroom at Windover, Juletta rubbed her aching temples. And then had come the dayher head throbbed with renewed fury at the memorythe dreadful day when she had followed Court. He had gone to Minerva's and then to Avondale. It was obvious that he had not been looking for Brock. It was not Brock she'd found him with. It was not Brock he'd been kissing so passionatelycaressing so eagerly. It was not Brock who had aroused him in a way Juletta hadn't been able to just an hour earlier.

Robbie . . . Her face with its corona of flaming curls and turned-up, freckled nose, danced in Juletta's mind's eye. It mocked her. Taunted her. Threatened the future she'd always believed so confidently was hers for the taking.

"Miss Juletta?"

Juletta looked up to find her maid, Sarah, standing in the doorway.

"Yes, Sarah, what is it?"

"Mist' Court and Miss Ariel should be comin' any time. What dress will you be wantin' to wear for dinner?"

"The pink, I think, with the lace collar and petticoat.

The maid left, and Juletta settled back in her chair and tried to will away the aching that dulled her senses and spoiled the calm serenity which, so her good mother had always told her, was the hallmark of a lady. She would wear the pink gown for her dinner with Court, Pierce, and Ariel. After all, pink was a color she'd never seen on . . . She couldn't force herself even to think Robbie's name. There would be no reason for Court to make any comparisons between his fiancée and the cousin who seemed to hold such a powerful lure for him.

And maybe, just maybe, if she were canny in her questioning, she could begin to ferret out the reason for Court's maddening obsession.

28

Leaving Court and Pierce to their inevitable talk of plantations, slaves, and tobacco, Juletta ushered Ariel into one of Windover's elegant parlors.

''I want you to know, Ariel, dear," Juletta said, sitting on the opposite end of a curved window seat that had been built into a bowed window overlooking the flagstone terrace and the garden beyond, "that I am looking forward to being your sister. I hope you are looking forward to being mine."

"Of course," Ariel murmured, tracing the pattern in the royal blue and white brocatelle that covered the cushions.

Juletta ignored the patent lack of enthusiasm in the girl's voice and went on. "I'm glad. I had thought there might be someone else you would have preferred as Court's wife."

Ariel kept her eyes riveted to the cushions. "I don't know what you mean."

"Oh, yes, you do." Juletta waited silently until Ariel ventured a shy glance toward her. "I'm talking about Robbie. You hoped she and Court . . ."

"Robbie is my friend," Ariel interrupted. "She knows what it's like for a girl without another woman to talk to. She understands the loneliness of having no one to confide in."

"And have you confided in her?"

Ariel thought, with no little sense of irony, of the glowing reports she'd given Robbie about Brock. Ironic now, considering who it was Brock had chosen to fall in love with. "Yes," she admitted. "Some."

"And has she confided in you?"

"Some."

Juletta's smile had all the charm and warmth of a pit viper, but it was the best she could do considering the topic of their conversation. "How nice for you to have such a good friend. What a pity Robbie doesn't live at Greenbrier any longer. I'm sure it must have been so much better when she was nearby."

Ariel nodded, too naive to realize that Juletta was merely trying to charm her into giving her the information she craved. "It was. We used to go walking and riding together." She sighed. "I wish she had stayed at Greenbrier."

"Perhaps she will come back soon."

"Oh, no. She'll never come back. Never."

"But why not? After all, you and Court are the only family she has in America." Juletta's nonchalant tone masked a burning curiosity that demanded satisfaction. "Why did she leave in the first place?"

"I don't really know." A crease appeared between Ariel's blond brows. "I wasn't there when it happened, you see."

"When what happened?"

Ariel shrugged. "I don't know. That's just the point. Court took me to Williamsburg to visit our Aunt D'Arcy. When I came home Robbie had gone. She was already living with Miss Gilmore."

"And no one told you why she left?"

"No one. Court refuses to discuss itrefuses very rudely. Robbie won't tell. The subject seems somehow painful to her. I suspect that Brock knows, but he'd never tell if he knew Robbie didn't want him to. And Mae gets upset when I ask her about it."

"Mae? What has the upstairs maid to do with it?"

The subject had long been plaguing Ariel's mind, resisting her best efforts to unravel the mystery. Now, with Juletta's prompting and interest, she went on without considering to whom she was speaking.

"Court left Mae in charge of the house when he took me to Williamsburg. Elvira went with meCourt said she was to be my companion. According to Mae, Court came back to Greenbrier late that night. He dismissed the staff. She said she awoke in the middle of the night to the sounds of a terrible fight. From her room upstairs she couldn't make out the words, but she said there were the sounds of a struggle. Court was shouting and cursing. Robbie was screaming. By the next morning the library was a shambles. Court was passed out on his bed, drunk, and Robbie was in her room packing. Brock came to see Court, but after he spoke with Robbie he ordered a wagon hitched and took her away to Minerva's."

"What could Robbie and Court have been fighting about?"

Ariel shrugged. "I don't know. But things hadn't seemed the same between them since they came back from Charles Town."

Charles Town. Juletta had long wondered why Court had taken Robbie and sailed suddenly for Charles Town, to return so quickly.

"Why did Court take Robbie to Charles Town, Ariel?" she asked idly, only the glimmer in her beautiful eyes betraying the intensity of her interest.

Suddenly, Ariel realized the amount of information she had so carelessly given the woman she despised. "I don't know," she lied.

"Yes, you do," Juletta contradicted tartly. "You can tell me. After all, we're almost sisters."

Ariel shook her head stubbornly. "I can't. It's a private matter."

With a flounce of her skirts and an arrogant toss of her head, Juletta rose. "A private matter! My dear Ariel, you had best accustom yourself to the fact that nothing that goes on at Greenbrier is 'a private matter' where I'm concerned! I'm going to be your brother's wife. I am going to be the mistress of Greenbrier. There will be no part of your life or of anyone's life at Greenbrierand I include your precious, freckle-faced tart of a cousinthat is a secret to me!"

Ariel jumped to her feet. "Don't talk about Robbie that way!"

"Don't talk back to me, miss!" Juletta hissed. Her eyes turned to twin spheres of ice and a smug, hateful smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "I can see that Pierce is going to have his hands full when the two of you are married."

Ariel felt the cold hand of fear closing about her tender young heart. "I never agreed to marry your brother!"

"Where," Juletta demanded viciously, "did you ever get the foolish notion that your acquiescence is necessary? If Court agrees to the matchand he will, my girl, believe me, he willyou and Pierce will be man and wife. And believe me when I say that my brother will be the master in his home. He will not coddle you as Court has always done. He will not temper you and spoil you. It's time to grow up, little Ariel." "I hate you!" Ariel hissed.

Juletta snapped her fingers. "That's what I care if you hate me or no. You will do as you are told."

Ariel refused to give in to the tears that misted her eyes. "I don't want to marry Pierce!" she whispered brokenly. "I hate him!"

"Your emotions are those of a child. 'I hate you! I hate him!' " Juletta mocked her with bitingly cruel accuracy. "Whom do you love? Brock?" She saw the truth in Ariel's face. "I thought as much. Well, get him out of your mind, my dear. He's not for you. Your 'friend,' your cousin, has seen to that.'' She laughed wryly. "How can you remain so loyal to the girl when she stole Brock right out from beneath your nose?"

Ariel's cheeks pinkened with humiliation. "Brock doesn't know how I feel about him."

"And he obviously doesn't care to know."

Ariel gasped at the pain of this well-placed barb. "You're wicked! Wicked and cruel!"

Juletta laughed. "You cut me to the quick, dear Ariel."

"I'll tell Court just what kind of woman you are!"

"Tell him anything you like if you think it will do you any good. I think I have more and better means of persuading him to my views than you have, little girl!"

"I'll tell Court"

"Tell Court what?"

Both women started and whirled to find Court and Pierce standing in the doorway leading to the dining room.

"Tell Court what?" Court repeated.

Juletta glared at Ariel, daring her to repeat the threats and jibes she'd rained on Court's sister. Ariel, knowing Court would not only disbelieve her but take her to task for bearing tales to boot, hesitated. Court knew she bore no love for Juletta and nourished an active and growing loathing for Pierce. Anything she said that sounded even remotely like criticism would be judged on the basis of what Court believed to be her prejudiced opinions.

She studied the floor miserably, able to do nothing at this point but concede defeat. "Nothing important," she murmured, sensing, rather than feeling, Juletta's triumphant smirk.

"Court, darling," Juletta purred, going to slip her arm through his, "the night is warm and the stars are so very lovely. Take me walking in the garden, won't you?" Before Court could invite his sister and Juletta's brother along, she went on. "I'm sure Pierce and Ariel can do without us. In any case, they should have the opportunity to begin getting better acquainted."

Eyes wide and misty with unshed tears, Ariel watched her brother and future sister-in-law glide from the room. As the drawing room door closed behind them, she turned toward Pierce Kearny, head high, fists clenched in the folds of her skirt, telling herself that this must have been how Daniel felt upon finding himself in the lion's den.

Outside, in the exquisitely maintained gardens that were the setting for the jewel that was Windover, Juletta and Court strolled along the graveled paths.

"I don't think Ariel is pleased with the prospect of marrying Pierce," Juletta observed, glancing sidelong to gauge Court's reaction.

"She's very young," Court replied, unconcerned, "very naive. I fear I've sheltered her beyond the norm for young girls of her station and breeding. The notion of marriage to anyone frightens her. She'll grow accustomed to it."

"I think it's more than that." Juletta stopped to smell a rose. Snapping the stem with her fingernails, she tucked the blossom into the valley of her breasts. "She fancies herself in love with Brock, you know."

Court laughed indulgently. "I'm not surprised. Brock has always been kind to her. She's spent a great deal of time in his company. It's only natural that he be the first man she is attracted to."

"I don't think it should be encouraged."

"I'm not encouraging it and Brock certainly isn't." The good humor faded from Court's face and voice. "Brock has other interests just now."

"Ah, yes. Your cousin." Juletta could not keep the edge from her own voice. "Tell me, why is it that she goes on living at Minerva's? Surely, as a Fitzalan, her place is at Greenbrier."

"She prefers it at Minerva's and Minerva enjoys her company."

Though Court's tone clearly closed the subject, Juletta refused to let it drop. "Perhaps she prefers it there because it's more convenient. After all, Minerva is Brock's great-aunt. I'm quite certain she wouldn't object to a match between her grand-nephew and a duke's cousin. The girl has an impressive dowry, I suppose."

"It's not that!" Court snapped.

"No? Then what is it?"

Juletta's wide-eyed attempt at innocent curiosity didn't fool Court. She was fishing for information and he was damned if he was going to provide it.

"It's a family matter."

"Damn it, Court!" Juletta hissed, her patience at an end. "I'm tired of being told 'it's a family matter'!"

"Oh? And whom else did you question about Robbie?"

Trapped, Juletta ground her teeth. There were few people she could not wheedle information out of and fewer still who could beat her at her own game. Court was that rare person who could effortlessly do both.

"What if I did ask about her!" she challenged him defiantly. "I am going to be your wife! Greenbrier is going to be my home. I have the right to know what goes on there. For instance, why did you take Robbie to Charles Town with you?"

Court gazed at some distant point over her head. "I really don't care to discuss Robbie any longer, Juletta. She has nothing to do with us."

"Nothing to!" She stared at him, incredulous. "How can you say that! You left me to go searching for her, and what did you do when you found her! You practically bedded her in Brock's front parlor! I know the two of you disappeared from Tarleton Kurland's ball together. Where did you go? More importantly, what did you do when you got there?"

"Leave it alone, Juletta." He spoke between gritted teeth. "Robbie is none of your business. I will deal with her as I choose."

"None of my business! Damn you, Court! Do you think I'm going to stand by while you cavort with that redheaded whore"

"That's enough!" His voice was like thunder, shattering the dark serenity of the garden.

Juletta's bosom rose and fell with her agitation. "I hope your sister and brother-in-law take her back to England with them after the wedding!"

"They aren't coming."

"What!" It was the final blow. If there was any single detail of her upcoming nuptials that delighted Juletta, it was the prospect of having Their Graces, the Duke and Duchess of Brookfield, as honored guests. No other guests, not even the three Royal Governors who had already given their tentative acceptance, could out-shine real English nobility, with powerful connections at the Court of St. James. "What do you mean? Why can't they come?"

"Because I haven't asked them."

"Alexandra would want to be there."

"Doubtless. But I see little point in their risking their lives on the crossing. Perhaps someday you and I will go to England to see them. Wouldn't that please you?"

Fuming, Juletta said no more, and Court led her back into the house. But she was far from mollified. Going to England to meet the Brookfields was all well and good, but it was nothing to compare with the prestige of having them travel all the way across the ocean to attend her wedding.

That night, long after she and Pierce had bade Court and Ariel good night, long after the household of Windover had been dismissed for the night, Juletta sat awake at her writing desk. There was more to Court's refusal to invite his sister and her husband to their wedding than the arduousness of the journey. After all, hadn't he and Ariel made the trip not so long ago just for a visit? Surely the duke and duchess would want to come for such an important occasion. And there was Ariel's eighteenth birthday, which was fast approaching, and Ariel's impending betrothal to Pierce. And there was Robbie. Robbie was of the age when girls with any connections to the throne were presented into society. Surely the duke and duchess would want their orphaned cousin back in London for her come-out. It was ridiculous to bury a girl of her connections andeven Juletta had to admit, if only in the privacy of her own thoughtsbeauty, in the wilds of America, a land where the finest prospects paled in comparison to the brilliant matches available to her in England. Just what was it Court was trying to hide? And from whom?

Taking up paper and pen, Juletta began a long, gossipy letter to the duchess, whom she remembered well as Alexandra Lennox. She was some years older than Juletta, but she had always been a friend, almost like a sister, to her. The letter mentioned Court and her betrothal, their upcoming wedding, Ariel's impending betrothal and birthday, all in a way to appear as if Juletta assumed Court had informed his sister of each and every event. Then, as if as an afterthought, she scrawled at the bottom:

Everyone here has grown so fond of the duke's dear cousin, Robyn. We are all so thankful she did not succumb to her illness and that her stay in Virginia has seen her fully restored to health. I know you and His Grace will be pleased with her recovery. You will, doubtless, be happy to be reunited with her when you come to Virginia as Court and I hope you will for our wedding. I suppose you will be taking her back to London for her Season and we will be sorry to lose her, particularly old Miss Gilmore with whom she has been staying since that unfortunate unpleasantness at Greenbrier . . .

After adding the final amenities, Juletta sanded the letter and folded it, preparing it for the next day's post. Her smile, as she blew out the candle and slipped beneath the covers of her silk-draped bed, was filled with malicious satisfaction.

29

Having posted her letter, there was little for Juletta to do but sit back and wait for a reply. At best, she would hear from Court's sister in a matter of weeks. At worst, given the perilous double crossing of the ocean and the uncertain nature of the post itself, it might be months. But she felt sure that the duchess's reply, when at last it came, would provide at least some of the answers to the troublesome questions that plagued her.

In the meantime, there was her betrothal ball to think about. Windover was decorated exquisitely for the occasion. Juletta's mother, Caroline Cliffden Kearny, was determined that her daughter, having at last brought the elusive Mr. Lennox up to the mark, should have the grandest ball within living memory. To this end, she was willing to sacrifice exhausting hours of planning, the weary backs of her already overworked servants, and as large a portion of her husband's fortune as necessary.

In the weeks and days before the ball, Juletta and her mother spent endless hours closeted in Caroline's lushly appointed boudoir. Plans were laid for every detail, from the gowns the two women would wear to the livery to be worn by the little slave boys who would be stationed at the door to take the guests' hats and wraps.

Juletta slouched in her chair. "It all sounds wonderful, Mama, if only"

Caroline arched a blond brow. Barely forty, she was still a beauty, and it was easy to see from whence had come Juletta's enchanting looks. "If only?" she prompted. "Come, come, dear. If we've forgotten something, you'd better come out with it and quickly. The ball is tomorrow night."

"If only Robbie Fitzalan weren't going to be there."

Her mother's laugh was as carefree as Juletta's expression was glum. "But dear! Just think! When the toasts are drunk to celebrate the betrothal, who will be standing at Court's side, sharing in the moment?"

"I will," Juletta supplied dutifully.

"And who will be standing down among the throng, merely a guest?"

"Robbie." Juletta perked up a bit, then her spirits dove once more. "But, Mama, there's something between themCourt and Robbie, I mean. He acts as though he can't bear to hear her name mentioned and yet whenever she's nearby, he acts as though he can't bear not to touch her."

"Is she his mistress?"

"I can't be sure either way. But I shouldn't be surprised."

Caroline shrugged. "Ignore it, dear. As long as you get him to the altar, your position is unassailable. Put your nose in the air and pretend you know nothing about the chit. If Court sees her at all, it will be in some sordid, backstreet fashion. Men will be men, dear; it's their natures."

"Surely not all men are"

"All men, dear." Reaching over, Caroline patted her daughter's hand. "But never mind. We must allow them, poor, benighted creatures that they are, their foibles. Though they will never admit it unless they should happen to grow maudlin whilst in their cups, it is our sexwe womenwhich keeps humanity from degenerating into little more than beasts." With a wave of her soft, white hand, she dismissed the entire distasteful subject. "Now, to important matters. How shall we fix your hair for the ball, dear?"

Candlelight glowed in every window of Windover on the night of Court and Juletta's ball. The carriages moved slowly around the circle, pausing at the front steps to allow their splendidly dressed passengers to alight.

In one of them, Robbie shrank back against the midnight-blue velvet squabs.

"I don't want to get out," she said to no one in particular.

Brock and Minerva exchanged an amused glance. "You've come this far," Minerva told her, smoothing the black ruffles that fell from her elbow-length sleeves. "You won't play the coward at this late date. There's too much Tremonte in you for that."

"Damn you, Minerva," she muttered, smiling in spite of herself, "you know how to get 'round me, don't you?"

Minerva didn't reply, but only shot Robbie a look filled with the understanding and compassion that had sprung up between the old woman and her young friend. "Here we are," she said as the carriage rocked to a halt. "All hands on deck. All guns at the ready." A black footman, in the green and white livery Caroline Kearny had chosen, opened the door and lowered the steps. Brock stepped down first, then handed his great-aunt-and Robbie down in turn. With a lady on each arm, he mounted the stairs, and they entered the beautiful foyer of Windover together.

The soaring, oval room was thronged with exquisitely dressed men and beautifully coiffed and bejeweled women. They milled about, all waiting their chance to greet the Kearnys and the Royal Governor, who had driven down from Williamsburg, and to extend their good wishes to Court and Juletta.

Robbie slipped her arm through Brock's.

"Let's go on into the ballroom," she whispered, nodding toward the long, enclosed walkway that led to the ballroom.

"Robbie," Brock chided, amused, "you're not trying to avoid Court, are you?"

"Why, Brock Demorest," she purred, in her best imitation of Juletta, "however could you imagine such a thing? I just want to dance with you. Can't you hear the music?"

Over the buzzing of conversation, Brock could, indeed, hear the soft strains of a string quartet wafting from the candlelit ballroom.

"Come along, then," he invited, a fond twinkle in his dark eyes.

As they made their way through the crowd toward the arch that gave onto the walkway, the throng parted for a moment and Robbie found herself gazing at Court. For a long moment they simply stared. Robbie, as always, was startled by the sheer animal magnetism of the superb man a perverse fate had given her to love. Court, feeling foolish, helpless, wondered just how the hell he had come to be betrothed to one woman while loving another.

It was Pierce Kearny who broke the spell. Appearing before them, he nodded to Brock and took Robbie's hand to kiss.

''What is this?" he demanded, obviously amused. "You're not going to wish the happy couple the joy of one another?"

"We didn't want to waste perfectly good music we could be dancing to," Brock explained.

"Besides which," Robbie said icily, "I am here, Mr. Kearny, because my refusal to come would have made others brand me a coward. To wait for an hour in that line to wish Court and your sister a long and blissful wedded life would have made me brand myself a hypocrite."

Pierce laughed, but the glint, the challenge, remained in his unsmiling eyes. "Your honesty is refreshing, Miss Fitzalan."

"If less than polite," she acknowledged.

"Ah, yes. Well, it is all well and good to be polite, so long as one remembers where politeness ends and deceit begins."

"Some people prefer deceit to unpleasant honesty."

"I am not some people."

If Robbie sensed that Pierce was thoroughly enjoying bandying words with her, Brock sensed something morean undeniable attraction, on Pierce's part at least. He sensed that something in Juletta's brother's attitude annoyed Robbie and that was the cause of the edge in her voice, the sarcasm of her words. But on Pierce's part, the attraction was simple and plain to see.

Brock drew Robbie closer to his side. "If you don't mind, Pierce, I think I'll take Robbie into the ballroom. We've already missed two dances."

Pierce smiled. "By all means. Providing Miss Fitzalan promises me at least one dance?"

Robbie wanted to refuse. She found Pierce Kearny no less irritating on second meeting than she had on first. But there was little she could do. She was flouting convention already by refusing to observe the niceties and pass through the receiving line. She could hardly snub her hosts' son to boot.

"Of course, Mr. Kearny," she agreed tightly. "I'm sure Brock could spare me for one dance, couldn't you, Brock?"

"Perhaps one," Brock allowed grudgingly. "Certainly no more' than that."

Pierce shrugged his broad shoulders and stepped out of their path. "I suppose I shall have to content myself with that."

With a bow that held more than a hint of mockery, he let them pass. But though other of his parents' guests tried to claim his attention, Pierce found he could not tear his gaze away from Robbie until she and Brock had disappeared into the ballroom at the far end of the walkway.

"Oh! I can't bear that man!" Robbie muttered as she and Brock moved together in swaying synchronization.

The ballroom was nearly empty. Most of the guests were still milling about in the hopelessly muddled foyer, awaiting their turn to speak with the Kearnys, Court and Juletta, and Governor Spotswood.

"He seems quite taken with you," Brock observed. "Do you find yourself at all attracted to him?"

"Hah!" Robbie sneered. "I saw more attractive barnacles when my father's ships were being careened."

Brock suppressed a smile. "Now, Robbie, you can't say he's an unattractive fellow."

"No? Well, if you like him so much, Brock, why don't you dance with him?"

"Robbie . . ."

She rolled her eyes. "All right. He is not unattractive. But it isn't his looks I'm talking about, Brock. He's so . . . so . . ."

"Overbearing? Conceited? Snobbish? Arrogant? Insufferable?"

Robbie laughed. "Oh, all of that and more!" The humor faded from her face. "Truthfully, Brock, I can't imagine Ariel married to him."

"Ariel? They're not serious about that?"

Robbie was glad that the notion seemed to distress him. "They are. I can see that you and Court aren't the cronies you once were. You're behind on the gossip. According to Ariel, the match is all but arranged. Juletta is pushing for it and Court doesn't seem to care to do a thing to stop it."

Brock scowled. He'd heard rumors of Pierce's treatment of servants, both indentured and slaves, during Pierce's visit with his cousins on the James River. They were unpleasant storiesstories that spoke of a man who went to abnormal lengths to prove his dominance over women.

"I don't like it, Robbie. The notion of a dainty, innocent creature like Ariel married to a man like Pierce . . ." He shook his head, troubled. "I knew Ariel was badgering you to speak to Court about the match, but I thought the notion was mostly in Ariel's imagination. You know what I mean. Someone says now that Court and Juletta are betrothed, a match between Ariel and Pierce would seal the families' alliance. I thought it was idle talk that only Ariel was taking seriously."

"Oh, it's serious enough," Robbie told him. "This is not in Ariel's imagination. But you're right. I don't like the idea either. There's something about Pierce that bothers me. I don't mean only that he's arrogant, conceited, and all those other endearing qualities you mentioned. There's something else. He reminds me very much of someone I once knew." René LeClerc's face flashed in her mind's eye and she shuddered.

"There must be something we can do to help Ariel."

Robbie smiled. It was what she'd wanted him to say all along. "Do you truly care about her, Brock?"

"What? Of course I do. She's a charming girl."

"Look again. She's not a girl anymore."

In the corner, framed by the gold portières adorning a set of French doors, Brock saw Ariel. Her peach satin gown emphasized the angelic fairness of her skin and her upswept golden curls laid bare the fine, curving, undeniably feminine line of her long throat and delicately swelling bosom.

"No, you're quite right," he said softly, wonderingly, "she's not a girl anymore."

The music ended and the couples on the dance floor applauded politely. There was a lull before the music began once more, and Robbie laid her hand on Brock's sleeve.

"Perhaps you should ask her to dance," she suggested.

Brock eyed Ariel speculatively and, before he could reply, another, less welcome voice intruded.

"Yes, Brock, why don't you ask Ariel to dance? In the meantime, I will claim my dance with the lovely Miss Fitzalan."

Robbie turned and found herself gazing up into Pierce Kearny's blue eyes.

Brock hesitated, but Robbie nodded, resigned. If she was going to be forced to dance with Pierce, she'd as soon have it over with now, and not have the prospect hanging over her all night like the sword of Damocles.

"What'a lovely gown," Pierce said as he took her into his too tight embrace. "Has anyone told you, Miss Fitzalan, that that particular shade of green makes your eyes glow like emeralds in moonlight?"

Robbie eyed him dispassionately. "No one for whose opinion I gave a damn, Mister Kearny," she replied tartly.

To her chagrin, he seemed not the least put off by her rudeness. To the contrary, his low, rumbling laughter played in her ears.

"You're a wild one, Robyn," he murmured, his voice deep, velvety smooth, seductive. "I'd like to be the man to tame you."

"You'd play hell trying, Mister Kearny," Robbie replied, her voice imitating his tone perfectly. "I can promise you that."

Pierce said no more as they moved to the music, but one glance into his half-closed, speculative eyes was enough to warn Robbie that this was one man she would definitely have to deal with cautiously.

30

The moment the music ended and one of the Kearnys' guests stepped forward to have a word with Pierce, Robbie escaped to the terrace outside the ballroom. After the noise of the fast-filling ballroom, the peace and quiet of the shadowy terrace came as a blessed relief.

A voice, coming out of the darkness, startled her.

"Are you enjoying yourself, Robbie?"

Ariel stood there, her cheeks flushed, her eyes shining with happiness. Her arm was linked with Brock's, and he was looking at Court's little sister with something akin to astonishment.

"Very much," Robbie replied. "I don't think I have to ask either of you that question."

Ariel's flush deepened becomingly. "No. It's a lovely night." The shadow of a frown flitted across her delicate features. She reached out and touched Robbie's arm. "Speak to Court, won't you? Tonight? It's more important than evernow." "I'll speak with him," Brock intervened. "First thing in the morning."

Ariel beamed radiantly, and the two of them glided off into the lantern-lit twilight of the gardens bound, Robbie hoped, for one of the sheltered arbors that seemed made with lovers' trysts in mind. It was what Robbie had hoped for. Ariel loved Brockhad loved him since her earliest childhood. As for Brockhe thought he loved Robbie, but she'd long suspected that that was merely the novelty of meeting a woman so unlike any he'd met before. Ariel was what he neededgentle, loving, a woman to be sheltered, protected. A maiden to whom he would always be a gallant knight ever ready to slay all her dragons.

And yet, though it was precisely what she'd wished for the two of them, it made her unaccountably sad. It all seemed so easy, so uncomplicated. Only the obstacle of Pierce Kearny stood in the way of Brock and Ariel's happiness, and Robbie didn't think Court would put up much of a fuss once Brock convinced him that he was serious in his intentions toward Ariel. They were so eminently suited and Brock was, and had always been, Court's best friend.

How could the pursuit of love be so simple for some and so very difficult for others? She'd always been a fatalist, believing that the world turned as it was wont to do and simply took mankind along for the ride. Things happened as they were meant to happen, when they were meant to happen, and all the struggles, all the conflicts, all the planning and scheming changed nothing.

Lost in her musings, Robbie gazed off into the night sky, unaware that she was no longer alone on the terrace. Her first awareness came when a hand slid stealthily about her waist. Starting, gasping, she whirled to find Pierce Kearny standing neartoo near.

"I wondered where you'd gone to," he said. "I was just about to introduce you to some cousins of mine when I discovered you'd disappeared."

"I assure you I didn't 'disappear,' " she retorted acidly.

"Why did you go?"

Her eyes glinted like ice on a frozen pond. "Perhaps it was the noise, or the crowd, or" she eyed him significantly "or the company."

His mask of lazy good humor slipped a fraction before he managed to replace it. "Do you always speak so frankly?"

Robbie shrugged. "I tell the truth, Mr. Kearny. If the truth seems rude, that's unfortunate. But as I told you before, I have no patience with posturing and pretendings. If I don't like someone, I see no need to try to convince them that I do."

"And you don't like me?"

"I don't like the things you say. I don't like the way you regard women. You seem to think of us as little better than the slaves who toil in your fields."

He leaned one hip on the wide stone balustrade that edged the terrace. "I don't know how the men treat their women in your native England, Miss Fitzalan, but here we see them as delicate, simple creatures. They are given to their husbands by their fathers. Their husbands think for them, as their fathers did, make their decisions, guide their lives. In other words, free them to see to those affairs that are suited to their minds."

"Such as hanging on their husband's every word, seeing to it that his house is clean, his meals cooked, and his children birthed?"

"What would you have them do? Sail ships? Sit in the House of Burgesses? Run great plantations such as Windover or Greenbrier?"

"There are women who master great plantations, Mr. Kearny.

"Indeed there are. But circumstances have forced those women into a role not naturally their own. Generally, it is because their husbands have died and there is no near male relative to relieve them of their burden. The sensible ones rind another man to marry, or at least turn their affairs over to a competent overseer. The othersthe ones who choose to hold the reins themselvesare, by and large, unnatural creatures with delusions about a woman's place." His smile was infuriating, patronizing. "Do you think I'm wrong?"

"I think you're a fool. So I suppose that makes me one of those poor 'unnatural creatures' you hold in such contempt."

"I don't think so," he disagreed. "Misguided, perhaps, but not unnatural. Unawakened, I think, to what it is to be a woman. I could help you. I know what you need, Miss Fitzalan."

"Do you?" She was frankly skeptical. "And what do I need, sir?"

Leaning toward her, he whispered a suggestion into her ear that was as insulting as it was obscene.

Robbie gasped. A flush of fury flooded her cheeks. As he pulled her roughly toward him, between his legs, she brought her knee up sharply, unerringly into his groin.

The color drained from Pierce's face, and for a moment Robbie thought he would faint. A single, whimpering moan escaped his tightly clenched teeth before he doubled over, retching.

"If you ever come near me again, you bastard," she hissed, "you'll be lucky if you're ever again capable of what you just suggested!" Leaving him to his misery, Robbie stalked off. She was furious. Trembling with her outrage. She didn't see Court until it was too late to avoid him.

"Robbie!" His smile was brilliant, as always. "I didn't see you in the receiving"

"You touch me, Court Lennox," she snarled, "and I'll give you the same thing I gave your future brother-in-law!"

She jerked her head back toward the other end of the terrace, and Court peered into the shadowy distance just in time to see Pierce hobbling off.

"What the hell happened to him?"

Briefly, Robbie told him, and though Court grimaced sympathetically, he couldn't completely hide his amusement. He reached out to touch her cheek.

"I mean it, Court!" she warned, slapping his hand away. "Do you want to be the last of the Lennoxes?"

"Hardly. You're in a feisty mood tonight, Robbie."

"I'm just tired of it all. I'm tired of playing the hypocrite. I'm tired of pretending to be something I'm not. I'm tired of you hurting me."

"I've never hurt you deliberately," he said softly, suddenly serious.

"Hah! Do you expect me to believe that? Don't you think it hurt me when you and I . . ." She closed her eyes wearily. "The night you came to Minerva's. The next day the invitation to this ball was delivered." She glared at him. "How do you think I felt when I woke up the next morning to find that you had come to memade love to meall the while knowing you were going to marry Juletta?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "How did you feel? Did you cry?" The notion seemed to fascinate him.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

He touched her cheek with exquisite tenderness. "I could never enjoy hurting you, Robbie. I'd never deliberately make you cry.''

"Oh, hell, it doesn't matter anymore." She looked out over the garden. Ariel and Brock, engrossed in one another, lost in the wonderment of having discovered each other at long last, strolled past a star-shaped grouping of lanterns.

"Look there." She pointed the couple out to Court.

"Isn't that"

"Ariel and Brock. I want to talk to you about them, Court. Will you listen to me for once?"

He sat on the balustrade. "As you please. What about them?"

Robbie took a deep breath. "I don't like the idea of meddling in your family affairs, but Ariel has been badgering me to speak to you and I want to get it over with."

"I'm listening."

"Ariel is desperately unhappy with the notion of marrying Pierce." She scowled. "Not that I blame her. A more miserable man of a whorWell, at any rate, she loves Brock. She always has. And I think that tonight he finally came to see her as she is, not as the little girl who trailed him like a lovesick puppy. If you give them a chance and don't push her into a marriage that can only make her miserable, I think she and Brock can be happy together."

"And if I say I'll let the match between Ariel and Pierce hang fire long enough to give Brock a chance to decide if he truly loves her, will you forgive me for hurting you?"

She sighed. "Don't tie it to me. Do it because you want your sister's happiness. Do it for her."

"All right." He raised his hands in mock surrender. "I'll leave her alone. If Juletta begins pushing for the match, I'll put her off. If Brock offers for Ariel, I'll agree to it no matter what Juletta might want. Does that satisfy you?"

"Yes. Thank you."

He gazed at her. The love he felt for herthe love he refused to acknowledge, preferring to hide it away like a bastard childsmoldered inside him. He knew he could, and would always have the power to force her senses to obey him. But he didn't want her that way. He wanted her to come to him willingly, nay, eagerly. He knew she loved him even if she, like he himself, couldn't bear to admit it even in the privacy of her own heart. But he believed, as he always had, that their love was simply a tragic mistake of nature, an aberration that must be dealt with as best it could. A misfortune to be borne like any other.

"I suppose Juletta will be sending someone to ferret me out any minute now," he said wistfully. "While we have the chance, let's talk about us."

Robbie shook her head slowly, sadly. "There is no us, Court. There can never be."

"But"

"No. You're marrying Juletta."

"But I love you."

Robbie drew a sharp, painted breath. "Don't do this to me," she breathed, tears misting her eyes. "However you feel for mehowever much you claim you careyou can never forget who you are and who I am. You never will. It will always be there, a gulf between us."

"But that doesn't mean we can't"

"Yes, Court!" she interrupted. "It does mean that we can't! I have my pride, you know. I have my feelings! You may not think that someone not born and bred to the finer things in life has feelingshas pridebut I do. You don't think I'm fit to be your wife. No, don't bother to try and deny it. It's true. I'm only awhat is it you called me? A 'pirate's whelp'? Well, that's what I am. And even if I'm not good enough to be a gentleman's wifeI'm too good to be any man's whore!"

She turned away, despising the weakness that made her unable to hide her tearsunable to conceal the pain of her breaking heart.

She heard him slide off the stone balustrade. Felt his nearness.

"Robbie" he said softly, entreatingly.

"Go away!" she hissed. "Leave me be! Sometimes I with you'd left me on Montebello! Then I'd never have known you! Never have known . . ."

His hands closed on her shoulders and he turned her toward him. She went weakly into his arms, and her lips were soft and yielding under his.

"Never have known what?" he murmured, his breath warm and sweet on her tear-dewed cheeks.

A tremor ran through her, and she buried her face against the soft cloth of his jacket.

"Love," she whispered.

Behind them a door opened. A woman's silken skirts swayed as she moved through the shadows of the terrace. She stopped, seeing the embracing couple ahead, half lit by the flickering of a guttering lantern. She paused, hovered, as though undecided. Then, as silently as she'd come, Juletta retreated. Her senses, her feelings, the night, all whirled in a lazy spiral about her. There was only one clear emotion in her stunned mindhatred. There was only one real desire in her throbbing heartrevenge.

31

Like a spider in a web, Juletta bided her time. She was more determined than ever to get to the bottom of the mystery surrounding Robbie. She was determined to learn the truth and then use it to ruin her. That there would be, in Robbie's background, something to destroy her, Juletta never doubted. Court was too closed-mouth about hertoo protective of the "cousin" he had brought into their midstfor the girl's life to be an open book.

It might have been easier to simply ignore it. She and Court were betrothed now, after all. Before several hundred witnesses, Court had promised to marry her. For him to jilt her would destroy him in the eyes of all the most important people. As a gentleman, a man of honor, he would be ruined. And yet there was an ever present glimmering of fear gnawing at the very roots of Juletta's confidence and it would not let her simply dismiss the threat to her happiness that Robbie presented. She had thought for a while that Brock might be able to charm Robbie away from Court. But now Brock was wooing Ariel, obviously with both Court and Robbie's blessing. What could it mean? What might it mean in terms of Robbie's affections? If she could be so cavalier about losing Brock, might she not have her heart set on capturing some other male heart? And who else could she have set her sights upon? Who else but Court?

Juletta had no choice but to destroy the girl before she had a chance to steal Court away. If nothing else, the scene she had witnessed on the terrace at Windover the night of her betrothal ball had convinced her of that. Those had been no lustful fumblings such as she had seen at Avondale. Those had been the embraces, the murmurings, the kisses of lovers.

She had long believed, and continued to believe despite Court's curt dismissals of the subject, that at least part of the answer lay with the Duchess of Brook-field. If only Court's sister would answer Juletta's letter, she would know if any part of Court's story had been the truth. If, as she suspected, Robbie was not even related to the Fitzalans . . . If, as she believed, the girl was merely some chit Court had taken a fancy to and brought home to satisfy his lusts, then her task was all the more urgent. For if Court had gone to the trouble to bring her home, to concoct his wild tale about her being a relative in order to give her entrée into polite society, to involve his own sister in the defense of that liethere had to be more to his feelings for Robbie than simple lust. And that, more than anything, was what Juletta feared.

Court might well marry her as he had promised, even if it was Robbie he loved. He would give Juletta his name, his children, the respect due her as his wife, but if she didn't have his heart, his love, she would never be more to him than any other of his possessions.

And yet, if Court did love Robbie, if she had managed to enslave his heart as well as his senses, then why didn't he marry her? Why, upon finding himself in love for what Juletta was sure was the first time in his life, hadn't he cast caution to the winds and made the mistress of his heart also mistess of his home?

There was only one possible answerfor some unfathomable reason, Court did not believe Robbie suitable to be his wife, to mother his children. And that, more than anything else, gave the lie to his story about her being his cousin by marriage. For if she was, as Court had led everyone to believe, the second cousin of the Duke of Brookfield, then it followed that Robbie must be the great-granddaughter of another duke and the grand-niece of yet another. Surely that made her more than a match for any Virginia planter. It could not be true. But if Robbie was not a Fitzalan, who was she? That was what Juletta was determined to discoverand quickly!

She rolled her eyes as her boudoir door opened and her mother entered with a wan, brown-haired girl in tow.

"Juletta, darling," Caroline cooed, noting with satisfaction how her daughter's beauty eclipsed the rather meager charms of the girl who stood beside her. "Poor dear Barbara here is dreadfully bored and . . ."

"Oh no, not really," Barbara interrupted to assure her.

"Nonsense, you are dreadfully bored!" Caroline chafed at the girl's tiresome habit of trying to ingratiate herself. If only she had a little more spirit, it might help make up for what she lacked in looks.

The girl cast down her eyes meekly. "As you say, Aunt Caroline."

Caroline and Juletta enchanged a despairing glance. Barbara Todd had come from Charles Town with her parents to attend Juletta's betrothal ball. She was not really Caroline's niece, but her mother, Lucy Todd, had been Caroline's closest friend since childhood. Their children had grown up looking at their mothers' friends as aunts and at one another as cousins. When the other ball guests had left, the Todds had remained behind. When they returned to Charles Town, Caroline and Juletta would go with them to visit the modistes there and arrange for Juletta's trousseau.

"At any rate," Caroline said tightly, "I do think you and Barbara should go into Yorktown this afternoon. It's a fine day. The air will do you both good."

Juletta shot her mother a pleading glance, but Caroline stood firm. She would not let it be said that Juletta was a snobthat she had been any less of a friend to Barbara than she herself was to Barbara's mother. It was true, of course, that Barbara was awkward, lacking in the wit and charm that was expected to come naturally to a girt of her class, but that couldn't be helped. Once she was mistress of Green-brier, Juletta would occasionally have to deal with prigs and boresdealing with Barbara Todd would be good practice.

And so it was that Juletta found herself riding into Yorktown beside a nervously prattling Barbara, to whom she had long since ceased to listen.

"Where would you like to go?" Juletta asked.

Barbara shrugged. "Wherever you like."

With a sigh, Juletta signaled for the driver to stop and let them down. It was while they were walking that Juletta heard the voices raised in angry confrontation. Two men were arguinga merchant and another man, whom Juletta recognized as Peter McGillis, one of the crewmen of the Juletta. It became obvious that McGillis was demanding credit enough to purchase "just one more" bottle of rum and that the merchant, in no uncertain terms, was refusing. When at last it became apparent that the merchant had had enough, McGillis wished him to the devil and stormed off, none too steadily, in Barbara and Juletta's direction.

"Barbara," Juletta said quickly, "why don't you look in there?" She nodded toward a small milliner's shop. ''I want to speak to this man."

"Speak to him?" Barbara repeated. To her, he looked the kind of a man a gently bred lady ran from.

"You heard me. Now run along. I'll join you in a moment."

Barbara obeyed, and Juletta waited for McGillis to approach.

As he reached her, he touched the brim of his stained, battered hat. "Miz Kearny."

He started past, but Juletta called to him. "Mr. McGillis?" He stopped and looked back at her. "I hardly think your captain would approve of your behavior."

McGillis scowled. "Beggin' yer pardon, ma'am, but if yer talkin' 'bout Court Lennox, he ain't my cap'n no more. Turned me outfor drink, he said." McGillis' laugh was hollow, derisive. "Like I was the only man aboard what likes a drop now an' then."

"What will you do?"

"Sign aboard another ship soon as I can. 'Til then?" He shrugged.

Juletta gestured to her coachman, who urged his horses forward until the carriage drew abreast of them.

"Collier, take this man to Windover and find him somewhere to sleepin the stables, perhaps. See that he has something to eat and some rum to drink. Then come back for Miss Barbara and myself."

"Yer a saint, ma'am," McGillis gushed. "An angel from heaven."

"Of course," Juletta agreed, amused.

She watched as the half-drunken seaman clambered awkwardly into the carriage and was driven off, then went in search of Barbara Todd. This would be a short shopping expedition, she told herself grimly, for she was too eager to question Court's disgruntled former crewman to waste precious time pondering what color ribbons would do best trimming a bonnet she didn't really want.

As it happened, several hours passed before Juletta managed to make her way to the cramped, musty room where Peter McGillis lay. Her orders, as she discovered, had been carried out too well. The man had been supplied with all the fine Jamaican rum he could hold, and in Peter McGillis' case, that was a lot.

"You're foxed," she muttered, disgusted, as she watched him struggle to push himself to his feet when she entered.

"Aye, that I am," he agreed, not the least insulted or ashamed. "And I thank ye fer it."

"Are you fit to answer a few questions?"

He drew himself up. "As fit as . . . as . . ." He scowled, failing to think of an apt comparison. "Aye, I am," he finished at last.

Juletta slapped the worst of the dust from an old barrel and sat gingerly on its cracked top. "Did you go with your captain on the trip to Charles Town some few months since?"

"That I did." McGillis' dark, bushy brows drew downward in an agry scowl. "Nasty business, that! I don't hold with cartin' dead bodies about."

"Dead bodies!"

"Oh, aye. Bad luck, ye know. Anybody knows that. And I don't hold with pirates, neither."

"Pirates?" Juletta's thoughts were hopelessly muddled. "Perhaps you should start at the beginning, if you please." Haltingly, his speech slurred, his narrative interrupted for frequent, long draughts of the rum Juletta was beginning to wish she has never ordered provided for him, McGillis related the events leading to the impulsive, mysterious voyage of the Juletta to Charles Town.

"We dropped anchor in Charles Town harbor," he told her. "That night the cap'n and young Rob was rowed into town. Rigged out like proper gentry, they was. And where did they go? To the Provost, to see that cursed pirate!"

"Jack Tremonte?" Juletta prompted.

"Aye, that's the dog. The next day the cap'n goes to the hangin'. But was that the last o' that devil-spawn pirate? Oh, no! Next thing we know, the cap'n calls six men out to White Point to bring back the wretch's corpse, which he had bought from the gravediggers."

"Jack Tremonte's corpse!"

"Oh, aye. Bloody pirates!"

Juletta grimaced as the seaman spat on the dusty wood floor. "What did you do with him?"

"The body? We chucked 'im into the sea next mornin'. All right and proper and Christian, it was, as if the bastardoh, beggin' yer pardondeserved it. The cap'n read scripture over 'im and young Rob were awailin' and asobbin' . . ."

"Who is this 'young Rob' you keep mentioning?"

"Rob. You know. Robbie. That redheaded wench what came back with the cap'n from Montebello. Black Jack's daughter."

Juletta felt the floor tilt beneath her. "Jack Tremonte's daughter! Robbie! But how . . . when . . . How could Court have come to be harboring Black Jack Tremonte's daughter?" Silence was her only answer. "McGillis? McGillis! Answer me!"

But though she prodded him and poked him with the pointed toe of her slipper, drunken snores were her only reply. Having made his shocking revelation, Peter McGillis had slipped away into a drunken stupor from which it was plain he Would not awaken for some hours.

Juletta sat silently in the gathering darkness of the little loft room with Peter McGillis's rum-induced mumblings and snortings for company. A thousand questions were running through her mind. RobbieCourt's much-vaunted "English cousin," Robyn Fitzalan, second cousin to the Duke of Brook-fieldwas in reality the offspring of a notorious, murdering, plundering criminal who had paid the ultimate price for his vicious life when he had danced at the end of a British noose. Her mother . . . well, who knew with these pirates? Doubtless she was some comely whore Jack had come across on his travels.

A malicious smirk twisted Juletta's pretty pink mouth. Robbie Tremonte. No wonder Court wouldn't marry her. No wonder, despite his obvious sensual obsession with the girl, he would not, could not, make her his wife. A pirate's daughter, mistress of Green-brier? Mother of a Lennox heir? It was laughable.

She felt suddenly as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She had nothing to fear. Court would never marry Robbie, whatever her attraction for him. If the girl had any sense at all, she would agree to be Court's mistress. That was as high as a girl of her breeding could dare to aspire. And even reaching those heights was nothing short of a miracle.

Still, her mind was plagued with questions. According to McGillis, Robbie had come back with Court from Montebello. Of course, Juletta had heard of the infamous pirate isle, but it lay far outside Court's course to and from England. What had he been doing there? What madness had made him put in at such a notorious hell-hole and by what extraordinary fortune had he been able to escape it with ship and crew intact? And what in the world was Jack Tremonte's daughter doing accompanying him?

Questions . . . questions with no answers . . . questions begetting other questions . . .

Sighing, resigned to the fact that Peter McGillis was out for the night, Juletta left the darkening room and returned to the house. But tomorrow . . . tomorrow she would have the answers she craved if it took all the Jamaican rum her father kept stored in a special, locked cabinet he liked to call his medicine chest.

32

It was midday by the time Juletta managed to escape the numbing company of Barbara Todd and make her way to the stables to continue her cross-examination of Peter McGillis. When at last she opened the door of the musty loft room, it was to find the chamber empty. Deserted.

"Collier!" she shouted, bringing the coachman on the run from his quarters nearby. "Where is the man who slept in this room last night?"

"He left, Miss Juletta, at first light. Said he wanted to try and sign aboard a ship and that he knew of a few near ready to sail."

"Damn!" she snarled, the stamping of her leather- slippered foot raising a little cloud of dust around the flounced hem of her gown. "Damn! Damn! Damn!"

"Should I send somebody after him, miss?"

"What? No. Don't bother. He's likely out to sea by now. Those ships are always in need of crewmen. Have a horse saddled for me, Collier. I'm going to pay a call."

The coachman disappeared, and Juletta retraced her steps toward the house. She would confront Court with McGillis' story, she decided, and see just what he intended to do. She, for one, would be damned if she would claim Jack Tremonte's daughter as kin once she was Court's wife!

Her arrival at Greenbrier gave her the second disappointment of what promised to be a perfectly dreadful day.

"I'm sorry, Juletta, but Court left very early this morning." Ariel, into whose presence Juletta had been ushered, gestured to a chair opposite her own in the front drawing room.

"He's left?" Juletta put her gold-braided hat and riding quirt on a table and drew off her embroidered gauntlets. "You make it sound as though he's going to be away for some time."

"I'm not sure, actually, how long he'll be gone. I don't think he knew himself. One of his shipsI'm not sure whichsuffered heavy damage in a storm and had to put in at the docks of Hampton, the Waverlys' plantation on the James. Court has gone to assess the damage and decide what should be done."

"Well, he could have sent someone to tell me." Juletta pouted, pettishly wishing Court had sent a message to her, if only for the sake of impressing the Todds with how very considerate he was of her. Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. "He didn't take Robbie with him, did he?"

The question seemed to startled Ariel. "No, of course not. Why should he?"

"He took her with him to Charles Town."

"But that was different. That was . . ." Ariel stopped, her eyes wide with the realization of what she'd been about to say.

"Yes, yes," Juletta agreed airily. "That was to see her father before he was hanged."

The color drained from Ariel's porcelain cheeks. "You know about that?" she whispered. "You know about Robbie?"

It was all Juletta could do to hide her elation at Ariel's unknowing confirmation of the wild-sounding yarn Peter McGillis had spun.

"Ariel," Juletta hedged, "Court and I are to be married. Do you think he keeps secrets from me?"

"No, of course not, but . . ." Ariel's head was spinning. Robbie's secret was something she'd never imagined Court would reveal to anyone. Not only was Robbie's safety in peril, Court's reputation stood to suffer if the truth of his rescuing Jack Tremonte from almost certain death were known. And, what was more, Court had not only sheltered Black Jack's daughter, he had duped the polite society of Yorktown into accepting her as the descendant of a noble English house. He had been responsible for her entrée into some of the finest homes in Virginiaintroduced her to some of its most important people. She had danced, at Windover, with the Royal Governor himselfAlexander Spotswood, who had sworn to rid the colonies of the cursed plague of pirates infesting their shores.

"You needn't worry," Juletta assured her. "I understand the importance of Robbie's secret. Not only would there be a scandal, the people of Yorktown might well be so furious they would do her some harm."

"It's more than that. She might be in danger from her father's men."

"The pirates?"

Ariel nodded. "One in particular. René LeClerc. He coveted the captaincy of the Montebello Island pirates. He planned to be their master once Black Jack was dead. But Jack didn't dienot then, at least. And LeClerc left Montebello with some of Jack Tremonte's men. He formed his own band. He" Ariel's voice dropped to a hushed whisper. "He betrayed Robbie's father. That's why Black Jack was captured. And hanged."

"He sounds like a horrible man. But why would he want to harm Robbie? Now that Jack Tremonte is dead, this LeClerc person can take over Montebello if he likes."

"There's more to it than Montebello. Supposedly, Black Jack hid his share of the pirates' bounty somewhere on the island. LeClerc thinks Robbie knows where it is."

"And he wants the treasure?"

"Not only the treasure." Ariel's cheeks colored as she remembered Robbie's tales of the hideous René LeClerc. "Originally, he planned to force Robbie to reveal the hiding place as soon as Black Jack was dead. Once he had the treasure he was going to kill her. But then, after he discovered that Robbie was a girl . . ."

"Discovered" Juletta leaned toward her. "He didn't know she was a girl? What did he think she was?"

"A boy, of course. She'd been raised as a boy, you see, to protect her. No one knew the truth except her father. Even Court didn't know when we left Montebello." Ariel laughed at the memory. "I can still remember the shock on his face when he discovered, two days out of Yorktown, that his cabin boy was really a girl!"

"I can imagine," Juletta murmured sourly.

"And after they'd shared his cabin for so long! Robbie had actually slept on a cot at the foot of his bed!"

Had she? Juletta wondered, jealousy running like liquid fire through her veins. Or had Court known all along that Robbie was a girl? Had the masquerade been merely an excuse for him to keep her with him in his cabin, if not actually in his bed?

Elvira appeared in the doorway. "Miss Ariel, Mr. Brock is drawing up in the drive."

Ariel's cheeks flushed with pleasure. Rising, she cast an uneasy look toward Juletta. "Would you think me dreadfully rude . . ."

Juletta rose and took up her hat, gloves, and quirt. "Not at all. In fact, I was just about to take my leave."

"Brock has promised to take me driving. We may stop to visit his great-aunt Minerva. She's been under the weather and Robbie is caring for her."

Juletta's heart fluttered with apprehension. "Ariel, dear, it may be wiser not to mention our conversation to either Brock or Robbie."

"But why not? Brock knows the truth about Robbie. So does Miss Gilmore."

Irritation at being excluded from their conspiracy of protective silence was overshadowed in Juletta's thoughts by fear of what Court might do if he discovered her prying.

"Still, we wouldn't want them to think we were two old gossips, would we?"

"I suppose not," Ariel agreed, Juletta's persistence planting the seeds of suspicion in her mind. "Of course I won't say anything if you think it's best."

Condescendingly, Juletta patted Ariel's cheek. "You're a good girl," she cooed, pleased as always at having gotten her own way.

But as Juletta left, purring a self-satisfied good morning to Brock, who stood in the hall, Ariel's brow was knit with the troubling suspicion that she had just been duped into revealing far more than Juletta already knew.

She said as much an hour and a half later when she sat with Brock, waiting for Robbie to come down from Minerva's sick room.

''Something has been bothering you all afternoon," Brock observed. "If you tell me about it, I may be able to help."

Ariel smiled, flushing faintly. She had been unable to grasp at first the fact that Brock truly seemed, if not in love with her, then at least enamoured. It was too wonderfultoo much like the answer to all her schoolgirl prayersto be sure. She half expected to awaken and find it was all a dream. And yet here he was beside her, concerned for her, wanting to share her worries.

"It's something Juletta told me," she said. "I find it hard to believe, and yet apparently it's true."

"What is it?"

"Court . . ." She frowned, troubled. "Court told Juletta the truth about Robbie."

"What!" Brock's voice echoed in the small, cozy parlor. "That's impossible! He'd never tell anyone!"

"That's what I thought. But she knew all about it. She knew who Robbie really is. She knew why Court took her to Charles Town. . . . Oh, Brock, it seems so unlike him to betray a confidence. How could he trust Juletta with the truth, knowing how she detests Robbie? If she tells everyone, what will Robbie do?"

Robbie appeared in the doorway. "What will Robbie do about what?" she asked, coming into the room. Brock and Ariel exchanged an uneasy glance. Robbie, sensing trouble, sat down across from them.

"Ariel? Brock? What's happened? Is something wrong?"

"It's Court," Ariel murmured miserably.

"Something's happened to Court?" Despite her avowed loathing for him, Robbie's heart thudded sickeningly at the thought of an accident befalling Court.

"No, no. He's fine. It's something he's done. Something I don't understand."

Robbie's chuckle was filled with resigned fondness. "If you can find anyone who understands your brother, Ariel, be sure to send him here to enlighten me."

"It's not a laughing matter," Brock told her. "It concerns you."

The humor faded from Robbie's face. "What's he done? Brock? Ariel? Tell me. If it concerns me, I have a right to know."

Ariel forced her eyes to meet Robbie's. "He's told Juletta the truth about you."

Robbie swayed slightly, stunned. She felt dizzy. For a moment she thought she might faint for the first time in her life. "He can't have," she breathed. "He wouldn't do that to me."

"He has."

Cold anger replaced the pain. "Is he insane? Does he think for one bloody moment that she won't use it against me? What the hell can he have been thinking of!" Fear gnawed at the edges of her fury. She pressed her fingertips to her lips. "My God, Ariel, does he hate me so much that he wants to destroy me? Is he willing to sacrifice himself simply to ruin me?"

"Of course he isn't. He doesn't hate you, Robbie. I know he doesn't!" She looked helplessly at Brock. "Court loves you, Robbie. That's the truth even if neither you nor Court will admit it. And: that's what makes this all the harder to understand."

"Of all the things he could have done to me, this is the worst!" Thrusting herself out of her chair, Robbie began pacing the floor. "I've got to go away. I must! Before Juletta can do any"

"Robbie, no!" Ariel cried.

"I've got to! But first I'm going to kill your brother!"

She started from the room, but Ariel called her back.

"He's not at Greenbrier. He's not even in Yorktown. He's gone to see to one of his ships. He won't be back for days."

"I haven't got days." Robbie's mind raced. "Juletta won't be able to keep this news to herself for long."

"What will you do?"

"Come to Avondale," Brock suggested.

Robbie's eyes softened with affection. "Thank you, Brock, but I can't. Once everyone knows who I am . . ." She sighed. "I want you to deny knowing anything about me." She shook her head, stilling their protests. "I mean it. Protect yourselves. I won't need your protectionI won't be here. Say you knew nothing. No one can prove otherwise, regardless of what Juletta tells them."

"Don't go, Robbie, please." Ariel's great blue eyes were awash with tears.

Robbie took the weeping girl into her arms and hugged her hard. "I have to," she answered softly, wistfully. "When you think about it you'll realize that." She held her at arm's length. "Be happy. Both of you. Together." Stretching up on her toes, she kissed Brock's cheek. Then she was gone, bounding up the stairs, wishing she knew what to do next.

33

Standing before the mirror in the dear, familiar room that had been hers since she'd moved into Minerva's house, Robbie tightened the belt of her borrowed breeches. Court had disposed of her disguise once they'd reached Virginia, and so she had had to borrow boots, stockings, breeches, shirt, and coat from one of the young sons of Minerva's stableman. The clothing fit her well enough; a bit loose in the waist, perhaps, and tight across the bosom, even with her breasts as tightly bound as she could stand, but that was to be expected. All that was left for her to do was . . .

She held the scissors in one hand and with the other stretched out the first glossy curl. Her stomach tightened. She cursed herself for her cowardice. Without a backward glance she could strike out into the world alone, but she could not force herself to snip off the fiery curls that had come to be a symbol of her transformation.

At last she cast the scissors aside with a muttered curse. Gathering her hair in one hand, she twisted the shoulder-length curls into a ball atop her head and jammed her battered three-cornered hat over them.

After one last, futile attempt to dissuade her, Ariel and Brock had left. Minerva, when Robbie peered around the half-opened bedroom door, was sleeping too soundly to be disturbed. The servants would care for her, and Brock would have to explain Robbie's hasty departure. She descended the stairs in the silent, somehow melancholy house and, letting herself out by the back entrance, made her way into Yorktown.

A ship, she thought, might be her best bet. She knew the seashe had not done so badly as Court's cabin boy, after all. A similar position on another ship might well suit her purposes. Her eyes scanned the ships moored at Yorktown's swarming wharves. Their masts skeletal, their rigging dotted here and there with seamen looking like insects caught in a spider's web, jutted skyward.

Robbie debated. Which to choose? Which to try? A merchantman? A ship of His Majesty's navy? Perhaps that one over . . .

She caught her breath sharply. The Juletta bumped gently against her moorings. The Juletta! But Ariel had said that Court was gone! How had he come to return so quickly? He could be anywhere! At any moment he might appear and recognize her!

She turned and hurried away, glancing back once, then again, as if the devil himself were pursuing her. Rounding a corner, she ran headlong into the portly frame of a short, stout man whose plain but elegant dress and loose-combed, gray-streaked brown hair made him look like the epitome of an English country squire.

"Easy now, lad," he said, steadying her with a hand on her shoulder.

"Beggin' your pardon, sir," Robbie mumbled. She flattened herself against the clapboard wall of a shop to let the man pass. Leaning there, she watched as he spoke to the coachman, who held the reins of a splendid team of four dappled horses. The coachman nodded respectfully, and his master turned away and struck up a conversation with the proprietor of the shop in front of which the dark green coach was standing.

The man reached into one of the capacious pockets of his coat and drew out a handkerchief. As he did, a leather drawstring bag fell, unheeded, to the ground. The two men moved away to give closer inspection to the shopkeeper's wares and, as they did, Robbie darted forward and scooped up the bag.

It was heavy in her hands, and the gold inside represented freedom. With it she could travel far awayaway from Court, from Juletta's maliciousness, away from the censure of pirate-hating colonials who would shun her because of who her father had been.

And yet the thought of merely taking the purse weighed heavily on her mind. She glanced up, and her eyes met the brown-haired man out of whose pocket the purse had fallen. Unaware that the slender, red-haired youth held his gold in tapering hands, the man smiled kindly before returning to his conversation.

Sighing, Robbie went to him. "Yer pardon, sir," she said, assuming airs and speech more appropriate to her disguise. "This fell out of your pocket."

She held out the bag, and the man's blue eyes widened. He patted his now empty pocket.

"Why, so it must have," he said, taking the bag from Robbie's outstretched hand. "You're a rare honest lad." Opening the bag, he extracted a gold guinea. "Here, boy, a reward to show you that honesty is not unappreciated."

Without hesitation, Robbie snatched the gold piece. It would not take her anywhere near as far as the entire bag would have, but she was much farther ahead than she had been but a few minutes before.

The man patted Robbie's shoulder and gestured for his coach. As Robbie watched, he climbed up into the vehicle. It, like him, seemed to exude an air of quiet, unassuming wealth. Robbie wondered if his life were as calm, as easy, as his kindly good nature seemed to suggest. If so, she envied him.

She started as a small, furry form brushed against her leg. She looked down just in time to see one of the dogs that swarmed along the wharves, its brown coat shaggy and matted, dart among the horses' iron-shod hooves. He barked and nipped at them gleefully, and the horses pranced, nickering.

Robbie moved forward, unafraid of the 'horses' rolling eyes and stamping hooves. She chased the dog away, then reached up to soothe the nervous animals.

The coachman, on his high perch, looked relieved. The man to whom Robbie had returned the purse, his gray-streaked hair fluttering about his face, thrust his head out the window.

"What, you again?" He chuckled. "Come here, lad."

Robbie went to the coach window, a greedy little part of her hoping he would be as generous in rewarding this service as he had the last.

"What's your master's name, boy?" he asked. "I would commend you to him."

Lowering her lashes, Robbie gave him her most sorrowful look. "Alas, sir, I have no master. My father died not long since and I have no situation just yet." She jerked her head in the direction of the wharves. "I was thinkin' of puttin' to sea. They say His Majesty's Navy is always lookin' for lads."

"His Majesty's Navy!" The man's bushy brows drew together and a deep cleft formed between them. "No, lad, the Royal Navy is no place for a pretty boy like you. I'm as loyal to the King as any man, but 'tis only the truth to say that many of his warships are dens of vice and cruelty, and their officers unashamed sodomites who prey on the young boys in their charge."

Robbie's face registered the expected degree of shock, but in reality his words came as no great surprise. Many pirates, including some of her father's own men, had deserted from the British navy, unable to withstand the brutal treatment they received at the hands of their officers.

"See here," the man went on. "You're good with horses and you seem an honest lad. I'm in need of a stableboy. If you've nothing to keep you here, you're welcome to come with me. There'll be only room and board to start, until I see how you work out, but you'll have good food and a roof over your head, and you can sleep at night without fear of assault. What say you?"

"I'd like that, sir, indeed I would!" Robbie answered without a trace of hesitation.

"Good. My name is Beriah Drew."

Smiling, Robbie shook his outstretched hand. "I'm Robbie, sir, Robbie . . . Gilmore."

"Well, then, Robbie Gilmore, why don't you ride on the box with Jeffers? Are you hungry?" He laughed at Robbie's eager nod. Fishing in a large wicker hamper, he pulled out a loaf of fresh-baked bread and a bottle of wine. "There you are, boy, now up you go. I'm eager to be off. We've a long way to go."

Robbie climbed up and sat beside the coachman on his high perch. With a slap of the reins, they were off. She tore a chunk off the bread and offered it to the coachman, who declined with a shake of his head.

"Where're we goin'?" she asked, craning her neck to watch Yorktown fading into the cloud of dust that followed them. "Suffolk," the coachman, Jeffers, replied. "On the Pamlico River in North Carolina."

North Carolina. Robbie munched thoughtfully on her bread. Court would never find her therenever. Nor would anyone else. She would never see any of them again, not Ariel, nor Brock, nor Minerva. She wasn't sure, as she pulled out the cork of the wine bottle and took a long draught, whether she felt happy to have escaped or sad at leaving behind the friends she'd come to love.

Darkness was settling over the countryside when Beriah Drew ordered his coachman to turn into the courtyard of a respectable-looking inn. Robbie didn't know where they wereshe had no notion of how far they'd come, but she suspected they were nowhere near North Carolina yet.

As Beriah Drew left them to enter the inn, Robbie and the coachman unhitched the horses.

"Take them to the stable and see to them," Jeffers instructed, obviously relishing the prospect of having a stableboy to do the chores that had fallen to him on this journey.

Robbie did as she was told and found a certain comforting peace of mind in caring for the big, beautiful animals. She fed them and watered them and brushed their dappled-gray coats. She saw them settled for the night before she sought out an empty stall and sat down amid the fresh, fragrant hay.

Wedged into a corner of the stall, she pulled her hat down over her eyes and relaxed, longing for sleep.

"Be you Rob?" a soft, unmistakably female voice asked.

Robbie peeked out from beneath her hat and found a young, comely barmaid standing at the end of the stall. She held a bowl of hot, aromatic stew in one hand and a tankard of ale in the other.

''Aye, I'm Rob," she answered cautiously.

Smiling coquettishly, the girl came and bent to set the food and drink in the hay. The gathered neck of her blouse gaped as she did, giving Robbie a completely unhindered view of a pair of lush breasts that made Robbie feel as flat as the boy she was supposed to be.

"Is there anything else ye want, Rob?" the girl asked breathily, her hand lying on the rough cloth covering Robbie's thigh. "My name's Megan."

Gently, Robbie plucked the girl's hand off her leg. "Thank ye, kindly, Megan, but there's nothin' else I need."

Megan ran her tongue over her pouting red lips. "Are ye sure, Rob? Don't be shy, now."

Picking up the stew, Robbie shoved a spoonful into her mouth. "This is all I need, truly, Megan," she mumbled around the thick chunks of vegetables and meat.

With a haughty toss of her head, Megan flounced away, obviously mortally insulted. Behind her, Robbie smiled wearily. "If Court had seen that . . ." she began, then stopped, realizing that she missed Court and that the thought of never seeing him again started an aching inside her that hurt to the very depths of her soul.

Setting aside what remained of the stew, she settled back in the corner once more and tried to push all thought of Court, of Greenbrier, and of love from her mind.

How long she slept she didn't know, but the lantern was still burning so she assumed the inn hadn't yet closed for the night. She heard the soft mumbling of voices, but they weren't what had awakened her. A horse had been put into the stall next to the one where she'd slept and that horse, for some ungodly reason, had taken a liking to her.

Reaching up, she pushed away the great nose that nibbled at her, but the horse only nickered softly and nuzzled her cheek.

"Get away," Robbie grumbled, reaching out to try and shove the horse's head back over the wall dividing the stalls. "Find somebody else to slobber on, you great, ugly beast."

The horse persisted and, at last, Robbie pushed herself to her feet.

"I said, leave me be, you" Huge brown eyes set in a snowy face gazed impassively at her. Robbie reached out and stroked the thick, arching neck, and the horse whinnied. "It can't be," she breathed. "It can't''

"He's taken a likin' to ye, lad," the inn's stableman called. "It's almost like he knows you."

The man to whom the stableman had been speaking turned. Robbie found herself gazing into the amber depths of a pair of eyes she'd thought never to see again.

"Robbie?" Court took a step, then two, in her direction. "What in the hell are you doing . . ."

"It can't be," Robbie repeated, not believing that of all the inns in Virginia, he could possibly have found the one she'd ended up in. "Court . . ."

She backed out of the stall as he came toward her. "Go away," she whispered. "Leave me be."

He ignored her plea. "What are you doing here?" he demanded. "Why aren't you in Yorktown where you belong? And what the hell are you dressed that way for?"

"I said go away!" she screamed, startling the horses, who pranced nervously in their stalls. "Why can't you leave me alone? How did you find me?"

Court moved toward her and Robbie, panicking, broke into a run. But he was faster, his longer legs giving him an advantage she couldn't overcome. She screamed as he seized her, and her struggles set them both off balance. They fell, and Court rolled to break her fall, pulling them both into the merciful cushion of fresh straw in an empty box stall only a few feet from the stable's rear door.

34

"Get off me, goddamn you!" Robbie hissed.

Court knelt astride her, sinking her deeply into the welcoming cushion of straw. "Not until you tell me what this is all about."

"As if you didn't know! High, holy Courtland Lennox, the last of the blessed innocents! You couldn't wait, could you? You couldn't wait to destroy me!"

"Destroy? What the hell are you talking about?"

Robbie gathered all her strength and tried to shove him off her, but he didn't seem to notice.

"You know what I'm talking about," she snarled, her face red with her efforts.

"If I knew, do you think I'd be here, sitting on you?"

"Probably. It doesn't take much to entertain you!"

"I'm losing my patience, Robbie," he warned.

"You're losing your patience! You're not the one whose ribs are caving in because some jackass thinks you're a bloody chair!" With a hiss of exasperation, Court moved off her. In an instant she was on her feet, ready to run, but he threw an arm about her waist and swung her around, lifting her off her feet. Cursing, she struggled; she tried to kick him, but her heels struck only the hard leather of his high boots.

"Here now, what's the meaning of this!"

They both froze. Looking up, they found Beriah Drew hurrying toward them. The napkin he had tucked into the neck of his shirt flapped over his shoulder.

"I demand an explanation, sir," he told Court angrily. "What are you doing with my stableboy?"

Court, still holding a writhing Robbie under his arm, drew himself up and eyed the other man with all the patrician condescension he could use to such advantage.

"It is I, sir," he replied coldly, "who must demand an explanation . . . an explanation of what you are doing with my wife."

Beriah Drew's ruddy face paled. "Your . . . your wife, sir!"

Swinging Robbie around, Court dropped her none too gently onto her feet between them. Her hat was long gone, lost in her struggle with Court, and her fiery curls cascaded silkily about her cheeks and lay in glossy ringlets on her shoulders.

"Don't listen to him!" she cried. "It's a lie!"

"Good God!" Drew gaped at her, goggle-eyed. "You are a female!"

"But I'm not his wife!"

Thoroughly confused, Drew mopped at his face with his napkin. "Well, then, who are you, pray?"

Court's low chuckle sounded maddeningly in her ear. "Go ahead, my dear, tell the man who you are."

"I'll tell him the truth!" she threatened. "None of that Fitzalan twaddle." "By all means," Court agreed. "Tell the gentleman the truth."

"I'm Robyn Tremonte," she told him, chin high. "My father was Jack TremonteBlack Jack Tremontethe famous pirate!"

Beriah looked from Robbie to Courtwho shruggedand back again. "Lying is a grievous sin, my girl," he said disapprovingly.

"I'm not lying!"

"She believes every word of it," Court explained, a pathetic note of melancholy in his voice.

"She does . . ." Beriah looked confused, then his face cleared. "Ah, I see. Has she been this way long?"

"A family trait, I fear."

"I am sorry. And such a pretty little thing."

Suddenly realizing the impression Court was trying, with no little measure of success, to convey, Robbie's fury redoubled. "I'm not a lunatic!" she snarled. She jerked her arm out of Court's grasp. "Take your cursed hands off me, you scurvy son of a bi"

Court clamped his hand over her mouth. "Your pardon, sir."

"Delusions or not, sir," Beriah Drew said witheringly, "if she were my wife, I'd see her soundly birched."

"Wise advice, I'm sure, sir."

"I'll leave you then." The once kind eyes swept over Robbie. They were filled with an infuriating mixture of pity and mistrust. "Listen to your husband, my dear. He has your best interests at heart."

Court released her once they were alone. She rounded on him, fists doubled.

"Damn you! Damn you to hell!" she screeched, pounding on his shoulders, his chest, his arms.

Court bore it all impassively, though he didn't doubt for a moment that he'd sport some impressive bruises for several weeks to come. When her blows stopped raining down on him he arched a taunting brow at the red-faced virago who stood before him, bosom heaving under her borrowed shirt and coat.

"Are you finished?" he asked calmly.

"Why did you do that? That man was kind to me! He was going to give me a place to live!"

"You have a place to live. And you're going back to it tomorrow."

"I haven't! And I'm not!" she snapped. "You saw to that!"

Court passed a hand over his brow. "We're back to that now, are we? Come on . . ."

Robbie yanked her wrist out of his hand. "I'm not going anywhere with you!"

"You can't stay here. Everyone at this inn will know you're a woman now. It won't be safe for you here in the stables alone."

"And I'll be safe with you?" she sneered.

"Just do as I ask for once," he pleaded, weary of arguing with her.

"And what if I don't?"

He drew himself to his full height and loomed over her menacingly. "Everyone here will believe you're my wife. No one will interfere between us. I could use a length of rein, truss you like a Christmas goose, and cart you through the taproom like a bale of hay and no one would stop me."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me!" He could see by the wariness in her eyes that she didn't doubt for a moment his ability and willingness to do exactly as he threatened. "Come along," he said again, taking her wrist. ''I want an explanation."

Upstairs, in the comfortable room Court had rented for the night, Robbie paced the wooden floor with its worn Turkey carpet while Court, eating the supper he had ordered upon his arrival, watched her.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, gesturing toward the food on the table before him.

Robbie shook her head as she pulled off her coat and tossed it over the back of a chair. "A barmaid brought me stew and ale in the stable." She rolled her eyes. "Stew wasn't all she tried to offer me!"

Court laughed. "Well, you do make a comely lad, sweet." He frowned, pointing toward her shirt with his knife. "I'm almost afraid to ask, but what did you do with your breasts?"

Robbie glanced down. "They're bound. To flatten them."

Shaking his head, he lifted his glass of wine. "Sacrilege," he muttered into the rich red depths.

"Don't try to put me in a good humor," she admonished angrily.

"I'd as soon try to cheer a bobcat with grapeshot in its ass, my dear." Leaving the table, he went to a chair near the leaded windows. "Perhaps you'd best tell me what it is I've done."

"You know!"

"If I knew, I wouldn't be asking."

She swung toward him. "You betrayed me!"

"Betrayed you? How? With whom?"

"With Juletta, of course! You couldn't wait, could you, to tell her? How could you, Court, knowing how she hates me! You must have known she'd use it against me!"

"Robbie, I swear, I know nothing . . ."

"Don't lie! At least be man enough to own what you've done!"

"I swear to you, I told her nothing!"

"Then how does she know? She went to Greenbrier and spoke to Ariel. Ariel came to Minerva's and told me that Juletta knows everything. How could she know if you didn't tell her? Ariel wouldn't, Minerva wouldn't, Brock wouldn't. . . ."

"But you think I would?"

Shaking her head, Robbie sank onto the bench beneath the windows. "I don't know, Court, what you would do to me."

"Your confidence in me is hardly flattering, my dear," he said, ice dripping from his every syllable.

"Oh, sweet Christ! It doesn't matter anymore." She laid her cheek against the cool panes of the window. "All I know is that I have to go away. Far away. I thought of putting to seaI went to the wharves hoping to sign on as a cabin boy. But when I saw the Juletta moored there I thought you had come back. Ariel told me you had gone to Hampton plantation on the James. . . ."

"I rode overland."

"So I see. Anyway, I stumbled into Beriah Drew and he offered me a position as his stableboy in North Carolina."

"And you decided to go."

"What else could I do? Wait until Juletta told all of Yorktown my secret? Wait to be chased out of town one step in front of the tar and feathers?"

"At least wait and see what will happen. The people there like you, Robbie. They care for you. Your father is dead now; they've no reason to fear him. Nor to hate you for being his daughter."

"Do you truly think that will make any difference?" she asked bitterly.

"At least come back and see. Don't be a coward when"

"Coward!" She thrust herself to her feet. "How dare you call me a coward! I've never been a coward!" "Do you deny you were running away?" he asked softly.

"Because I thought"

"I had betrayed you?"

She nodded, eyes downcast.

"And abandoned you?"

She nodded again, not daring to look up as he came to her and took her into his arms.

"I was frightened, Court . . ." she whispered.

A wave of tenderness swept over him as he felt her slender body trembling. She clung to him, her fingers clutching at the cloth of his jacket. She was like no other woman he had ever knownfierce one moment, brave, willing to strike out into the unknown alone and determined to make her way in a hostile world, and soft the next moment, trembling and clinging, utterly feminine.

"I think it's time you were in bed, sweet," he murmured against her soft, tousled curls. "You've had a hard day. Things will be better in the morning."

"Bed," she whispered, her cheek cushioned against his shoulder. Her body stiffened; she pushed out of his arms. "Oh, no, you don't! Damn you, Court Lennox! Is that all this was? All your sympathy and sweet talk?"

"Robbie . . ." His tone was exasperated.

"No! I told you I won't be your whore! If that's the only reason you want me back in Yorktown . . ."

"That's enough! If all I wanted was a woman in a bed, my proud little piratess, I could go to your randy barmaid friend! Doubtless she'd be willing, and not a foul-tempered shrew into the bargain!"

"Shrew!" She jammed her fists into her hips. "Just who in the hell are you calling a shrew!"

"I'm calling you a shrew! Because that's what you are!" he shouted back.

"Well, you just listen to me, Mister High-and-Mighty Courtland Lennox! I'll tell you" She stopped, disconcerted by the smile on his face. It widened to a grin, then the laughter that had its beginnings deep inside him began to rumble forth. "What's so funny?" she demanded suspiciously. "What are you laughing about?"

"You enjoy righting, don't you?" he asked, chuckling.

In spite of herself, Robbie felt a smile lifting the corners of her mouth. "I suppose I do," she admitted, somewhat sheepishly.

"Oh, Robbie." He rubbed at the stitch in his side. "Go on to bed. I promise I won't ravish you in your sleep."

"You promise?"

"Yes, I promise."

"Turn your back."

Patiently, Court turned, and Robbie slipped off her boots and stockings and discarded her breeches. Reaching under her shirt, she unwound the binder that flattened her breasts. With a sigh of relief, she slipped between the cool, clean sheets of the high tester bed.

In the gloomy light of a single candle, Robbie watched as Court pulled the cushioned bench from beneath the window against the armchair. Taking a blanket from the foot of the bed, he settled down on his functional, if highly uncomfortable, bed.

"Good night, Court," she called softly as he reached out to extinguish the last candle.

"Good night, Rob." He chuckled. "You are unique."

"No, I'm not!" she argued hotly. "But I once knew someone who was. My father captured a man once off a ship bound from the East Indies. He had been captured as a boy off the coast of Madagascar by Henry Every, who ordered his men to cut off the lad's" "Robbie," Court interrupted, wincing. "He was a eunuchit's not quite the same thing. Unique means one of a kind."

"Oh." She shrugged. "Well, on Montebello he was one of a kind."

"No doubt." Court smiled wearily in the darkness. "Go to sleep, Robbie."

Turning on her side, Robbie snuggled down into the softness of the feather mattress. In mere moments she was fast asleep, and so did not hear the soft, fond laughter coming from the other side of the darkened chamber.

35

In the warm half-light of morning, with the draperies shutting out the glare of the rising sun, Court studied Robbie as she slept, blissfully unaware of his searching gaze upon her.

She looked so innocent with her tousled curls lying like a gleaming halo about her dewy, freckled face. It was at just such times, when his desire for her was a living, gnawing ache inside him, that he wanted to seize her and shake her and curse her for giving herself to any man but him.

He believed Brock when he said he had never been Robbie's lover. But who, then, and when? It had to have been on Montebello, for he was certain that if she had taken a lover after reaching Yorktown the rumors would have reached his ears. But if she had had lovers on Montebello, then she had lied when she'd said that no one had known her secret save her father and herself. And if that had been a lie, how many of the other things she had told him could he dare to believe?

He swore softly, cursing his own folly. Part of him wanted to know the truthto know the names of the men who had passed through her bed, her arms. Another frightened part wanted desperately to pretend that there had been no other man in her life before him. The first of these he knew was useless self-torment. The second, ridiculous self-deception.

There was a knock on the door, and he went to admit the innkeeper and his two daughters. They bore a tin bath and several buckets of hot water with which to begin filling it. Court motioned them to silence, and they went about their work with quiet efficiency, never once making a sound to disturb Robbie's slumber.

When she awoke it was to the soft splashing sounds of Court's bathing. She stretched luxuriously before throwing back the coverlets and padding barefoot to the window.

In the courtyard below, Beriah Drew's coach was being readied for his departure. She felt a glimmer of resentment that she was not there, helping to hitch those magnificent dappled horses, preparing for a journey that would take her out of the reach of Juletta's vindictiveness.

"Don't scowl so," Court entreated, only half jokingly. "You look as fierce as your father."

"Beriah Drew is leaving," she told him simply.

"And you still want to go with him?"

"I'd be safe with him."

"You'll be safe in Yorktown."

Her look was fraught with skepticism that she didn't bother to hide. "Will I? A word whispered in the right ear is all it would take, Court."

He sighed, sliding deeper into the soapy water. "I keep telling you, the people of Yorktown know you now. If you've brought them no harm thus far, the truth of your identity won't harm you. If your father was still aliveif he was raiding the coast and they had reason to fear he might attack themthey might resent you. But he's gone and everyone knows it."

"Tell me truly," she said, coming to the tub and snapping her fingers at the soap suds, "have I any choice?"

"No. I intend to take you back with me."

A faint smile curved the corners of her lush little mouth. "Trussed like a Christmas goose?"

"If need be."

Reaching out, he traced a pattern with one wet finger on her bare thigh beneath the hem of her shirt. A delicate shiver ran through her, and she averted her eyes, lips parting to catch her breath. But she could not force herself to move out of his reach.

"Do I get a bath, too, before we leave?" she whispered.

Their eyes met, and she all too readily recognized the sudden glitter in the amber depths of his. But even her lightning reflexes were not enough to keep her out of Court's clutches. He half rose in the tub, bracing his feet, and pulled her into the warm, sudsy water on top of him.

"Court! My shirt! Now what will I wear home?"

The word home was sweet in Court's ears. "I'll give you one of mine."

His hands slid up her flanks and drew her to him until she was kneeling astride his hips. He had risen and hardened even before pulling her into the water, and Robbie's eyes widened, her mouth forming a tremulous O of surprise, as she felt the swollen, thrusting hardness of him brushing between her thighs.

"Court . . ." she breathed, a shaft of purest desire, like a rapier of tempered steel, piercing to the very heart of her.

"Shhh." His golden gaze, twin spheres of molten amber, held hers imprisoned as his fingers freed the buttons of her shirt and peeled the wet garment from her fresh, gardenia-soft skin.

Slowly, with agonizing care, he washed her, his hands smoothing the fragrant lather over her body with exquisite thoroughness. Robbie moaned as he gently thrust a finger deeply into her. She wrapped her arms about his neck and laid her forehead on his shoulder and gave herself up to the tortuous delights of his touch.

She quivered as his hands teased her, tormented her, pleasured her. Putting her from him, he smoothed the soap over her breasts, then, rinsing them, pulled her up and bent his head to take first one, then the other of her tight, aching nipples into his mouth.

She could take the waiting no longer. . . .

"Please, Court," she groaned, shuddering.

"Do you want me?" he asked, his voice husky and low. "Do you want me now?"

"Yes! Oh, Lord, yes!"

"Then take me."

Beyond all reason, she reached down between them and, taking him into her trembling hand, guided him into the dark, throbbing depths of her.

Grasping her hips, Court showed her the rhythm, the motion, and she loved him, clung to him, mindless, made of passion, of searing desire, until at last, as one, they climaxed, the exquisite rapture of their fulfillment shuddering through them long after the first, indescribable pleasure of their ecstacy had passed.

Robbie leaned back against Court as his great, snowy stallion carried them toward Yorktown. A part of her dreaded the homecoming. Already, Juletta could have exposed hertold everyone her secret. A collage of familiar faces flashed through her mind. They had become friends; would they, upon learning the truth, become, if not her enemies, at least cold, hostile strangers in whose midst she would find no welcome?

''Don't worry," Court murmured, reading her thoughts as he seemed so easily able to do.

"I can't help it." She buried her fingers deeper into the horse's rippling mane as the miles passed beneath his pounding hooves. "I can't help wishing I was with Beriah Drew right now on my way to North Carolina."

"North Carolina! Is that really where you were bound?"

"Yes." She was disconcerted by his laughter. "What's wrong with that?"

"Robbie! The Royal Governor of North Carolina is a friend to the pirates! The wretches swarm all over it! Stede Bonnet. Blackbeard. Especially Blackbeard. Good Christ! He was probably on very good terms with your father, and I've no doubt at all he's become bosom friends with René LeClerc. In running away from Yorktown, you were riding right into the lion's den, my dear."

"North Carolina is a big place, Court," she defended, feeling foolish. "The chances of René LeClerc finding me were . . ."

"Probably better than you imagine," he finished for her. "Beriah Drew is obviously a wealthy and influential man, Robbie. Doubtless he is at least acquainted with Governor Eden. Have you any idea where Drew's home is located?"

"His driver, Jeffers, told me it was a place called Suffolk. On the Pamlico River."

"Oh, sweet Lord! Robbie!"

"What's wrong now!" she demanded.

"On the Pamlico! The pirates hold their saturnalias on Ocracoke Island." "I know that, Court. I heard tell of them on Montebello."

"Did you ever bother ask where Ocracoke Island is?"

"Why should I?" she demanded peevishly. "I wasn't planning to go there!"

"Ocracoke Island lies near the mouth of the Pamlico. Blackbeard sells his booty in Bathon the Pamlico. He's been known to put in and careen his shipon the banks of the Pamlico! And he's not the only pirate to do so."

The thought of what she had been riding into unknowingly sent icy fingers of fear scrabbling down Robbie's spine. But she refused to let Court see the turmoil of her emotions.

"I can take care of myself!" she insisted haughtily.

Behind her, his arms about her waist as he held the reins, Court smiled. She aroused in him such an amazing variety of emotionsit frightened him sometimes. Other women had evoked desire in him, need, something close to love. But only Robbie seemed capable of taking him from the depths of anger and jealous rage to the sublime pleasures of tenderness and protectiveness to the heights of an ecstasy such as he had never known in any other woman's arms.

He wished . . . Scowling, he drove those traitorous thoughts from his mind. She was not hisshe would never be hisand he would never be hers, not completely. He had a duty, a responsibility, to Greenbrier and its heritage, and that duty, that heritage, demanded that he wed Juletta Kearny and produce children worthy of their inheritance.

Still, the thought of losing Robbieof having her leave his life foreverfilled him with despair. He had to keep her near himher spirit, that unquenchable, ungovernable wildness that was so much a part of her, had become as necessary to him as the air he breathed. If only he could overcome the fierce, stubborn pride that would not let her accept the only place he could give her in his life. He would make her his mistress, pamper her, spoil her, protect her from the cruelties that had been such a large part of her life before he had met her. But she, who saw only that she could not be his wife, equated the position with whoredom. How could he convince her that in accepting the position he offered, she would be claiming that which he had not ever been able to give any other womanhis heart, his love.

"There it is," she said softly, her voice filled with foreboding.

Court saw Yorktown lying ahead. "Do you want to go into town?"

She shook her head. "Do we have to?"

Skirting the town, he took her directly to Minerva's, where a familiar carriage stood in the drive.

"It's Brock," she murmured to no one in particular.

As the huge white stallion slowed to a walk, the cottage door opened and Brock, Ariel, and Minerva appeared. Their faces were alight with relief and, Robbie was touched to note, with a genuine note of joy at her safe return.

"Where did you find her, Court?" Ariel asked, as Brock lifted Robbie down from the skittish stallion.

"At an inn. I'm sure she'll tell you if she wishes you to know, Mistress Curiosity."

Ariel had the grace to blush. "Well? We've all been dreadfully worried about her."

"I thought she might have put out to sea," Brock told Court. "A British man 'o war set sail yesterday." "Enough talk! Enough talk!" Minerva decreed. "Come, inside, dear, we'll get you a bath."

"She had one, this morning," Court murmured, and a sly smile played at the corners of his mouth as he noticed Robbie's blush.

"Are you coming in?" Minerva asked, shading her. eyes to look up at Court.

"I can't just now. I'm eager to get back to Greenbrier. But I'll come to visit. Perhaps tonight."

"Court," Ariel interrupted softly, seeming almost embarrassed by what she had to say in front of Robbie. "Juletta is leaving for Charles Town with the Todds tomorrow. I'm sure she'll expect you to spend the evening with her. She's asked to hear from you the moment you return. In fact, she seemed rather irritated that you hadn't told her you were leaving in the first place."

Court scowled. "Yes, I'm sure you're right," he admitted testily. "Then perhaps tomorrow, Minerva."

"You'll be expected to drive Juletta to the wharves, won't you?" Ariel persisted. "After all, she will be gone for six long weeks."

"Ariel, I don't recall appointing you my social secretary!" He saw the hurt on her pretty, pale face and gave her a gentle smile to soothe her feelings. "Pardon me. Of course, you're right. In any event, I'll pay you a visit as soon as my apparently crowded calendar permits."

With a twist of his wrist, he wheeled the stallion. Pausing, he gazed for a long, silent moment at Robbie.

"And Rob?" he said quietly, as though they were the only people present. She looked up at him. "I meant what I said. You're not to worry."

Robbie nodded. Surrounded by Brock, Ariel, and Minerva, she started toward the neat brick house that seemed to beckon her into its welcoming warmth. At the door she glanced back and caught a last, longing glimpse of Court, the sunshine glinting off his golden hair, galloping away down the lane, bound for Greenbrier.

36

The double doors of adjoining parlors had been pushed back to accommodate the crush of people who arrived to welcome the Todds back to Charles Town. They had been back from Windover for a week and Barbara, for one, was relieved to be out of the stifling shadow of Juletta Kearny at last and back at home where she could shine among her own friends and admirers.

"Are you enjoying yourself, Juletta?" she asked, a feline purr in her voice. She had noticed the slight crease that had appeared between Juletta's golden brows, and hoped the frown meant that Juletta was piqued that her mere presence hadn't started a stampede among the eligible young men in attendance.

"Oh yes," Juletta assured her. "I do wish, however, that you could keep your young men under control, dear. Remember, I am betrothed and, quite frankly, though I don't mean to belittle your Charles Town beaux, there isn't a man here who can hold a candle to my Court."

Barbara shrugged, thinking smugly that "her Court's" farewell at the wharves of Yorktown a week before had seemed rather perfunctory. For all of Juletta's bragging about the perfection of her fiancé and of his undying love for her, Barbara thought Court Lennox seemed rather bored when in his intended's company. He always seemed to be thinking of something elseor someone else, she told herself cattily. She wondered who that someone else might be and whether, for all her haughty confidence, Juletta knew about the other woman in Court's life.

With a smile that bordered dangerously on a sneer, Barbara went off on the arm of the scion of one of the prominent Low Country families. Juletta scarcely noticed; cared not at all. In fact, she cared little about the entire soirée. Had it not been that the fittings for her extensive trousseau would occupy nearly all of the six weeks of her visit to Charles Town, she would have packed her bags that instant and left for Windover.

She was in a flurry of impatience to know if Court's sister had replied to her letter yet. Not that it really matteredTom McGillis had given her the information she really needed. But Alexandra's reply would turn the key in the lock that sealed Robbie's doom. If the duchess denounced Robbie as a fraud, her destruction would be all but assured.

"Miss Kearny, I believe?" a low, masculine voice murmured beside her.

Juletta found herself next to a tall, outrageously handsome man whose thick black hair framed a startlingly dramatic face, the chief attraction of which was a pair of the bluest eyes she'd ever seen.

"Have me met, sir?" she asked coolly, knowing full well they hadn't.

"Unfortunately not. I have asked Miss Todd for an introduction several times but she always seems to have other affairs claiming her immediate attention." Juletta hid a smirk. Trust Barbara to try to discourage and the most handsome gentleman in the room from striking up a conversation with her.

"Ah, well, poor dear. One would think her mother, my dear Aunt Lucy, would have taught her the duties of a hostess, wouldn't one?"

The man smiled, flashing even white teeth. He was not adverse to a little cattiness in a pretty woman. In fact, he had come to expect it. It was part of their spirit.

"Permit me to introduce myself, then," he said. "Jonathan Widgington. I am an aide to Governor Eden."

"Charmed, Mr. Widgington. I am Juletta Kearny, of Windover, near Yorktown." She sipped at a glass of champagne. "Governor Eden? Of North Carolina?"

"The same."

"Pardon me, Mr. Widgington, but I am given to understand that the governor is in league with several notorious buccaneers."

Jonathan Widgington smiled, his blue eyes sparkling. Nothing in his manner betrayed the tension such questions evoked in him.

"Hardly 'in league,' Miss Kearny. Say rather he is acquainted with one or two pirates."

Juletta shivered delicately. "How could any civilized gentleman have commerce with such bloodthirsty ruffians?"

"As I said, the governor is acquainted with one or two of them. There is hardly a gentleman in any position of authority these days who doesn't find himself forced to deal with them."

"I suppose that is true," Juletta allowed.

Their eyes met, and both knew neither was fooled by the charade. The concessions Charles Eden made to the pirates who plied the Atlantic Coast were notorious. In January of that year the governor had pardoned Blackbeard and his men in return for a share of the booty Blackbeard had captured. Without fear of assault from the authorities, Blackbeard made use of both the Cape Fear and Pamlico rivers when it suited him or when circumstances forced him ashore. In the town of Bath it was widely known that many of the cheap goods to be bought there were sold by Blackbeard from cargoes he captured on his daring, murderous raids.

"And do you know any notorious buccaneers yourself, Mr. Widgington?"

"Like the governor, Miss Kearny, I am acquainted by necessity with a few of them."

"Would you, by any chance, be acquainted with . . ." She pursed her lips, feigning uncertainty. ". . . drat, what was the wretch's name? He is a Frenchman, I believe. René . . . René Le . . . oh, pother! I believe he used to sail with Black Jack Tremonte."

"René LeClerc?" Widgington queried.

"The very one!"

"Hmmm." He sipped his wine, his blue eyes boring into hers, admiring her ability to betray not the slightest bit of the excitement he suspected must be seething inside her. She was fishing for information, of that he was sure, but to what use would she put it? "I believe I have heard the name," he hedged. "But surely a lady such as yourself could have no occasion to know such a person as René LeClerc."

Juletta laughed lightly. "But of course not. How could I? I've never so much as laid eyes on a real pirate. But we have a mutual acquaintance who has mentioned his name to me on one or two occasions."

Widgington's brows shot skyward. "A mutual acquaintance! Your pardon, Miss Kearny, but I find it difficult, nay impossible, to imagine that René LeClerc has any acquaintances who frequent your circles. Perhaps your friend was merely trying to impress you."

"Oh, no. I think not. She has every reason to know René LeClerc, since she lived nearly all her life on Montebello Island. She has but recently left it, as a matter of fact."

"I confess, I am hopelessly intrigued. I pray you, end my torment and tell me who this person may be."

Juletta gave him a coquettish glance over the rim of her glass. She sipped delicately at sparkling wine, prolonging his suspense.

"Actually," she said at last, "her name is RobynRobyn Tremonte. She is Black Jack Tremonte's daughter."

Jonathan Widgington tried to hide his astonishment and excitement, but not before Juletta had seen it glimmer in his amazing blue eyes.

In fact, Widgington was very well acquainted with René LeClerc. Too well acquainted, in fact. LeClerc had the distinction of being the only buccaneer Widgington had yet met in his secret capacity as ex officio go-between for the governor and his pirate allies. LeClerc had a total lack of regard for human life, including his own, which made him particularly dangerous. He did not fear dying, and so was not deterred by the prospect of losing his own life. What was more, he had a horrifying zest for cruelty that was fast becoming legend in the Bahamas. Once the furor over Jack's death had died down, LeClerc had begun invading the coastal waters of America, eager to take his share of the wealth of the burgeoning land. Widgington loathed him as much as he feared him. But he had, on more than one occasion, been forced to deal with him. He rememberedand would remember for the rest of his lifea saturnalia on Ocracoke Island at which LeClerc had had one of his own crewmen bound. He had then pricked his throat and left him to bleed to death simply to remind the rest of his crew that, he was the captain and would brook no interference in his command.

LeClerc, in his cups, spoke often about Montebello Island, and the constant theme running through his diatribes was the lost treasure of Jack Tremonte. After Jack's death, after LeClerc had fought for and won the right to rule Montebello absolutely, he had set his men to tearing the island apart. The treasure was there! It had to be! And yet he had found no tracenot a single piece of gold nor a solitary gem. He had scoured the islandin his rage and frustration he had put more than one man to death. All in vain.

But there was, he believed, one person who knew the location of the treasureone living soul to whom Jack would have entrusted his secret.

Robbie! Robbie, Jack's beloved daughter. Those men who had served Jack Tremonte thought LeClerc had taken leave of what little sanity remained to him when he began to babble about searching out Jack's daughter. As far as any of them knew, Jack had only a sona son who had wisely fled the island when it seemed Jack would die. A son who had sailed away on a ship whose name none could remember to an unknown destination.

''It seems to me," Widgington said calmly, "that I did hear tell of a young Tremonte. But somewhere I got the impression that it was a boya son."

"So everyone thought," Juletta purred, plying her rod carefully now that the fish had taken the bait. "Robbie herself told me that she was raised as a boy in order to protect her from the . . ."she lowered her eyes demurely". . . the attentions, shall we say, of her father's men. There were very few on the island who knew her secret. Though, so I understand, this LeClerc person discovered the truth not long before Robbie ran away."

"Fascinating." Widgington sipped his champagne, hoping in vain that Juletta did not notice the way his hand shook with his excitement. "And where is she now, this young Mistress Tremonte?"

"I cannot say, sir," Juletta breathed. "You must understand that she has no wish to be found out. She has made a new life for herselftaken a new name, a new identity. People can be harsh, after all. The sins of the father, and so on."

"Of course." He pulled out his watch, glanced at the face, and frowned. "Good heavens! Look at the time!"

Juletta bit her lip to keep from smiling. His ruse was so transparent. "Is there a problem, Mr. Widgington?"

"I fear I must be leaving. I have business that will take me out of Charles Town for a few days."

"Out of Charles Town? What a shame."

"Yes, isn't it?" Setting aside his glass, he turned and then, as though just remembering something, looked back. "Say hello, won't you, to Miss . . . ?" He looked a question at Juletta, but she refused the bait.

"The former Miss Tremonte?" she suggested.

"Just so." He glanced around the room. "She's not here, by any chance, is she?"

"No, I'm afraid not."

"But you will be seeing her soon?"

Juletta recognized the ploy for what it was. Doubtless in his pesterings of Barbara Todd for an introduction, he had gleaned the information that she would be staying in Charles Town for six weeks. If she said she were going to see Robbie right away, he would assume she was in Charles Town as well. If she said she would not be seeing her for some time, he would assume she was somewhere in the vicinity of Windover.

"Sooner than later," she replied cryptically.

They stared into one another's eyes for a long moment, each recognizing, with grudging admiration, an opponent worthy of his mettle.

"I'll bid you good evening, then, Miss Kearny. Doubtless we'll be meeting again."

"I'll look forward to it, Mr. Widgington."

He bowed to her then, and she watched as he made his way across the crowded room and offered his farewells to his host and hostess. They seemed bitterly disappointed, and Jonathan Widgington chafed as they made him stay long enough for Barbara to be fetched to escort him to the door.

Juletta chuckled to herself. No doubt the Todds fancied that the aide to the Royal Governor of North Carolina would be a catch for their little milksop daughter. Certainly he had position, and heaven knew he had looks. But, she wondered with wry amusement, what would the Todds think if they knew that the man was, as she suspected, Charles Eden's aide in more than the mere business of governing a colony?

Ah, well. She shrugged delicately and accepted another glass of champagne from a fawning, pimply faced youth. It didn't matter. Jonathan Widgington had no eyes tonight for the finest woman alive, let alone for a plain little toadstool like Barbara Todd. He was too full of his news and too eager to depart for wherever it was that he could make contact with René LeClerc. For that, Juletta had not the slightest doubt, was precisely where he was bound. The prospect of sharing in Jack Tremonte's lost treasure was too glittering a temptation for any ambitious, greedy man to resist. And Jonathan Widgington no doubt expected a handsome reward from René LeClerc for finding the key to the mysteryone Robbie Tremonte!

37

Ten days had passed since Juletta's departure for Charles Town. They had been ten days of pure, nerve-shattering hell for Robbie.

So desperate for diversion was she, so eager to escape the monotonous serenity of Minerva's house, that she and Minerva accepted Court's invitation to spend the day at Greenbrier. It was her first time back since the morning when Brock had taken her away. There seemed to be memories lurking in every corner, recollections of good times, happiness, and passion, and of the dark ugliness that had precipitated her departure in anger and in haste.

"I haven't heard a whisper of rumor about you," Court told her as the three of them sat on the shaded veranda.

"That doesn't mean Juletta will keep what she knows to herself," Robbie argued pessimistically. "She's no friend of mine, Court. She has no reason to want to help or protect me."

He eyed her with obvious impatience. "Why can't you, simply admit that you overreacted? When you learned that Juletta had stumbled upon the truth you panicked."

"Make light of it if you like," she snapped, her green eyes glinting, "but I know she's only waiting for the right time to tell everyone what she knows."

"To what end? Oh, granted, there was a time when she may have wanted to discredit you, but that was before. Now that she knows her future with me is secure"

"God's teeth!" Robbie was exasperated beyond bearing. "Does that monstrous ego of yours know no bounds? Do you really imagine that your kindly bestowing on her the honor of being your wifedubious distinction though that may bewill take away all her desire to cause trouble?"

A sharp retort sprang to Court's tongue, but he restrained himself in Minerva's presence. "My dear," he said tightly, his voice as strained as his patience, "the fact remains that Juletta will be gone for six weeks. Were she contemplating any action to ruin you, she would have done it before she left. She would not leave the matter to simmer until she returns."

"And why not?" Robbie demanded.

"Simply put, had she spilled her secrets before leaving, the furor would have died down before she returned."

"There is some logic in that," Minerva bestirred herself to point out. "She wouldn't want the uproar to take anything away from her wedding."

Grudgingly, Robbie nodded. Minerva was right. There was sense in what she and Court said. And yet, though nearly two weeks had passed, she couldn't relax. She simply found it impossible to believe that Juletta would have let such a glittering opportunity pass by without at least trying to turn it to her own advantage.

Ariel appeared, like a beam of sunshine in a yellow gown with a lace trimmed bonnet atop her golden curls. She had just returned from a drive with Brock and she was, Robbie was pleased and not a little envious to note, radiantly happy, basking in the joy of his courtship. It was obvious to anyone who saw them that once Brock had ceased to think of Ariel as Court's little sister and accepted the fact that she had grown into a lovely young woman, he had come to return her adoration in full measure. No one at Greenbrier, at Avondale, or, indeed, in Yorktown would have been surprised to hear their engagement announced hard on the heels of Court's wedding.

Ariel carried a letter in her hand. "This just arrived," she announced. "It's from Alexandra."

She held it out to Court, who motioned for her to open it herself. Breaking the seal, she unfolded the crisp missive and scanned the contents. As she read, the blithe serenity faded from her face and a pink flush spread into her ivory cheeks.

"What is it?" Court demanded. "Is someone ill? Has something happened to the duke?"

"No, nothing like that," she assured him. "They're both well. In fact, they're on their way here."

Court half rose. "They're what!"

Ariel nodded. "Alexandra is quite upset that you didn't invite them to the wedding."

"How does she know about it at all?"

His eyes met Robbie's, and she shot him a triumphant look that said plainly, "I told you so."

"Juletta!" he spat.

Ariel shrugged. "It must have been. Certainly I've never mentioned your wedding in my letters. Nor even your betrothal." She scanned the page again. "There's one other thing that makes me suspect Juletta."

"And what's that?" Court asked, dreading the inevitable reply.

Ariel shot a telling glance toward Robbie. "Alexandra wants to know who 'this Robbie Fitzalan' is that Juletta mentions in her letter and why the girl is pretending to be related to the duke."

"Oh, Christ!" Court moaned.

"What are we going to do!" Ariel wailed.

"There isn't anything we can do. If Alexandra and the duke are on their way, a letter wouldn't reach them or, if it did, it wouldn't stop them. All we can do is wait and deal with the matter when the time comes." He scowled at Robbie. "And you, my dear . . . don't you even consider running away again. You're going to stay here and we are going to deal with this. Yorktown is your home now. You belong here. And if you inherited any of your father's strength and panache, you'll stand your ground and not let anyone chase you away!"

Robbie returned his look with a mutinous glare of her own, but in her heart she sensed that this meager act of Juletta's, this letter to Court's sister, was not the end nor the least of the mischief Juletta had planned for her.

Juletta awoke with the feeling that someone was watching her. It was a vague sensation, discomforting, eerie, bringing with it the far more frightening notion that she was not alone in the elegant guest chamber she'd been given in the Todds' beautiful town house on Charles Town's fashionable Battery.

"Who is there?" she whispered to the dark room. All was silence, and she felt a little foolish to be talking to the shadowy emptiness outside the fine net baire that draped her four-poster bed. "Is someone there?"

Lying back against the pillows, she tried to relax, tried to tell herself that it was only her imagination playing tricks on her senses. But the feeling persisted, grew stronger. Her eyes strained into the darkness, trying in vain to discern any movement. There was none. And yet the sensation of being watched remained. She felt as though an unseen pair of eyes was lingering on her . . . boring through her.

At last she could bear no more. Throwing back the coverlet, she tossed aside the baire and felt about in the darkness for the steps beside the high bed. With the soft folds of her billowing linen nightrail sweeping over the French carpet, she went to the door and jiggled the latch. It was locked; the key had been turned in the lock, shutting out all possibility of intrusion. Recrossing the room, she tried the latches on the windows. They, too, were fastened securely from the inside.

With a sigh of relief, she started back toward the bed. It was then that the realization struck her. She had not lockd the door! She never locked it, for if she did, her maid would have no way to enter in the morning to wake her.

A scream rose into her throata shriek of unholy terror that died inside her, cruelly choked off by the callused hand that clamped itself over her mouth as her midnight intruder, till then hidden by the sinister darkness, sprang forward with the lithe grace of a panther.

It's Court, she thought. It has to be. He's missing me already and came to Charles Town to surprise

That desperately hopeful thought was dashed as she felt the chill of steel on her skin through the fine linen of her gown. It was, it had to be, the long, lethal blade of a knife. She quivered, feeling faint, unable to draw sufficient breath to clear her whirling senses.

Perhaps, her terror-stricken brain reasoned wildly, it's Jonathan Widgington. He's come about Robbie and the knife is merely to frighten me into si

The horror that she refused to consider, the nightmare that crouched insidiously at the edge of her mind, was thrust into hideous reality when a voice hissed into her ear.

"Mademoiselle, listen to me. The knife you feel against your belly is long and sharp, very, very sharp. I wish to talk with you and so I must take my hand from your mouth. But if I do, and you scream, I will slit your pretty throat from ear to ear. Do you understand?"

Shaking uncontrollably, Juletta nodded.

"Do you believe that I will kill you?" he asked. She nodded again and heard him chuckle. "That is wise, chérie, for if my knife could talk, it would tell you where it has beenthe blood it has shed. And I will tell you, you would not be the first woman to feel its bite."

"One scream," she whispered, as his hand fell away from her mouth, "would rouse the entire household."

"True," he agreed, obviously unconcerned, "but by the time they got here and broke down the door, ma belle, you would be very dead." He touched the tip of the blade to her cheek, and Juletta winced as it pricked her delicate skin. "And far less pretty than you are now."

Involuntarily, Juletta's hand rose to the base of her throat. She trembled. It seemed she could feel the cold steel slipping effortlessly, lethally, through her soft flesh.

"Am I allowed to see you?" she asked fearfully.

"But of course."

She turned and caught her breath. Her eyes were captured by a pair as black as glittering jet, as coldly cruel as the most ruthless of jungle predators. His face was sharply planed, and in the shadow-filled chamber his high check bones threw shadows into the hollows of his checks. His hair was black, gleaming, flowing loose nearly to the collar of his ragged shirt. His lips were taut, cruel, hard. There was about him an air of animal savagery such as Juletta had never imagined. That pirates were not the misunderstood, romanticized creatures many believed they were, she had always known. They were desperate men, criminals, murderers, and yet she sensed with unerring instinct that the man who stood before her outstripped all the others in sheer ferocity. Here was a man utterly devoid of feeling, of conscience, a man who would take pleasure in inflicting pain, in hearing the pleas for mercy that, of course, he would never heed. Here was a man who would revel in his self-assumed role as Azraelthe angel of death.

''You are René LeClerc," she breathed. It was a statement, not a question. From the descriptions she'd heard there was not the slightest doubt in Juletta's mind as to the identity of her night visitor.

A hawkish smile curved his lips. "A votre service, mademoiselle." He seemed pleased. "You have heard of me?"

"You must know that I have or you would not be here," she countered.

"Ah. So you are not only beautiful, but wise as well. And so you know, ma belle, why I am here?"

"Robbie Tremonte."

"Exactly. We have much to discuss, you and I, and not many hours until the dawn."

Gathering her nightrail about her, Juletta perched on the window ledge while René took the gilded stool from her dressing table and placed it between her and the door.

Trying hard to keep her eyes off the knife with which he began to pare his nails, Juletta asked, "Where is Jonathan Widgington? Why is he not with you?"

René smiled. "Ah, Monsieur Widgington. Were you, then, as attracted to him as he was to you, mademoiselle?" "That is not at issue here." Juletta flushed. "I am betrothed, monsieur, and it is not for me . . ."

"Oui, oui," he interrupted disinterestedly. "Ladies such as yourself, mademoiselle, will never admit an attraction to a man not their husband or their fiancé. The cost of such admission is disgrace, is it not? Such a shame, when there are so many pleasures to be found. Where is the sense in denying that which is as natural as breathing?"

"That, also, is not at issue here, monsieur."

René laughed, apparently unconcerned that discovery would cost him his life. He had no fear of meeting his end on a British scaffold.

"Of course. You wish to know the fate of Monsieur Widgington."

"The fate . . . You speak of him as though he were . . ."

"Alas, and so he is. Dead, poor man."

The blood drained from Juletta's face, leaving her as white as the linen of her gown. "But how . . . when? Only three days ago he was here in Charles Town."

"Oui. But then he came to me with information I wanted. He could have given it to meI would have been grateful. But he tried to threaten me. 'Give me part of the treasure, LeClerc,' he said, 'or I will not tell you what I know about Robbie Tremonte.' When I refused his demands he said, 'Do as I say or I will see you hanged.' " René sighed. "Foolish, foolish man. He might have known I would have the information I desired in the end."

"You killed him for it!"

"Ma chére, you wound me! Of course I did not kill him for it. I killed him because he asked me to kill him."

"Asked you! I don't believe you!"

"He was a very handsome man; I think you will agree. He was also a very vain man. The two, I think, often go together. His vanity was his weakness, his downfall. He did not wish to live in the condition in which my questioning left him. He begged me for death and I, merciful man that I am, granted him this small favor."

"My God!" Juletta felt sick; the sour bile rose dangerously in her throat. "Sweet Jesus!"

Unmoved by her distress, René crossed his booted legs, laying his knife across his lap. "And now, ma belle, let us discuss Robbie Tremonte . . ."

38

For nearly an hour Juletta related the events following Court's arrival in Yorktown. She told René how Court had introduced Robbie as his cousin by marriage and how, in that guise, she had entered society.

When she had finished René studied her by the pale light of the moon, which had descended toward the western horizon.

"Tell me, mademoiselle, why do you hate her so?"

"Hate her? Have I said that I hate her, monsieur?"

"There is no need for you to put the thought into words. Your eyes, the tone of your voice when you speak her name, say it all."

Flushing, Juletta averted her eyes. "Very well, then, yes! I suppose I do hate her."

"Why?"

"That's really none of your concern."

"It is my concern since I am so much involved. Should I guess the reason?" Juletta said nothing and he went on. "There are three reasons why a man or woman would be so willing to condemn another to such a fate as you are condemning Robbie. Fear is one, greed another, and jealousy is the last." He shrugged. "Surely Robbie had far more to fear from you than you from her, so your reason cannot be fear. Greed? Robbie left Montebello with little more than the rags on her back. I doubt she has since become a woman of means, and certainly there is no chance that any wealth she might have earned rivals what you so obviously enjoy. That leaves only jealousy, mademoiselle. Is jealousy your reason? This man of yours, this Court Lennox, have he and little Robbie . . . ?"

"Yes!" Juletta froze as the word echoed in the silent room. Her eyes, wide and frightened, clung to LeClerc's face.

Inevitably, there came footsteps on the hall carpet outside the door. The door latch rattled and Juletta, heart throbbing painfully against her ribs, saw LeClerc's hand tighten on the knife lying in his lap.

"Please," she whispered. "Please!"

"Get rid of them!" he hissed, his body tensing like a great prowling cat getting ready to pounce.

"Juletta?" It was Lucy Todd. "Juletta, dear, is something wrong?"

Juletta stared at LeClerc, struck dumb with the fear that, should she make a noise, he would kill her without the blink of a single, ebony lash.

"Juletta?" Lucy sounded more insistent, more concerned.

"Answer her, you fool!" LeClerc hissed.

"I'm fine, Aunt Lucy," she called, a pathetic little attempt at a chuckle dying a lonely death amid the quivering of her voice. "It was only a bad dream, that's all."

"Are you sure, dear?"

Again the latch rattled, and Juletta prayed the woman would not decide to see for herself and order the door opened either by Juletta or by the housekeeper's master set of keys.

"Quite sure. Please, go back to bed. It's nothing."

There was a pause, fraught with unbearable tension, then Lucy Todd's footsteps faded away down the hall in the direction from whence they'd come. But it was not until Juletta heard the closing of Lucy's bed-chamber door that she drew a relieved breath.

"You must be more careful, chérie," LeClerc cautioned. "Had she come in, I would have been forced to . . ."

"Please, don't say it!"

He shrugged. "As you wish. Now, what were you saying? Your fiancé and Robbie . . . ?"

"They are lovers."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive!"

"He is fortunate, this man of yours. Had Robbie stayed on Montebello, I would have had her for myself."

"You can have her now! Once you've taken her away from Court, she will be yours."

"So she will." His chuckle was dark and filled with evil intent. "She hates me, you know. That just might be the way to convince her to tell me what I want to know."

"You don't mean . . ." Juletta was horrified, sickened by the thought of what he was suggesting.

"But I do mean it, mademoiselle. There are tortures that leave scars not on the flesh but on the heart, on the very soul."

Juletta felt a shiver course through her. She was suffused with an emotion that seemed a strange mix of repulsion and fascination. It was there to be read in her eyes, in her face, and she flushed deep crimson when she saw that LeClerc had recognized it without effort. "I think this man of yours is a fool, ma belle," he said softly, his black eyes glowing like the very pits of hell. "He is a fool if he prefers that skinny girl to you."

The flush that stained Juletta's cheeks deepened. She was no longer afraid. Suddenly her fear had been replaced by a queer kind of excitement. The danger of being there, alone with this notorious, cruel, savage man made her wonder, with a frisson of some emotion she did not even dare to name, about the crimes he was said to have committed, the ships he'd capturedsome said he'd sunk more than one with all hands on board and given his men orders that any survivors were to be killedthe women he'd ravished, the men he'd killed.

All these thoughts René read in the fleeting expressions that crossed her shadowed face. He was amused. So many well-born women, so many "ladies" were titillated by the thought of keeping company with a genuine pirate. In fact, it seemed that the more notorious the man, the better. More than one haughty society belle had graced his bed and, he had no doubt, there would be more, perhaps even . . .

Juletta interrupted his thoughts. "What will you do to Robbie?" she asked, suddenly nervous beneath the black heat of his bold stare.

"I will take her back to Montebello," LeClerc replied. "I will force her, by whatever means it takes, to show me where her father hid his treasure."

"And what after?"

A sardonic smile twisted his narrow lips. "Do you want me to bring her back to you, mademoi"

"God, no!" Juletta's face was sharp, fervent, pale with the thought of Robbie's being returned. She was convinced that once Robbie was removed from Court's life, he would forget about her and settle down to a future as Juletta's husband. If only he need never see the little redheaded trollop again! If only she could be removed from their lives forever!

René eyed her shrewdly. Her emotions were too plain. She should learn to conceal what she was feeling.

"Do you want her dead?" he asked softly.

"Yes!"

Realizing what she'd said, Juletta averted her eyes. A wave of guilt washed over her. However much she loathed Robbie, whatever her desire to rid herself of the girl who threatened her very future, Juletta was a Christian and had been taught that life was sacred. It was alien to her nature to callously wish for, much less ask for another person's death.

René laughed. "Deep inside, you are a bloodthirsty one, ma petite. You should be a piratess."

"A female pirate? There is no such thing, surely, monsieur."

"Oh, but there is. I, myself, have met such a woman. Her name is Anne Bonny. She sails with her lover, Calico Jack Rackam."

Juletta was frankly amazed. "And she does everything other pirates do?"

"But of course. She plunders and pillages and murders with the best."

"Murder . . ." A new thought sprang into Juletta's befuddled mind. "You're not going to hurt anyone, are you? Robbie lives with an old spinster who is blameless in all this. She is a good woman, dear to everyone."

"I mean no harm to anyone, mademoiselle. It is Robbie I want. I mean to go about the business of getting her as quietly as I can. I do not intend to sail in with all flags flying. I would be far happier if no one even missed her until we were well under way for Montebello." That seemed, to Juletta, the logical way. No fuss, no alarm. Robbie would simply disappear. As far as anyone would know, she would simply have left. Juletta smiled. Perhaps if Court thought Robbie had simply left him, it would kill the feelings he bore for her in his heart.

"Now then, where might I find Robbie?"

Juletta took a deep, calming breath. She could not refuse to tell him, though a niggling corner of her conscience told her to do just that. She could not, for she had no doubt he had the means to force the information from her and would not hesitate to use them should she suddenly prove uncooperative.

An image of Jonathan Widgington flashed through her mind. He had been so dreadfully handsome. But he had crossed René LeClerc and where was he now? Dead. So what it came down to, in simple terms, was her life or Robbie's. And what reason had she to protect Robbie Tremonte? The girl had been naught but a torment to her from the day she'd stepped off Court's ship on the wharves of Yorktown. She had no reason to care for her or what became of her. In time the guilt of having been the indirect instrument of Robbie's deathand Juletta had no doubt that the battle of wills that would erupt between Robbie and this bestial man would end with Robbie's deathwould fade.

"Yorktown," she breathed, so softly it might have been the soughing of the breeze through the branches of the flowering dogwood outside the window.

"What did you say?" he demanded, leaning closer.

Juletta stared at him. His glittering onyx eyes bore into her, through her, piercing like the devil's fork into her heart.

"Yorktown, in Virginia. She lives there with Miss GilmoreMinerva Gilmore."

Briefly, succinctly, Juletta described the town and the location of Minerva's house. She told him what she knew of Robbie's routine, her habits, and described any of Minerva's servants likely to cause trouble should he have to resort to undue violence in the abduction.

By the time she'd finished, she wanted only to crawl back into bed and try to forget what it was she had set into motion this night.

"So," she said, standing, "have I your word that you will not harm Miss Gilmore?"

"My word," he said, mockingly, "as a gentleman. It is only Robbie I want." He rose and came to stand before her. Juletta felt his presencefelt like the prey before the predator, the hunted before the hunters. Never had she felt such sheer animal magnetism emanating from any man.

"It is only Robbie that I want," he repeated, reaching out to cup her chin in his hand, "and you."

A fire leapt into life inside Juletta even as her heart, her soul, screamed in fear. She was frozen, struck dumb, unable to resist as he pulled her roughly into his arms. She was terror-stricken, repelled by the very touch of his hand, and yet some dark, secret part of her wanted him, wanted to know his touch. It was as though his very cruelty, the utter ruthlessness of him, the knowledge that he could as easily kill her as pleasure her, stirred some part of her she hadn't known existed.

She was trembling violently as he pushed her down among the tousled sheets that covered the bedtrembling with some undreamed of emotion that was equal parts fear and lust.

Afterward, after LeClerc had fled into the dull gray light of approaching dawn, Juletta lay awake in her bed. She was numbfor the first time in her life she was completely devoid of emotion. She could not, would not allow herself to feel anything. Nothing in her past, which had included more lovers than she cared to count, had prepared her for the ferocious assault on her senses that had begun with René LeClerc's first touch. Her body was bruised; she was sure she would bear the marks of this night for weeks to come, but oddly enough there was no pain. It, like everything else, was deadened by whatever part of her mind had mercifully taken control. She was rendered insensate, and for that she was grateful. Realization would come in time, she knew, and with it memory, feeling, shock. But for now she lay benumbed, and gratefully so.

Her eyes were dryshe could not cry though she knew the tears would come soontoo soon. She closed them and saw Robbie's face. She remembered LeClerc's threat about his methods of exacting the information he desired. If this was what he had meant, this brutality, this barbarity, Robbie would be better off to provoke him, enrage him, somehow goad him into killing her quickly, thus sparing herself the torments that awaited her on Montebello.

39

Though four long weeks had passed since that night, that horrible, nightmarish night when René LeClerc had come to her, Juletta couldn't forget. Though she triedtried by immersing herself in the fittings for her trousseau, for the spectacular wedding gown of white satin and frothy silver lace, by keeping herself almost constantly in the company of othersnothing helped. She saw LeClerc's face, those hellish, gleaming eyes, every time she closed her own eyes. She was haunted by his face, by the loathsome memory of his touch. She couldn't bear lying awake night after night in her room in the Todds' town house, remembering, but she could not ask to be moved to another room without explaining why, and that was something she had vowed never to share with another living soul.

She wondered if LeClerc had moved against Robbie yet. It was not that she wanted to wonderheaven knew, every time the thought crossed her mind she was assailed with heart-rending guilt. The notion of having condemned any woman, even one she considered an enemy, to that monster's hideous clutches was more than she could bear. She hoped that if he was going to take Robbie, he would do it quickly, for she wanted desperately for the furor' over Robbie's disappearance to have died down before she returned to Yorktown. It was not only because of the guilt, though there was that too; it was because she did not ever want to hear Robbie's name again. In her mind it would always and forever be associated with that of . . . of . . .

''René," she breathed, shuddering, as she gazed at herself in her dressing table mirror. She felt, as she always did, the wave of revulsion sweep over her. How long would it be this way? she wondered. How long would the memories plague her every waking hour? Weeks? Months? Years? Could she ever forget? Would she ever be able to hide the remembrance in the nethermost depths of her mind and get on with her life?

She picked up a swirling cloak of pale beige silk and draped it about herself. She tied the ribbons of a matching hood about her throat. It was bad enough, she thought, as she drew up the hood and covered her bright, golden curls, that she had the memories to contend with, but now . . . now . . .

Steeling herself, she left her room and went to the head of the stairs. The hall-below was empty, and she crept down the stairs, the only sound the soft rustling of her cloak on the carpet. She wanted to leave without being seenshe didn't want to answer questions about her destination, questions that she could not answer truthfully, questions to which she herself as yet had no answers.

She reached for the latch of the stout front door. The brass was cool and welcome in her trembling hand. It gave easily as she depressed it. She had made it. She had managed to . . . "Juletta?" Caroline Kearny appeared from one of the parlors that opened from the entrance hall. "Juletta, dear, where are you going?"

Juletta's mind raced. "I . . ." She avoided her mother's gaze. Only a few weeks before she had longed for her mother to arrive in Charles Town from Windover, but she now wished the woman had never come. "I'm only going to look at a bonnet I happened to see yesterday, Mama."

"A bonnet?" Caroline laughed. "Dear, do you know how many bonnets we've ordered for your trousseau? I daresay you've no need for another."

"It's not a crime to look, is it?" Juletta snapped. "I didn't say I was going to buy it, after all!"

Caroline's eyes, so like her daughter's, widened with surprise. Proud she might be, haughty and imperious, but Juletta had never been known to be insolent to her beloved mama before.

"Of course, you must do as you wish," she said softly, stiffly. "Is it permitted to ask if you are going alone?"

"I am," Juletta replied, penitent. "Forgive me, Mama, it is only that I am overwrought with the hustle and bustle of the preparations for the wedding."

Caroline instantly forgave her. "I understand." She touched Juletta's hood. "Are you certain you haven't taken a chill? It seems a rather warm day for such a cloak and hood. You're not ill, are you?"

Juletta flushed; she scoffed quickly, too quickly. "I'm perfectly well." Impulsively, she took her mother's hand. "Mama, must we wait for the trousseau to be finished? I've had enough fittings. Please. Can't we go back to Yorktownto Windovernow? Must we wait?"

Caroline's smile was gentle, filled with understanding. "I know you're anxious to see Court again, dear; you're eager for your wedding. Isn't that it?"

"Yes, that's it exactly," Juletta lied. The truth of the matter was that she didn't believe she could bear another night in that house.

"Perhaps we could leave a few days early. Let me see to it."

Juletta pressed a kiss to her mother's cheek, then left the house before she could be asked any more questions. She didn't call for a carriageshe wanted no witnesses to her true destination. She wanted no gossip among the servants that might find its way above stairs. As she made her way through the streets of Charles Town, she glanced back frequently to make certain she was not being followed.

By the time she reached her destination, a half hour later, her feet ached atrociously. She had not one pair of slippers or boots that had been made with walking in mind. But she had arrived, and she took a certain satisfaction in that. Still, the real ordeal lay ahead. Without knocking, she opened the door of a small, nondescript dwelling upon whose front a sign had been posted to notify the populace of Charles Town that there lived Dr. Leslie Hunnicutt.

She paused in the entrance hall and pushed back her hood. A short, stout woman in whose gray hair was mixed strands of its original carrot red, appeared, wiping her hands on the linen apron that covered her plain, cotton gown.

"Aye, ma'am?" she asked, the remnants of an Irish brogue evident despite twenty years away from her homeland.

"I need to see the doctor," Juletta told her. "He is in, isn't he?"

"Aye, ma'am, that he is. Haply I could tell him your name?" Juletta hesitated. "O'Brien," she replied suddenly. "Fiona O'Brien."

"Wait, if ye please, ma'am." Turning, she disappeared toward the back of the house. She don't look like no O'Brien I ever saw, Mary O'Shaunessy told herself. She shrugged. Likely it's not her name, but then, by the look on her face I'd say she's tryin' to hide more than just her name.

In short order the doctor appeared. He was surprised to find a woman of such obvious breeding in his entrance hall, for his practice, though thriving, was far from the most fashionable in Charles Town. He did not frequent society and so had not had occasion to meet the Todds or their house guests, but he recognized gentry when he saw them. And this woman, though she might try to pass herself off as a simple Irish immigrant, was almost certainly the wife or daughter of some planter or well-to-do merchant.

"Come in, won't you, MisserMrs.?"

"Mrs.," Juletta supplied. "Mrs. Fenella O'Brien."

"This way, please, Mrs. O'Brien."

Mary, Doctor Hunnicutt's housekeeper and, when circumstances demanded, assistant, watched them disappear into the examining room. Her carroty brows drew together, wrinkling her broad forehead. "Fenella, is it?" she mused to herself. "Five minutes ago it were Fiona."

Returning to her duties, she wondered what it was the woman had come to see the doctor about. It couldn't be anything respectable, else she wouldn't have had to give a false name and, what was more, she wouldn't have been too rattled to remember that false name once she'd given it!

In the well-appointed examining room, Juletta shed her cloak and tried not to stare at the vicious-looking surgical instruments lying at the ready nor at the bottles and vials lined up with military precision in the cabinets against the wall. The room seemed to her half butcher-shop, half alchemist's lair. She wanted to flee, to run back to the town house and hide. But she knew she couldn't. Something was wrong with her; something dreadful, she feared. She had to know the truth now, before she returned to Yorktown. Before she returned to Court.

Hunnicutt had been in practice for thirty years, first in England for twenty of those years and then in the New World, where doctors were few and patients many. Nothing surprised him anymore; no malady was too exotic for him to try his hand at a cure.

Now, recognizing the lady's obvious distress, he smiled his gentlest, most kindly, understanding smile, and asked, "Madam, how can I help you?"

He was not in the least surprised when Juletta burst into tears.

Even as Dr. Hunnicutt was offering Juletta a linen handkerchief, Robbie, in Yorktown, was wishing she was back at Minerva's, or at Avondale, or even at Greenbrier. Anywhere but on a wretchedly boring shopping expedition with Ariel.

Following Alexandra's letter notifying them that she and the duke were coming to visit Greenbrier, Court had given his young sister permission to refurbish the long neglected guest wing at Greenbrier. In a flurry of excitement, Ariel had enlisted Robbie's help. What had seemed like a lark at the time had quickly turned into a dreaded chore, for Ariel's enthusiasm was lost on Robbie, who was hardly looking forward to the duke and duchess's visit.

"The house must look lovely," Ariel decreed for the dozenth time. "After all, Alexandra and the duke are used to the best." She sighed. "Oh, Robbie, if only you could see their London town house, Brookfield House. It's magnificent! Part of it dates to the time of Henry the Eighth, you know, and it's all hammer beam ceilings and gilded coffers. The park stretches down to the Thames. And their country estate! Verreaux Abbey is positively ancient! It was built in the fourteenth century, I believe. The cloisters surround the most marvelous courtyard. And the chapel!" She threw up her hands. "The chapel is so lovely!"

"Ariel," Robbie interrupted crossly, "surely Alexandra will not be expecting you to re-create either Brookfield House or Verreaux Abbey at Greenbrier. After all, she grew up here; she knows what to expect."

"Oh, I know. But it's the duke. I know from my visits to Alexandra in England that the English look upon the colonies as the ends of the earth. They seem to think we all wear skins and run about the forests like wild savages."

Robbie shrugged. "Some of us are savages."

Ariel did not smile. "Do be serious. This means a great deal to me."

"I can see that it does," Robbie admitted, gentling her tone. "But I don't see what help I can be. I don't know anything about how a guest wing should look or what the houses of the gentry in England are like."

"You can help by keeping me company. I'd never have the courage to attempt this alone. I'd be far too nervous of the impression it will all create upon the duke."

"You make him sound like an orgre."

"Oh, no, he's anything but. It's just that he seems so grandso forbidding. Even Alexandra is a bit in awe of him, I think, though they love one another dearly. He's quite a bit older, nearly fifty, I believe, while Alexandra is twenty-six. But, of course, it's expected that a woman's husband will be many years her senior. At least, it's the accepted way in England. Do you know, kind as he is to her, and as much as she loves him, she never calls him anything but 'the duke.' Not that I've heard, at any rate. Perhaps she calls him by his name in private."

"Hmmm," Robbie murmured. The conversation had ceased to interest her, and she had begun perusing the swarming streets of the town around them.

"His name is Edmund," Ariel went on, unaware that she had lost her audience. "Edmund Frederick Leopold Augustus Fitzalan. He is the Duke of Brookfield, Earl of Chatham, and Baron Anslow. I know all that sounds overpowering, but believe it or not, he seems absolutely perfect for . . ."

Ariel prattled on, but Robbie heard none of it. Her breath had caught painfully in her lungs; her heart seemed to have ceased its beating. The day, bright and sunny, seemed suddenly overcast, with a mist that emanated from her befuddled senses.

She had seen the devil incarnate. The nightmares that still occasionally plagued her had come terrifyingly to life. For ahead, peering at her with hate-filled black eyes she remembered too well, half hidden behind a wagon piled high with goods, stood René LeClerc.

40

"Robbie? Robbie, what is it?" Ariel demanded, alarmed at Robbie's sudden pallor, at the look of shock, of terror on her face as she stood rooted to her place in front of the draper's shop.

Robbie's eyes frantically scanned the street. The cart, from behind which she'd seen René peering, was driven away. There was no one behind it. But she knew whatwhomshe'd seen. Fighting for self-control, she shook her head.

"It's nothing, Ariel. Truly. Nothing at all."

"Nothing at all? How can you say that? You're trembling like a leaf."

"I'm fine. Really. Look here. It's Woodhall's. Isn't this where you wanted to come?"

Ariel glanced at the shop. "Yes. I wanted to see if they still had that scarlet silk for the bed hangings."

"Then hadn't you better ask before someone else takes it all?"

"You're coming in, aren't you?"

Robbie glanced back down the street. "No," she replied absently. "Not just now. I think . . ." Her eyes came to rest on the neat clapboard building that housed the shipping agents with whom Court and many other planters dealt. Court's magnificent white stallion stood in front, tethered to the railing. "I think I'm going to go have a word with Court. I'll only be a few moments."

"Do you want me to come with you?" Ariel knew the tension that seemed forever on the verge of exploding whenever Court and Robbie were together, and she thought perhaps her presence might help to defuse it.

"No, it's not necessary. Go along. I'll be back before you miss me."

At last convinced, Ariel disappeared into the draper's shop and Robbie, keeping a nervously vigilant watch on the people she passed, made her way down the street.

"Court?" she called as she opened the door. "Oh."

Two other men, one the shipping agent, the other the dandified, bewigged Tarleton Kurland, stood with Court around a desk, upon whose top several maps and charts had been unrolled.

Court looked up, and the surprise in his eyes at seeing her storm so boldly into this domain of masculinity was tempered by concern at the very real fear he saw on her face. It wasn't often that Robbie displayed such obvious alarm and so, when she did, it was to be taken seriously.

"What is it?" he asked, rounding the desk.

"I must speak to you." She glanced at the other two men. "Your pardon, gentlemen. I would not interrupt your business, but it is a matter of some urgency."

The two men bowed and discreetly turned their attention back to their charts. Court drew Robbie off to one side. "What is this all about?" he demanded.

"René! René LeClerc!" Merely speaking his name made the tide of panic rise within her. "I've seen him!"

"What! Here? In Yorktown?"

His obvious skepticism infuriated her. "Yes!" she hissed. "Here! In Yorktown! A few moments ago!"

"Robbie. The notion of René LeClerc in Yorktown is absurd."

"It's not absurd, damn you! I tell you, it was him! I know that whoreson when I see him!"

"Shhh!" Court glanced over her head at Kurland and the shipping agent, but either they hadn't heard her or they were very good at pretending. "Listen to me." He held up a silencing hand when she would have protested. "No, I mean it. Listen. LeClerc is likely a thousand miles away. There's no reason to believe he would risk coming here."

"But, Court!" She felt like crying, screaming, hitting him, anything to make him listen to her.

"No, Robbie. LeClerc is many things, but a fool he is not. If he were, he wouldn't have survived this long nor been as successful. He's a wanted man now, not merely for his piracy. Charles Eden might have been able to protect him before, given him safe harbor in North Carolina, but not now. Not after this Widgington business."

"Excuse me," Tarleton Kurland interrupted. "I must be leaving. You and I will be meeting soon to finish our discussion, I trust?"

Court nodded. "We will, sir. Quite soon. I hope to have the details arranged before my wedding."

"Ah, yes, to the lovely Miss Kearny. When is she to return from Charles Town?"

"Within the week."

"Well, we're all looking forward to your nuptials." He made as if to turn away but then, a finger pressed to his lips, turned back. ''I couldn't help overhearing you mention Jonathan Widgington. Dreadful business, wasn't it? He should have stayed in Charles Town."

"Charles Town?" Robbie asked.

Kurland smiled down at her, pleased to have become the center of attention. "Why, indeed, yes. Good heavens! Now that I think of it, only a night or two before his death, Widgington was said to have been a guest at a soirée held at the home of the Todds, who were recently guests at Windover. Miss Kearny is visiting with them, isn't she? No doubt she met him there. How ironic. Well, if you will excuse me. Sir. Miss Fitzalan."

Kurland departed, and the shipping agent suddenly, and prudently, remembered an errand he had to run. Left alone in the office, Robbie rounded on Court.

"That's it!"

"What's it?" he asked, frowning impatiently.

"Juletta told Widgington about me and Widgington told LeClerc!"

Court's laugh was insultingly derisive. "Robbie, you're being ridiculous! Do you really think Juletta could find nothing except you to you discuss with the Royal Governor's aide? And even if she mentioned you, do you think Widgington just happened to mention you to LeClerc while he was being tortured?" He raised the tone of his voice, imitating Jonathan Widgington. " 'Oh, by the bye, LeClerc, before you snip off my other ear, did you know that Robbie Tremonte is in Yorktown?' " He scowled down at her. "You're letting your imagination run away with you."

Robbie glared up at him defiantly. "Damn you, Court! You don't believe me, but I tell you it's true! LeClerc is out there and he's following me! He wants to capture me and take me . . ."

"Listen to me!" Court interrupted, his voice hard, his amber eyes stormy. "It is high time you forgot all this pirate business, Robbie, and realized that regardless of who your father was, you are simply not important enough to LeClerc for him to kill a man as important as Jonathan Widgington and then risk his own neck by coming to Yorktown when he knows Governor Spotswood is merciless toward pirates."

"Ohhh!" Robbie clenched her fists, barely controlling her anger. "I don't know why the hell I ever thought I could come to you for help!"

"Help doing what! Help fighting imaginary pirates?"

"He's not imaginary, damn your soul! He's out there and" She shook her head, realizing the futility of it all. "Never mind! Go back to your blasted charts and your cursed maps! I'll see to myself!"

Court watched, making no attempt to stop her, as Robbie stalked out of the office. Though he didn't for a moment believe that she had actually seen LeClerc, he wondered just who it was she had seen who had put her into such a pother.

The shipping agent, having seen Robbie storming off up the street, her freckled cheeks blazing with fury, returned.

"Shall we go on, sir?" he asked Court.

"What? Oh, yes, let's go on."

Relegating Robbie and her imaginary buccaneers to the back of his mind, Court went back to the desk and bent once more over the maps.

Slowly, wearily, Juletta mounted the steps to the front door of the Todds' town house. She didn't want to go backshe loathed the thought of returningbut there was nowhere else for her to go. In fact, it seemed there was nowhere at all for her, not now, not anymore.

"Juletta, darling, is that you?" Caroline called from the parlor.

"Yes, Mama," she replied dully, unfastening her cloak and hood and handing them to a maid who happened to be passing.

Caroline appeared in the parlor doorway. Her usually pale porcelain cheeks were becomingly pink, and Juletta wondered if she and Lucy Todd were lacing their afternoon tea with healthy dollops of Henry Todd's brandy again.

"Did you buy the bonnet?" she asked brightly.

"Bonnet?" Juletta looked at her confusedly. "Oh! No. It was already gone."

"Well, no matter. I've news that will delight you!

"Really?" In vain did Juletta try to appear interested. "What's that?"

"The arrangements are all made. We leave for Windover tomorrow."

"Tomorrow!" Juletta felt faint. A fit of trembling seized her. "Tomorrow!"

Caroline was plainly confused by her daughter's peculiar reaction. "Yes, dearest, isn't that what you wanted? I thought you wished to go home. You said so earlier. I've made arrangements for your trousseau to be sent along when it's finished. We'll take the wedding gown with us since it has already been delivered." She bit her lip, looking as though she would cry. "I thought it would make you happy."

Juletta tried to force a smile, but it looked more like a pained grimace. "Yes, of course it is what I want, Mama. I am very happy." She passed a shaking hand over her brow. "I think I'll go upstairs and rest for a little while, Mama." "All right, dear." Concern was deeply etched in Caroline's face as she watched her daughter mount the stairs slowly, like an old, tired woman from whom the will to live has slowly, inexorably drained.

Juletta closed the door of her room and twisted the key in the lock. She closed the draperies, shutting out the bright, soothing warmth of the sun and plunging the chamber into the melancholy half light of dusk. Without bothering to undress, she lay down on the bed and gazed up at the canopy.

She didn't want to believe the doctor, but the evidence was unmistakable. Once she'd explained her symptomsonce she'd submitted to an examinationhis diagnosis had been swift and definite.

Syphilis. The word festered in her mind, bringing with it sensations, impressions of filth and disease. Squalor and death.

She felt the ache in her breast, but she couldn't cry. She was beyond tears. Beyond grief. Beyond hope. In that one nightin those brief, wretched minutes of hell on earth she'd suffered at the hands of René LeClerc, her life had been shattered. Not only had he outraged her senses, defiled and infected her body, he had blighted her very existence.

Oh, there was a treatment to be had. The good doctor had been quick to point that out. But the mere act of curing the disease would solve nothing. The physical symptoms might well be purged, but the scars would remain forever on her very soul. Nothing, no medicines, no treatments, nothing could exorcise the contagion that would forever fester within her, rotting, decaying, putrefying, until nothing remained but the outer shell, like a fruit into whose fleshy center the worms have bored their ravaging way.

She could not return to Windover, to Court. Not like this. She could not be the wife he wanted, he deserved, not knowing what she had become. She despised herself.

A movement caught her eye, and she noticed that she could see her own reflection in the glass across the room. Grimacing, she rolled onto her side, turning her back on the befouled, contaminated woman she saw there. The doctor had advised her to return in the morning for the first treatment. She laughed morbidly, derisively. Tomorrow, when she was supposed to be making her way back to Windover? To Court? No, it was impossible. There was no Windover for her anymore. No Court. No tomorrow. There was nothingnothing but sorrow, and hopelessness, and death.

41

For the two days and nights that followed, Robbie remained in a state of nerve-rending tension. She was convinced that Juletta had told René LeClerc where to find her or, if she hadn't told him directly, had at least told Jonathan Widgington, who had, in turn, told Renéand died for his trouble.

By the evening of the third day her patience had been stretched to the breaking point. She vacillated between fear and fury, alternately vowing to flee and to remain and wait for Juletta to return so that she could wreak her vengeance upon the treacherous, spiteful little viper.

Kneeling on the settee that stood beneath one of the parlor windows, she stared out into the rain-swept darkness. He was out there; she knew it, could feel it. Though she hadn't seen him again, she had no doubt he was nearby, somewhere in the night, hidden like a wolf in its lair, awaiting the right moment to go 'ahunting its prey.

"I'll kill that bitch," she muttered bitterly. "Before God, I'll teach her not to try and destroy other peoples' lives! I'll jerk out every blond hair on her thick skull. I'll . . ."

"Good heavens, Robbie," Minerva chuckled, thumping into the room with the aid of the gold-knobbed cane she'd taken to using since her arthritis had worsened. "You sound like one of the witches in Macbeth, grumbling your curses on your enemies."

Turning away from the window, Robbie sat on the settee and watched Minerva settle into her chair and take up her knitting. Her eyes rested fondly on the old woman who had come to be so dear to her. It was for Minerva that she reserved her greatest concern. Should René come here for hershould he decide not to merely lie in wait out there in the darknessMinerva would certainly try to stop him from taking Robbie away. In doing so, she would surely forfeit her life, for René would never let one old, sick woman interfere in his plans. He could kill her with no more concern than he would show over the swatting of a fly. Human life mattered no more to him than the life of the most bothersome insect. In fact, he would probably enjoy itmost of his victims were men; he would probably kill Minerva for nothing more than the sake of novelty.

Wracked by indecision, she passed a weary hand over her brow. She should leave Minerva'sremove herself for the sake of the old lady's safety. But where could she go? To Court? He didn't believe her. He would only ridicule her. Her mouth twisted wryly. Probably he would accuse her of concocting the whole story merely to have an excuse to move back to Greenbrier so she could be near him. There was Brock. No doubt he would take her in without question. Even if he were skeptical of her reasons, he would still give her shelter without hesitation. But she didn't want to involve Brock in all this. Nor Court. Nor Ariel. And what would it matter in the end? If she managed to slip through René's fingers this time, he would only follow her, track her down like a hound on the scent of a fox. It was inevitable that they should one day meet again. The day of reckoning would come, no matter how far she ran. He was determinedobsessedand there was, in all the world, no place where she could hide from that madman forever.

"Robbie?" Minerva put down her needles and yarn. "Robbie. What is the matter? You've been nervous as a cat for days. You've been so preoccupied, it worries me. You must tell me what is troubling you. Perhaps I can help."

"There's nothing you can do," Robbie replied. "Though I thank you for your concern." Rising, she went to kneel beside the old woman's chair. "You're very precious to me, you know that, don't you, Minerva?"

Minerva's crabbed hand caressed Robbie's shining, shoulder-length curls. "I do," she answered, eyes soft and fond, "and you are like my own flesh and blood." Her hand slipped around and cupped Robbie's chin. "And that is why I want you to tell me what is troubling you."

Robbie sighed. Perhaps if she took Minerva into her confidence, she could warn her not to interfere if the worst came to the worst.

"It's René LeClerc. I've seen him. He's here, in Yorktown. He's come for me."

"What!" Minerva pushed herself out of her chair, limped over to the mantel, and lifted down the ancient muzzle-loader that had belonged to her father. "If that heathen spawn of Satan comes to this house, I'll blow him straight to hell!" The gun, far too heavy for her, tipped, and the powder and shot spilled out in a dusty little heap on the floor. "That is exactly what you mustn't do," Robbie told her, gently taking the gun from her and replacing it on its pegs over the fireplace. "Don't you see, Minerva, this man is no jolly swashbuckler who sails the ocean with a tankard of rum in one hand and a comely wench in the other. He is a vicious, merciless killer. He is insane. He enjoys inflicting pain. You heard what he did to that man from North Carolinathe governor's aide. Don't imagine that because you are a woman he would think twice about doing the same to youor to me. Life means nothing to him. Or death. Even his own." She steered the old woman back into her chair. "You've got to promise me, Minerva, promise solemnly, that if LeClerc and his men come, you won't do anything. Don't try to interfere at all, and tell the servants not to interfere. It's me he wants. If I go with him, I don't think he'll hurt anyone else."

"How could I simply stand by and not try to help you?" Minerva demanded, truly distressed.

Robbie held one of the old lady's hands between her own. "How could I bear knowing I was the cause of your death?" she countered. "If LeClerc wants me, and I know he does, he'll take me. He won't allow anything to stand in his way. Don't ask me to bear the burden of being the cause of harm coming to you, Minerva. Please, promise to do as I ask."

In the end, Minerva could only agree. "There must be someone who could help you," she persisted. "We'll speak to Brock and . . ."

"No! Minerva, please. I don't want Brock involved. I won't have him endangered for my sake."

"Court, then. He's met this wretch."

Robbie looked away, trying to mask her disgust. "I told Court," she muttered.

"And? Don't tell me he refused to help you! Court can be pigheaded, but . . ." "He doesn't believe me. I told him I'd seen LeClerc and he told me it was all in my imagination." She shook her head. "No. This is something I must do for myself. And I'll ask you again. I want your promise, Minerva."

Reluctantly, Minerva gave her word. Then, weary, heartsick with worry, she called for her maid and went upstairs to bed.

Left alone in the parlor, Robbie extinguished the candles and sat alone in the room lit only by the flickering of the fire kindled in the grate to dispel the damp chill of the rainy night.

Sitting before the fire, Robbie closed her eyes and tried not to think of what might be lurking outside in the darkness, waiting for her. She listened to the crackling of the fire, the patting of the rain against the house, the creak and groan of the house itself, its timbers settling comfortably on their foundations. The sounds comforted her, eased her fears, soothed her frayed nerves.

But it could not last. She tensed, even before she heard the hoofbeats on the drive, the crunching of the gravel, the creaking of the leather as the rider dismounted.

Thrusting herself out of her chair, she stared at the entrance hall door and, beyond it, at the sturdy front door on whose stout panels the rider's knuckles had already begun to rap.

"René," she breathed, trembling. The knock came again. Her fears redoubled. She must go with him quietly, she told herself, for she didn't trust Minerva to keep her word. She didn't believe for a moment that Minerva could merely stand aside and watch her being taken away by a bloodthirsty animal like LeClerc.

The knock had sounded a third time before the small voice of reason managed to turn her attention away from her terror. If LeClerc were coming, it told her, he'd hardly be so obvious. He wouldn't simply ride up to the door and knock. He was insane, certainly, but no one had ever accused him of being stupid.

She went to the door and threw back the bolt. As it swung wide on its hinges, Court swept inside, seemingly borne on the rain-drenched wind that had soaked his coat, muddied his high leather boots, and dripped from the bedraggled feathers trimming his three-cornered hat.

Pulling off his coat and hat, he threw them down in a sodden heap on the bench in the entrance hall. Without a word, he stamped the worst of the mud off his boots and went into the parlor. Robbie retrieved his wet clothes and hung them on the newel at the foot of the stairs before following. As he collapsed into the chair near the fire that she had just vacated, she perched on the edge of the chair opposite him.

She had never seen him look so wretched. He was pale, drawn; lines of fatigue were etched deeply into his face. He ran a hand through his wet hair, then covered his eyes.

''Court?" Leaning forward, Robbie put a hand on his thigh and gazed worriedly up into his face. "Court, what's wrong? What is it?"

He dropped his hand from his eyes and stared at her. His amber eyes were filled with some unfathomable emotion that was not grief and not guilt, but some curious mixture of the two, coupled with something else she could not name.

"If you've come to see Minerva," she told him, wondering if perhaps he simply did not want to speak to her, "she's already gone to bed."

"I didn't come to see Minerva," he answered. He turned his gaze to the fire, and its orange flames flickered in his eyes. "I don't know why I came." Leaning his head against the back of the chair, he heaved a shuddering sigh that seemed wrenched from the deepest reaches of his soul. "Oh, Christ."

Not knowing what else to do, Robbie went to Minerva's store of "medicine" and poured him a healthy serving of rum. She brought it to him and he bolted it down greedily.

"She hasn't anything stronger," she said apologetically. "Do you want some more?"

He shook his head and set the tankard aside. "I've just come from Windover . . ." His voice was eerily devoid of emotion.

Robbie turned away. How dare he! He's just come from Windover! Why has he come to me? So he can sing the praises of his perfect Juletta? So he can tell me how upset the poor dear is over Jonathan Widgington's death? So he can berate me for being so unfeeling as to accuse her of betraying me to René LeClerc?

"Did you hear me?" he asked.

"Yes." She turned back toward him. "I heard you. You've just come from Windover. Juletta is back, I take it?"

His eyes met hers, and their gazes locked as the long case clock ticked away the seconds from its sentinel post at the foot of the stairs. A log crackled in the grate, slipping, falling in a shower of glittering sparks. Outside, the wind had risen and the rain slashed against the white-washed walls of the neat little cottage.

When at last he spoke Court's voice was barely audible. "Juletta's dead," he murmured. "She killed herself in Charles Town three days ago."

42

"Killed herself!" Stunned, Robbie sank back in her chair. "But how . . . why?"

"As to the how, she broke a mirror in her room and slit her wrists. As to the why . . ." His voice failed him, and it was some moments before he went on. "No one seems to know." He frowned into the fire in silenceeverything, even the wind outside seemed stilled, hushed. ''The funeral will be tomorrowlate in the day."

"Minerva will want to be there. Perhaps Brock can take her."

"You're not coming?"

Robbie shook her head solemnly. "I hardly think I should, considering how Juletta and I felt about one another. Do you think she would want me there?"

"Probably not," he admitted.

"None of this makes any sense, Court. Why in the world would Juletta do such a thing? She had everything she wanted. She wanted to be your wife, she wanted to be mistress of Greenbrier. Both those things were within weeks of coming to pass."

"I don't know." Court sighed, as bewildered by it all as Robbie. "It makes no sense to me either. Caroline Kearny has spent the past three days so sedated she's practically unconscious. When the laudanum begins to wear off she's hysterical. Caroline's maid told me that before Juletta . . . before it happened . . . Juletta had seemed upset. Caroline had commented on it to her. When Caroline joined Juletta in Charles Town, Juletta seemed changed. For the past few weeks she'd been nervous, depressed; she hadn't been sleeping well, apparently. She'd lost all her enthusiasm for her fittings. For life, it seemed."

"There's simply no rhyme or reason to it," Robbie mused. "She was within days of coming home. Surely she couldn't have been so despondent that she couldn't bear the thought of coming back to Yorktown. Everything she'd always wanted was awaiting her here."

"So I thought. So we all thought. But obviously Juletta felt differently." Absently, Court stroked Minerva's fat tabby cat, which had leapt into his lap and settled down for a nap. "The Todds came back from Charles Town with Caroline. I spoke with Lucy Todd. She told me that about a month agothis would have been before Caroline joined Juletta in Charles TownLucy heard Juletta cry out in the night. Lucy went to Juletta's room, but the door was locked. She found that peculiar because Juletta's maid came up to awaken her every morning and she didn't have a key to the room. Lucy knocked on the door; she asked if Juletta was all right. Juletta called back that it was nothinga bad dream. Lucy had no choice but to let the matter drop and go back to her own room. But she said she was certain she'd heard voices in the room. It was as if Juletta was speaking to someone." "Perhaps it was Barbara Todd."

"No. Barbara was in her own room, fast asleep. Lucy said that beginning the next morning, she noticed the change in Juletta's behavior. Whatever it was that led her to"he paused and took a deep breath"to do what she did, seems to have happened that night." He shrugged and put the cat on the floor, ignoring its yowl of protest. "Well, I should be going. You'll tell Minerva in the morning?"

Robbie followed him to the entrance hall and held his hat while he pulled on his soaked coat. "I'll tell her," she promised. "Are you going back to Windover?"

"No." He perched the bedraggled hat atop his head. "I'm going to Avondale and tell Brock, and then I'm going home to tell Ariel."

"Will you ask Brock to come for Minerva and take her to the funeral?"

Court agreed, and Robbie opened the door and bade him good night. As the hoofbeats of his stallion faded into the night, she rebolted the door and went back to the parlor.

Julettadead. It was unbelievable, and yet it was true. It made no sense. Why would a beautiful young woman who had been raised in the lap of luxury by a family who adored her, who was the envy of nearly every woman she met, admired by every gentleman, poised on the very brink of achieving her every goal in life, kill herself?

What could have happened that night? Lucy Todd thought she had heard Juletta speaking to someone. Who? Could she have had a lover? A man she'd met in Charles Town, perhaps, and with whom she had fallen madly in love? Perhaps she had decided she no longer wished to marry Court. But no, if that were the case, Juletta would simply have broken off the engagement. She would have had no qualms about freeing herself from a betrothal that had ceased to interest her. Unless there was an impediment. A married lover, perhaps. No. Juletta would never have risked everything by embroiling herself in an affair that could come to nothingthat would bring her nothing but shame and disgrace.

It had happened, so Lucy claimed, about a month ago. Allowing her the three days since Juletta's death, that would mean it had happened about the same time as . . . Robbie's eyes widened. The color drained from her cheeks. About the same time as Widgington had been murdered by . . .

"René," Robbie breathed. The cat looked up at her from its cushion on the hearth. It mewed softly. Robbie glanced down into its great yellow eyes. "It was René," she told it. "It had to have been René. Widgington was an aide to the Royal Governor. The governor often deals with the pirates through his aides. Widgington would have known where to find Renéwould have known how to contact him. If he knew René was looking for meif he knew that René believes I can tell him something he wants to know, something valuableand if Juletta hinted that she might know where I was, Widgington may have thought to earn himself a fat reward for taking René the information." She smiled sourly at the cat. ''They don't know René, puss, or they would know that he and gratitude haven't even a nodding acquaintance. He must have forced Widgington to tell him about Juletta before he murdered him. Then he went to Charles Town and paid a call on her himself."

She shuddered. The cat leapt into her lap, and she hugged it close, taking comfort in its soft, rumbling purr and living warmth.

"I grew up with pirates, puss," she confided pensively. "I saw blood, and misery, and death aplenty on Montebello. I've known René LeClerc since I was barely ten years old, but he still scares the very life out of me. Nothing I've ever had to face frightens me as he does. What must it have been for a woman like Julettagently bred, carefully reared, sheltered, shielded from life's uglinessto have awakened in the middle of the night to find that fiend at her bedside?"

What could he have done to her? Robbie wondered, that was so foul, so monstrous, that it preyed on her mind until she could bear it no more, until she sought her own death to escape it? There was no act so foul that she would not believe it of him; no deed so dark, so hellish, that he was not capable of committing it. And yet, he apparently had not harmed her physically. Court had said nothing about her physical appearance having been in any way altered. It was a mystery she could not solvea puzzle in which all the pieces did not seem to fit.

She lifted the cat from her lap and went about banking the fire for the night. Though she doubted she would sleep, she went upstairs to her room. She had not bothered to check the windows and doorsmere bolts and bars could not keep René out if he came for her any more than they could keep Death out if it cameany more than they had kept either of them out when they had come for Juletta Kearny.

Minerva took the news of Juletta's death far more calmly than Robbie might have expected.

"At my age, I have seen death many times," she said as Robbie helped her unpack the mourning clothes she kept in a chest at the foot of her bed. "People I loved have gone before, many of them. Some were old, some young. It doesn't matter. When the Lord wills it, we must all heed His call." "But Juletta was so young. She had everything to live for. And her death was not in answer to the Lord's call, Minerva. She killed herself."

Minerva shook her head disapprovingly. "A great sin, it is true. We must pray for the repose of her soul. But she must have been tormented to have done such a thing. There must have been great sorrow within her that none of us even suspected was there."

Robbie said nothing. She could not, would not tell Minerva what she suspectedthat Juletta had been driven to take her life by some hideous action on the part of René LeClerc. In the first place, there was nothing to be gained by telling Minerva. In the second place, it might well upset the old woman, and Robbie suspected she was not nearly as philosophical and serene as she liked people to think. In the third place, Robbie felt more than a little guilty, and she blamed herself in large part for what had happened. Had René not been so driven to find her, he would have had no reason ever to come into contact with Juletta Kearny. But then, she tried to tell herself by way of comfort, if Juletta had not been maliciously trying to destroy her, she would not have mentioned her to Jonathan Widgington. Indirectly, some might have said, Robbie had been the cause of both Jonathan Widgington and Juletta's deaths. And yet, she had to argue in her own defense, if they had not been motivated by greed and hatred, they would not have set their feet upon the path to their own destruction.

She tried not to think of it as she helped Minerva to dress. She wore a black silk petticoat beneath a black satin mantua heavily and intricately embroidered. Atop Minerva's gray head was pinned a black lace cap with flowing lappets over which she would draw the hood of her black grogram cloak.

"What was it Brock was telling you this morning when he came to visit, dear?" she asked, carefully laying out her black gloves and fan.

"He was telling me about the funeral dinner at Windover this evening," Robbie replied absently.

"Ah. What are they having?"

"I don't remember." Robbie sat heavily on the chest. She was amazed, almost shocked, at Minerva's ability to take Juletta's death so matter-of-factly. But then, she supposed, it was the old woman's way. She took a straight-forward, no-nonsense approach to lifeit was only to be expected that she would look at death in the same fashion. "Brock said they are going to bury Juletta in her wedding dress."

"Sensible. Is that a carriage I hear?"

Robbie went to the window and saw Brock driving up to the house. After helping Minerva into her cloak and hood Robbie accompanied her downstairs. Brock waited in the entrance hall.

"It's likely we won't be back until quite late," he told Robbie as they walked out to the carriage and he helped Minerva up. "The procession is to form at Windover, and we'll be walking out to the old family cemetery."

"The old family cemetery? But what of the churchyard?"

Brock looked away. "She can't be buried in the churchyard, Robbie. She killed herself. In fact, there was some question as to whether she could even be buried in the family cemeterythe ground is consecrated. But Juletta's father said he'd be damned if he'd see his daughter thrown into some god-forsaken hole in the earth. The pastor made an exception."

Robbie said nothing. There was, it seemed, nothing to say. She stood back as Brock climbed into the carriage and drove away. In her mind's eye, she could see the solemn procession of black-clad mourners following the coffin draped in its white pall. It would be dusk, and the route would be lined with slaves bearing torches whose flickering light would dance eerily in the gathering darkness. She shivered and, feeling a sudden chill, returned to the house and bolted the door behind her.

Minerva had dismissed her servants to go into Yorktown. She had given them each a coin with which they were to drink a toast to the memory of the deceased. The house was deserted, but for Robbie. She leaned her back against the door and closed her eyes.

And then, from the parlor, she heard a shuffling, then the clink of glass against glass. Her heart sank. Her blood began to pound through her veins at a dizzying rate. A part of her wanted to fleea part of her recognized the utter futility of such an action.

Resolved, resigned, she went to the doorway, knowing what she would find.

"Good evening, René," she said quietly, nothing in her tone betraying the fierce throbbing of her heart.

He looked up at her with those piercing, devil-dark eyes. Lifting his glass, he sipped Minerva's prize brandy, savoring it like a true connoisseur. With a sweep of his hand, he gestured toward the chair opposite him. "Come sit down, Robbie," he invited, as genially as if he was her host and she a welcome visitor. He waited until she had joined him near the hearth in which the ashes of the previous night's fire lay black and cold. His smile was like the snarl of a wolf, and it chilled Robbie's blood when he said softly, "I've been looking for you."

43

"I know you have," Robbie replied, refusing to let him see how his mere presence terrified her. "I've heard about your victims."

"Victims? You malign me, chérie."

"Do I? What of Jonathan Widgington?"

"Pah! Widgington!" He spat out the name in disgust. "He thought to gain from the information he brought me!"

"And is that so wrong? Did you expect him to give you the information out of the goodness of his heart?"

"Non, I did not. I expect nothing from anyone for nothing. But he threatened me, ma chère. He threatened to betray meto see me hanged. I do not care to deal with traitors."

Realizing that he considered her too valuable to kill merely on a whim, Robbie felt a little surge of confidence. She laughed disdainfully. "Traitors! You, of all people, should have compassion for traitors, René, since you, yourself, are one."

"I should have been master of Montebello long ago!" he thundered. "Jack Tremonte should have died when they cut off his arm!"

"But he didn't!" she shouted back. "And so he was still your captain! Your master! And you betrayed him!"

"There is much of your father in you, Robbie," René observed with grudging admiration. "There is not a man on my shipnot a man on Montebellowho would speak to me as you just did."

"It is not courage that makes me speak so boldly to you," Robbie admitted freely. "Were I one of your men, I, too, would cringe and cower. Because I would know that I was never more than a whim away from death. But I know you won't kill me, not yet at any rate, because you think I have something you want. Something you need."

"Then you know why I am here?"

"I did not imagine it was because you missed me."

"Your father's treasure . . ."

Robbie rose and crossed the room. "Treasure?" she murmured. "What treasure would that be, René"

"Don't fence with me," he snarled. "I want to know where it is! I have searched every inch of Montebello!"

"Perhaps it is not there," she taunted.

"Then where is it?"

She shrugged. "Perhaps it does not exist."

Color flooded his swarthy face. "It exists! He took his share of every prize. He took it in gold, in jewels, in ropes of South Sea pearls that would loop your pretty neck ten times over and still hang to your waist!"

"Then perhaps it was with him on the Black Avenger when she sank. It might be at the bottom of the sea."

"Don't be ridiculous. He didn't take it every time he sailed. It's there, on Montebello, and I want it! You are going to tell me where it is!"

"Have I said I know where it is? Have I even said I know it exists? What makes you think my father would have told me where he was hiding itif, indeed, he even possessed this treasure you speak of."

With a shriek of pure rage, René sent the glass half full of brandy smashing against the hearth stones. From the sash at his waist, he pulled a pistol.

Robbie stood her ground. "If you kill me, René," she said softly, her voice filled with mockery, "you will never know the truth. Will you?"

The gun wavered in his hand; his black eyes glittered with mad, murderous rage. "I will not kill you now," he snarled between gritted teeth, "but I can make you long for death, beg me for release from your pain."

"As you did Jonathan Widgington? You're wrong. I will never beg you for anything. I am not Jonathan Widgington to be grateful for death; still less am I Juletta Kearny to take my own life for release from whatever torment you brought her. I am the daughter of Jack Tremonte, and if there is one thing I inherited from him, it is the will to love, to survive. Failing that, it is the willingness to go on to my grave with whatever secrets I possess still mine and mine alone."

Recognizing in her eyes the same stubborn glint he had seen far too many times in Black Jack's, René tried another tack. "Do you like it here?" he asked. "Do you care for these people? For the old woman who lives here? For your loverCourt Lennox?"

"I like it here," she admitted simply.

"Would you like to stay? Here? With your friends? Your lover? And never have to see me or Montebello again?" "What game is this, René" she demanded suspiciously.

His eyes swept over her from the long, glossy curls that framed her delicate face to the fine gown of lilac silk with its standing collar of exquisite lace and the intricate embroidered tracery that stiffened the skirt to the toes of her soft leather slippers peeking from beneath her hem.

"You're a lady now. Montebello is no place for you. You don't want to go there."

A knowing smile spread across her face. "And if I will but tell you where to find this imaginary treasure, you will graciously spare me the ordeal, is that it?"

"It is not an imaginary treasure! It is real! And I will have it!"

"Not with my help."

An ear-shattering whistle rent the silence of the night. The door opened and three men entered. Two she recognizedthey had sailed with her father. The other was exactly the sort of man she would have expected to find with Renélean, dark, with a face hideously scarred by the pox and too many knife fights. One puckered, scarlet slash cut across his right eye and a ragged, filthy patch covered what she imagined was an empty socket. He leered as he crossed the room toward her.

Robbie backed away as he advanced. Brushing past René, who had merely stepped back to watch, she whirled, and in a single, fluid movement, snatched the pistol out of his hand. With lightning quick reflexes, René slid out of danger behind his henchman.

Her back to the wall, she aimed the gun at the approaching pirate. "Come a step nearer, you filthy son of a whore," she growled, "and before God, I'll blow off what little manhood you've got!"

The man froze, taken aback at such language issuing from the petal-pink lips of a lady. The other two pirates, Jacques Grenier and Cyril, laughed appreciatively.

"She'll do it, Pizer, don't think she won't," Grenier warned. "That be Jack's daughter under them fancy rags."

"I will do it," she agreed. "Listen to him."

Cyril jammed his hands in his pocket. "Ye can't fight us all, Rob. Ye know ye can't. We have to take ye." He jerked his great grizzled head toward LeClerc. "Cap'n's orders."

"I'll shoot him," Robbie warned again. "If any of you come near me."

Jacques laughed. "Ye'd be doin' us all a favor, Robbie." He sighed. "Come on, now, laderlass. We don't want to hurt ye."

"Why not? Out of loyalty to my father? Where were the two of you when they hanged my father? Where were you when that slime"she nodded toward René"betrayed him and twenty-five of your shipmates? I saw him, you know, the night before they hanged him. He was in a dungeon in Charles Town, chained to a pillar like a wild animal! Where were you then, his loyal crew!"

"We was on Montebello," Cyril defended. "I was sick unto death with the flux and Grenier had been shot in the back."

"But when LeClerc came back, you followed him."

"Ah, Rob. There ain't no use arguin'. There ain't another cap'n afloat worth half of Jack Tremonte. Blackbeard's out of his mind. Bonnet's a bungler. Calico Jack Rackam's so busy lyin' with Anne Bonney 'tis a wonder he ever catches a prize. Piracy ain't a fit profession for a man anymore."

"He's right, Rob," Grenier agreed. "Give the cap'n back the gun. Yer outnumbered. Even yer father was too smart to fight odds like this. He must've taught ye 'twas a foolish thing to do back when ye were a lad.'' His brown eyes pleaded with her. "We don't want to hurt ye an' that's the truth on it."

Robbie knew full well that in the end, she would be forced to go with them. She could shoot Pizerit didn't seem as if anyone would be too sorry to see him deadbut it would change nothing. René was their captain, and they would obey him. There was no sense in forcing them to take some drastic action they obviously did not want to take.

"I'll go with you quietly," she bargained, "if the two of you will keep that scrap of scum away from me."

"They'll be your guards," René promised quickly. "Grenier and Cyril. Even after we're bound for Montebello."

The two pirates nodded and, with a flick of her wrist, Robbie sent the pistol flying into René's stomach. He grunted, doubling over, as the heavy carved butt caught him squarely in the midsection.

"Have I time to pack anything?" she asked. "Or must I go with just what I wear on my back?"

"A small bag," René allowed. "But be quick about it." She started toward the stairs and heard him say, "Grenier, go with her. See she doesn't escape out a window. Pizer, go get the horses."

While Grenier waited outside her bedroom door, Robbie packed a bag with a change of clothes, night-clothes, and her brushes and toiletries. The chased gold box that was her only remembrance of her mother stood on the table beside the bed. Her hand hung poised above it for a moment, then moved away. She would not take it. Minerva, she knew, would keep it safe for her, but René would take it away, claiming it as part of this treasure he was so obsessed with finding. "All right," she told Grenier, leaving her room. She handed him the satchel while she pulled on a cloak and hood. "I'm ready."

They descended the stairs and left the house. Four horses waited in the drive. Each pirate took one. Robbie's satchel was secured on Cyril's saddle and Robbie herself was lifted into the saddle in front of Grenier.

As they galloped off into the night, Robbie noticed several of Minerva's servants straggling back toward home after their evening in town. Though she didn't acknowledge themshe didn't want to alarm them into taking some foolish action to try and rescue hershe lifted her face into the wind and let her hood blow back. There was no mistaking their looks of astonishment as the four horses galloped by. And there could be no doubt that they had seen and recognized her. Her disappearance would not remain a secret for longshe could only hope someone would think of a way to help her.

"Where is Minerva?" Brock asked Ariel as they were preparing to leave Windover. The mood was solemn; the funeral and the feast that had followed had been trying affairs. No one had known what to do, what to say. Had Juletta been ill or very old, they could have said she was "past her pain now" or that she had "lived a good, long life." But under the circumstances, conversation was strained at first, then nonexistent.

"I think she's lying down," Ariel replied. "She was very tired."

Pierce Kearney overheard them. "Miss Gilmore went up to one of the bedrooms. It's late. Why don't you let her rest? You can collect her in the morning."

Brock looked at Ariel, who nodded. "It might be best for her." "Robbie's home alone." His tone was worried.

Ariel's look was teasing. "Robbie's a grown woman, Brock. She's all right on her own. And anyway, Minerva's servants are there."

"You're right." He nodded to Pierce. "I'll come for her in the morning. And thank you."

Pierce drifted away, and Brock and Ariel went to find Court.

"We're leaving now," Ariel told her brother. "Brock will drive me home. Are you coming?"

He shook his head. "I think I should stay a little longer." Leaning over, he kissed her forehead. "You'll likely be asleep by the time I get home. Good night, little sister."

Fondly, Ariel smoothed the black brocade of his coat. "Did anyone ever tell you that you look absolutely devastating in black, Court?"

"Here now!" Brock protested.

Ariel gave his arm a playful squeeze. "Don't be jealous, Brock. You look devastating too. It's just that Court's so fair."

"Take her home," Court told Brock.

Ariel and Brock rode toward Greenbrier in a silence that was broken when Ariel sighed.

"I suppose I should be ashamed for not being properly sad but, you know, I can't really mourn for Juletta. After all, it's not as if she were tragically struck down. She did it herself." She turned anxious eyes toward Brock. "Do you think that's too, too dreadful of me, Brock?"

"Not at all," he assured her. "I quite understand. Still, it seems such a waste."

He turned the horses into the long, sweeping drive. Lights slowed ahead, and when they emerged from the trees Ariel nearly flew out of her seat.

"Oh, my God!" "What is it?" Brock demanded. He looked toward the house and found the front ablaze with torchlight. A coach and several wagons stood at the door. The drive swarmed with servants unloading trunk after trunk.

"It's Alexandra!" Ariel moaned. "She wasn't expected for weeks! The preparations aren't nearly ready!"

"Ready or not, it looks as if they're here."

With a groan, Ariel sank back onto the seat. "First the funeral and now Alexandra. Surely nothing more can happen tonight!"

44

Bathed in the brilliant sunshine of a perfect day, Court and his sister, Alexandra, Duchess of Brookfield, strolled the sun-drenched garden of Greenbrier where they had played as children.

"How was your crossing, Your Grace?" Court asked.

Playfully, Alexandra swatted him with her fan. "Don't you 'Your Grace' me, you wretch. I get enough of that at home." The smile faded from her face. "Oh, Court, ought we to be laughing? I keep forgetting poor Juletta." She glanced down at her dove-gray gown. "It's the nearest thing to mourning I have. And look at you. Surely you should be in black."

Court glanced down at himself. His leather knee boots and breeches were black, but with them he wore his usual full-sleeved shirt and a long vest of oyster-colored brocade.

"I see no reason to keep strict mourning in private," he told her. "After all, we weren't familynot yet." "Why do I get the impression that you're not sorry not to be marrying Juletta?"

"Oh, Lord, is it that obvious?" He smiled ruefully as his sister patted his arm. "Don't mistake me, Alex, I am sorry, very sorry, about what happened to Juletta. It still makes no sense to me. It was a stupid, tragic waste. But honestly, between you and me, I can't truthfully say I was eager for the wedding."

Alexandra pulled off her bonnet and shook down the glorious, gilded curls that cascaded to her waist. Her long-lashed, amber eyes, so like her brother's, narrowed as she tilted her face toward the sun.

"Such a shocking lack of decorum," Court chided, amused.

"No doubt all of fashionable London would be scandalized," she agreed. "But you can't imagine how often I've longed to do something like kicking off my shoes and dangling my feet in the Thames at the end of the park."

"Considering the state the Thames is in, they'd likely shrivel up and fall off."

"Well, you know what I mean. The British are so stiff, so pompous. In public, that is. In private, of course, they're unholy terrors." Frowning, she poked him with one long, tapering finger. "You've managed to steer me off the subject of your marriage."

"I tried my best, at any rate," Court admitted.

"No, I want to discuss it, Court. Ariel is off mooning over Brock Demorest and the duke is still asleep. We've at least a few moments of utter privacy. Now, tell me truthfully. Were you in love with Juletta when you proposed to her?"

"No," he had to admit. "I wasn't in love with her. At one time I may have thought I loved her, but I know now that I didn't." "Then why, in heaven's name, did you ask her to marry you!"

Court eyed her matter-of-factly. "She was beautiful, well bred, she came from a respectable family of means. She was altogether a suitable mate."

"A suitable mate!" Alexandra's astonished laughter rippled over the sound of the rustling hedges. "Good God! You're not breeding foxhounds or race horses, you know! That is about the most cold-blooded statement I've ever heard! A suitable mate, indeed!"

"Whom do you expect me to marry?" he demanded crossly, hands clasped behind his back. "The barmaid at the Swan Tavern, perhaps? Minerva Gilmore's lady's maid?"

"I expect you to marry the woman you love," his sister told him gravely. "And no one else. It's too serious a businesstoo permanent and intimateto be entered into strictly on the basis of suitability." Swinging her bonnet by its ribbons, she walked toward a small, fanciful gazebo nearly hidden by tall yews left to grow wild around it. Sitting on one of its dolphin-legged benches, she patted the seat beside her. "Come, sit down, brother, and tell me of this girl you passed off as my husband's cousin. Robbie? Wasn't that her name?"

Court sighed. Instead of sitting beside his sister, he poised himself precariously atop the balustrade, bracing his back against one of the roof supports and his feet against another.

"Robbie. Robbie Tremonte."

"Juletta seemed to believe she was Edmund's cousin."

"No, I don't think she did," Court contradicted. "But she wanted to know who she was. I suspect she was merely trying to see how much, if anything, you knew." "But you brought the girl back from England with you."

"No. I brought her back from Montebello with me."

"Montebello! The pirate stronghold?"

"Exactly so. And when I took her off Montebello, I thought she was a boy."

"Oh dear, this gets more and more intriguing. Perhaps you'd best begin at the beginning."

In detail, Court related the story of his meeting Robbie, from the moment he'd first sighted Jack Tremonte and his men on their raft in the Atlantic. With a few notable exceptionsthe most important of which was the true reason why Robbie had fled Greenbrier for Minerva Gilmore'she told her everything.

When he'd finished Alexandra shook her head wonderingly.

"A pirate princess! I confess I'm longing to meet her."

"No doubt you will," he assured her. "But don't expect her to curtsy. She can be a proper little savage when the mood takes her, and she resents anything that smacks too highly of respectability."

"I like her already." Alexandra's golden gaze bore deeply into her brother. "And I sense that you've liked her all along."

Court leaned back his head and closed his eyes. "I won't deny there's an attraction there. It's always been there. She infuriates me, and yet I can't get her out of my mind."

"Or out of your heart?" his sister suggested.

Court swung his long legs down off the balustrade and gave her a stern look. "What ideas are brewing in that beautiful head of yours, sister?"

Alexandra shrugged her dewy, silken shoulders. "I was just thinking . . . perhaps it is the little pirate princess who has captured my brother's elusive heart."

Court scowled. "Don't be ridiculous! Robbie means nothing to me. She's a trial. A nuisance. I regret every day that I ever took her off Montebello."

"Do you?" Coming to him as he rose and turned his back to her, Alexandra smoothed her hands over his broad shoulders. "I don't believe you, brother. I think you're in love with her. Your heart knows it even if that thick head of yours won't accept it."

"What would you have me do?" he demanded, swinging around to face her. "Marry her?"

"If you love her," his sister said blithely. "And if she'll have you."

"Talk sensibly. Her father was a criminal! A notorious pirate! I was at his hanging, for Christ's sake!"

"What does that matter?" she demanded. "Just who in the hell do you think you are? Royalty? Why are you so concerned with the purity of your blessed blood-lines!" Throwing up her hands in disgust, she stalked away. "Do you know who you sound like?" she shouted from the opposite side of the gazebo. "You sound like Edmund's maiden aunts. Not one of those three old women wanted Edmund to marry me! They fought like tigresses to stop the wedding. And they enlisted half his family to help them. And do you know why?"

"No," Court admitted, genuinely mystified. "Why?"

"Because I wasn't good enough!"

"What!" He was outraged. "Those old bitches said that!"

"They did. After all, I was only a Virginia planter's daughter and Edmund was a duke."

"What the hell does that matter?" Alexandra smiled sweetly, innocently. "About as much as it matters if an overweening Virginia planter marries a pirate's daughter, I should say."

Court stared at her, astonished by the way she had turned his own arguments against him. "Was that the truth about Edmund's aunts?" he asked suspiciously.

"It was," Alexandra assured him. "And, I'm happy to say, Edmund didn't listen to a word of it. He loved me and I loved him, and that was all that mattered. I'm a good wife to him, and if I'm not always the perfect example of an English duchess, well" she shrugged. "had he wanted the perfect duchess, he'd have married some perfectly bred Englishwoman." She arched a taunting brow. "With the perfect bloodlines."

Smiling gently, Court drew his sister into his arms. "Damn you, Alex, you always were able to twist me 'round your finger."

"Why, Court, I never tried to do anything of the sort."

"You didn't have to try."

"Will you think about what I've said? If you love this girl and she loves you, let that be what concerns you. See to the present and the future. Don't worry about the past and people who are no longer even alive."

"I will think about it," he promised. "I will."

She eyed him curiously. "Is there some other problem with Robbie?"

"Not at all," he lied. Though he could see the sense in what Alexandra saidindeed, it opened up an entirely new avenue of thought for himthe nagging doubts still remained over Robbie and the men he was convinced had been in her past.

Their attention was abruptly diverted when they heard Brock calling to Court. ''Over here!" Court shouted back. "In the gazebo."

Brock came on a run and, after barely taking a moment to acknowledge Alexandra, told Court, "It's Robbie. She's gone."

"Gone? What do you mean, gone?" Court demanded.

"I'm not sure. I went to Windover this morning to get Minerva. When I took her home the servants told us Robbie was gone. She left, they said, late last night. They said they saw her galloping off with four men."

"Four men!" Alexandra echoed. "Who were they? Men from Yorktown?"

Brock shook his head. "The servants said they'd never seen the men before. They looked ragged, dirty. Minerva's maid said they looked like pirates, but I don't know if she's ever actually seen a pirate or if they just looked the way she would expect pirates to look."

Alexandra smothered a cry, and Court demanded, "Did she go with them willingly? Was she struggling?"

Brock shrugged. "They said she was held on the saddle in front of one of the men. One of the men in particular made an impression on them. They said he was very dark. Black hair. Black eyes. He had a cruel face, they said. Evil. Wicked. He seems to have quite terrified them just by looking at them."

"Oh, Christ," Court moaned. "She was right. She was right! And I wouldn't listen."

"What is it, Court?" Alexandra demanded. "Do you know this man?"

"LeClerc," he replied. "René LeClerc."

"The man who tortured Widgington to death?" Brock asked, horrified.

"The very one. He was one of her father's men. In fact, it was he who betrayed Black Jack to the British. Damn! She told me days ago she'd seen him in Yorktown. I didn't believe her. Now that bloodthirsty bastard has her."

"What will you do?" Alexandra asked.

"Go after her." Court scowled off into the distance. "And this time I'll make sure that that God-cursed son of a whore never sails again!"

45

In the library at Greenbrier, Court, Ariel, Minerva, Brock, Alexandra, and the duke had gathered to decide what was to be done to rescue Robbie.

"If I set sail with the Juletta tonight," Court was saying, "I can"

"No, no," the duke interrupted. Tall, commanding, with a face that might have graced the statue of some great Roman general, he inspired respect, admiration and confidence. "Don't be a fool, Court. The Juletta is a fine shipno one's disputing that. But she hasn't the firepower it would take to win a battle against a fully armed pirate vessel. And if LeClerc has already reached Montebello, you could never hope to bombard him into submission with the guns aboard a merchantman."

"What alternative have I?" Court wanted to know.

"Go to Spotswood. Tell him what's happened. You know how he hates pirates. He'd like nothing more than an excuse to attack them." "Montebello does not lie in Virginia waters, Your Grace," Brock pointed out.

The Duke waved away his objection with a flick of one hand. "Doesn't matter a damn. LeClerc's got a hostagea hostage he took from Virginia. The crime was committed in Virginia. If you're worried that Spots-wood won't want to offend Charles Eden in North Carolina, you shouldn't be. From what I've heard in the Admiralty reports in London, Eden's none too comfortable right now because of what LeClerc did to this fellowwhat was his name?"

"Widgington," Alexandra supplied.

"Just so. Eden won't interfere. And Lord knows the shipping routes will be the safer once Montebello is cleared of those wretches."

"Does he have the ships and men to do the job?" Court wanted to know.

"He has two men-o'warH.M.S. Lyme and H.M.S. Pearlunder his command. They're stationed at the mouth of the James River."

Court frowned. "They won't do, Edmund. Oh, for bombardment, certainly, but Montebello is surrounded by a reef and ringed with coral cliffs. The pirates' settlement is built around a natural harbor in the island's interior. There is only one way ina narrow inlet. Men-o'-wars simply draw too much water to get in."

"Sloops, then." The duke leaned forward in his chair. "I'd wager that if you told Spotswood you'd stand the expense of outfitting the ships if he'd crew them for you, you'd have your sloops manned by the best crews to be had and perhaps one of the men-o'-war to go along."

"I'll do it," Court vowed. "By God! I'll leave at once!" "What I don't understand," Ariel said, "is why Robbie didn't confide in anyone. I can remember when she saw LeClerc. I'm sure that was the day. We were in Yorktown, and she turned pale as a ghost. She went off to talk to Court."

"And I wouldn't listen," he muttered.

"Well, that's neither here nor there at this point. But why didn't she tell someone else?"

"She told me," Minerva revealed. "I asked her to go to Brock or back to Court. She refused. She said Court wouldn't believe her, and she didn't want Brock put into danger for her sake. She made me promise not to interfere if LeClerc came for her while I was there." She shook her gray head mournfully. "I wish I had been there! I might have broken my promise to her, but I wouldn't have let those villains take her without a fight!"

"And you'd have died for your trouble," the duke told her bluntly. "No, she was right, hard as that is for you to accept. There would have been nothing you could have done. Don't fret; this girl grew up with those brigands. She, better than any of us, knows how ruthless they are. It says much for her that she was willing to let them take her rather than involve innocent people."

"I should have listened to her," Court repeated regretfully.

"I won't argue with you on that point," the duke agreed. "But now you must do whatever you can to help her. It's going to take time to prepare two sloops to sail. You'd better get to it."

As Court was busily mounting his rescue attempt with the help of the duke and Governor Spotswood, who, as the duke had predicted, was only too eager to undertake an attack against the pirates of Montebello, Robbie was returning to the scene of her childhoodan island hell she had never thoughtor wantedto see again.

The island itself had changed little. The tropical foliage still grew in lush abundance over the coral isle, and the bounty of the sea along with fruit and the wild pigs the pirates hunted with trained dogs still flourished in plenty.

But if the landscape had changed little, the inhabitants had changed a great deal. And all for the worse.

The little village that lay near the harbornever a model of cleanliness or architectural splendorwas overrun with rats. The huts that had been home to Jack Tremonte's pirates, their ever changing parade of doxies, and motley crew of ragged children had tumbled down. Many were burned; others had merely been left to rot by inhabitants who were too shiftless or too drunk to care. It seemed to Robbie that the children were dirtier and the women more sluttish than she remembered. Many were diseased; most of the children bore some stigma of their parents' many and varied afflictions. Some of the pirates had taken for their doxies girls barely old enough to be taken from behind their mothers' skirts. A few of LeClerc's men eschewed females altogether and instead kept young boys for their pleasure.

The great house that had been her home and her father's headquarters and had served as the communal hall for Jack Tremonte's men was barely recognizable. In little better condition than the hovels surrounding it, it seemed as though a stiff wind would blow it down like a pile of jackstraws. The glass windows that had been her father's delight had been smashed long since, and nearly half the roof had been burned away, rendering the top floor, which had been Jack's living quarters, useless.

Robbie turned mocking eyes toward René as his ship, the Fleur-de-Lys, navigated the narrow inlet into Montebello harbor.

"And this is what you fought for?" she taunted. "This is what you betrayed my father to gain? What are you master of, René A ruin that was once a thriving bastion. A filthy, diseased mob that is no more like the colony my father ruled than you are like he was."

LeClerc scowled. Furious as her observations made him, they were true. He longedhow he longedto be a great pirate king such as Jack Tremonte had been. Or Blackbeard. Or the legendary Kidd.

"Pah!" he spat. "These bastards are lazy! They are cowards! They will not fight. They will not work."

"Perhaps they would," she mused mockingly. "if they had a captain they respected."

His black eyes glittered dangerously. "You tempt me, ma chère. You tempt me greatly."

"If you kill me," she reminded him slyly, "you will never know about the treasure."

"Aha! So you admit there is a treasure!"

Her smile lost none of its sparkle. "I admit nothing. I merely say that if you kill me, you will never know." She was pleased at his obvious frustration and was emboldened to say, "I won't stay there." She pointed toward the once grand house she had shared with her father.

"Ah, pardonnez-moi," René snarled. "It is not good enough for the grand lady you have become, eh?"

"It is not good enough for a pig!" she snapped back.

"I live there," he defended hotly.

Her green eyes swept over him insultingly. "Well, I did not say it was not good enough for you!"

René shook with rage. "You are digging your own grave," he warned. "Every one of your insults is another spade of earth."

"The day you lay me in my grave is the day you forfeit all hope of ever knowing the truth about . . ."

"Enough! Enoughl!" he shouted. "Where do you want to live, then?"

"In my mother's house. Or have you destroyed that as well?"

"The house remains. It was searched, but it was not destroyed."

"And I want Tobias."

He frowned. "Tobias?"

"My horse. The sorrel stallion my father gave to me."

"The horse is dead," he told her flatly. He saw the stricken, accusing glare spring into her eyes. "That, at least, you cannot blame upon me! It happened while I was at sea."

"What happened?" she demanded.

He looked away. "I told you. The people are lazy. Hunting the wild pigs is hard work and they found it easier . . ."

"Sweet Jesus!" Robbie felt her stomach churning. "Are you telling me that this god-forsaken band of savages butchered and ate a horse because they were too lazy to hunt?" Swallowing hard against the sickness that threatened to overwhelm her, she stared at him, astonished. "What pride can you take in being master of such as these? Do you imagine that Blackbeard or Edward England, or even Jack Rackam would suffer such wretchedness?"

"I do not need lessons in pirating from a woman," he snapped, turning on his heel and stalking off.

"You need lessons from someone!" she shouted after him. "You had as an example one of the greatest pirates of all time! But instead of learning from him, you betrayed him!

"Don't press 'im too hard," Cyril told her, coming to stand beside her even as the great anchors dropped through the crystalline water of the harbor. "Even his greed won't keep him from killin' ye if ye push him too far."

"I can't help it," Robbie told him. "Look at this. He's taken the greatest pirate stronghold in these waters and reduced it to this. I never imagined it would be this bad."

"LeClerc's not a patch on a proper cap'n's ass," Grenier muttered, coming to flank Robbie. "But he's better'n some."

"I can't imagine that anyone could be worse," Robbie disagreed. She shuddered at the sight of the miserable, vermin- and disease-ridden hordes who came swarming down to the shore. "God! I can't wait until I'm rescued from this hole!"

"Do ye think they'll come for ye, them fancy folk in Yorktown?" Cyril asked.

"I know they will," she answered confidently. "I just hope to heaven it doesn't take too long!"

46

Though he was assured of having the finest crews available to man his two sloops, Court was discontented. He knew the outfitting of such an expedition would take time, but with each day that passed, his impatience grew and his temper sharpened. Though those who loved him understood and sympathized, no one was particularly sorry he chose to leave the house for any reason.

"Is he gone?" Ariel asked, peering over the balustrade at Alexandra below in the hall.

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, thank God!"

"What an uncharitable pair of baggages you are." The duke's deep voice rumbled from the open door of the library. But if his words were rebuking, his tone was light and teasing.

Alexandra laughed. "I confess, it was unkind. And I don't blame Court for his eagerness to be on his way." She shivered delicately. "I can't bear to think what that girl might be going through on that island. But Lord! I've seen wild Indians with gentler dispositions than my brother of late.''

Ariel bounced down the stairs, curls flying. "When did you ever see a wild Indian?" she challenged.

Her older sister gave her a look of mock hauteur. "I was speaking rhetorically, my child," she said in what Ariel called her "duchess voice."

Ariel swept her a grand curtsy. "Do forgive me, Your Grace."

The sisters laughed, but the musical sound was interrupted by a knock at the front door.

"Oh, no," Ariel groaned. "He's back!"

"He can't be. It's too soon. And anyway, he wouldn't knock," Alexandra reasoned. "But I'm not waiting here to find out."

The two of them took refuge in the library, where the duke sat smoking a pipe and reading a history of Virginia. It was left to the ever vigilant Elvira to answer the door.

As she swung it wide, her usually imperturbable expression gave way to amazement. "Louise!" she cried.

Ariel and Alexandra exchanged an astonished glance.

"Louise?" Ariel repeated. She hurried to the library door and peered out, not believing her own ears.

Smiling shyly, Ariel's former governess entered. Unlike the plain, somber clothing she'd worn while she'd been in the Lennoxes' employ, she was dressed in a cloak and hood of cherry silk over a gown in the latest fashion of sky-blue brocade. Behind her, dressed as fashionably if not so colorfully, stood a handsome man with chestnut hair and the most beautiful hazel eyes Ariel had ever seen. He held the hand of a boy of six or seven who was like nothing so much as a miniature of himself. "Come in," Ariel invited, snapping herself out of her daze. "Give Elvira your cloak and hood." She smiled uncertainly at the manmore confidently at the beautiful child who was busily perusing his surroundings. "You remember my sister, of course."

Louise curtsied. "Madame la Duchesse."

"Welcome back, Louise," Alexandra said. "Ariel wrote to tell me you had left. She was quite worried."

"Worried! I was heartsick! Come into the drawing room. I insist you tell me everything!"

"First of all," the former governess said, "I would like you to meet my husband, Jean-Baptiste Valfons, and our son, Bazille."

"Your husband?" Ariel exchanged a bewildered glance with her sister. "Your son?"

"I must explain why I left so suddenly that night and without a word of farewell," she said softly.

"It would appear to be a fascinating story." Ariel led them toward the drawing room. "You will stay with us, won't you? You're not going to run away again soon, are you?"

"No, we are not leaving," Louise assured her.

"We would be honored to stay," Jean-Baptiste chimed in, his English heavily accented.

It was an hour later when Court returned. Ariel, hearing him, hurried out to the hall.

"Court! Come into the drawing room! You'll never guess who's come back!"

Court's heart leapt, but then, realizing the futility of hoping that Robbie had miraculously managed to escape, he asked listlessly, "Who?"

"Louise! You must come and see her son. He's gorgeous!"

"Louise?" Court repeated. He stifled a groan. As if he hadn't enough troubles! Hadn't he dealt with enough guilt over Robbie's abduction? Did the governess he'd seduced and ruined have to He suddenly realized what Ariel had said. "Her son?" he asked fearfully.

"Yes! His name is Bazille! Oh, come in!"

Taking her brother's arm, Ariel pulled him into the room, never suspecting that he was mentally counting the months since that night aboard his ship when he had seduced a virgin in a moment of foolish passion.

Jean-Baptiste Valfons rose from his place beside Louise. With a look, he brought young Bazille to his side.

"Monsieur Court," Louise said, flushing prettily. "This is my husband, Jean-Baptiste Valfons, and our son, Bazille."

"Monsieur," Court said softly. With relief, he saw that the child was no infant and bore an unmistakable resemblance to his father. He sat opposite them and accepted tea from his sister Alexandra. "Surely young Bazille is your step-son, Louise," he said idly.

The former governess looked perplexed. "Why, no, monsieur, he is truly my son."

Court looked bewildered, and Ariel leapt in.

"Louise has been telling us the most romantic tale, Court. You see . . ." She looked at Louise. "Do you mind if I tell him?" Louise shook her head, and Ariel happily went on. "You see, Louise and Jean-Baptiste were in love years ago, when Louise was barely older than I. But Monsieur Valfons, Jean-Baptiste's father, refused to allow them to marry, even after Bazille was born. At last, he sent Jean-Baptiste away to Paris. Louise was heartbroken, and so she left her baby with her mother and came to the New World, to Charles Town, where you found her. On the night we returned to Yorktown, she suddenly knew she could stay away from her child no longer. She had to see him. She returned to France and found that Jean-Baptiste's father had died and Jean-Baptiste had taken Bazille to live with him. He and Louise were married at once." Sighing, she clasped her hands in her lap. "Isn't that wonderful?"

"Marvelous," Court murmured. His mind was awhirl. Louise, the mother of a six-year-old child? No, it wasn't possible. That night, aboard his ship . . . No, it simply wasn't possible. The next morning he had found unmistakable signs that his partner of the night before had been a virgin. There must be some mistake. Some reason for Louise's trying to pretend that this child was her own flesh and blood. But why? There seemed little point in such a charade.

He paid no attention when Ariel prattled on, telling Jean-Baptiste how dear Louise had been to her through-out the three years they had spent together, and how she had worried when the governess had left so suddenly and so mysteriously.

"I missed Jean-Baptiste," Louise confided, glancing with obvious adoration at the handsome man for whom she had pined all during her years of self-imposed exile. "And I missed my Bazille. I thought of him, growing up, becoming a little boy instead of a baby. I missed his first steps, his first word . . ." She shook her head sadly. "I could not stay away any longer. Even if I could not be with Jean-Baptiste, I knew I had to be with our son."

"It was the right thing for you to do," Ariel agreed. "Though I did miss you terribly."

"I thought you would not be so lonely with Mademoiselle Robyn to keep you company. I have not seen her. Has she become the lady you wanted her to be?"

Ariel sighed. "Something dreadful has happened. The pirates have come and taken Robbie away."

"But, no! That is terrible!" Louise cried. "Pirates?" Jean-Baptiste echoed. "What will become of her?"

"Court is mounting a rescue, aren't you, Court?" When he didn't answer Ariel reached over and poked him sharply. "Aren't you?" she repeated.

"What was that?" he asked, snapping out of his musings.

"You're going to rescue Robbie from LeClerc."

"Yes," he confirmed confidently. "And make him pay for his crimes."

"I don't envy her," Louise said, shuddering. "I saw those men on Montebello. They frightened me out of my wits!"

"And me!" Ariel agreed. "Of course, Robbie knows them better than you or I, having grown up there." She saw the confused look on Jean-Baptiste's face. "Robbie was raised on Montebello Island," she told him. "I'm sure you've heard of it. Actually, she was raised as a boy. We all thought she was a boy. I only discovered the truth by accident. We had such fun until Court stumbled on the truth. Oh! That reminds me. I have something that belongs to you, Louise."

"Something that belongs to me? I don't understand."

Ariel gave her a sheepish smile. "After I discovered that Robbie was a girl we decided to dress her as one. She had always dressed as a boy, you see, and she was curious to see what it was like to wear a woman's clothes. My gowns wouldn't fit her and so I . . . well . . . I borrowed one of yours. I meant to give it back, truly I did. But you left. Wait, I'll show you the one I mean."

Before anyone could stop her, Ariel had bolted from the room and up the stairs. Conversation in the drawing room seemed to have come to a standstill, and the sounds of Ariel rummaging through her wardrobes and pounding back down the stairs echoed through the house.

Breathless, she reappeared in the drawing room with the green silk gown draped over her arms.

"Here it is. I'm afraid there are a few tears. That was why I didn't return it right away."

She brought it to Louise, and Court, having been once again lost in his own thoughts, caught sight of the emerald silk out of the corner of his eye. The rustle, the hue, brought memories flooding back into his mind. He remembered the feeling of the cool, smooth fabric beneath his hands. He recalled the silken rustling as it fell to the floor in an emerald pool.

"What are you doing with Louise's gown?" he asked idly.

Ariel glared at him impatiently. "You haven't listened to a word I've said, have you? I borrowed the gown when we were aboard the Juletta. I borrowed it for Robbie, so she could see what it felt like to be a lady. She only wore it twiceonce in my cabin and once when she was brave enough to venture up on deck." She laughed gaily. "You were asleep. You never even suspected that your 'cabin boy' was up on deck that night dressed in a green silk gown."

All eyes turned toward Louise as she accepted the gown, and so no one saw the color drain from Court's cheeks, nor the trembling that gripped his hands as they tightened convulsively on the carved arms of his chair. When he thrust himself to his feet and bolted from the room, no one noticed save the duke, with whom he nearly collided.

47

Stunned, Court wandered acros the veranda and down into the welcoming seclusion of the gardens. It had been Robbie that night, he kept telling himself, trying to force his numbed mind to accept the undeniable fact. It had been Robbie, not Louise as he had thought all these long months. That was why Robbie had not been a virgin when next they'd been togetherwhen they were homeward bound from Charles Town and her father's burial. And to think he had believed she had lied to him; that she had had lovers on Montebello. He had even accused his own best friend of being her lover. And the night he had come back from taking Ariel to Williamsburghe closed his eyes, shamed at the memory of what he had done to her that night. He had forced her out of Greenbrierhad sent her fleeing from his crueltyhad made her pay too dearly for a crime she had not committed.

He sank onto a bench and cradled his head in his hands. Why hadn't she told him? Why hadn't she defended herself when he had flung his vile accusations at her? He knew the answer even as his mind posed the question. Her reason for maintaining her stubborn silence was the same one that had prompted him to refuse to acknowledge his own feelings for her. Pride. They had both been prisoners of pride.

If he had the chance, if by some miracle fate gave him the opportunity, he would make it up to her. Some-how, it took years, he would atone for the wrongs he had done her.

But before he could begin she had to be rescued from Montebello. From LeClerc. Filled with new resolve, Court strode from the garden and ordered his horse. Those damned sloops would be ready to sail quickly or he'd know the reason why!

On Montebello, it had taken Robbie two days, even with the help of Grenier and Cyril, to make her mother's cottage habitable. LeClerc had not lied when he had said the house was still standing, but that was all that could be said for it. It had been exhaustively searchedsome of the wainscotting torn away, many of the floorboards prized loose and flung against the walls. The furniture had been torn apartmost of the upholstery slit, the stuffing thrown all over the room. All the mattresses had been cut open and ransacked. The beautiful objects d'art that Jack Tremonte had culled from his years of pirating and given to his beloved lady wife had long since vanished. That did not surprise Robbie. Many were rare and precious, studded with gems or fashioned from gold or silver.

With a crudely fashioned broom of branches Grenier had tied together for her, Robbie swept up what remained of several porcelain figurines. How foolish LeClerc had been, she told herself. In his lust for treasure, he had smashed the figurines, believing, she supposed, that they might contain diamonds or pearls. What neither he nor his ignorant minions had realized was that the figures themselves were worth several fortunes. Now what were they? A pile of shattered, worthless fragments.

"So your months as a grand dame did not make you forget how to sweep a floor, eh?" René asked as he appeared in the doorway.

"What do you want, René?" she demanded impatiently, scooping the fragments into what remained of a once beautiful plate.

"You know what I want. Are you ready to tell me about the treasure?"

"Treasure!" she snarled. "Just what in the hell do you know of treasure?" Snatching up a bit of broken crystal, she waggled it under his nose. "Do you see this, René? Do you? This was once a candlestickone of a pair. They graced the table of Henri the Second of France! Have you any idea how much those were worth, René And what are they worth now? Nothing! They are nothing but bits of broken glass to be thrown away. That is what you know of treasure!"

René glowered at Grenier, who stood near the door. "Go outside!" he ordered. "I didn't send you. here to be a housemaid!"

"Grenier and Cyril were kind enough to help me," Robbie told him sweetly, "because there was too much damage done by those fools of yours for one person to repair alone." She looked around in disgust. "This was a storehouse of treasures. Even the papers on the walls were works of art. But you know nothing except gold and silver and stones."

"I will ask you again," he began.

"And I will tell you again," she interrupted. "And again and again and again for as long as it takes to penetrate that thick French skull of yours! There is no treasure, or, if there is, my father did not tell me what he did with it." "You're lying!" he shrieked, his nerves frayed by the battle of wills. He had never been so infuriated by anyone, man, woman, or child; he had never wanted so badly to kill anyone as he wanted to kill this maddening woman. And yet, he had never been so helpless. It was true, as she was so aggravatingly fond of pointing out, that if he killed her, the whereabouts of Black Jack's treasure would forever remain a mystery.

He had blustered and shouted, threatened and cajoled, but she could not be moved. His onyx eyes glittered with passionate hatred as he thrust his face close to hers.

"I can make you tell me," he hissed. "I can force the words to spew from your lips like blood from an open wound."

"Can you?" she asked, eyes wide and mocking. She was astonished at the change that had come over her in these past days. Why, she wondered time and time again, had she been so frightened of this man? He had been the bugbear that had haunted her dreams and yet he was, in many ways, a ridiculous figure. He reminded her of the legends around the fires of evil spirits who lived on the blood of others. René did not live on the blood of his victims; instead he thrived on their fear. To see a man, or a woman for that matter, cringing before him gave him strength, made him feel like a god with the power of granting life or taking it. Thwarted, he became helpless, impotent, confused.

Putting her broom aside, she went to a chair that had somehow escaped the worst of the looting and sat down.

"René, you must see the uselessness of holding me here. You must know that I won't ever give you the information you desire. Not," she pointed out quickly, "that I even possess such information. Why don't you just free me and be done with it? By keeping me here, you will only bring down the wrath of the British navy on your head.''

"The Bristish navy!" He laughed and leaned carelessly on the edge of a cutlass-scarred table. "Do you really imagine that the British navy will invade Montebello for the sake of a pirate's daughter? Has your lover so much power? I thought he was only a planter."

"Court, if that is who you are speaking of," she told him coldly, "is only a planter. But his brother-in-law is an English duke with ties not only at the court, but at the Admiralty in London."

René seemed unimpressed. "Do you know how long it will take this Lennox to get word to his high-and-mighty brother-in-law in London?"

Robbie smiled. "His high-and-mighty brother-in-law was expected to land in Yorktown any day. Doubtless he and his duchess are even now at Greenbrier."

"Pah! Dukes! Duchesses! Admiralties! I don't give a damn for the lot of them. I will have what I want!"

"Not from me!"

"I can make you wish for deathlong for it as a drunkard longs for his drink!"

"You have said so before," Robbie told him. "But if you expect me to make your work easier for you, the way Juletta Kearny did, you will be disappointed. I am not so weak as she."

"Mademoiselle Kearny? You mentioned her before. You called her my 'victim.' What did you mean?"

"You must have known she was dead. Dead by her own hand."

"Is this the truth? Eh bien, you cannot blame me for this. She was fine when I saw her in Charles Town. We spoke. Of you, chérie." "Is that all you did?"

His black eyes glittered savagely, smugly. "Not quite all," he murmured.

"Was she willing?" Robbie queried sarcastically.

"More or less," he shrugged. Reaching into his pocket, he took out a jewelled pill box. From it he extracted two boluses and popped them into his mouth.

"Are you ill, René?"

He glared at her as he snapped the case shut and replaced it in his pocket. "It is nothing for you to concern yourself with."

Robbie had seen such pills before and she knew what they were and why they were taken. "French pox, René? You should be more careful in your choice of bed partners."

His laughter was cruel, chilling. "And so should some others. It is a pity, now that I think of it, that Mademoiselle Kearny killed herself. She could have taken the 'French pox' as you so charmingly call it, to your lover, Lennox, as a wedding gift." He laughed again at the disgust on Robbie's face. Rising, he moved toward the door. "You do not like the notion, chérie? Then perhaps you should consider telling me what I want to know. What I gave to your friend, Juletta, I can as easily give to you."

"I'll kill you first!" she vowed.

He shrugged. "You can try, of course, but I can call my men here. Fighter though you may be, I think among us we can manage to hold you down long enough for me to accomplish my purpose." With those chilling words, he left her.

Robbie was revolted at the mere thought of René's touching her. To think of his deliberately afflicting her with his loathsome disease. . . . She'd rather die! She'd rather plunge a dagger into her own . . .

Her eyes grew round as the truth dawned on her. She'd rather die than be infected by René. Juletta had been infected. She and René had bedded. She must have felt the same way, and when she'd discovered that he had given her his disease . . . That was the answer. It had to be! Juletta had discovered that René had infected her with his contagion and she had not been able to bear the thought of living with itof telling Court what she had. She had chosen to die instead.

"Rob?" Cyril stood in the doorway, eyeing her curiously. "Are ye sick?"

She shook her head. "No. I'm all right."

"Yer white and ye be shakin' all over."

"Really. I'm fine," she assured him. "Cyril, promise me something. Give me your word, if for no other reason than your past loyalty to my father, that you will not let René LeClerc force me . . . force me . . ." She clamped her lips together to hold down the sour bile that churned in her stomach. She lifted her eyes to the pirate's. "He has the French pox. He said that if I didn't tell him what he wants to know, he'll give it to me.''

"Did he? That bastard!" To her surprise the pirate seemed outraged by the suggestion. "I'll give ye my word, Rob, and I know Grenier will, too. That whoreson won't touch ye that way. Not while I'm yer guard!"

She patted his massive arm. "I thank you, Cyril. My father would have been proud of you."

"Aye." Nodding sadly, the pirate turned at the door. "I miss 'im, Rob. I miss the days when it were a pride to be from Montebello. I miss the days when other men looked at the Black Avenger and wished they was one of Black Jack's men."

"I know," Robbie sympathized. "I miss those days too."

"Ye do?" He seemed surprised. "But yer a lady now. A Virginia lady. Not a Montebello boy."

"Yes," she agreed softly, wistfully. "But I was Black Jack's boy and I miss him, Cyril. Dear Lord, how I miss him!"

The two of them shared a longing look before Cyril departed, his broad brow furled in a ferocious glare that masked the depth of his emotions.

48

As it happened, the much-anticipated battle for Montebello Island was over nearly before it began. The men who followed René LeClerc, in addition to being lazy and shiftless, were arrant cowards. At the lookout's first warning that two naval sloops and a man-o'-war were approaching, the island was plunged into utter, mindless chaos.

In her room in the cottage deep in the forested interior of the island, Robbie slept, little suspecting that her rescuers had arrived. She was awakened as the man-o'-war, prowling near the mouth of the inlet, fired a deafening salvo to cover the sloops as they made their careful way through the treacherous passage.

"God's teeth!" Robbie bolted upright in bed. "What in hell"

The door crashed open and Grenier appeared. "Get up, Rob," he ordered. "LeClerc's on his way."

A second cannonade seemed to shake the very coral of which the island was formed. "What is it? What's happening?" she demanded as she threw back the blanket and climbed from the bed.

"Ye were right; they've come for ye. The British."

"The British!" Court! her heart sang. "How many ships? Is there a merchantman among them?"

"The one ye left here on before? No. There be two sloops sailin' bold as ye please into the harbor and a man-o'-war prowlin' in the open water."

Robbie's pleasure faded as she began gathering her clothes to dress. The British navy had come to clear Montebello. It was not Court. A bitter smile twisted her lips. He was probably just as glad she was gone. Juletta's death and her disappearance would leave him free to pursue some fine lady whom he would deem fit to be his wife.

"Hurry yer dressin'," Grenier urged. "Ye've got to get out, an' soon!"

"Jacques?" She stopped him as he went toward the door. "Why is René coming here? Shouldn't he be down at the village commanding his men?"

Grenier's laugh was half disdain, half shame. He was smug over René's failure as captain, but he was ashamed to be a member of a band so singularly lacking in bravery. "Commandin' what?" he demanded sarcastically. "They're runnin' about down there like scared women. They're shootin' each other, runnin' each other through with their cutlasses. LeClerc can do nothing with them. It's driven what little wit he had left out of his head, Rob. He says the British won't take 'im alive. An' they won't have ye, neither. He's comin' to kill ye. Now, will ye dress yerself?"

Grenier left, and Robbie struggled into the second of the two dresses she had brought from Minerva's. She grimaced as she caught sight of herself in the bit of broken mirror she used as a looking glass. She looked nearly as ragged as the women in the village. No one would take her for any kind of a lady now.

There was a knock at the door. "I'm coming, Jacques," she called. "'I'm"

The doorlatch rattled; the door began to open. Thinking it was René come for her, Robbie snatched the dagger Cyril had given her from beneath her pillow. The door swung open, but instead of René she found herself faced with a tall, handsome man dressed in the impressive uniform of a British Royal Navy Lieutenant.

"Miss Tremonte?" he asked, lowering the tip of his sword until it touched the floor.

"I am," she replied, astonished.

He pulled off his hat and bowed. "Lieutenant Fraser Payes-Sinclair, of the Royal Naval Sloop, Glasby. At your service, ma'am."

The combined cannon of the two sloops in the harbor echoed across the island, seeming to rattle the very walls of the cottage.

When the noise had faded, Robbie asked, "How did you find me, Mr. Payes-Sinclair?"

"As we came ashore, one of the pirates came up to me holding out his hands to show me he was unarmed. He told me that you were being held here. He was a rather large man. Red hair?"

"Cyril," Robbie murmured.

"Just so." The lieutenant clapped his hat back on his head. "Shall we go?"

Amused, Robbie slipped her arm through his, and they left the cottage and negotiated the twisting, over-grown paths down to the harbor.

Long before they reached the village, Robbie could hear the terrified screams of the women and children, the shouts of the men. Smoke billowed from what remained of the great house in which she had grown up. Struck by the cannon fire from the two sloops, it had been reduced to a pile of blazing rubble.

"This way, Miss Tremonte," the lieutenant said, steering her around the edge of the mayhem as casually as if he were guiding her around a mud puddle after a rainstorm.

"You're very cool, sir," she commented as they walked toward a longboat drawn up on the shore.

"They're not putting up much of a fight," he murmured, almost wistfully. "I had hoped for more from the famous pirates of Montebello."

He held Robbie's hand/as she climbed into the boat. She smiled up at him. "I assure you, Mr. Payes-Sinclair, had you tried this during my father's day on Montebello, you'd have been in for the fight of your life!"

"Your father?" His blue eyes widened. "Tremonte! Not Black Jack Tremonte!"

"Indeed, sir, the same."

"Good God!" He leaned forward eagerly. "Would you mind terribly, Miss Tremonte, if once we were under way I asked you a few questions about your father? These pirate captainsthe great ones, not men like this wretch, LeClercfascinate me."

"I should be happy to tell you anything you wish to know. In fact"

"Robbie!"

Robbie's head snapped up at the sound of Court's voice. He came toward them, striding across the sand, a cutlass stained with blood dangling from his fist.

"Here you are! I've been looking for you!"

"Court," she said coolly. "You must know Mr. Payes-Sinclair."

Court didn,'t spare him a glance. "Of course. Go out to the sloop there, the Swallow. She's mine."

Robbie didn't bat an eyelash. She had not forgiven him for not believing her that day in Yorktown, and his high-handed attitude wasn't helping.

"I'm sorry, Court. I'm sailing back on the Glasby. Mr. Payes-Sinclair and I are going to discuss pirates."

Court stiffened. He shot the young lieutenant a baleful glare, but there was little he could say, for the longboat carrying Robbie and Payes-Sinclair was already being rowed out to the sloop Glasby.

"Mr. Lennox?"

Court turned to find one of the Glasby standing behind him.

"We've rounded up the last of the pirates, sir. What a sorry lot they are. The only one who posed any real threat was LeClerc, but he was a regular demon. I've never seen such a battle as he gave you. The bastard fought like a man possessed."

Court glanced out toward the longboat that was even then drawing up alongside the sloop. "I'm glad I was the one who finally brought his ignominous career to an end."

Robbie often wondered if she would ever forget her imprisonment on Montebelloor its possible consequences. Even after she had returned to Yorktownto Minerva'sshe couldn't forget Juletta's terrible fate or the fact that she herself might have come to a similar end.

She shuddered to think of it as the carriage took her, Minerva, and Brock toward Greenbrier.

"Are you all right?" Minerva asked.

"Fine." Nervously, she smoothed a wrinkle from the bodice of her ivory silk gown and reached up to touch the single strand of pearls that encircled her neck. Matching earrings swayed with the movement of the carriage. They had been a gift from Court, sent over by messenger the day after their return from Montebello. She attributed his generosity to a guilty conscience, but that hadn't stopped her from accepting them.

Now she had accepted his invitation to meet the duke and duchess, but she was already regretting her impulsiveness. Though she wouldn't have liked to admit it, the thought of being introduced to two such august personages terrified her. Minerva and Brock had both assured her more than once that Their Graces were kind people, not at all given to hauteur or airs, though the duke impressed one at first meeting as being grand and forbidding. Still, she couldn't relax. She passionately wished the ordeal were behind her.

Arriving at Greenbrier, they were directed through the house and out into the garden, where a table had been set up amidst the glorious blossoms of late summer.

From the veranda, Robbie picked out Court and Ariel. The large man, dressed in brown and wearing an elegant gray wig, must then be the duke, and the other woman, golden, angelically fair like all the Lennoxes, was the duchess.

"There they are!" she heard Ariel cry, and her familiar, happy voice touched her, reassured her. She laughed and, linking her arm through Brock's, started forward.

Court's amber eyes darkened as he watched her come. He'd been furious when she'd chosen to return to Virginia with Payes-Sinclair. As the two sloops, trailed by the man-o'-war like a lioness with her two cubs, had sailed side by side, he had often seen Robbie and the young lieutenant strolling the deck deep in conversation. He'd suffered agonies of jealousy wondering if Payes-Sinclair had come to admire her, had touched her, perchance kissed her. But when, upon their return, Robbie had bade Payes-Sinclair farewell at the wharves and gone home to Minerva's, leaving the lieutenant to return to his duties aboard H.M.S. Pearl, he had realized that nothing of substance had sprung up between them.

"Edmund?" The alarm in Alexandra's voice jerked Court out of his reverie. "Edmund, what is it?"

Court glanced at the duke, who had risen and was staring across the wide expanse of lawn that separated them from their approaching guests. His normally ruddy face was deathly white and his hands, usually so steady and firm, shook visibly.

"Good Lord," Court breathed. He feared the duke was suffering an attack of apoplexy or a seizure of the heart. "Edmund, sit down. Ariel, run and tell Elvira to send someone for a doctor."

"No, no," the duke rasped. "It's not . . . it's not . . . dear God!"

"What is it?" Alexandra pleaded, frightened.

As if he had not heard, the duke left them and strode across the lawn to meet Brock, Robbie, and Minerva as they approached. Both Robbie and Minerva sank into curtsies, and Brock bowed as he reached them.

"Your Grace," Brock said, surprised by the duke's uncharacteristic lack of decorum. "May I present Miss Robyn Tremonte."

"Good God," Edmund breathed. He took her hands in his and drew her close. "I can't believe it!"

Robbie stared up at him, thunderstruck. She had expected him to be cold, distant, formal. His unexpected, bewildering greeting disconcerted her. She looked almost desperately toward Court as he, Ariel, and Alexandra approached.

"Edmund," Alexandra entreated, coming to her husband's side, "please tell me what's wrong?"

"Wrong?" He smiled at her, his eyes twinkling. "Nothing in the world is wrong, my dear. It is just that I never thought to see this face again. Not in this life at any rate." "This face?" Ariel repeated. "Robbie's face? You've seen her before?"

"I've seen this face before," he murmured, releasing her hands and lifting her chin with one finger. "But not for many, many years." Tears misted his eyes, his voice grew hoarse, husky with emotion. ''When last I saw it, it belonged to my sister, my dear, sweet sister."

"Your sister?" Court repeated dumbly.

The duke nodded. "I was bidding her farewell at Portsmouth. She was journeying to Virginia to be married, but she never reached these shores. She was lost at sea. No trace was ever found. I would have sold my soul to see that face againto look into those clear green eyes. And now I have. You have brought her back to life for me, my child," he told Robbie, his big hand caressing her silken cheek. "You have brought me back my Corinne."

49

For the rest of the afternoon and long into the night, Robbie and the duke talked of Corinne. He told her of her mother's childhoodof growing up in the marble halls of Brookfield House, in the cloistered splendor of Verreaux Abbey. She told him of Corinne's life after her capture by Jack Tremonteof Jack's frequent offers to take her back to England, to send her back to the comfort and luxury of her former life, and of her never wavering desire to remain, preferring the hard life on Montebello to a life without the man she adored. She told him of the box that was all she had of her mother, and the duke's eyes moistened, for it had been his parting gift to the sister he loved.

"The planter she was to marry," the Duke told her, "a man named Grafton whose home lies in the Severn, sent back Corinne's dowry when it became clear she was lost to us. I could never bear to spend the money. It was placed in a bank and it lies there still. I think it only right that it be your dowry now, my dear. It's a respectable sum. In fact, I think you should consider yourself a wealthy woman."

Ariel squealed with delight. "Isn't it: wonderful! Robbietell us again the story of your father's boarding your mother's ship and carrying her off. It's so romantic."

"I've always thought so," Robbie agreed. Her sigh was sad, wistful. "I wish I'd known her."

"She was a wonderful person," the duke said, his voice touched with melancholy. "She inspired love. In fact"he cast a teasing glance toward Ariel"you'll like this, my dear, since you're such an incurable romantic. Years after Corinne disappeared, Grafton commissioned a memorial to hera magnificent rose window in the village church near Verreaux Abbey. He did it anonymously, and when I contacted him, he denied it. I had no idea he loved her so much; their marriage, after all, was an arranged one. But the windowit's a work of art. It must have cost a king's ransom."

"It did," Robbie assured him. "A king's ransom and more."

The duke stared at her, the truth dawning on him. "You don't mean to say . . ."

"My father commissioned the window. He did it anonymously because he thought the church wouldn't allow it if they knew where the money came from."

"Jack's treasure?" Court asked.

Robbie nodded. "Jack's treasure."

Elvira appeared and announced dinner.

The duke rose. "I don't know about the rest of you, but all this reminiscing has given me an appetite." He eyed Robbie fondly. "What say you, Niece?"

She laughed happily. "I agree, Uncle."

Her hand resting in the crook of the duke's arm, they strolled off toward the house. Behind them, Alexandra sidled up to Court. A smug smile played at the corners of her mouth, and the gleam of her golden eyes was unmistakably triumphant.

"Well, brother, what have you to say about your little piratess's bloodlines now?"

"Why didn't you know about this?" he demanded.

"The subject has always been painful to Edmund. I knew he had a sister, of course, who had been lost at sea, but I would never have made this connection."

With a scowl as black as a thundercloud, Court stormed into the house, where he found Robbie and the duke once more deep in conversation.

Later Court managed to steer Robbie into the gardens. Finally alone, they strolled the moonlit paths, stopping here and there to smell the flowers. Snapping off a rose, Court tucked it in among Robbie's curls. Her laugh was like a velvet caress in the softly scented bower.

"It's ironic, isn't it?" she asked. "You told everyone I was the duke's cousin. You were almost right."

"Almost," he allowed grudgingly. His amber eyes bore into hers. "Why didn't you know your mother was Lady Corinne Fitzalan?"

The anger in his voice mystified her. "My mother died when I was born. My father never spoke of her pastof what she had been before he met her. I think it must have made him feel guilty to have taken her from that luxurious life." Pausing, she brushed the leaves and dirt from the top of a low wall and sat down. She twirled a flower in her hands. She could not force her eyes to meet his. "The duke has asked me to return to England when he and the duchess go."

"You haven't agreed!"

"I think, perhaps, I will. They have said they will give me a London season. Introduce me into society." Her smile was bittersweet. "I can't help wondering what it would be like. And I would have a family. Your sister"she gave him a lopsided grin"Aunt Alexandra says I have several great-auntsthe dragons, she calls themand quite a few cousins, second cousins, and so on."

"Does all that really mean so much to you?"

No! her heart cried. But I would be away, far away from you and, in time, perhaps, I could stop loving you, wanting you. She forced her voice to be cool, light, as she said, "I don't know, for I've never had it."

"I suppose you think that in London, with the duke and duchess as sponsors, and with a grand dowry, you could attract some titled husband."

She looked away, refusing to let him see how his cold cynicism pierced her to the quick. "Perhaps," she whispered.

There was a silence fraught with tension as they both struggled with the stubborn, foolish pride that had kept them apart for too long.

Court broke it at last. "Don't go," he said softly, so softly Robbie could scarcely believe she had heard him.

She looked up at him. His eyes were sincere, his gaze filled with such longing that it took her breath away.

"Why shouldn't I? The duke is offering me a new life."

He moved closer, and his arms wound about her waist as she sat on the wall. "Stay here, with me. I love you. I want you to marry me."

"Marry you?" she repeated dumbly. She didn't know what she'd expected him to say, but it definitely wasn't this! "But I thought . . . You said I was not fit . . ."

He shook his head. "That was wrong of me. I've been a fool. But none of that matters now. I don't give a damn who your father waswhat he was."

"No," she breathed. "I can see that you don't. Particularly now, since you've found out who my mother was."

He blinked. "What are you saying?"

She clawed her way out of his arms and stormed away from him. "How generous you can be, Mr. Lennox! How forgiving! It doesn't matter who my father was, eh? Strange, since not so long ago it mattered above all else! Isn't it marvelous what a change of circumstance can do for one's sensibilities! Now that I'm a duke's niece instead of a pirate's daughter, I'm suddenly fit for the great Court Lennox. It's a miracle!"

"Robbie," he pleaded, exasperated. "That isn't it at all."

"Isn't it? Then your timing is damned poor because that's just how it seems to me!"

She whirled and fled into the night, and Court ran after her.

"Stop!" he shouted. "Listen to me!"

"I've listened to you once too often, damn you! I'll go to England with the duke and, by God, I'll find a husband who is honest enough to admit that he's marrying me for my family connections and my money, and not one who suddenly finds that love is enough after months of saying it wasn't!"

She screamed as his hand clamped over her arm and jerked her around. Furious, she struggled, trying in vain to free herself.

"Let me go, damn you! I never want to see you again! Never!"

"Shut that damned mouth of yours and listen to me!" he ordered. "I love you! I do! I've told you that before." "Yes, you've told me that," she flung back at him. "You've told me you loved me and I, fool that I was, believed you. I just find it hard to believe that this much-vaunted love of yours turned respectable at the same time I did. That's more coincidence than I can bear."

"I won't let you go," he vowed, his deep amber eyes glinting in the moonlight, his hands bruising the tender flesh of her arms. "I'll never let you go."

"You can't force me to stay. You can't force' me to do anything! I don't belong to you!"

"Yes, you do." He pulled her close; she gasped, feeling the powerful hardness of his body against her. "Go where you will, run to the ends of the earth if you must, but you will always belong to me."

Tears spilled down Robbie's cheeks as he drew her closer, fitting her body to his as if they were halves of the same whole. It was true and her heart knew it even if her rebellious mind refused to surrender. She was his, now and for all the days to come. Her heart, her body, her senses were his to command. With a touch he awakened her, with a kiss he enslaved her; he bound her to him with the silken bonds of the love that had had its beginnings in a shadow-shrouded corridor on a pirate isle. And though she might flee from himfrom the sensual bondage in which he so effortlessly held herthose bonds would always be between them, linking them, unbreakable, everlasting. She feared the fierce emotions he stirred inside herthey overpowered her, consumed her. She feared him, his mastery, the touch that sapped her will, leaving her weak, helpless, powerless to do anything but yield to him as he lowered his head and captured her quivering mouth with a savage hunger that demanded no less than her utter surrender. A surrender she could not help offering, as her arms twined around him, her fingers sank into the silken luxuriance of his hair, her body strained closer to his and yearned for more.

And yet, she knew that to yield to him now, to give in to the sweet, white-hot longing that threatened to consume her, would be to acknowledge him as her master, to admit that she was as much his slave as the Africans who toiled in his fields.

She arched her back, pushing at him, frightened of her own desires, but his body curved over hers, his hands pushed at her gown until it slipped free of her shoulders. His mouth sought hers and, when she refused to yield to him, caressed her throat, her shoulder, the soft curve of her breasts that gleamed whitely in the moonlight.

She was afire for him and he knew itknew that the savage, demanding, primeval passion that raged inside him was answered in full by that which shook her, set her aquiver in his arms.

He sank toward the ground, pulling her with him. She wept, despising her weakness and yet craving him; ashamed of her desires and yet burning with a mindless passion that drove her mad with need for him.

Her trembling hands pushed at his shoulders as he poised himself above her. Her fingers clawed at the soft fabric of his coat. But then, suddenly, she was drawing him closer, arching toward him, pleading without words for him to end her torment.

"Robbie?" The duke's voice echoed across the garden.

With a cry, she struggled in Court's arms.

"Ignore him." He sighed, caressing her, kissing her.

"Court?" the duke called from the veranda across the wide, manicured lawn. "Let me go!" Robbie pleaded, still half mad with desire and yet frightened by how easily he could conquer her with his touch. "Let me go, damn you!"

She shoved at him, kicking, clawing, fighting her way out of his arms. She pushed herself to her feet and stumbled away, fleeing into the darkness, knowing that he was coming, following her, only a few steps behind her.

"Robbie?" the duke called again.

"I'm coming!" She hoped desperately he wouldn't notice the strange catch in her voice as she choked back a sob.

Pausing for an instant, she smoothed her gown, her hair. With the backs of her hands she wiped away the traces of the tears that stained her cheeks.

Court caught her arm, and she stifled a scream. "Don't touch me," she pleaded. "Please, don't touch me!"

"Come on," he said simply, his voice devoid of emotion.

As though nothing had happened, Court escorted her back to the veranda and the duke. The three of them went to the library where Ariel, the duchess, Minerva, and Brock awaited them.

"The duke and I were going to say good night," Alexandra told her. "We waited for you and Court to return." She arched a questioning brow at her brother. "I hope Edmund didn't disturb you."

Robbie's cheeks flamed. "Not at all," she assured her too quickly. She lifted defiant eyes to the duke. "I've made my decision about going to England. I will."

"Splendid!" he boomed.

Alexandra saw the anguished look that flitted across her brother's face. "You know you don't have to decide immediately," she told Robbie. "It's a big step. You should take a little time. Think it over."

"I've thought it over." She felt Court's hard stare upon her and plunged on before her resolve could waver. "I want to go with you. I think my future lies in London with . . ." She gave them a shy half smile that quivered noticably at the corners. ". . . with my family."

50

Robbie stood alone at the rail of the Royal Fortune, watching the shore of Virginia fade into the distance. Her eyes misted, but she resolutely blinked away the tears that threatened to spill.

In the weeks that had passed between the night she'd told the duke she would go to England and the morning they had sailed, she had not seen Court once. He had, so Ariel had told her, immersed himself in his work, growing more sullen, more quick tempered as the days passed. He did not want Robbie to go, but his pride, his ''damnable foolish pride" as Ariel called it with uncharacteristic venom, would not let him beg her to stay.

"Won't you reconsider?" Ariel had begged that very morning when she, Brock, and Minerva had come to see them off.

"I can't," Robbie had told her.

"But Court loves you! He does! It's the thought of losing you that's turned him into such an ogre." Robbie's mouth twisted bitterly. "Oh, yes, he loves me. Now."

"Oh!" Ariel clenched her fists and looked heavenward, pleading for patience. "You're as much a fool as he is! More so, now that I think of it, because at least he's come to realize his mistakethough he's too pig-headed to make any attempt to correct itwhereas you just go on letting your pride enslave your heart. Don't you see that he's always loved you? He was simply too proud . . ."

"And is he the only one allowed to have pride? My pride suffered horribly all those months when I had to stand by and watch him court Juletta because she was 'suitable' to marry while I was only suitable to lie with!"

"But you love each other! That's all that counts now. People long for lovepray for love. And the two of you are throwing it away without ever giving it a chance!"

"I really don't want to discuss it any longer," Robbie told her coolly. "I want us to part friends." She forced a smile to take the sting out of her words. "After all, we are cousins after a fashion, aren't we?"

Ariel wasn't to be deterred so easily. "You really won't change your mind?" she persisted.

"I really won't," Robbie assured her.

With no choice but to accept Robbie's decision, Ariel bade her a fond, tearful farewell, hugging her close, making her promise that they would see one another before too much time had passed.

"Perhaps you and Brock can come to England on your honeymoon," Robbie suggested.

"Oh, yes!" She turned to Brock with shining eyes. "Could we? Wouldn't it be wonderful!"

His smile was adoring, and Robbie doubted he could deny her anything. "It would be. Perhaps we'll bring Minerva with us."

"Oh, no, you won't!" the old woman disagreed. "I've no wish to visit that country. Filled with Englishmen!" She grimaced.

Robbie embraced her, tears filling her eyes. "I can never repay you for the kindness you've shown me."

"Posh! Get away with you!" Gruffness could not quite disguise Minerva's emotion. "But mind, if you're not happy there, you tell the duke to send you back to us!"

"He's promised to bring me back himself," she assured them.

They parted then, and not long after that the lines were cast off. Until the last moment, Robbie had hoped against all reason that Court would come to her, take her away, take her home to Greenbrier. Even as the great white sails snapped taut and the great brigantine moved with stately grace out into the bay, leaving Yorktownand Courtbehind, she gazed longingly, achingly, at the wharves for some sign of him.

Robbie remembered it all as she stood at the railing. She didn't want to remembershe couldn't bear to think of it. But it filled her mind the way her love for Court filled her heart.

Wearily she turned from the rail and went below to her cabin. Lying on the bed, she let the motion of the ship rock her to sleep in hopes that the mindlessness of slumber would help her forget if only for a few blessed hours.

She awoke with a start. Footsteps pounded by in the companionway outside her cabin door, and she could hear shouting from above. Curious, she went up on deck, where she found the duke in earnest discussion with the ship's captain.

"What's happening?" she asked the duchess, who stood at the rail, peering into the distance through a spyglass.

"A sail," Alexandra told her, pointing. "There, off the stern. We fear it may be pirates."

Robbie took the spyglass from the duchess. There, not so very far behind them, was a sloop.

"Damnation seize my soul," she breathed, scarcely daring to believe her own eyes. "It's Court."

"Court!" The duchess took back the glass and took another look.

She nodded. "That's the Swallow. One of the sloops he outfitted for the raid on Montebello."

Alexandra squinted through the glass. The sloop, far faster than the brigantine, which, at one hundred fifty tons, was half again as large, swiftly gained on them, eating up the expanse of choppy water that separated them. On her deck, feet braced, eyes fixed unswervingly on his goal, stood a tall, familiar figure.

"You're right!" the duchess exclaimed, astonished. "It is Court! What can he be thinking of?"

It seemed only a few minutes later that the ships drew abreast. Court ignored the shouts of the duke, the duchess, and the alarmed crew of the Royal Fortune, who still weren't sure they weren't being attacked. He spoke only to his own crew, shouting the orders that sent grappling hooks flying over the brigantine's rail to bind the two ships together, making them a single vessel riding the ocean's rough waters.

Court vaulted the rail and strode toward Robbie, who stood rooted to the spot. His eyes burned with a passionate determination that touched her, triggered all the maddening emotions that responded so willingly to him. His hand closed about her wrist. He held her fast as if he half expected her to flee from him.

"You're coming with me," he told her. His eyes were dark, hard, glinting with golden fires; his voice was low, his tone forbidding contradiction. "You're mine, and I'm damned if I'll lose you to some satin-breeched, patched and powdered son of a whore in London."

"And if I refuse?" she breathed, knowing she never could, fascinated by him, like a bird before a snake.

A slow, sensual grin curved his mouth. "What was good enough for Jack Tremonte is good enough for me."

"What does that mean?"

In a trice he had her hanging over his shoulder. Her hair streamed over her face, her head bumped against his back as he recrossed the deck and leapt the rail to land gracefully on the deck of his sloop.

The crewmen who had followed him onto the brigantine returned, bringing with them the contents of Robbie's cabin. When they were all aboard, Court shouted the order: "Cut the lines!"

With boarding axes, the ropes that bound the ships were severed. Only when a gulf of choppy black water separated them did Court set Robbie on her feet.

Stunned, she returned the waves of the duke and duchess, who stood at the rail of the Royal Fortune, obviously delighted. She felt Court slide a posesssive arm about her waist.

"Why did you do this?" she asked, filled with wonder that he should have pursued her, abducted her, forced her back into his life when she'd thought he'd have been just as happy to be rid of her.

He looked out over the billowing waves that crashed against the sloop's hull as she was brought about and set to her new headinghomeward bound.

"If you want to go back to the Royal Fortune," he said tonelessly, "say so now, while there is still time to catch her."

"I didn't say I wanted to go back. I only asked why."

A smile touched his lips, a smile Robbie recognized as relief. She realized, with a sense of astonishment, that he had been worried that she might demand to be put back aboard the duke's ship.

He looked down at her, and his golden eyes were alight with joy. "Because, my stubborn little piratess, maddening as you are, I love you. And I could not bear to live my life without you."

Robbie nestled happily in his arms, all thought of London banished. She had never truly desired the whirl of society, the life of an English heiress. But she had known she couldn't remain in Yorktown if she couldn't be with Court, and she knew she couldn't be with Court while all the old doubts and fears still plagued them.

"Will you marry me?" he asked, a touchingly uncertain note in his voice. He seemed genuinely afraid she might refuse him.

"Of course," she breathed without a second's hesitation.

She was happier than she'd ever thought she could be. Sure now of his love, she begrudged the loss of every precious moment they'd spent at odds with one another, separated by their stupid, petty pride.

Court held her close as the sloop carried them back toward Yorktowntoward their future. No longer would their pasts haunt them. They were no more a pirate's daughter and a Virginia gentleman. From now on they would be merely Court and Robbie, a man and a woman, together forever, in love.