Rebecca
by
Jo Ann Ferguson

Book Two
The Foxbridge Legacy Trilogy

Copyright © 1988 Jo Ann Ferguson
First Printing - Tudor Publishing Company, November 1988
ASIN: 094427627X
Historical Romance

She Thought HE WAS DEAD!

When Rebecca discovered the wounded soldier in the barn, she rushed to his aid. Though he wore the red coat of a Tory, his suffering appealed to her fourteen-year-old heart. Their secret vows were merely the fulfillment of a dying man's last wish, for Nicholas Wythe was soon taken away from the Connecticut farm and left to die in a colonial prison.

Five years later, as Rebecca stood at the altar for a proper wedding, Nicholas returned. The gleam in his obsidian eyes was unmistakable; Lord Foxbridge had come to claim his bride.

From the rough woodlands of her home to the stained-glass arches of Foxbridge Cloister, Rebecca struggled against the formidable will of her husband. She was a Yankee in the arms of a Loyalist.

His kisses sent treasonous thoughts surging through her blood even as his every touch lit new fires in her rebel's heart.

Rebecca had fallen in love with the enemy.

And this one was one war she was determined to win.

Chapter One

The sun was bright off the mountainsides to the north as the young woman adjusted her veil on her dark hair. It would not have mattered to her if it had been the dreariest day of the year, for she could see only the glory of her happiness reflected around her. With a joyous laugh, she twirled about so her full skirts belled out even wider around her.

She turned once more to view her appearance in the small mirror. The veil did not hide her blue eyes and brilliant smile that were the two most admired features of her lovely face. She smoothed the silk dress along her body. She had never had such a fine gown, so it was appropriate that today she would wear it.

Today Rebecca North would become the wife of Keith Bennett. After their courtship and the thrill of him asking her to marry him, she would this morning take the vows that would make her his wife forever. It was a dream come true.

He had proposed marriage several months ago, but had asked her to delay the wedding until he could finish the cabin he was building for them. At last, the day had come.

Her bags were packed and in the front room, ready to go to that new house. When she and Keith returned from their wedding party, her things would be waiting in the house they would share. Her smile softened as her eyes grew distant with thoughts of the life she would have from this day forward with the man she loved.

"Rebecca, are you ready?" came a voice that jarred her back to the present.

Her smile broadened as she turned to greet her older brother Hart. He would be giving her away, because their father Major Henry North had died in service to his country during the battle at Saratoga. The horrors of the war so recently over were forgotten in the midst of her joy. "Take Aunt Dena out to the wagon, and I will be with you directly."

He nodded and closed the door. Rebecca looked around her room. Today she was leaving behind everything she had known all her life. Today she was beginning a new life that would incorporate all the love in the old one with a new love that would be the center of her being. "Good-bye," she whispered to her room, her home, herself that had lived there for all of her nineteen years.

Cloying thoughts of nostalgia disappeared as she went out to the cart. An ecstatic bounce was in her step as she walked out of the cabin without another backward glance.

"Here comes the happiest bride I have ever seen," teased Aunt Dena. She was a spare woman, well wrinkled with time. Lines had been etched in her face by laughter and sunshine. Her white hair was pulled back beneath her outrageous hat she wore for only the most special occasions. Its feathers and ribbons added six inches to her slight height.

Hart laughed as he helped his sister onto the hard wooden seat of the wagon. Unlike her, he had the light hair of their mother, but in many ways the Norths were alike. They shared a deep joy in life and a closeness which had strengthened when they had lost both of their parents. Hart was pleased that she would not be moving far from their home. The two of them and Aunt Dena were the total of the surviving North family.

It was a very short ride to the church, but Hart had insisted that they drive. He had not wanted her to walk and get the dust on her new gown. When they reached the white clapboard building, he lifted the older woman down so she could go in to take her seat of honor in the first pew.

"All ready?" he asked, jokingly.

"I know brides are supposed to be nervous," Rebecca said with a laugh, "but I'm not. I know that this is just the beginning of the most wonderful part of my life."

He bent and kissed her cheek. His voice was very serious as he said, "I hope you are right, Rebecca. I hope you are right."

"Hart, what is wrong?" Her smile faded as she saw the bleakness in his eyes.

A weak smile crossed his lips. "I'm the one who is nervous, I guess. It's hard for me to realize that in a few minutes you will be Keith Bennett's wife. I've been used to you being my little sister."

"That does not change, silly!" She hugged him. When she heard the music from the church, she said, "I think the ceremony is starting."

He held out his arm to her. "Then let us make our grand entrance, my lady."

"What fancy manners from someone who used to dip my braids in mud puddles!" Rebecca smiled up at her grinning brother as they walked into the church.

He had seemed as delighted with this wedding as she was. Keith was his friend, and it had been Hart who first had suggested that she take a walk with Keith along the moonlit path home from church services. Soon Keith had come calling on her. She had long admired her brother's friend, and her admiration became love. She guessed this wedding was the fulfillment of Hart's dream, as well.

As they walked past the rearmost pew, Rebecca noticed a stranger sitting there. Her eyes were caught by his dark ones which were narrowing with an emotion she could not read. She wondered who this scowling man was. Something about the strong line of his jaw and his black eyes tugged at her memory, but she could not connect his handsome face with anyone she knew. As she passed him, she shrugged off her concerns and told herself he must be an acquaintance of Keith.

All thoughts of him faded as she looked at her fiancÈ waiting with uncharacteristic formality by the altar. Keith was more comfortable making jokes around their supper table than standing at the front of the church while dressed in his stiff collar and knee breeches. When he turned to see her walking toward him, his face split into a grin that made him look much more like the normal Keith.

Rebecca took his hand as she stepped up onto the raised section of the altar. He brought it gently to rest on his arm as they together looked at the minister. He glanced down at her as if to share an ecstatic secret while they listened to the clergyman intone the words that would make them one for all eternity.

Hart answered when asked who gave this woman in marriage. In a stage whisper, he warned the groom, "She's grouchy in the morning, Keith. Beware." Along the first few pews, a ripple of laughter sounded as brightly as the blush glowing on Rebecca's face.

The groom held out his hand to Hart. For a moment, he looked startled, then he shook it seriously. Rebecca glanced from one face to the other, but could not read the emotions on either. Keith was grinning delightedly, but Hart's face was completely blank.

She forgave her brother his jest when he bent to kiss her cheek and added more softly, "Be happy always, Rebecca."

When he was seated, the minister who had appeared pained at the levity continued with the rite. He read a blessing on the couple. Before he started the exchanging of vows, he asked, "If there is anyone here who has a reason why this marriage should not take place, let that one speak now or forever remain silent."

"I have a reason!"

Rebecca gasped as she turned to see the stranger on his feet in the pew at the back of the small church. She looked up at Keith and saw the mixture of shock and rage on his usually placid features. Her thought that this was a prank he had devised to tease her disappeared as she saw his furious expression.

The stranger began to walk along the aisle toward the altar. A rumble of whispered comments preceded him like the foam of a wave rushing to embrace the shore. All eyes were on him, but he paid them no attention. His dark ones were riveted steadily on the bride. His lips curled up in a smile as he saw the astonishment in her eyes. The pretty bride clearly had no idea who he was or why he had stopped her wedding.

The minister stated, shortly, "Sir, it's a serious thing to interrupt a holy ceremony like this. You say you have a reason why this marriage should not take place. What is it?"

He grinned coldly, and the pastor had the feeling he was looking into the face of Satan himself. Only the fallen angel would have such a dark malevolence along his black eyebrows and sternly chiseled features. His eyes returned to the bride. There was amusement in their obscure depths.

"Why don't you ask Rebecca?" His voice was as mysteriously rich as his sable hair.

"Me?" she gasped. That this man knew her name was as astounding as the rest of this outrageous situation. His gaze held her eyes as if he was trying to look past them to examine her soul. Lowering her eyes, she said, "Sir, as Reverend Poore said, this is no time for such antics. You have disrupted my wedding long enough."

His eyes slowly and with obvious pleasure moved along her slender body. In the gown that flattered her delicate curves, she was the image of the maidenly bride. "I admit I wouldn't have known you, Rebecca, but I had thought you would recognize me. I haven't changed that much since our last meeting."

Once again, memory tried to stir within her, but brought no answers. "I'm sorry, sir. I don't think we have met. You must be mistaken."

Keith stepped between his bride and the stranger. "Sir, Rebecca has asked you to desist. I suggest you do so, or you may not like the result." Although he stood several inches shorter than the dark-haired man, he was not afraid to take on the man who had ruined their wedding. He had been waiting so long for it to take place, and he would let no one halt it. "I don't know who you are or why you think you have the right to interfere."

"Let me introduce myself." He gave a half bow in their direction. "My name is Nicholas Wythe. That woman next to you is my wife."

Immediately the church erupted into chaos. Hart leapt to his feet and over the front of the first pew to join in the confrontation with this man who dared to make such a pronouncement. Keith caught Rebecca as she gave a small cry and swayed against him. He feared she would faint, but she only clutched his arm as her life felt as it was whirling out of control.

The elusive memory had been so close to her heart. While packing her personal and dower items that morning, she had pulled out, from under her bed, the box which contained her most precious mementos and discovered the faded marriage lines that announced she was the wife of one Nicholas Wythe. It was a secret which had been kept for so long that it was no longer worth revealing.

Nearly five years had passed since the day she had discovered a wounded man delirious in their barn. The only thing he had been able to communicate was his need for secrecy. She had smuggled food to him and had cleaned the wound in his side and bound it for him. Around his head had been a bloody turban she had not dared to touch.

For two weeks, he slept in the barn. Each morning, she expected to find him dead in his hiding place behind the bags of feed for the animals. Both her brother and her father had been away fighting in the War of Independence from England. It had been just her and Aunt Dena, Father's spinster sister who had come to live with them when Rebecca's mother had died before her young daughter's fourth birthday.

Slowly he recovered enough to escape his delirium. Whenever she had been able to get away from her other duties, she went to sit in the barn with him. She entertained him with her young impressions of the war, the village she lived near in northern Connecticut, and the world in general. He seemed ancient to her, for he must have been in his early twenties. Soon she learned how to cheer him so he was not so unhappy in his confinement. What little he told her of his own life had been forgotten in the passage of time.

She did not remember exactly when she had discovered that he was not a Continental soldier, but a loyalist. By that time, she had come to see him as a person, not as an enemy. When he gave her a crudely written note to carry to a friend, she did not pause to wonder if she was doing something to compromise the ideals of independence she valued so highly. Her friend would never ask her to do something wrong.

Shivers of fear had filled her young body when she had had to face those she knew were enemy soldiers. They were frighteningly close to her home. Only her friend's name kept her from being shot by the men. She gave them the note and scurried away once they were sure she would not betray them to the Patriots. The next morning, the man who had told her his name was Nicholas was not alone. She recognized one of the men as the person she had delivered the note to the day before. The other man had been a stranger.

Clearly she could recall his deep voice as he said, "Rebecca, I fear I shall not survive this. I -- "

"No, don't say that!" she gasped. The idea of death was alien to her young heart. Tears filled her eyes. She had come to value his friendship and did not want to think of him dying.

"You must do me a favor."

"Anything!"

He smiled weakly and glanced at his companions as if her answer confirmed something he had said before she entered the barn. "Rebecca, you have taken care of me. I owe you something."

"No, you don't!"

"All right. You can't disagree that you are my very best friend in Connecticut."

Twisting her hands in her apron, she nodded. That was undoubtedly true. Loyalists were not welcome in villages where Patriots were the majority.

"Rebecca, it would make me feel better if I had someone to leave my personal effects to if something does happen to me. For that reason, I'm asking you to marry me."

"Marry?"

"It'll make it easier."

She looked into his ebony eyes and nodded. At the time, it did not seem odd for a fourteen year old to be wedding a dying man nearly a decade her senior simply to be his heir. The stranger had been the chaplain who had witnessed their vows. Nicholas gave her a brotherly kiss on the cheek before he was secreted away by his comrades. His promise to write was kept well for a few months.

Then after a large battle where many members of the unit to which he belonged were killed, there had been only silence. For twelve long months, she had hoped he survived, but when the first anniversary of the battle came, she knew it was useless to pray any longer. She packed away the three letters he had sent her and her marriage lines which had been kept secret at the bottom of the box. They had been tied with a piece of velvet ribbon which had once belonged to her mother.

The war ended, except for the formalities of signing treaties and exchanging ambassadors. The war had cost her her father and had sent her brother home with a limp from a poorly healed bullet wound to his hip. In those years, she had changed from a child to a woman. She had been courted for the past year by Keith Bennett without anyone knowing that Keith would be her second husband. She had thought that since Nicholas Wythe was dead, there was no reason to bring up the subject. She had planned to tell Keith someday of that secret wedding which had netted her only pleasant memories of a man who had passed through her life so quickly.

As Rebecca stared into the dark eyes which matched the ones from the depths of her memory, she could form no coherent thoughts. When she spoke, the wedding guests fell silent as they waited to hear her reaction. Her voice was rough as she spoke past the lump in her throat. "Nicholas Wythe? Captain Wythe? I thought you were dead!"

Hart demanded, "You know this man, Rebecca?"

She could not meet the eyes of the man she loved. She raised her left hand and pulled off the engagement ring Keith had given her. With a half sob, she placed it in his hand. He glanced from it to her, not knowing what to say. When she stood on tiptoe to kiss him one last time, she squeezed his arms convulsively.

Only then did she turn to answer her brother. "I know him, Hart. He is my husband."

A shout came for someone to catch Aunt Dena as she swooned. All shreds of decorum disappeared. Reverend Poore closed his black book and placed it on the altar. It was clear there would be no wedding today.

The dark-haired man reached up and took Rebecca's hand and drew her down to stand next to him. As if he were the groom, he raised her veil to be able to see her face undistorted by its fine mesh. He bent slightly and kissed her cheek. "It is so good to see you again, Rebecca."

She gazed up into his handsome face which was far above hers, for he was well over six feet tall. Knowing why he had seemed so familiar, she could not believe he was here. In her memory, he had been a faceless entity whose identity had been blurred by the passing of time. "I thought you were dead," she repeated in a whisper. She was afraid if she spoke aloud the vibration of her own voice would shatter her. "I thought you had been killed. I waited for a year to hear from you, but there was nothing. I could think only that you were dead."

He chuckled at a joke only he could share. Holding out his hand, he touched the soft skin of her cheek. The unmolded face of the child had matured into beauty. He had not been prepared for the change. In his mind, she had remained the youngster who had risked her life selflessly to save his. Only because he had learned that it was Rebecca North being married in this backwater village had he known that the bride was his wife.

"I'm afraid I am very much alive. It was impossible to get mail out of the prison hulks which were my home for the last four years. I have been released with the end of the war. Now that I have found you, my dear wife, we must be on our way home. We have only time for you to pack what you want to take with you, if we want to meet our ship."

"Ship?" she repeated. She knew she sounded stupid, but just now her mind was unable to function. All she could think of was that this man had come out of her distant past to interrupt her present. Until he had said he meant to take her with him, she had not considered that he would want her. "You are taking me away? Where do you live, Captain Wythe?"

"Nicholas, my dear. We are married, so it would be more normal for you to call me by my given name. Your new home is across the ocean in England. It's called Foxbridge Cloister, and you, my dear Rebecca, are Lady Foxbridge."

Hart stepped forward and took his sister's arm. He pulled her away from this man he already had decided that he disliked intensely. "I have heard enough of this nonsense. You have disrupted my sister's wedding, and you have so shocked our aunt that she has fainted. I think you have done quite enough. Sir, I ask you -- No, I insist one final time that you leave."

"I am leaving," he replied calmly. "Rebecca and I are leaving. I expected that I might not be believed, so I brought this with me to lay any of your fears to rest. I did not want you to think I was kidnapping this lovely lady from underneath your very noses." He held out a paper which was stained with sweat and rusty discolorings that no one had to be told were blood. "Here is my copy of our marriage lines. Do you still have yours, Rebecca?"

Hart took the page and scanned it. He recognized his sister's signature at the bottom. This man was her husband. His hand shook as he handed the page to Keith. The rage on the groom's face increased as he looked from the stranger to the document. When Wythe held out his hand, he reluctantly placed it back on his palm.

Rebecca watched as the piece of paper that tied her to this unknown man circulated among the men. When she saw the dark-haired man was awaiting her answer to his question, she nodded. "I have my copy still, Cap -- Nicholas."

Keith was recovering from his shock of realizing that Rebecca would not become his wife. Irately, he turned to her and demanded, "This man is telling the truth? You are really married to him?"

"Yes, Keith," she whispered.

"That is ridiculous. Look at the date on that document. That was when the damnable British were running all over the area. Such a marriage under duress would not be sanctioned by any court." He frowned. "Did you fear she was pregnant, Wythe, and wanted to give your bastard a name?"

The fury which burst forth from Nicholas was as cold as his eyes. "I did not seduce Rebecca when she was a child. I can assure you of that, sir. She saved my life. I was a badly injured man in enemy territory. She did nothing for which she should have been ashamed."

When Hart stepped between the two men who looked as if they were set to settle the issue on the altar, he asked Rebecca for her side of this confusing tale. It did not take her long to tell her tale, although he had to ask her to repeat herself several times when her voice became a whisper.

Because she could not bear to look at the man she had promised to marry, she did not see Keith's outraged expression when he learned that she had married of her own free will and had known exactly what she was doing. The fact that she had been only fourteen would have no bearing on its legality. Many lasses were wed not much older than that.

"Are you satisfied?" asked Nicholas when she had completed the short account which had kept the wedding guests enthralled. Once more he put out a long arm to pull Rebecca close. No one could miss her discomfort as he placed his arm around her shoulders. "As I said, we must be leaving, if we are to catch our ship before it sails. Come along, Rebecca."

"Now?" She could not comprehend what was happening. Her mind had been numb. Her world had turned inside out in one split second. One moment, she had been so blissfully planning to wed Keith, the next this man who was a stranger was claiming her rightfully as his wife.

Nicholas's voice softened for the shortest moment as he gazed at her shattered face. "Yes, we must leave now, my dear. Bid your friends and family farewell."

Docilely she did as she was told, for she did not know what else to do. She did not hear what she said or who she said it to as she went from one guest to the next. Only when she turned to Keith did her frozen exterior break. "I'm sorry, sweetheart," she whispered. "I had no idea that he was alive. I'm so sorry to hurt you like this. I love you, Keith."

Paying no attention to anyone else, he swept her into his arms and kissed her with all his desire for her. Holding her tightly, he whispered in her ear, "I will come after you, my love. We will have this marriage annulled. Try to keep him out of your bed, Rebecca."

"My bed?" she cried. Involuntarily, she turned to look at the dark-haired man who was talking quietly to her brother.

Hart nodded his head in resignation.

As each second passed, this nightmare was solidifying into reality. She closed her eyes in pain as she saw her brother introduce Nicholas to her aunt who had recovered her senses. When she saw Aunt Dena smile, Rebecca was sure the whole world had gone mad.

Grimly, Keith said in the same low tone, bringing her attention back to him, "He's your husband, Rebecca. He has a right to sleep with you. Try to keep him away. As soon as I can sell my farm, I'll come to England and hire a lawyer to free you. If the marriage is unconsummated, it will be easier. Just be careful, darling. You know how I love you. I promise you I will see you released from this marriage."

"Rebecca?"

She sighed as she pulled herself reluctantly from the arms of the man she loved to face the man to whom she was married. Taking her fingers, Nicholas placed them on his arm. Without another word, he led her toward the door at the back of the church. She was startled there were no shouts of protest, but the others had learned what she knew. Nicholas Wythe was her husband. According to the law, he had done nothing wrong. According to the law, she belonged to him.

The sounds of the multitude of conversations followed them out into the sunshine. In response to his questions, she pointed out which cabin belonged to the North family. He quickly turned in that direction.

"My things are all packed," she murmured. "Hart was going to take them to Keith's house after the wedding. The trunk is in the main room of the house."

When they entered the small house, she fought the tears burning behind her eyes. Never again would she see this place that had been home for all her memory. When she had said farewell earlier, it had not been a real good-bye. She had planned to visit often. That would be impossible if she was living on the far side of the ocean.

Nicholas said quietly, "Go change, Rebecca."

"Change?"

"You do not want to travel in your lovely dress, do you? It might soiled quickly on our trip. It isn't an easy journey to where our ship is docked in New York City harbor."

For the first time, she heard a hint of sympathy in his voice. Her eyes rose to meet his ebony ones. In the merest of whispers, she asked, "Why, Nicholas? Why are you taking me away from Keith?"

"Keith? Oh, you mean your erstwhile fiancÈ?" He chuckled in a tone as black as his hair. "My dear Rebecca, you are my wife. I don't choose to be wed to a bigamist. No, no, there is no reason for you to say it. I don't plan to let you ask for an annulment. Our wedding was legally and properly done. You are mine, sweetheart."

"But you don't love me!" she asserted. "How could you love me? You don't know me! The last time we met I was just a child."

"You are right. I didn't come back for you because of love, but there are many reasons to marry other than love. Perhaps in the shock of our reunion you failed to hear me. You are Lady Foxbridge, my dear, for your husband is, by the unfortunate death of his brother, lord of Foxbridge Cloister. I married you five years ago to give you my share of that estate in gratitude for your kindness. Now, you shall have it all, including the lord." He put out his hand to touch the softness of her face. "Rebecca Wythe, you have become so beautiful. I never would have guessed such a scrawny child would turn into such a lovely woman."

In horror, she pulled away. Keith's warnings filled her ears to replay over and over. This man was her husband. Tonight and every night he wished, he could take from her what she wanted to share only with Keith. If he asked her, she should not refuse for she was his wife. With stern resolve, Rebecca told herself that Captain Nicholas Wythe, Lord Foxbridge of Foxbridge Cloister, whatever that was, would not find it that simple to have her as his lover. She would fight him before she was forced to surrender.

His eyes narrowed as his eyebrows drew close together. On her face, he read her undisguised emotions of obstinacy and disgust. Although it had been many years since he had been in the company of a lady, he had not been accustomed to being repulsed.

"Come here, Rebecca," he growled. His hands grasped her shoulders and drew her to him. As one arm wrapped around her, his fingers tipped her chin up so he could view her pretty face. With a satisfied smile, he said, "You have yet to welcome your husband back from the cold of the grave, dear wife."

"Please, Captain Wythe -- "

"Nicholas, my dear," he corrected, impatiently.

"Please, Nicholas, don't do this."

He chuckled softly and lowered his lips over hers. Gently, but persuasively, he kissed her. His fingers slid along the slippery texture of her silken gown to caress her back.

Rebecca fought her desire to pull away. His kiss brought only feelings of despair as she realized it would be a long time or forever until she felt Keith's mouth against hers again. The half-forgotten, childish lark which had seemed like such a great adventure was coming back to haunt her.

When he looked down into her eyes, he saw the sorrow in their dark blue depths. He was not surprised that she was so confused. To discover a spouse who had been mourned so long ago was alive and wanted her would have stunned the most resilient person. "Go and change, sweetheart," he whispered in her ear.

"I must get a dress out of my bag." Her voice caught on a half-sob as she added, "I hadn't planned on changing until I was at Keith's house."

"Go ahead. I will see your things are loaded." He looked at the small trunk and the battered bag with the words "SGT Hart North, Connecticut Militia" stenciled on it. "Is this everything, Rebecca?"

She nodded. Stooping, she pulled out her everyday frock. It would handle the trip best. She continued to be astounded at how her mind seemed able to handle the most minuscule details although she could feel nothing. Not that she was anxious to feel anything. When the numbness wore off, the pain would be so strong, it might rip her apart.

In her room, she changed quickly. She pulled the pins from her upswept hair and braided it in its normal style. Wrapping the braids around the crown of her head, she put the hairpins in a pocket of her skirt. Picking up her wedding gown, she went back out into the main room.

Nicholas was standing in the doorway with his profile to her. For a long moment, she stared at him. All of her confused perceptions of him came together as she watched him while he was speaking to someone she could not see. He was an incredibly handsome man with his dark coloring and flashing eyes. His clothes were cut in the latest style, and the white of his stockings was unmarred. If she had not hated him so much for laying waste to her life, she would have admired the virile lines of his body so finely accented by his well made breeches and coat.

The sound of her light step caught his attention. He turned to see the woman who suddenly resembled the child-bride he had left when he had expected to go to his death. In her homespun gown and her hair in braids that did nothing to detract from her beauty, he could see more of the fourteen year old Rebecca. Gone were her smile and her joy with his agonizingly slow progress as he had fought the infection of his wound.

Holding out his hand to her, he took her slender fingers in his. "Come along, darling. Our carriage is waiting. We have many miles to go before nightfall strands us along these desolate backroads."

She stepped out into the sunshine to learn he had been talking to a man who obviously was going to be their driver. Astonishment filled her eyes as she saw the lovely carriage that awaited them in front of her rustic home. Even though she knew it was not Nicholas's, it was still impressive. Before now, she always had ridden in a wagon.

"Oh, my!" she whispered as she stared at the fine paneling on the doors and the curtains that could be drawn at the windows. They were richer than the simple material hanging over the panes of glass in the cabin.

"I thought my Lady Foxbridge would enjoy traveling in the style that she will become accustomed to in England." He lifted her fingers to his lips.

"Oh," she whispered, unable to think of anything else to say. She glanced at him sharply, wondering if he was jesting, but his dark eyes regarded her evenly.

With a smile, he aided her into the carriage. Her eyes grew wide as she saw the velvet covered seats and brocade embellished walls. Tentatively, like a child afraid of touching something forbidden, her fingers stretched out to stroke the material. When she heard Nicholas's laugh, she blushed and snatched her hands back to clench her dress. His cruel reminder that she was so unsophisticated compared to those who inhabited his life on the far shores hurt her deeply.

When Nicholas sat next to her on the cushioned seat, he draped his arm along the back of the cushion with his fingertips resting lightly on her shoulder. His other hand slapped the side of the carriage to signal the driver to start.

As the settings of her childhood rolled past them while the vehicle picked up speed, Rebecca tried to keep from looking at the beloved sights she would never see again. She did not want her precious memories tainted by the sorrow of this leave-taking. When they went past the church she had entered so happily less than an hour before, her eyes were caught by those of her beloved Keith as he stood on the steps and watched as they went by.

"I'll be coming for you, Rebecca!" he called into the cloud of dust from the wheels. "Soon, sweetheart!"

She gasped as she felt the tightening of her companion's fingers into the soft skin of her shoulder. The words which had sent a swelling of hope through her heart clearly filled her husband with rage.

Softly, she said, "Nicholas, that hurts!"

He pulled his hand away and stated gruffly, "Excuse me, my dear. I didn't mean to bruise you."

When she heard the gentleness in his voice, her last bit of composure dissolved into tears which fell in a violent storm of despair along her face. Her whole life had been decimated. Her dreams of being married to Keith were dead, and her nightmares of being bound to a man she did not love were the total of her life. Hiding her face in her hands, she turned away from the man beside her. Her shoulders shook convulsively. When she felt his hands on her arms as he tried to turn her into his embrace, she snarled and ripped herself away from him.

"Don't touch me!" she spat.

"If that is what you wish, Rebecca," he answered in a taut voice, "then you can cry alone. If you don't want my comfort, you won't receive it!"

Without turning, she sobbed, "I don't want anything from you!"

"That's obvious!" he snapped back.

She felt the seat shift as he moved to sit on the far side. Crouching against the wall in front of her, she placed her face on her arms and sobbed until there were no more tears left within her. She cried for lost dreams and for the Rebecca who had been left behind. She cried for everyone this cold man had hurt so callously. She cried until her eyes grew heavy with fatigue, and she slipped away into the only world where her love for Keith remained uncompromised.

Chapter Two

Rebecca awoke to the changing rhythm of the carriage. She murmured softly as she drowsily tried to patch together what had happened before she had napped. It was so unusual for her to sleep during the day that she could not comprehend for an eternal minute why she had fallen asleep.

The feeling of lips pressed softly to the top of her head brought a smile to her own. When an arm around her pressed her closer to a warm body, she stretched out her fingers along the rich wool of a man's coat. Her face was tilted back to be at the perfect angle to meet the mouth of the one who held her. For a moment, she was swept along on the sweetness of the tender kiss.

Abruptly, her eyes popped open. This was not Keith who was holding her and caressing her with eager desire. There was laughter in the night-time dark eyes of the man who was kissing her. Although she struggled, Nicholas just pulled her tighter to him.

"Did you have a pleasant nap, my dear?" He ran his hand along the loosened strands of hair falling around her face in waves. His eyebrows drew together in the evil expression she was learning to fear. "It isn't so horrid to sleep with your husband, is it?"

She could not halt the fire hot blush which colored her face, but her words were icy cold. "You know as well as I do that I can't stop you if you demand your rights as my husband, Nicholas. Just don't think that I will come to your bed willingly."

He bent to kiss the smooth skin of her forehead. Against her cheek, he vowed, "Someday, you will, Rebecca. Someday, you will come to me asking that I hold you and make love with you."

"Don't be so sure of that! I hate you!" she cried.

"Do you?" he asked reasonably. "That's a true pity, for you are my wife. I had hoped you would be a bit more willing to accept the situation and see that we don't have to be unhappy with the circumstances." He looked out the window. "Here's the inn where we will be spending the night."

Silently, she slipped out of his loosened grip to regard the building. The name of the inn was illegible on the wind-scoured sign which hung over the small porch. The whole building was in desperate need of whitewashing, but the yard was free of clutter, and all the windows were intact.

The carriage pulled into the stableyard and stopped. When the driver opened the door, Rebecca could see children gathering across the dirt trail to view the outlandish sight of such a fine vehicle which must be as common in the small settlement as ice in July. She was sure that hidden behind the open windows and doors of the cabins, their elders were as eagerly awaiting the chance to view the ones who rode in such luxury.

Nicholas stepped out and held up his hand to her. When she stood on the ground next to him, he wrapped his arm around her and rubbed her back gently. She tried not to move away, for she knew such an action would enrage him. She was sure she did not want to face that wrath.

Calling out to one of the children, he said, "Lad, come here."

"Yes, sir?"

"Help my man here with the luggage, and then I will give you a few coins to treat your friends to candy at the store."

"Yes, sir!" he said eagerly.

As Nicholas took Rebecca's arm and turned to go into the inn, a young child ran up and pulled on his coattails. He squatted down to gaze into the little girl's face. "Yes, miss?" he asked with kindness.

"Are you King George, mister?"

He laughed loudly and tousled her soft, blonde curls. "No, young lady, I'm not King George."

"Oh," she said, obviously disappointed. "I thought when I saw your pretty carriage that only a king would drive in it."

"Let me tell you a secret," he said with a smile. "See that lady over there." He pointed to Rebecca who was pausing by the front steps of the inn to watch the exchange with a baffled expression. "She's a princess who has been hidden away for many years, and I'm taking her back to her castle in the clouds."

The child gazed at Rebecca, wide-eyed. She had never expected to see a real princess, especially one who was on her way to a palace in the sky. Without another word, she ran toward her home to tell her mother what she had seen.

Rebecca was curious what Nicholas had told the child who had been looking at her so queerly. When he rose and walked over to where she was waiting, there was the remnant of a delighted smile on his face.

"Were you like that little girl, Rebecca?"

"What do you mean?" she demanded.

"Must you act so suspicious of everything I ask you?" he retorted with sudden heat. "Maybe you were never like her, believing in lost princesses and magic."

More puzzled, she repeated, "What do you mean?"

"Never mind!" he said coldly. "Come, and we will go inside." He took her arm and turned her roughly toward the stairs. "Sit here," he ordered, pointing to a bench. "I will handle the details of getting our accommodations, and then I will take you upstairs so you can ready yourself for dinner."

Chastised, although she did not understand what she had done wrong, she obeyed. She watched as several of the young boys came in with the luggage which had been tied to the top of the carriage. They stopped to speak to the innkeeper, then carried it upstairs. When they returned, Nicholas counted a generous amount of coins into their hands. She could hear the boys whooping in delight as they raced outside to share their largesse.

Rebecca stared at her hands clasped in her lap. It seemed that her husband could be kind to everyone but her. As much as he seemed to enjoy talking to these youngsters, he delighted in being sarcastic to her. When she showed her lack of ease with the luxury he took for granted, he found it cruelly amusing. If she could not comprehend what his strange words meant, he viciously snapped at her. The only time he showed her any compassion was when he was trying to seduce her away from her love for Keith.

She could not help flinching as Nicholas took her arm to lead her up to the second floor. He made no comment, but she could tell he was angry by the tightness of his jawline. Already she was becoming able to read his powerful emotions that he kept so closely restrained.

At the top of the stairs, he opened a door. He motioned for her to precede him. Rebecca took a deep breath and walked into the room. She feared the moment had come when he would force her into bed. Alone in this nondescript, wayside inn part way to New York City, she would have no choice but to submit. Submit she would, but not freely.

She stood in the middle of the worn carpet, her fingers clamped tightly around the strings of her bag. Her eyes surveyed the room. It was a pleasant room, far more opulent than she was accustomed to in her plain home. There was a dressing table and chair to one side by a changing screen. An bench was set near the hearth of the fireplace which took up one whole wall. This she noticed later. What she saw first and solely was the large feather bed which dominated the room.

Nicholas hefted Rebecca's case onto the bed and flipped open the latches. With a smile, he said, "Get dressed for dinner, my dear. I will be back in fifteen minutes. I assume that will be enough time to wash the travel stains from your pretty face and make yourself presentable." He lifted out a royal blue gown decorated with lace she had tatted herself. "Is this your best?"

"Yes, Nicholas," she said. She did not have to look to know that he was displeased with her limited wardrobe. He would want his Lady Foxbridge to dress in the highest fashion. Her clothes, with the exception of her precious wedding gown which had been worn for too short a time, had been made to endure wearing and washing over and over. Fancy clothes following the latest quirk of style were not part of her life.

"Fine. Would you wear it? The color will be perfect with your violet eyes." He tossed it toward her, and her hands automatically rose to catch it. "Fifteen minutes, my dear."

As he walked to the door and put his hand on the latch, she turned in surprise and asked, "Where are you going?"

He laughed the dark laugh which sent shivers along her spine. "If you wish, I will stay, Rebecca. I must admit that I am tempted to stay, but I thought that you would prefer me absent when you are in dÈshabillÈ." Once again, his eyes swept insolently along her. "If you would like, I will stay, although to do so might make us very late for supper."

Gazing at the floor, she moved toward the changing screen. As she reached it, she glanced over her shoulder. For a moment, her eyes grew as volatile as his. She was tired of his barely veiled innuendoes about her lack of interest in his often expressed desire to consummate their marriage. All day she had tried to control her temper and not speak the words she wished to say. She could not keep her true feelings hidden any longer.

"Go, Nicholas. Leave. Let me tell you before you go that I don't care if you ever come back. You have ruined what should have been the best day of my life. You have forced me to leave the man I love with all my heart. You are expecting me to be grateful for some title I have never heard of. I don't want to be Lady Foxbridge. More exactly, I don't want to be your Lady Foxbridge. If this is how you pay back a kindness, I would hate to see how you treat your enemies."

"Are you finished?" he asked quietly. "If you are, I have a few things to say to you."

Deliberately he crossed the room. Grasping her arms, he twirled her into his strong embrace. Before Rebecca could react, his mouth covered hers. Gently he loosened her braids and undid them to allow the silken tresses to flow along his arm. His fingers entangled in it to hold her motionless. At her waist, his other hand slowly stroked the soft angles of her body.

Although she was tensed for what she feared would follow, Nicholas continued merely to kiss her and hold her as if she were made of the finest crystal. Like a treasured piece of art, he carefully and most tenderly examined her without doing anything to damage her.

She was not fooled by his chivalrous behavior. She could not be mistaken about the yearning he held so closely in check. Nicholas wanted her. She could see it in every motion he made, but she did not want to be his. Her hands pushed against his chest to free herself from this unwanted embrace.

Only when he chose was she able to step away. He picked up the gown she had dropped.

Handing it to her, he said, "You are my wife, Rebecca. You are my Lady Foxbridge. I will be back in fifteen minutes. You had best be prepared for dinner, or you may learn how I treat my enemies."

Without waiting for her response, he walked to the door. When it closed with a distinctive click, she ran to the door. She breathed heavily with fear as she dropped the bar into place. She knew very little of this man who was her husband, but she had learned enough to know he would do as he pleased. If it meant returning immediately to rape her savagely, he would be surprised to learn that his wife was not the docile lass he expected her to be.

Quickly she dressed. She brushed her hair back into the style she had worn it to the wedding. Her chin rose defiantly as she tried not to think of the day's events. The woman in the mirror appeared unchanged, but there was a hardness in her heart which had never been there before. Whether it was the core of her pain or the bitterness of learning how truly cruel another human being could be, she did not know. All she knew was that Nicholas would not find it easy to transform her into his lady. She would fight him every inch of the way as she waited for her darling Keith to come for her. When this marriage was dissolved, she would marry Keith immediately. Then they would resume the life they had lost.

When a knock sounded, she asked, "Who's there?"

"It's been fifteen minutes, Rebecca."

Even the sound of his Stygian voice set her heart racing, but she would not let him know how much she feared him. "One moment."

Checking her appearance a final time in the mirror, she turned to the door. The key clanked loudly as she unlocked it. She lifted the latch, then turned away as if she was not concerned about the man entering the room.

"You look lovely, sweetheart."

Her heart contracted as she heard the endearment that Keith had used so often. Her pain did not show as she looked at Nicholas. Her face was as cold as her voice. "Thank you, Nicholas."

Although she hated the man who stood in the room, she could not help admiring his appearance. His dark brown coat was designed in the most fashionable style with the front corners cut back nearly to the side seam in a half circle shape ending at the split back. His waistcoat and breeches were of the palest tan which made his full sleeved white shirt and white stockings appear even brighter. The black of his shoes was only slightly less shiny than his silver shoe buckles. A ribbon of the same brown velvet as his coat tied back his unpowdered hair. His fine clothes put her simple frock to shame.

He walked to her. Grasping her hand, he twirled her slowly to view her from every angle. "Yes, you look lovely, Rebecca. That dress is perfect for you."

"Stop it!" she cried, pulling away.

"Excuse me? Stop what?" He was plainly baffled. "My dear Rebecca, you haven't given me a chance to start anything."

Enraged, she repeated, "Stop it! Stop being so condescending. I know my dress is no match for your finery. You don't have to remind me of that with your sarcastic compliments."

He fought to control his own anger as he wondered where the sweet Rebecca North had disappeared. Five years ago, she would have found his remarks delightful and would have patted his hand with her delicate touch which had reached past the delirium of his fever to help pull him back to health. He asked only, "Are you ready to go down?"

Silently, she nodded. He picked up her fingers and raised them to his lips. There was no kindness in the motion, for his eyes reflected his true sentiments as they drilled deep into hers.

Neither spoke as they went down the stairs and into the dining room that was just off the front hall which served as the lobby. When he had seated her at one end of the single table, Nicholas excused himself brusquely. Her eyes followed him as he went into the taproom at the far end of the room.

Rebecca was staring so intensely at her hands in her lap that she was startled when a male voice spoke to her. She looked up to see a man standing behind her. "Yes?" she asked.

The man bowed slightly in her direction. He was an attractive man with light brown hair that curled on his forehead. His clothes were wrinkled slightly, so she guessed he was also a traveler taking shelter for the night in this wayside inn. "My dear lady, my name is Winfield Harding. I see you sitting here so alone."

As he paused, she said, "I am Rebecca Nor -- I mean, Rebecca Wythe, sir."

"It would be a pity for such a lovely lady to dine alone. May I make you the offer of my company for dinner, Miss Wythe?"

She was about to refuse when a hard voice sounded behind them. Fear crossed her mobile face as she saw Nicholas with a mug of beer and a glass of wine in his hands. She wondered how much of the conversation he had heard. Although she had no reason to feel guilty, she knew he would not see it that way. "This lady, who is Mrs. Wythe, is not alone, sir. If you would be so good as to step aside, I would like to join my wife for our evening repast."

Harding faced the man who was several inches taller than him. He glanced from the terror on the woman's face to the anger on her husband's. Wrongly, he translated it to mean she expected Wythe to demand satisfaction from him. With a quick apology, he scurried away before either could say anything else.

"Here, Rebecca," said Nicholas, tightly, as he placed the wineglass in front of her. "I trust there won't be a repetition of this wherever we go. I admit an ignorance of exactly how you colonials deal with such things, but I don't want my wife flirting with every man she meets."

"Me? Flirting?" she cried. "You are impossible, Nicholas Wythe! I was just sitting here when Mr. Harding came over. I didn't want to take supper with him, and I do not want to take supper with you!"

When she started to rise, he put his hand on her arm and tugged her back into her chair. A sharp pain ran along her shoulders from the forceful movement. She pulled away and rubbed her wrenched elbow. "Sit down, Rebecca!"

"I will stay only if you stop treating me as if I have no feelings. If you hate me so much, why are you dragging me away to England?"

Taking a large sip from his tankard of beer, he replied much more calmly, "You refuse to understand, don't you? I -- Oh, good evening."

She looked up to see the innkeeper. Mutely, she listened as the two of them discussed the evening's offerings. While Nicholas ordered for her, she played with the stem of the goblet. She did not raise it to her lips. She did not want the wine to confuse her mind. All her wits would be necessary when she faced what must be later this evening.

When the food arrived, she toyed with it in the same manner. Although she had not eaten all day, she was too nervous to enjoy her meal. If Nicholas spoke to her, she answered in monosyllables or not at all. Like a warm cloak on a midwinter night, she wrapped her misery around her to protect herself from more hurt.

How could she eat this food when she had spent so much time selecting the menu she had planned to prepare for Keith on this most special night? She pushed the food around on the plate. It was not until Nicholas put his hand under her elbow that she noticed that he had finished, and he politely was aiding her to her feet.

As her eyes were caught by his, she could not stop the spasm of fear that raced across her face. They would be going back up to that empty room on the second floor which would be the site of their honeymoon. When she saw the rage erupting in his explosive, black eyes, her terror grew. Her imagination supplied too many sordid details of the lovemaking he would force her to endure.

"Come along, Rebecca," he said, quietly. "It's been a long day for you. Tomorrow we have an equally long journey. I think you should go to bed now."

Without a mirror, she knew her face was colorless. Although she tried, she could not force any words past the blockage in her throat. Compliantly, she walked out of the dining room and up the stairs. The time she had dreaded all day had come. It would be best if she let him do as he wanted and have it over. Her best hope would be to give him the heir he obviously wanted as quickly as possible. Then, perhaps, he would do as other gentlemen did and take himself a mistress. That was her best and only hope.

As they reached the door of their room, she said quietly to break the oppressive silence between them, "That was a delicious meal. Thank you."

"How would you know if it was tasty? You didn't take more than three bites during the whole meal."

She did not answer because she knew anything she might say would enrage him more. When he opened the door, she fought to keep her hands from trembling. He pushed the door open, and she stepped past him.

As he closed the portal, his arm snaked around her waist and pulled her back to him. When he kissed her, she stood without moving. In a husky whisper, he asked, "Can't you pretend to feel something when I hold you, Rebecca? In the carriage, when you awoke in my arms, I could feel fire deep within you. Find a bit more of it to share with me now, sweetheart."

"No!" she gasped. "I cannot pretend anything. This afternoon was a mistake. I was dreaming you were -- " She paused as she saw the rage increase on his scowling face. "All I can show you is how much I hate you, Nicholas Wythe."

"Hate?" With a harsh shove, he pushed her back against the bed. He laughed as she tried to scramble away from its lushness. Easily, he kept her from escaping him by putting his arms out on either side of her. Inexorably, he pressed her back onto the coverlet with the strength of his body.

All fright she had known was eclipsed by what she experienced as he forced her clawing hands to her sides. As his lips explored her throat where her pulse beat rapidly, she wished herself away from this man. If she had known five years before that he would return to rape her, she would have let him die.

He raised his head to look into her tearfilled eyes. He could read her thoughts as clearly as if she had written them across her forehead. It was time that Rebecca knew the truth. "Sweetheart, you shouldn't hate me. I saved you from a marriage which would have made you miserable. You should thank me for what I did."

"Thank you?" She stood shakily. His nearness unnerved her far more than she had thought. "You think you know everything, don't you? The all wise lord of the manor! This time you are very, very wrong! Keith would have made me very happy. I love him, and he loves me."

Nicholas chuckled again, as he stood. It would serve her right to learn the truth. "And marrying him would have made Hart very happy, right?"

"What are you talking about?" Her eyes narrowed as she searched his face. She wondered what trickery he was up to. "Of course, it would have made Hart happy for me to marry Keith. They are friends. My brother would not have forced me to wed Keith or anyone else."

"It wasn't just coincidence I was at the church today, dear wife. I have been spending the last few days doing some checking into what had been happening to you since we last met. Did you know that your brother owed your onetime fiancÈ a great deal of money?"

Confusion replaced the anger on her face. She did not like the track of this conversation. Already she could tell where he intended it to lead. "Hart owed money to Keith? What does that have to do with me? Their business dealings don't include me."

"That is where you are very wrong, Rebecca." His fingers came up to stroke her face with the gentleness of a lover. She was so astounded by what he was implying that she did not try to pull away from him. "Sweetheart, you are the one thing of value that your brother possessed that Bennett wanted. He did not want your cabin or your fine farm, for he did not want to be involved in the day-to-day work to maintain them. Instead he wanted the prettiest lass he had ever seen. You were the way Hart planned to clear the slate of his debts. I don't know if you were lucky or not that Bennett decided that he wanted you for his wife and not simply as his mistress."

Wrenching herself away from the words he was twisting around her, she moved to the dressing table. In a whisper, she said, "I don't believe you, Nicholas. Keith loves me. You heard what he said. He's coming to get me."

"No, he won't come. Hold onto your foolish dreams if they give you comfort, but don't expect Bennett to chase you across the ocean to wrest you back from me. He doesn't want you that much. There will be other women for him. I wish I could convince you that I'm telling you the truth. I would never lie to you, Rebecca. You saved my life. All I want to do is share that life with you."

As he had been speaking, he came to stand behind her. He put his hands on her shoulders, but when he felt her flinch, he drew them away. He knew there was no way he could tear down the wall she was erecting between them without breaking her will. Gently he kissed the top of her head again as he had in the carriage. "Good night, my dear. Sleep well."

As she had before, she turned to watch him go to the door. This time, she was not foolish enough to give him an opportunity to stay. Although she was curious as to why he was leaving and where he was going, all she said was, "Should I be ready by a certain time in the morning?"

"By eight will be early enough, Rebecca." He paused as he put his hand on the latch. "Don't be so foolish as to try to run away from me. Don't force me to do something both of us will regret."

"Good night." There was no emotion in her voice. She did not look at him as she turned to pick up her nightgown on the foot of the bed. Only when she heard the door close did a half-sob escape the depths of her aching heart.

Rebecca stared at the nightclothes in her hands. Her fingers touched the delicate lace at the deep neckline and full cuffs as her eyes filled with tears. She should be wrapped in her darling's arms as they shared the love they could give to each other. With a sigh, she told herself, with more than a touch of irony, that she was lucky to be sleeping alone.

For a moment, Nicholas's face filled her mind. He had changed very much in five years also. The stress of his wartime experiences had furrowed the face of the young man he had been when she had exchanged marital vows with him. At the time his head had been so swathed in makeshift bandages that she had been unable to see his hair which matched his black eyes. Then she had not realized how incredibly handsome and diabolical he could appear.

She did not understand why he was leaving her alone, although she was very thankful he was not with her. His desire for her was clear in his kisses which persisted despite her reluctance. It was obvious also in the way he touched her whenever he could. His jealousy when she talked to another man was an additional symptom of that frustrated yearning. If she had missed all other clues, she would have seen it in his eyes. Nicholas wanted very badly to make her his wife in more than name, but, for some reason, he was making no effort to force her to sleep with him.

There was much she did not begin to understand about the man who was her husband. One minute he was as cold as a midwinter sunrise, the next he was asking her to respond to his kiss as if her feelings were of the utmost importance to him. He was a puzzle she did not want to solve. All she wanted was for her sweetheart to rescue her from this madness.

She could not believe the account Nicholas had given her of why Hart had been so pleased to see Keith courting her. It was simply silly. Admittedly money had been scarce for the past few years, but neighbors helped one another. She could not conceive of the idea that her brother would sell her to settle his debts.

With a frown, she undressed behind the screen. No, she did not believe a word of it. Nicholas was only defaming the two men she loved when they could not defend themselves.

Rebecca pushed the heavy bench against the door. She was a prisoner in this room, but she was determined that Nicholas would be given no chance to change his mind. Only with the bench in front of the door would she be able to sleep tonight.

When her head rested on the pillow, she hid her face in its freshly cleaned pillowcase. For all the long, dark hours of the night, she remained like that as she fought the demons of despair that longed to overwhelm and destroy her. She would not give into them. She would fight Nicholas Wythe's advances and await Keith's arrival at Foxbridge Cloister, wherever that was.

Chapter Three

The carriage stopped by the pier shadowed by the great ship. The more than two day long overland journey was over, though they had a far more lengthy and tedious sojourn ahead of them. Last night the weary travelers had slept in another simple roadside inn. Again Rebecca had been left alone in her room. Although Nicholas had demanded a kiss before he had retired to sleep elsewhere, he had not pressed her in any other way.

She continued to be confused by his bizarre actions. If he wanted to be her lover, she did not know why he waited. Sometimes she thought he despised her as much as she hated him, but, if that had been the case, there was no sense in bringing her with him to England. He could have returned by himself with no one being the wiser. She would have married Keith, and Nicholas could have wed a woman who would not have spurned him.

"Here we are, Rebecca," he said, interrupting her thoughts.

Looking out the window, she was awed by the sight of one of the large, sailing ships that were most at home on the sea. The sails were still furled, so the masts were black fingers pointing skyward. Every bit of the rigging was silhouetted sharply against the blue sky. On the deck, she could see men straining with other ropes and doing jobs that were incomprehensible to her. She knew they had arrived with little time to spare before the raising of the anchor.

Nicholas made arrangements for the loading of their bags before he turned to assist Rebecca from the vehicle. "There she is, my dear. The magic vehicle that will take you to Foxbridge Cloister. Neptune's Prize is her name. She will take us home."

"To your home," she said tartly. She took his fingers as she stepped from the carriage.

"To our home, my sweet," he replied. It seemed his wife was determined to become a shrew. Every word he said to her was repudiated or questioned. "Let's go aboard. Her master, Captain Jennings, is an old friend from prewar days. He did some shipping for the Wythe family. Now he will be our host."

She stopped, and he turned to face her. "Please, Nicholas, reconsider before it is too late. Let me stay here in America. Whatever you want in exchange, I will try to get it for you. We do not have much money, but I doubt if someone with a title like Lord Foxbridge has a need for money. Don't take me with you. Please!"

His fingers slipped along her pale cheek to the nape of her neck. Entwining them in the thick, brown hair swept up into her conservative hairstyle, he pulled her head back so he could see her face. The expression of fear was blatant on her features, although she no longer cringed away from him each time he touched her.

In a tone as black as his snapping eyes, he stated in a tight whisper, "You do not seem to understand that I want you. You are my wife, and I have no desire to trade you for anything or anyone else. I don't want to hear anymore of this begging to be left behind. If I stepped aboard that ship and left you here, what would you do? You could not get three paces along these docks before you would find that you had gained a new friend who would not be as willing as I to let you have a bed to yourself." Taking her hand and placing it on his arm, he said, "Come along, Rebecca."

Mutely, she walked beside him as they stepped down the stairs leading to the pier. Her hand on his arm trembled with her suppressed emotions. She swayed as she walked along the wooden platform, but it had nothing to do with her sorrow. She had felt a sense of nausea from the moment she had woken this morning. At first, she had thought it was simply a reaction to the horrible disruption of her life, but it seemed to be more than that. Nicholas had not noticed her increasing ill feeling because he had grown accustomed to her silence as they rode mile after mile. After a few attempts to have her join in what amounted to a monologue, he had given up and spent the time reading a book he took from his bags on one of their frequent stops to water or change the horses.

When they climbed the steep gangplank, she lifted her skirts so she would not step on the front of her hem. Nicholas took her hand to aid her up the wide board.

At the top, a man was waiting for them with a smile on his mahogany face. He was introduced to Rebecca as Captain Drew Jennings. Whether the man was in his thirties or fifties, it was impossible to tell. His hair was bleached by the sun to the white of age and his face lined with the wrinkles of skin which has been exposed to the brilliant rays of light reflected off the sea. He wore a casual assortment of loose shirts and knee breeches, but no stockings or shoes. When her shoes slipped on the wet deck, she understood why.

"Nicholas, I was beginning to wonder if you had decided to stay in America a bit longer," joked the man in his deep voice that would resonant over the howling wind of a tempest.

"No, no, I have seen all of this blasted wilderness that I ever wish to see. I'll be glad to see the walls of Foxbridge Cloister and the quiet gardens."

She was grateful she was looking elsewhere when Nicholas spoke the words that told her that she was leaving her home forever. He had no plans to bring her back, even for a visit. She swallowed roughly as she thought of never speaking with Hart and Aunt Dena again. The idea of not being with Keith was too impossible to imagine. How she wished she could awaken from this nightmare!

Captain Jennings was saying, "That's right. I should call you 'Lord Foxbridge,' shouldn't I? I was astonished to hear about Brad getting himself killed in a duel, but it's hardly a surprise considering the lifestyle and friends he had acquired in London."

"No, not a surprise, but still a shock. I'm sure Mother is still in mourning. She always had pinned her hopes on him being a fine lord." He laughed without humor. "I guess she knew that I would be too busy seeking adventure elsewhere to want to settle down to the life of a country squire. After this war and being a prisoner for more than four, endless years, I am ready for that life with my family and my wife."

The mention of Rebecca brought the two men's attention back to her. Although they had been involved in their conversation and had forgotten her for a moment, none of the other men on the deck had. They had been staring openly at her. The coarse dress of homespun and heavy lace could not disguise her beauty which outshone any woman who had comforted them in exchange for gold during their short shore leaves.

"My dear Lady Foxbridge," said the captain graciously, "I can see why Nicholas risked missing our sailing in order to marry you and bring you with him to Foxbridge Cloister."

Coldly she replied, "Captain, we were married nearly five years ago. Nicholas just returned to find me."

"Five years ago?" the startled man gasped. He wondered what his friend had been thinking. Lady Foxbridge could not be twenty years old.

Nicholas answered smoothly as he put his arm around his wife and pulled her close, "Yes, five years. It was quite a surprise for Rebecca to discover me alive. She had thought I had died in the battle when we were captured. So this is all a sudden change for her." He glanced down at her pale face.

"Drew, how about showing us our cabin before you get involved in heading out to sea?"

"This way." He looked back over his shoulder in bafflement. Something was not right between Nicholas and his lady. She did not act like a woman who had discovered her adored husband had eluded death to reclaim her heart. It was wiser to say nothing. One of the reasons he lived upon the sea was to avoid involvement in domestic squabbles.

The room he led them to was cramped even in comparison with the conditions Rebecca had been accustomed to. A single, wide bunk was attached to the wall. Underneath it were drawers for storage. Although there were only, in addition, a table and a single chair in the quarters, it was crowded when all three of them stepped entered.

Her eyes widened as she saw Nicholas's bags on the table next to her own. Unlike the nights on the way to New York City, they would be sharing this small room. She knew better than to say anything. Captain Jennings was still talking to Nicholas. To say something in front of him would prove an embarrassment to her husband. She was sure Nicholas would not accept such easily.

Forcing her feet to move, she sat on the bed. She tried to breathe shallowly to convince her stomach to stop churning. The steady rise and fall of the ship created a dizzy feeling in her head which made her middle feel as if it were steadily climbing toward her mouth.

Nicholas turned and said, "Darling, Drew has asked us to join him up on the bridge for a while. Would you like to see the Prize set sail, or do you want to rest after our long trip?"

"Go ahead without me," she said softly. She was aware that he had become tired of her lack of cooperation. She did not feel like fighting with him any longer. "I'll stay here for a while."

He bent to kiss the top of her head. "Rest, Rebecca. I will be back later." She was sure his kindness was only show for his friend.

The door did not close quick enough to mask the captain's words. A flush heated her skin as she heard him say, "Nicholas, my friend, you had better let your young bride have some sleep. She looks positively peaked. I can understand your desire for such a woman, but don't forget you have your whole lives together." His chuckle sent a wave of shame over her. Whatever her husband replied was muffled as they walked away.

She hid her face in the pillows which reeked of the mildew that inhabited everything on the ship. The only thing interesting these men was the marital relationship she did not share with Nicholas. She no longer had any identity of her own. Rebecca North had ceased to exist. She was Lady Foxbridge, wife of Lord Foxbridge. Mrs. Nicholas Wythe. Simply an extension of her husband and seemingly of value solely for the entertainment she could give her husband and the children she would bear to inherit his estate.

In misery, Rebecca huddled on the bed. Her arms wrapped lightly around her anguished abdomen. All thoughts but of her own abject feelings fled from her mind. Time passed with eternal slowness. She was afraid to move, for she knew that she would be sick as soon as she did.

When the ship left the harbor for the open sea, she had no idea. The movement adding to her discomfort only became augmented as the Prize raised her white sails and sought deeper water and a port thousands of miles to the east. Occasionally bits of conversation and the sound of footsteps came through the open window or along the beams over her head. She could pay them no mind.

She had heard tales of seasickness from her aunt who had crossed the ocean as a child. In her wretchedness, she understood how it could kill its victims by wrenching their insides into knots. All she wanted was an end to this sickness and to this horrible life that had broken her heart into so many pieces she did not know if she ever would be able to mend it.

Nicholas was smiling as he walked along the passageway. He loved being at sea. At one time, when he was a youngster of about eleven, he seriously had considered running away to sign aboard a ship as a cabin boy. His father had gotten wind of the project and had vetoed it. Living in Foxbridge Cloister overlooking the western coast of England had whetted his appetite for the salt smell of the sea winds and the pulsating sound of the waves bashing themselves against the wooden bow of a ship.

His hair was damp with sea spray and his clothes stained with the brine that covered everything and everyone on the ship. He did not care that his fine suit was ruined. When he returned home, he intended to rid himself of everything that he had obtained in America, except for sweet Rebecca. He wondered what was wrong with her. She was quieter than usual. Perhaps her hatred for him was growing, although he did not think that possible. He had no ideas of how to change her opinion of him. The truth she ignored, and his kindness she treated as a new form of sadism.

When he opened the door to the tiny quarters they would have to share, for they were the only passenger quarters on the ship, all thoughts of changing Rebecca left his mind. His eyes went directly to the bunk where she moaned in obvious agony as she clutched her midsection. In two long steps, he had crossed the room. "Sweetheart, what is wrong?"

At the sound of his voice, her anguished eyes turned to him. "I'm so sick, Nicholas. Help me, please." In her desperation, her antipathy had dissolved. He was the only one she had to depend on.

"Let me take off your jacket, so you will be more comfortable." He slipped his arm under her shoulders to help her sit.

While she was pulling her coat off, her trembling fingers paused. She moaned as her face turned the same green-grey as the sea. He took one glance at her face and reached for a bucket holding water. Tossing the water out of the window, he placed the wooden pail on the floor. He held her head while she was ill. When her retching ceased, he rolled her gently so she rested on the pillows once more. He placed a dampened cloth on her forehead, and she groaned.

"Feeling any better, Rebecca?"

"No," she whispered. "Take me home. Tell them to turn around and take me back to shore. I shall die if this continues."

He chuckled lightly. "Seasick?"

"What else could it be?" she snapped with sudden heat. His humor irritated her so much that she would have slapped his face if her hands had had the strength.

With a shrug, he said reasonably, "It could be several things. Morning sickness, for example. You have been looking very pale since morning."

"It can't be morning sickness!" She put the back of her hand on her forehead as she fought to breathe without irritating the pain in her stomach. She struggled to keep from moaning in the unrelenting distress of her middle. "I cannot be pregnant!"

"No?" His eyes glowed with the fire she knew was smouldering directly behind his courteous exterior. He had never made any efforts to hide it. "So your wonderful Keith Bennett never bedded you to be sure that you were worth what your brother owed him?" He caressed her cheek. "I'm surprised, but delighted that you are as untouched as the day we wed."

She started to retort but only groaned as her stomach revolted again. As he had before, Nicholas held her while she was sick and aided her back onto the bunk. She shook with the strength of the nausea ravaging her. For that reason alone, she clung to him. "Don't be cruel to me now, Nicholas," she murmured. "I can't fight both you and this sickness inside me. If you must be mean to me, do it later."

He replaced the damp cloth on her forehead. "I don't want to be cruel to you ever. I would far rather be kind to you, but you make it impossible."

Her eyes creaked open as she looked up into his blurred features. "Damn you, Nicholas Wythe. All you care about is the fact that you can be the first to bed me. You don't care one bit that I am so miserable I wish I was dead. I wish I had not come out to the barn to discover you that day until you were beyond help."

"Rebecca, that's enough!" he retorted sternly.

"What?" she asked in a sharp voice that cracked on the single word. "Does his high and mighty lordship dislike hearing the truth?" Her words faded into a moan of torment. She turned her back on him to face the wall.

He did not dare to touch her to bring her to face him so he could force her to see the reality she continued to disbelieve. If she was moved, she could become ill again. He hoped she would recover quickly. Although he had never suffered from seasickness, he had seen its debilitating effects. Such a long voyage as the one ahead of them could be fatal to someone who was ill before they had left behind them the land visible on the horizon as a low, grey cloud.

As he saw her shoulders shake, he knew that in the weakness of her tortured body she had lost the strong will to hide her tears from him. Except for the one time she had cried in the carriage, he had not seen her shed a tear, although too often he had seen them gleaming in her eyes. He had expected her to be unhappy to leave her familiar world, but she was trying to hold it all inside her. With no one was she sharing her sorrow.

He put his hands on her arms to stroke her softly through the coarse material of her shirt. Soon he would have her dressed in satins and silk that her loveliness demanded. If she could believe that he longed to make her happy, she might be able to see past her sorrow.

"Leave me alone!" she pleaded through her sobs. "I know I will have to endure sleeping in your bed, but can't you have the decency to leave me alone now?"

Wounded by the loathing in her voice when he only had been trying to comfort her, he stood and walked away from the bunk. He wondered if this could be the same woman he had remembered with such fondness from their last meeting. Then Rebecca had been a delightful child, more interested in his well-being than her own life which could have been forfeit for harboring the last surviving man of a mission that had into a suicide assignment. He had been one of the despised English soldiers who represented the overlord whom these proud, independent yeomen had turned their backs upon in derision.

He sat in the chair by the table and was silent. Rebecca did not want his sympathy, but he could not leave her alone in her misery. Whether she could accept the fact or not, she needed him as he had depended on her so long ago. As she could not have left him to die, he could not abandon her.

When she was asleep, Nicholas opened her bag to search for a clean nightdress for her to redress in when she awoke. As he pulled out one, a piece of paper floated to the floor. He bent to pick up it and could not contain his curiosity as he unfolded the time-yellowed paper. His eyes widened in shock as he saw it was a letter dated "July 1777."

Dear Rebecca,

The hour is late, but I wanted you to know that I am doing better every day. My recovery is because of you. The doctor says by next week, I will be able to resume my command. Although that is good news, it means going back to fight this war which seems so endless. I am tired of the war, but I will have to do as I have vowed when I became a captain in service to the king you despise so deeply.

I hope you are well, little wife. Have you kept the promise that you would tell no one of our wedding? Be brave, Rebecca. If I survive this conflict, I will set this whole thing right for you. I know it would not be easy for you to be married to a man you do not know. If it is meant that I should come back to you, we will work it out as you want. I just did not want to die without thanking you for your sweet compassion for a wounded stranger.

The candle burns low, so I will stop now. As I fall asleep, I am thinking of a little lass with long, dark braids and a laugh that teases starlight from the sky to twinkle merrily in her eyes. Take care, Rebecca. I wish I could hear how you and your family are doing, but I have no address I can give you to write to me. Somehow, I will find a way to get this to you. You know that I am thinking of you with fondness and gratitude.

I remain your devoted friend and

Your husband,

Captain Nicholas Wythe

Nicholas looked from the letter to the pale face of the woman. When he had written that note, it had been a scant two weeks before the battle where his commander had surrendered their unit to the Continentals. He had given the letter to one of their scouts to post secretly so it would reach Rebecca. After his capture, he had been unable to write for fear of compromising Rebecca and her family. At the height of the conflict, it would have been dangerous to be known to have a friend on the wrong side.

All these years, she had kept his letters. She even had planned to take them with her to Bennett's house. He wondered how she would have explained to her second husband about her first marriage. Bennett would never have believed that it had been a totally chaste relationship. If he had discovered these letters or their marriage lines, he would have made her suffer.

Carefully, he refolded the letter and put it back in the case. Perhaps Rebecca had not changed that much. It would have been characteristic of the young girl who had aided him to treasure the letters sent to her by her husband who was a stranger. He recalled she had said she anxiously had waited for a year to hear from him. When he had asked her to be his wife, he had not given any thought to the sorrow she would suffer if he died. He was sure there was no one else who would have waited so patiently and mourned so deeply for him.

As Rebecca slumbered, he walked over to gaze down into her face. She was incredibly lovely. >From the second she had walked into the church on her brother's arm, he had known no man would convince him to release her from their marriage. When she had turned to look into his eyes as she went to marry another man, he had seen the fiery spirit of Rebecca North Wythe was unchanged. At that moment, he had known he must have her as his own. In sleep, her face had softened to the sweetness which had been on her features that morning.

If anything had altered Rebecca, it had been his interruption of her wedding. In that moment, the gentle child had been shoved aside to enable her to become hard to deal with her broken heart. Yet he knew the gentleness remained. On the trip, he had seen her talking sweetly to everyone but him. When she thought he did not see, she had gone to admire wildflowers by the side of the road while their horses were exchanged for fresh ones. She had charmed their coach driver so much that the drab man had unbent enough to smile at her whenever she spoke to him.

Only to her husband was she cold. He wondered if she would ever forgive him for taking away from what she saw as the realization of her dreams. If she did not learn on the trip, she would learn after their arrival at Foxbridge Cloister, that she would need an ally to help her face what awaited her there. It would not be easy for Rebecca Wythe to become Lady Foxbridge, and there would be some eager to see her fail.

With a smile, he bent to kiss her forehead. His happy expression faded as he placed his palm where his lips had been. He cursed under his breath. Rebecca was not seasick. She was ill with a fever. After he had tucked the blankets around her, he went to the door. Although he did not think he would wake her, he closed it quietly.

"Jake!" he called to a youngster he recognized as the cabin boy of the Prize. "Go to Captain Jennings, and tell him Lord Foxbridge requires his presence immediately. It's an emergency, but speak to no one but the captain about this. Understand?"

Shaken by the urgency in the man's voice, the boy said, "Aye, my lord." He spun and raced up the steps to the upper deck.

Nicholas went back into the small room. There was only one window, but he opened it wider to freshen the room. The stagnant smell of sickness would hurt Rebecca in her recovery.

After a second of hesitation, he went to the bed. He loosened the collar of her gown. Pushing aside the blankets, he removed her high shoes and heavy stockings. With a sharp tug, he ripped her cumbersome petticoats from under her dress. He did not want to disturb her by trying to untie them. In her plain gown, she would be as comfortable as in her nightgown.

She did not acknowledge his actions, except to moan softly as he put the blankets over her again. He knew she was lost in agony. There was no medical man on the ship, so she would have to fight whatever was making her ill with her own resources.

A knock on the door cut through his reverie. He opened it. "Come in, Drew. I thought you would want to know about this."

The shorter man took one look at her and said, "What is it?"

"A fever. Whether it is contagious or not, I don't know. I noticed she was exceptionally quiet today, and you yourself said she looked pale. If I had known she was ill, I wouldn't have brought her aboard."

Jennings frowned. "I wish you hadn't. If she was not your wife, my friend, I would put her in the hold until she died, so the rest of us would not be contaminated."

His voice tight with anger, he retorted, "Drew, I don't want to hear of that even in joking. Rebecca cannot be moved. The man who tries such will have to get by me first." The threat of violence marred his worried voice. "I'll stay here to tend her. I just wanted to let you know of your possible danger, for you are the only one she has had contact with other than me."

"We will leave your meals in the passageway. If you need anything, give us a note on the dirtied dishes. If she dies, we can't take her corpse all the way to -- " He paused as he saw the murderous look on Nicholas's face.

"You needn't worry about that, Captain. She will survive. I shall inform you when she's better. I bid you good day."

Briefly, rage raced through Jennings. The Prize was his ship, and he was not used to being dismissed by a lord of the realm as if he were the lowest cabin boy. Then he sighed. He could not blame Nicholas for his uneven temper when the man's wife could be on her deathbed. Lord Foxbridge seemingly was besotted with his newly rediscovered bride. "If you need anything, let us know," he said in a much calmer tone.

The black-haired man sighed. "I will."

Even before the door had closed, Nicholas had returned to the bed to wet another the cloth and put it on her forehead to try to cool her heated skin. As he had not done for years, he prayed. She must survive. He had waited almost five years for Rebecca. He did not want to lose her again so quickly.

*** *** ***

"Aunt Dena?" came the whisper from the bed.

A soft masculine chuckle filled the small room. "No, my dear. Your Aunt Dena isn't here. How are you feeling?"

Rebecca's eyes blinked open to see the darkness lit by a single taper. She had no idea where she was. This was not her room, for her room did not sway with a gentle motion as if she were a babe in its cradle. When a shadowed face came into her view, she raised trembling fingers to touch it.

"Keith?" she murmured, sleepily.

"I'm afraid not." Nicholas knelt on the floor next to the bunk. Slipping his arm beneath her shoulders, he tilted her toward him. "I hope I will do, Rebecca."

His mouth descended hungrily onto hers. Still floundering in her world of delirium, she was not quite aware of her own actions as her arms slid along his arms to wrap around his shoulders, and she answered his kiss with her own fervor. In her clouded mind, a burst of light cleared away some of the cobwebs. She was suffused with a yearning to be close to this man who brought such delight to her with a single kiss.

When his lips tasted the skin along her neck, she gave a gasp of undisguised pleasure. Her weak fingers tangled in the untied thickness of his hair. His heated breath against her skin sent waves of ecstasy through her in rhythm with the ones rocking the ship.

She felt herself being lifted, but she was placed again on the bed. Only when the man stretched out next to her did she understand why she had been moved. His eager kiss wiped all other thoughts from her mind. Her lips welcomed his. As his legs entwined with hers, he pulled her close to the sturdy line of his body. He rolled her onto her back so she could feel all of him pressed into her.

Unsteadily, she wavered between consciousness and sleep. The touch of his hands as he stroked her enticingly began to vanish into senselessness. Her body became lighter than a piece of fluff floating on the breeze, and the one above her disappeared. Every bit of herself was washed away into a bliss.

Nicholas smiled as he saw Rebecca fade into sleep. He had thought she was not fully awake when she had gathered him to her. Still, this was a sample of the passion he had expected from his wife. Although he was sure she had not been cognizant of his identity, her reactions to his kisses were unfaked.

Having sampled her lusciousness, he wondered how long he could wait for her to invite him to share her bed. It would not be long. He wanted Rebecca, as he had since that moment he had seen her in the church and had known that this beautiful woman was his.

Getting himself comfortable on the hard bed, he drew her close to him. Her head rested on his shoulder, and her body reformed along his in sleep. Through the thinness of her frock, he could feel the lithe lines of her body. A lightning-hot bolt of desire raced through him as he longed to make love with her. Soon, he promised himself. Now he simply would enjoy her lying in his arms. With her warmth next to him, he dozed also, dreaming of the pleasure that awaited him.

Chapter Four

Rebecca woke with memories of anguish and a ravenous hunger which seemed insatiable. Her brow furrowed as she looked around in confusion. It took several seconds for her to remember that she was on a ship bound for England. She wondered what had happened. Although she could recall coming aboard the ship whose name she could not remember, everything else was a bizarre collage of what was fact and the fantasy of a fevered mind.

"Nicholas?" she whispered. She needed someone. It did not matter that he was the man who had wrecked her dreams.

Instantly, he appeared in front of her eyes as if he had materialized from thin air. His hand rested momentarily on her forehead. He smiled as he felt how cool her skin was. Quickly he bent to place a light kiss where his hand had touched. "How are you feeling, Rebecca? You have been quite ill."

"Ill?" she questioned weakly. "Is that what has been happening? I can't remember anything but bits and pieces of things I don't think were real."

He slid his arm under her shoulders and raised her to take a drink of cold broth. For days, he had had a cup waiting for her when she finally awoke long enough to be hungry. Greedily, she swallowed the soup. She closed her eyes as he placed her against the pillows again. She was so grateful to him that she did not object when he sat next to her on the bed. Gazing up at him, she saw that his face was shadowed with the scruffy beginnings of beard. It told her that he had been devoting himself to her care for several days.

"How long, Nicholas?"

"Five days, sweetheart. I don't know what it was that you contracted, but it nearly killed you." He put out his hand to stroke her tangled hair. "You are getting well, and that is all that matters."

In a whisper, she said, "Thank you for saving my life. I guess that makes us even, doesn't it?"

"My dear Rebecca, do not think of my crude nursing as an effort to even the balance of debts between us. I did not enjoy seeing you suffering in the depths of your fever. I did not like the idea of putting you in the stuffy darkness of the hold to die like some unwanted animal." His eyes narrowed in the expression he wore when he was trying to delve deeply into a quandary. "Or is this your latest bid to convince me to release you from our marriage?"

Shocked by his abrupt fury, she stated quietly, "I don't care a whit about our marriage. What kind of marriage is it when a simple thank you is twisted and thrown back into my face? Nor do I care a bit if you helped me get well for kindness sake or simply so you could have me to abuse longer. I'm very fatigued. I would be grateful if you simply would leave me alone so I can sleep."

Her eyes closed. When Nicholas started to speak, he saw that she intended to pretend he did not exist. For a moment, he stared at her. It was useless to argue when she could use her sickness as an excuse to push him away.

Suddenly anger filled him. He had devoted nearly a week to her care. The only time she had seemed grateful was when she had been in the flush of her sickness and had let him hold her close. As soon as she began to get better, she showed how much she hated him.

Rising, he went to the door. It slammed loudly as he went out for his first fresh air in days. Let Rebecca take care of herself. He could enjoy himself playing cards with the crew and the captain of the Prize. He did not need to spend his time acting as a nursemaid to an ungrateful wench.

Tears rolled from Rebecca's eyes as she heard the crash of the door. She could not believe that Nicholas could be so vicious when she was so ill. When she had tried to thank him by telling him that she appreciated his efforts as much as he had hers, he had turned on her in a vile, verbal attack.

For the rest of the long years of her life, she would be tied to this man who wanted only one thing from her. She feared that if she learned to feel anything but antipathy for him, she would be hurt that much more when he tired of her. That he would grow bored with her, she did not doubt. What could a backwoods maiden offer to a man who had lived on two continents and had been raised in a world where the people might speak regularly with the royal family?

It had seemed so exciting to marry this handsome man who told her tales that had seemed like fairy tales of large houses and titled people. What she had not realized was that Nicholas was not a simple soldier seeking his way back to his unit. He had been telling her of his real life when she had thought he was delirious or trying to entertain her.

There was no place for Rebecca North. . .She corrected herself with a sharp pulse of pain. There was no place for Rebecca Wythe in that world. It would be impossible for her to fit in. Perhaps if she had been raised in Philadelphia or Boston or Williamsburg, she would have known how to talk to people who would view her as a most queer Lady Foxbridge.

In a soft whisper, she begged the night, "Let me go home. Let me go home, please." On the last word, her voice shattered into sobs.

*** *** ***

For the next two weeks, Rebecca slowly recovered. Occasionally she saw Nicholas when he came into the room to retrieve clean clothes. He spoke only a greeting or asked her how she was feeling. She replied in a small voice, afraid of arousing the wrath she could see glittering in his eyes.

Otherwise, during that time, she rested and ate the food delivered by a kind boy named Jake. Sometimes he stayed and talked. She learned he had run away from home when he was only eight to seek a life on the sea. His widowed mother had remarried a man he did not like, so he had decided to take control of his own destiny. Since then he had sailed on the Prize, first as a kind of unofficial mascot, and as a full-fledged cabin boy with duties and a few coins in his pocket at the end of each voyage. She enjoyed his tales of places that she would never see in the Indies and even along the coast of mysterious Africa. In his few years, he had seen things most people could not imagine.

Jake came to look forward to his times visiting Lady Foxbridge. Although she asked him to call her Rebecca, he did not dare to, for he was intimidated by her powerful husband. He did not want Lord Foxbridge to think anything other than innocent conversation was taking place in the cabin where the door always remained ajar when he spoke with the convalescing woman. It was the first time in many years that he had had someone near his own age to talk regularly. She did not laugh when he spoke of his dreams of someday being the master of his own ship which would sail as far away as the Spice Islands and China.

"Enjoy your dreams," she told him more than once. "Hold onto them and savor them. That way, maybe you can make them come true."

Although he had wondered about the sadness in her voice, he refrained from asking her the reason. In her eyes he could see that one of her dreams had been stripped away. He could not understand it. He would have guessed that her life must be a dream come true. A title, a wealthy husband, a beautiful home with servants to anticipate her every need. If he had been able to discern the truth, he would not have believed it.

Day after day, things remained as unchanging as the seascape around them. The waves marching endlessly to the horizon in every direction. Rebecca began to expect that her life would continue in this limbo forever.

Finally, one day nearly three weeks into the voyage, she decided she could not tolerate being in bed any longer. With care, she swung her feet to the floor. She stood and swayed, nearly falling. Balancing between the bed and the chair, she waited until the dizziness vanished as her sea legs steadied. As if it were her greatest victory, she smiled in triumph as she walked the scarce three steps from the bed to the door and back again.

She was up. She was no longer confined to that bed. If she wanted, she could leave the blasted room and breathe in the fresh air which so tantalized her when it blew through the small window. She could not wait another second.

Pulling a clean dress and petticoats from her bag, she stripped off her nightgown and washed herself in the bit of tepid water in the bucket. She drew on the petticoats and tied them behind her. Her smile broadened as she put her dress over them. Even the tedious job of closing all the hooks up the back of the dress would be delightful.

The cabin door opened. Rebecca spun so that her unhooked gown was held together by her hands behind her back. She took a step backward as Nicholas came into the tiny room.

"Up and dressed, my dear?" He smiled, as he added, "Or I should say nearly dressed. Would you like some help hooking up your frock?"

"I can manage alone," she said coolly. The expression of eagerness in his eyes warned that he would prefer to help her undress than dress.

He stepped closer. His foot pushed the door closed with a crash as he put his hands on her arms and whirled her to face the wall. Pulling her fingers away from her gown, he bent and kissed the back of her neck. As he tasted the dulcet flavor of her skin, his arm swept around her waist to draw her back against him.

Rebecca was less shocked by his actions than by her reaction. From deep inside her, a sweet flower of desire blossomed forth from a seed that she could not remember being planted.  From the time of her fever, she could recall a most realistic dream when Nicholas had held her with sweet love that had drawn from her these same yearnings. As his tongue traced the half circle of her ear, she closed her eyes and leaned against his muscular strength. Although she was tempted to twist in his arms to place her mouth against his, he held her motionless, intent on controlling her growing desire.

His mouth slipped along her neck, bringing a weakness to her knees as she felt the urge to surrender totally to the sensuality he brought forth from her. A soft gasp of delight escaped her lips as his fingers reached through the gap of her unhooked gown to caress the lush roundness of her breast. Only his arm around her waist kept her from falling to rest on the hard surface of the bed.

The motion of his hand sliding the sleeve of her dress along her arm brought her back to her senses. "No!" she cried, trying to pull away.

"No?" he repeated in surprise.

She hooked her gown closed with trembling fingers. "Don't touch me, please, Nicholas." Her voice was still breathless from the strong emotions he had brought to life.

"You are my wife. I can touch you whenever and however I please." He pulled her back to him. His hands stroked her, pausing to rest on the hooks, but he did not release any of them. "Why are you fighting me when you know you like it when I caress you, sweetheart?"

Rebecca was not sure how to answer. He was correct. She liked the way he made her feel. Too much. It had been not a month since she said farewell to Keith, but she was ready to turn to this man when his well-practiced techniques aroused her desires. She had to admit that she no longer despised Nicholas. After his kindness during her illness, she would have been a heartless drudge to continue stoking her hatred of him. She did not love him. What he was asking she could not give to a man she did not love.

She was afraid to show him that she was relenting. If she did, he would turn that change to his own advantage. Her best course was to continue as she had from the moment he had informed her that she must go with him to England. Icily, she said, "I don't want to be your lover, Nicholas. It's as simple as that. I know you think you are irresistible, but I don't want you in my bed."

Instead of the explosion she expected, he laughed lightly. "That is hardly news. You have made your opinion clear from the onset." He held out his hand. "Come with me for a stroll on the deck. It's about time you got out of these close quarters."

She stared at him, unsure of what to say. He never reacted as she thought he would. He was irate when she expected gentleness and tender when she was prepared for rage. What type of man was this one she had married? For a week, he had nursed her as compassionately as a loving parent would a child. Then, during the past two weeks, he had acted as if he did not want to admit that she existed. Coming into her room, he was smiling at her as if nothing ever had been wrong between them. It seemed more as if nothing was ever right.

Softly, she said, "Thank you, Nicholas. I would appreciate your company. I want to go up on the deck, but I am still a little unsteady."

"Then, my dear wife, that is all the more reason for you to hold my arm." He smiled disarmingly as he offered his arm. When she took it, he asked, "Do you want your parasol? The sun is bright up there."

She bit her lip to keep from laughing at his honest kindness, but her amusement was not containable. Amid her chuckles, she retorted brightly, "A parasol? Do you think I carried some piece of silk and lace when I went to get the cows from the fields or worked gathering the harvest? I don't own such a thing, and I don't know anyone who does."

Nicholas bent and kissed her cheek which was still too pale. "You shall have a parasol to go with every one of your new outfits when we get back to Foxbridge Cloister, Rebecca. You shall have whatever it is that you want."

For a moment, she was tempted to state that the one thing that she wanted he would not give her. There was no sense in ruining this pleasant time together by repeating what she had told him so many times already. She wanted to go home. She wanted to marry the man she loved.

Regarding the hesitation on her face, Nicholas knew that at last she was learning to accept the inevitable. She was his, and nothing short of death would change that. Gently he turned her in his arms to face him once more. "Don't hate me and what I want to do for you."

"I don't hate you. Not any longer."

He chuckled at the near regret in her voice. It had been easier for her to hate him than to admit that he was not the demon she had labeled him. He put his hands on her cheeks and brought her mouth to his. With the tender kiss, he demanded no more from her than she wanted to give him.

Of their own accord, her hands slid along his sleeves to encircle his neck. When she felt his arms sweep around her, compliantly she let him press her closer. Her eyes opened to look up dreamily into his incredibly handsome face.

With a smile, he kissed her lightly. "Shall we go for that promenade, sweetheart?"

"Yes," she said, knowing how dangerous it was to remain in his arms.

Because her memories were unsure of the time when they had boarded the Prize, it was as if she were seeing the ship for the first time. The great sheets were taut with the wind. All around them, the boards creaked and moaned with the strength of the wind and the resistance of the water as the ship dipped and swayed across the water like a hummingbird seeking to find nectar in springtime flowers.

Nicholas chuckled when she grasped his arm more tightly as her feet slipped on the wet deck. Ignoring his laughter, she sat on a nearby box. In moments, she had removed her shoes and stockings. When he held out his hands for them, she smiled and gave them to him.

"Jake?" he called above the steady sound of the ship racing the wind.

"Aye, my lord? Good morning, Lady Foxbridge. It sure is fine to see you up this morning." The young man had his ready smile on his face.

"It sure is fine to be up this morning," replied Rebecca with a laugh. Taking a deep breath of the salty air, she stared at the rigging so high above her head.

Nicholas held out the footwear. "Lady Foxbridge has decided to emulate you sailors. Would you be so kind as to take these back belowdecks to her cabin?"

"My pleasure, my lord." He dipped his head, grinned once more, and ran easily across the deck to the stairs. His feet compensated for the roll of the ship with unconscious grace.

"He's a good lad," said Nicholas. "Someday he should be a fine captain."

Rebecca smiled softly. "That is his dream."

Although he regarded her strangely, he said nothing. He knew that the cabin boy had been spending time with Rebecca, but had not realized that they had become such good friends that they would share their young dreams of life. For a painful moment, he wondered what she had told Jake of the dreams she clearly thought were gone forever. He wished she would open her eyes and see that he wanted to give her a new set.

She was far more steady as she walked to the railing by his side. As she admired the massive seascape, she was overwhelmed with the solitude in the middle of the ocean. She knew Captain Jennings had tools to help him find his way across the trackless water, but she had no idea where the ship might be. All she saw were the waves which moved in their own tempo from shore to shore. A school of deep water fish paralleled the ship, and she watched with delight. It was comforting to know that they were not alone. Overhead only fluffy clouds decorated the sky.

"What do you think, Rebecca?" she heard Nicholas ask.

"I have never been able to see so many miles," she said in awe. "At home, there are so many tall trees that you cannot see the horizon. Here it is miles away, and there is nothing to block the view."

"Do you like it?"

She did not answer immediately. She had not thought of the sea in that manner. It filled her with reverence of its majesty. It terrified her when she considered its latent power. It delighted her when she saw its beauty. Slowly, she said, "Yes, I think I do, Nicholas. This ocean is like nothing else I have ever seen, but I think I like it."

"That's good. I have loved the ocean as long as I can remember. Of course, it has its other shore not far from Foxbridge Cloister."

In his voice she heard the same tinge of wistfulness she felt when she thought of her family's small cabin in the Connecticut woods. "You have missed Foxbridge Cloister, haven't you?"

He looked into her upturned face. For the first time since he had left her so long ago, Rebecca was reaching out to him in friendship. During the two weeks that he had left her alone, something inside her had changed. Not enough so he could tell her that although he had left her in anger which had erupted from his exhaustion, he had been afraid to return because he did not know if he could resist making love to her.

Honestly he answered, "Yes, I miss my home. It has been more than six years since I left. My brother was shot in a duel two years ago, but I only found out about it six months ago. For the almost a year, none of our mail was given to us. In the packet I was given shortly before we were released was the news that Brad had been so stupid as to challenge a man who was a better shot. I had not thought that Foxbridge Cloister would be mine, but now that it is, I cannot lie and say I'm not happy. In a few more weeks, we will be there. It's a beautiful house, and you will love it there, Rebecca."

"Will I?"

Nicholas turned her to face him as he heard the quiver of disquiet in her voice. His hands on her upper arms were gentle. "Look at me. Do you remember any of what I told you of the Cloister when I was hiding in your barn?"

"No, it was so long ago. How do you expect me to recall what you said when I didn't remember what you look like?"

"Time travels much more slowly for the young." He smiled wryly. "What for you seems so long ago does not seem that far in the past for me. I have noticed as I grow older, time slips past much more quickly. Even the years in the prison hulks passed faster than the years of my childhood when I waited for summer that seemed to have come last a century ago." His smile became sad. "I am sorry you have forgotten so much, sweetheart. I think I remember it all but the very first days. All I can recall then was thinking that you were a very strange angel with braids instead of wings."

Her laughter was a light sound which instantly took him back in time to those delightful, pain-wracked days when he had been entertained by Rebecca's gentle humor. In a way, he had loved that child. Not as he longed to love the woman, but in a most special manner which had cut across the boundaries of different experiences, beliefs, and ages. It had bound them together long before they had spoken the vows of the love they did not feel and the fidelity which they had shared from the moment she had discovered him and had moved him to a secret spot in the barn.

"You don't see yourself as an angel?" he teased.

"No, not as an angel. Yet I do believe you have the looks of one, Nicholas."

He smiled diabolically. "I have often been told I resemble the one thrown out of heaven by the powers of good. It isn't necessarily a bad thing, for it can be an asset to be able to intimidate one's enemies and friends alike." He paused as he saw a man approaching. "Good day, Drew."

Captain Jennings had seen his passengers come up on deck and had given them a few minutes alone before he joined them. The longer the Wythes were on the Prize, the more he became confused by their strange behavior. What man who has discovered his beautiful wife anew leaves her to sleep alone while he stretches out on the wet deck or sleeps in one of the hammocks in the crew's quarters? He told himself that Nicholas must have his reasons. With Lady Foxbridge well, he guessed they would resume their normal life together.

He tipped his cap to the lady. He could not help admiring her lithe form outlined against her dress by the forceful gusts of the wind. Carefully he drew his eyes back to her pretty face. His friend would not appreciate anyone ogling his bride. "Good day, Nicholas. Good day, Lady Foxbridge."

"Rebecca," she corrected him quietly.

With a grin that wiped away the years from his wind wrinkled face, he said, "Good day, Rebecca. Isn't it a wonderful day?"

"Yes," she agreed. She took a deep breath of the tangy breeze. "This must be close to paradise."

Nicholas laughed and put his arm around her waist. "I think the love of the sea is infecting Rebecca very rapidly. Moments ago, she had to think deeply before she could decide if she liked this watery world. Now she is waxing poetic about it."

"Well, I'm sorry I can't stay and chat, my friends. Will you join me for dinner tonight in my quarters? It would be an honor to have such a lovely lady share my meal."

Rebecca blushed. She was not used to such effusive compliments. Even Keith had been most grudging in admiring her. She was startled not to experience the deep slice of agony that she expected at each thought of him. Her eyes rose to meet Nicholas's dark ones which contained unbridled desires in their fathomless depths.

His fingers tightened on her waist as he drew her closer. Turning to their host, he said, "That would be delightful, Drew. I know Rebecca and I shall enjoy that immensely."

When the captain bid them farewell, they continued their stroll along the swaying deck. Nicholas led her to the bow of the ship where the sea spray was heaviest. As Rebecca's fingers clutched the railing, he held his arm around her.

From the helm, Captain Jennings could see Nicholas point in a sweeping motion to different points on the compass. He did not have to be near them to see how well the two forms blended together with the rhythm of the ship. It was only his obsessive love of this seafaring life which kept him from wishing for a wife like Lady Foxbridge.

Nicholas Wythe might be the luckiest man he knew.

*** *** ***

The days flowed one into another with no sense of hurry or of time. Sunlight was for being awake, moonlight for sleeping. For the passengers, there was no need for any other timepiece. The crew were more aware of the movement of the stars, but only as a beacon to help them steer their course toward the shores of Britain to the north and east.

Each evening, Rebecca joined Nicholas and Drew in the captain's cabin for dinner. None of them made any pretense of formality. Both men wore the open neck, loose shirts and breeches which the crew found most comfortable. Rebecca had packed away her shoes and kilted her skirts to keep them out of the water on the deck. Her hair was tied back in a single braid which hung heavily along her back. She had removed the scarf from the neckline of her dress. Her normal coloring quickly returned, and she began to accumulate the golden tan which denoted seamen.

The crew adopted her in the same way they had Jake a few years before. Knowing that this pretty lady was off limits to any man who did not want to be shark bait, they developed an easy relationship with her. They answered her questions and taught her of the ways of the ship.

Between Nicholas and Rebecca, things were becoming less difficult. Mainly because both knew there was no choice but to accept the close confines of their quarters. Each night, she slept on the bunk with one pillow and the blanket. He stretched out in the chair with his feet propped on the table and using the other pillow behind his head. Although it was silly for him to sleep like that, they were aware that for him to rest next to her would be too dangerous to their status quo.

Every morning, Nicholas politely disappeared so she could have privacy for her ablutions. Where he shaved and washed, she did not ask. Rebecca was afraid to delve too deeply into any facet of her husband. The friendship they shared could be ignored no longer. She could accept the fact that they could be friends, for they had been in the not so distant past. It was being lovers she was unsure of, for each time he pressed his lips over hers in a sweet invitation to rapture, she remembered the man who had warned her to keep Nicholas from her bed.

Keith had promised that he would bring her home as his wife. She could not betray her vow that she would be true to him if she was able. Already her body was urging her to submit to Nicholas's superb loving, but it was not possible to forget her love for the man she had been set to marry.

Each day passed at this impasse. Nicholas pressured her no more, but he let her know that he wanted her more than when he had come to claim her. Days dissolved into weeks until it seemed that they had lived all their lives on this small ship braving the unending waters of the ocean. It was because she was so attuned to the rhythms of life aboard the Prize that Rebecca was able to notice immediately when that tune changed to one more frantic.

She stood at the railing where she often could be found when she was alone. Her usual smile had vanished as she watched the changing scene on the ship and in the elements around them. The fitful breeze blew uneasily through the sheets above her head. They usually stretched taut, making the ropes creak with a sound that she at first had thought meant they were ready to unravel, but in the midday whisper of wind they sagged listlessly.

Rebecca sensed the crew was waiting, although she could not guess what they knew was going to happen. She was sure it would not be pleasant. She watched the waves which were higher than usual. Certainly the Prize seemed to be climbing longer before dropping into the deep trough between the crests. Turning to view the frenzied activity on the deck, she was sure something horrible was set to happen. When she saw the crew taking any loose articles belowdecks or, if they were too cumbersome, lashing them to the one of the masts, she could not doubt that they were heading into violent weather.

Involuntarily, she turned to look at the dark patch that had at one time been a mere black line on the horizon. It had reached halfway up the sky as if it was a giant mountain lion raising on its haunches to pounce on its prey. A primitive fear of the fierce strength of the monstrous storm looming over them urged her to seek the comfort of someone who cared for her. Her eyes searched the small ship and found Nicholas standing at the helm talking with Captain Jennings.

She fought her own feet as they tried to run to the two men. They saw her coming across the deck with the easy grace that she had learned quickly. Her years of skipping across moss-slick stones in the creek had taught her a sense of balance that had helped her gain her sea legs with alacrity.

Before she could climb the ladder to the helm, Nicholas leapt down. He took her hands in his and pulled her into the half-circle of his arms. Quietly, he explained, "Drew suggested that we might want to go belowdecks so we're out of the way of his men during the storm."

"Is it going to be that bad?"

He started to dissemble, then nodded. She would want to know the truth. Captain Jennings had been watching the ominous thunderheads rising out of the sea, and Nicholas had seen that the captain was not pleased to be running into a storm this close to shallow waters. They were not far out from England. A chance wind could run the ship up on the shoals offshore.

"It could be very bad, Rebecca. Drew is an experienced master, and the Prize is a fine ship with a good crew. He just wants us landbound folks out from underfoot." He kept his arm around her shoulders as they walked to the stairs leading to their quarters. "Let us secure our things, as well. I'm sure we are going to get quite a ride."

Wishing she could joke about it as he did, she nodded. After they entered the room, he closed and bolted the door. Opening the small closet, he shoved the lone chair into it. Rebecca put any loose items into the already full drawers under the bed. Overhead the lamp swayed with the uneven rhythm of the ship which had been so predictable for so many weeks.

Suddenly the ship leapt forward with the speed of a wildly racing horse. She could not help the shriek that escaped as she fell back against the floor. "Sorry." She grinned sheepishly, as Nicholas helped her to her feet.

"That's all right." He did not laugh as the ship rocked sharply again. "Sit on the bed." Reaching up, he unhooked the lantern from the ceiling. The wax in the lamp could be dangerously slippery if it splashed onto the floor. He tied it onto one of the shelves. They would not have a light until the storm passed.

As he walked toward her, the floor turned into a wall beneath his feet. Allowing his bare feet to slide, he clumsily made his way to the bunk where Rebecca sat clutching the shelf above it. He sat and took her in his arms as the ship reached the crest of the wave. When it plummeted into the trough, it felt as if he had left his stomach on the top of the mountain of water.

"This is just the beginning?" she asked, hoping he would tell her this rough ride would be the worst of it.

"I'm afraid so, sweetheart. Are you scared?"

She laughed unevenly. "Of course I am! Don't worry. I won't get hysterical."

Tapping her nose with his fingertip, he smiled. "I would be shocked if you did. You are one of the bravest people I know."

"Hold me, Nicholas," she whispered as the sound of the wind rose swiftly. "I don't feel brave. I'm terrified."

He brought her lips to his as her fingers clutched the material of his loose shirt. When her hands slipped, with the motion of the ship, under the open front of his shirt to touch the black hair on his chest, he pressed her back against the mattress which heaved beneath her. He had no time to touch her before the ship was rocked abruptly to port as a gigantic wave tried to swamp her.

Rebecca cried out in pain as her shoulder banged into the wall. It took the full brunt of her weight as well as Nicholas's above her. Instantly, he pulled away and reached to help her sit. As he touched her right arm which had been close to the port wall, she moaned. "Don't, Nicholas!"

Ignoring her words, he checked her tender shoulder. Tears of pain rolled along her face more steadily than the fitful rain on the window. He sighed. "It's not broken, sweetheart. Just bruised."

He gripped her tightly as the ship bucked under them. Although her arm ached with the steady pain of an abscessed tooth, she did not complain as they huddled together through the long minutes, then hours as the storm roared around them.

She hid her face against the warmth of his chest and sobbed out her anguish until there were no more tears. Even then, she stayed in his arms. The creak of the ship escalated to a screech as the wood was buffeted from every side by the powerful waves. When they heard the sharp snap of a giant whip, they knew that one of the furled sails had loosened to flap uselessly, but dangerously in the high winds.

Once, Nicholas lurched across the volatile deck to stuff material under the door. Water rapidly pooled on the floor as rain and the waves washing over the deck above cascaded down the stairs. At the same time, Rebecca wrapped one of the pillowcases around the sill of the porthole which had served as their window. The squall was forcing water through cracks to small for them to stay.

Although the night came and went, they were unaware of its passing, for the unrelenting darkness of the storm did not alter. They paid no attention to their stomachs which told them that both dinnertime and breakfast had been forgotten.

Rebecca was dozing fitfully against Nicholas when she came abruptly awake. A painful silence assaulted her ears. She glanced at him in hope, but he shook his head regretfully.

"Drew explained that there would be a brief period of calm in the center of the storm. Not more than a few minutes." He paused, as he heard a knock on the door.

When he unbolted it, Jake poked his head in to ask, "The cap'n wants to know if you two are doing all right, my lord."

Nicholas smiled as he glanced at Rebecca cradling her injured arm and himself in his soaked and torn clothes. The cabin boy looked far worse with his hair and clothing plastered to his body. "We are fine, Jake. Let Captain Jennings know that if he needs an extra hand, I'm available."

Jake vacillated between the truth and not wanting to hurt the taller man's pride, but a landlubber would be a liability on the deck where decisions must be made in seconds. Swallowing so harshly his Adam's apple bounced, he said, "We're doing well so far, Lord Foxbridge. Carruthers and Holloway are securing the mainsheet that's loosened in the blow. A few hours more should take us out of it. The Prize is a dandy ship, and she'll ride like a mermaid through it." He looked at Rebecca with a silent question.

With a weak smile, she answered, "I'm fine, Jake. You go and help Captain Jennings."

He tipped the cap that somehow had remained on his head through the storm and closed the door. They could hear his footfalls racing away. Many tasks had to be done before they faced the fury of the hurricane winds once more.

Nicholas restuffed the cloth under the door and came back to sit next to Rebecca. "You have another admirer, my dear wife. You seem to collect them wherever you go." When she regarded him uneasily, he smiled and added, "You collect them without trying."

"He's a very nice, young man. He kept me company when -- " She hesitated, for she did not know how to speak of the days when he had ignored her purposely.

His eyes narrowed as he saw her face close up as it did whenever he spoke of anything that related to their marriage and their lives within it. He put his hands on her shoulders and turn her to face him. When she gasped in pain, he pulled his fingers from her bruised right shoulder with a quick apology. His voice remained stern as he said, "I think it is time to discuss what our relationship is going to be, Rebecca."

"Now? In the midst of a storm at sea?" she asked incredulously.

"This is the calm before the storm, my dear," he said with a cold chuckle. "We have many more to face. Soon we'll be back in England. I think we should know what our relationship is going to be before we reach Foxbridge Cloister." He regarded her steadily. "I assume that, despite the seductiveness of your touch, you haven't changed your mind and want to be my wife in truth."

She stood and walked across the strangely still deck. Gazing at the door, she said, "I can't. I love someone else."

"Yet you let me touch you and kiss you?" he demanded. "You don't seem to be thinking of Bennett when I hold you in my arms. Oh, I know he acts as your conscience when I show you that I want to you lying in my arms, but you're using him only as an excuse to keep me at bay."

She did not answer immediately. He was correct. In the weeks since she had left home, Keith had been on her mind and in her heart less and less. She must remain true to him, although his kiss never excited her like Nicholas's did. He was going to sell everything he owned and come to secure her release from this unwanted marriage. He had extracted a promise that she would wait for him to come for her. She could not break such a vow.

"I cannot," she repeated softly.

"Very well," he said, resignedly. "I will make you an offer, Mrs. Wythe, which you may find satisfactory. I won't be invested formally in my title until court reconvenes in London in the fall. The ceremony is a mere formality, but that is what the British court thrives on. Play the rÙle of my wife until then, and, if you wish, I will give you the annulment you so desperately crave."

Suspiciously, she asked, as she faced him, "What do I need to do to play the rÙle of your wife, Nicholas?" Her gaze did not leave his face to look at the rain which was beginning to splatter hysterically against the windows.

"Act as if you care for me in public. Serve as the chatelaine of Foxbridge Cloister. Be my hostess when we entertain."

"Nothing else?" she asked, snidely. She did not trust his sudden benevolence.

His wintery laugh sounded again, freezing her heart in the middle of a beat. Nicholas played the rÙle of his satanic double so well that it continued to frighten her. She knew he was capable of violence, but he fought to control those powerful urges within him. Beneath the civilized veneer, he was as savage as any beast of the forest.

He stood and stepped toward her. He did not touch her. That in itself was terrifying, for, before this, he had never resisted the impulse to caress her. Her eyes were held by his fury. Her warm tan paled as she wondered if he was going to break the contract before it was agreed upon on this storm-wracked ship.

"Sweetheart, if I had wanted to force you into my bed, I would have done it long ago. Don't convince me now that I should do so." His voice rose as he struggled to be heard over the increasing screech of the wind. "Is it a bargain?"

She sat on the bunk again. She had to escape from the man who scared her far more than the tempest. So softly he had to lean forward to hear her, she whispered, "I will do as you have stated for the six months until you have your hour in court, Nicholas, if you will give me an annulment at that time. No more and no less."

Bending, he kissed her fiercely. The strength of his body bent her back over his arm. When he lifted his mouth from her bruised lips, he said, "That seals our bargain. A bargain made without compassion sealed with a mockery of love."

As he sat beside her, but did not offer to hold her again, Rebecca knew that she had hurt her husband fiercely by her acceptance of his cold-blooded offer. All that had grown between them in the halcyon days on the ship had been destroyed by a few contemptible words. The rest of their journey would be as it had been during the trip from her family's cabin to the great port of New York City. Only hateful words and baleful looks would they share.

She hid her face in the pillows and wept in sobs that were swallowed by the louder cries of the wind. Not once did he look at her or consider comforting the woman who had severed any chance they had had of bridging the pain to offer the affection they both craved.

Chapter Five

Rebecca clutched tighter to her bag as the carriage turned from the shore road to drive past a gatehouse which would have dwarfed her family's home. The grandeur of the landscape continued to awe her. It was so civilized compared to the wild woodlands where she had spent most of her life. Even the small villages with their houses built so close to each other had a finished aura that the rough cabins would never be able to emulate. This magnificence was far beyond what she had imagined.

When she felt an arm slip around her shoulders, she looked up into Nicholas's smiling face. She had never felt less like smiling. The sight of this impressive estate reminded her more strongly than ever that she was Lady Foxbridge and that she belonged to the man by her side. She reminded herself that the time she must spend at Foxbridge Cloister would be bearable because she knew it was only for a short time. Either Keith would arrive for her soon or she would be released voluntarily from their marriage by Nicholas once he had gone to court. She did not understand why he wanted her to be with him at the investiture of his title, but she would honor the promise she had made. That vow left her life controlled ever more tightly by Nicholas Wythe.

From the moment she and Nicholas made their bargain aboard the Neptune's Prize, they had settled into an unsure relationship that was unlike anything else she had ever known. In the presence of others, nothing seemed to have changed. He was as pleasant as ever, for he joked and teased her and found opportunities to touch her as if he truly cared for her. Only in his hooded eyes could she see his black fury.

In private, it was a completely different situation. From the time the storm was past until they landed a week later, he never came into their room if she was awake. She began to doubt that he used the cabin at all, for he was always absent when she woke. When he had to come into the room when she was there, he was stiffly polite.

She had longed to reach out to him and tell him that it was foolish to act like enemies when they had been on their way to becoming such good friends. Then she knew that he did not want her friendship. He would be satisfied with nothing less than her love. That she could not give him. Instead she had waited in misery for landfall. Until he cut her off from him, she had not realized how much she had grown to enjoy his company during the long, sea voyage. So many things she wanted to tell him, but he would not let her have a chance.

On the long trip north from Plymouth, he had been a only bit more pleasant to her. As he had during the days of traveling to New York City, he had retrieved his book from his bags and read it as the hired carriage took them to Foxbridge Cloister on the west shore of England.

Questions had taunted her as the miles passed. So little she knew of her future home. Even its name suggested luxury and wealth. She longed to know who lived there and what her daily life would be like. She wished to discover the names of their neighbors and determine what her social obligations might be. Knowing it was futile to ask Nicholas, for he spoke to her only when absolutely necessary, she stared at the front of the carriage and tried to calm her fear.

The facts were made clear by his silence. She had to face what waited for them in this huge house alone. She could not depend on Nicholas to be of any help to her, for it he did not hide that he hated her as much as she had despised him when he had taken her away from Keith.

Or that was what she had thought until he suddenly put his arm around her.

"Sweetheart, don't look so frightened!" Nicholas said, comfortingly as he saw the despair in her eyes.

"I can't help it!" His touch undammed the floodtide of fear in her.

"You are coming home."

She looked out of the carriage at the sweeping expanse of lawn quilted with groups of huge trees in a pattern unlike the wild disorder of Connecticut. "This isn't home to me."

"It will be." He grinned at her unspoken protest. "Rebecca, there is no need to be afraid. Our nations are no longer enemies. The peace treaty should be signed soon. After all, during the war, we weren't enemies, were we? Our timing is always wrong. We waited until the end of the fighting to start our own battles." His light expression vanished on the breath of his heartfelt sigh. "Don't worry. My family will be delighted that I have wed such a lovely lady." He leaned down and kissed her cheek that was shadowed by her best bonnet.

Her eyes widened at his motion, but she said nothing. She was unable to speak past the lump of fear in her throat. If she had had her choice, she would have preferred facing an Iroquois alone in the woods than meeting Nicholas's family on this palatial estate. When the massive stone house, built in the Elizabethan style of two centuries before, came into view along the curving driveway which was edged by gardens, her eyes widened even farther.

Staring at it, she forgot even Nicholas's sudden warmth. She had never seen such a tall building. That this monstrously gigantic edifice could be a home was even more astonishing. What she had envisioned was paled by the reality. Through the small window of the carriage which had met them at the inn in a nearby village, she could see only a portion of the house which three storeys high. Around it were stone walls built with arches to separate different courtyards. Flower beds were filled with petals blossoming in a variety of beautiful colors. With so many things to see, she did not know where to look first.

As impressed as she was with the house, Rebecca was shocked when Nicholas told her that they had been on the property of Foxbridge Cloister since before they had reached the small village in the hired coach. The village of Foxbridge and the surrounding fields overseen by the tenant farmers belonged to the Cloister. Looking from his studied smile to the huge house, her hands clenched on the velvet seat of the carriage which belonged to Lord Foxbridge. Nicholas had sent a boy for it and to give his family the news that he was on his way home.

By her side, Nicholas watched her with concealed concern. As they had come closer to his family's home, his disquiet had increased. Belatedly, he became concerned about how Rebecca would adjust to this life of relative ease as Lady Foxbridge. All her life she had toiled to help her family make a home in the forestlands of Connecticut colony. At the Cloister, she would be expected to direct the labors of a household of servants. She must greet callers and pay morning visits herself on their neighbors who, by this time of the year, had come from London to spend the summer in the comfort and luxury of their ancestral estates.

For himself, the change would not come readily, either. When he had left for the colonies, he had never expected to succeed his brother as lord of Foxbridge Cloister. That the fool had managed to get himself killed in a duel while his younger brother was facing death daily across the ocean seemed ironic. Yet what he had to relearn would be simple in comparison to what waited for Rebecca.

His thoughts were interrupted when the carriage stopped in front of the double doors on which were carved the Foxbridge family crest. The door of the vehicle was opened by the driver who wore the pale green livery of the estate.

"My lord?" he asked, politely, but with a hint of curiosity.

Nicholas gave his wife his wry grin and stepped out. He waved aside the driver and helped Rebecca himself. For a moment, they stood side by side as he gave her a chance to look at what soon would be familiar to her. He told Sims, the driver, to take the carriage to stable. They would not be needing it further.

A slow smile spread across Nicholas's face as he regarded the grey stones of the Cloister. Until now, he had not realized how much he missed this place which had been home during his childhood. His memory's eye could pick out which third floor window was the one he and his brother had once used to crawl out into a tree and run away for a night of childish adventure. Nicholas had been the daring one, and Brad had followed his lead in all their expeditions. His older brother had depended on him to look after him. Nicholas's departure had added to Brad's slow fall into the decadence that surrounded the young men who made London and the country estates their playgrounds. He shook his head in sorrow at the waste of his brother's life.

Once more he looked at the nursery window. The tree had been cut down, but the memories still were hale. In his memories, Brad would not be only a name on a stone in the family graveyard behind the chapel at the end of one wing of the house. In his heart, his brother would be kept safely as the youngster who had joined so enthusiastically in his younger brother's pranks.

Rebecca gazed at the stone house with its three wings forming the letter "E" in the style of its time. She had no idea of the bittersweet memories her husband was experiencing. For her, this place held nothing but unknowns. Leaded glass was shaped in diamonds in the windows of the two upper storeys. On the ground floor, clear glass and stained glass alternated in the arched windows which were more than ten feet in height. She wondered how the interior floors would appear when colored with the reflections of the sunlight through those lovely windows.

"It looks like a church," she whispered in awe. "Not like my church. Like the ones we saw in New York City and here in England."

He smiled, pleased with her candid appreciation of the home he loved. "It was a church. Or a monastery actually. With the dissolution of the monasteries under King Henry VIII, it became my ancestors' home. When I show you around later, you can see sections of the original building." Glancing up as the front door opened, he placed her trembling hand on his arm. "Ready, Lady Foxbridge?"

"No!" she replied, but grinned. He knew she remained uncomfortable with her acquired title, and he had delighted in using it to tease her during their long voyage from America. That he jested with her as he had not done since the storm warmed the dankest part of her frozen soul. She dared to be honest with him again. "I don't think I will ever be ready, Nicholas. I want to run back home." She glanced to the west where her family were separated from her by incalculable miles of salt water.

He squeezed her fingers. "You will do fine. Just be yourself, and everyone will be as charmed as I was the first time I met you. Did you know that I thought you were the most delightful child I had ever met?" He looked around with pride at the house and the lawns before his eyes returned to rest with the same possessiveness on her. "I never imagined that day that I would survive and be able to bring you here."

Her face remolded into an expression of the unease which echoed in her voice. "Nicholas, I don't know if I can, if I should, continue with this charade. It isn't right to lie to your family."

"Charade? You are my wife." He gave her a roguish smile before he asked far more coldly, "Are you breaking our agreement, sweetheart? You vowed to continue as my wife until my title is invested upon me."

"I know, but, Nicholas -- "

"It will not no more than a few months. Then you can run back to your sainted Keith Bennett with enough money settled on you to satisfy even his greed."

"Stop it! I'm trying to treat your family with honor, but you continue to disparage my loved ones! I don't wish to hear anymore."

He twisted her roughly to look up at him. "Why? It's the truth, isn't it? You are willing to play this game to achieve your own ends. That makes you no different than me. You have your reasons to cooperate. I have mine. Don't worry, Rebecca. You are prostituting only your name, not your body." His fiery gaze scorched her as it ran along her. "Fool that I am, I made the wrong bargain."

"Nicholas, don't!" she gasped as he pressed her tightly to his strong form.

He ignored her as he ignored all her wishes. When he forced her mouth under his, there was no tenderness in his motion. She cried out, but the sound was muffled against his lips. The flash of fear which filled her was familiar, but no less terrifying. His words and his actions reminded her that he was doing what he had a legal right to do, and, if he chose to continue, she could not stop him.

When he drew his mouth away enough so he could speak, he said in a low tone, "Let's go inside, Rebecca. Remember, if you want Keith, you must do as I wish. Play your rÙle well in public, wife. I want everyone to see how much my Lady Foxbridge loves her husband, even though it is only an act." His shadowy eyes held hers with the threat that he would force her to play the part in private as well if she betrayed him.

"I understand, Nicholas," she whispered. With sudden fury, she jerked away. Crossing her arms on her chest, she glared at him. "I understand you very well."

"I thought you would." He took her arm and led her toward the house. As if there had been no heated words between them, his voice lightened as he pointed out various points of interest on the house. He could not hide his pride in the wonderful house which was his.

They walked up the half dozen steps to the door which opened as they approached. Nicholas greeted the butler briefly, "Good afternoon, Brody. You are looking fit as always."

"Thank you, sir." The tall, straight man appeared to be a contemporary of Nicholas's father. His greying hair was neatly arranged in an unpowdered queue, and his green livery was spotless. "If I may say so, my lord, it is good to have you home."

Nicholas smiled. Taking off his cloak, he handed it to a wide-eyed maid who was staring at him as if he were a ghost ready to haunt the unused wings of the house. He straightened his frock coat and asked, "Where is Mother this afternoon?"

The butler did not reply immediately as he looked at the coarsely dressed woman standing next to Lord Foxbridge. He wondered who this beauty was who was looking about as if she had never seen a house before. Quickly he remembered his place. "Lady Margaret is in the solarium, my lord."

"Thank you." Nicholas led Rebecca down the hall without explaining her identity to the startled man. His family must know before the truth was gossiped through the servants' quarters.

Rebecca glanced from side to side to see the unimaginable wealth which had surrounded her husband during most of his life. The large selection of furniture in each room shone with age and tender care. It was the antithesis of her home where there were only a few, functional pieces. A suit of armor startled her as it appeared out of the thick dusk of the long hallway. When she heard Nicholas's chuckle at her gasp of shock, she blushed and laughed shakily.

She knew it was useless to pretend that she was not overwhelmed by this ostentation. Nicholas would see through any attempts she made to try to appear sophisticated. He had derived so much humor from her naivete that she did not try to hide it any longer.

It was another three steps up to a room at the far end of the hallway. As they entered the chamber which was walled on one side by a bank of leaded windows stretching from floor to ceiling, Rebecca's feet sank into the thick richness of a beautifully patterned carpet. She gazed in awe at the heavy oak furniture arranged in front of the huge fireplace where logs burned brightly. There were more chairs in this single room than in her whole home. Overhead, lowered from the ceiling fifteen feet above their heads, was an iron wheel where candles burned, for the sunlight had a difficult time shining through the windows set in the almost foot thick stone walls.

Two women sat on a green velvet settee. They rose in unison as Rebecca and Nicholas came into the room. For a moment, they simply looked at each other. After the many years of separation, there were too many things needing to be said and no way to say them all at once.

Suddenly the younger woman, who had the same dark hair and brown eyes as Nicholas, ran and threw her arms around him, nearly rocking him off his feet. "Nicholas! Thank God, you are finally home and safe. It's been months since we heard your unit was being released. I did not think you would ever be coming home again!"

He laughed with a spontaneity which astonished Rebecca. So infrequently had she heard that honest sound. "Eliza! I see you are as irrepressible as ever." Smiling, he surveyed her with and arm's length between them. Like Rebecca, his sister had grown up during his years of captivity. When he had left Foxbridge Cloister, she had been a child, but she had become a pretty woman with the distinctively dark Wythe coloring which reputedly came from a Spanish lover of a Lady Foxbridge of centuries past. Teasing, he said, "If you greet your callers like this, little sister, you will never have a husband, for all your suitors will have a broken back."

"I have no worries about that." Again, she flung her arms around him. "Oh, I have so much to tell you."

"Later, Eliza," came the stern sound of the other woman's voice.

Nicholas looked past his sister to the older woman. He bent to kiss her wrinkled cheek. Then he embraced her. "Good afternoon, Mother."

"Welcome home, son." Lady Margaret was dressed in somber colors of mourning for her elder son, although he had died almost two years before. Her white hair was swept up under a beribboned chamber cap. When she turned to look at Rebecca, the unmistakable sound of heavy satin had preceded her.

Rebecca felt the older woman's eyes sweep over her in curiosity. Her blue wool dress decorated with homemade lace seemed most out of place in the company of these women dressed in the height of fashion. The ribbons tying the bodice of her overdress together were nothing like their fancy gowns accented by sashes and flounces. She could not be unaware of the displeasure on the elder woman's face as she stared at her. For the first time, she doubted Nicholas's words that she would be well received at Foxbridge Cloister. This woman who was her mother-in-law already acted as if she did not approve of her.

The one he had called Eliza was not as reticent. She looked at the stranger who was accompanying her beloved brother. In the first moments of welcoming him home, she had paid no attention to her. Surprise filled her face. She had never seen anyone dressed like this one or anyone who wore her hair in braids twisted around the crown of her head. Her tact was overcome by her astonishment. "Who are you?"

Nicholas took Rebecca's hand and brought her next to him again. His fingers tightened painfully around hers as he felt her hesitation before she moved to stand beside him. When he looked down into her uneasy eyes, he did not need to warn her aloud that the play was about to begin, and she had best play her part to perfection.

Without a preamble, he said, "Rebecca, allow me to introduce my mother Lady Wythe and my sister Lady Eliza Wythe. Mother, Eliza, my wife Rebecca Wythe, Lady Foxbridge." The very formality of his introductions told Rebecca that he, too, had sensed his mother's immediate displeasure.

"Wife?" squeaked Eliza. Rebecca guessed she was about her own age, although she seemed much more immature than a woman who had survived a war fought close to her home and had had all her dreams of love destroyed by the man holding her hand. "Oh, what is Clarisse going to say, Nicholas? She has been waiting so anxiously for you. She expected you would marry her when you came back from America. After all, you had an understanding."

Nicholas shook his head as his smile vanished. Clarisse Beckwith was the last one he wanted to hear about. She was a problem he would have to deal with. Every letter he had received from Foxbridge Cloister during his sojourn in America had included some bit of news about her. His mother had hoped he would marry her, but Lady Margaret did not know Clarisse as well as he did. She could not understand why he had been adamantly opposed to wedding the woman who had been the bed-partner of most of the male gentry in the area.

Even when they had been in the midst of their torrid affair, he had known that she welcomed others to her bed when he was not there to share it. Clarisse had been a major source of his desire to escape from Foxbridge Cloister and buy a commission in the army which would send him far from her sugary talons. Upon discovering that he was the possessor of the title of Lord Foxbridge, she would have been even more determined to make their previous liaison permanent.

His smile had nothing to do with humor as he gazed at Rebecca. Although she did not know it, she would be his tool to pay back Clarisse for humiliating him by taking other lovers to her bed on nights after she had spent the day riding by his side. She would learn as others had that Nicholas Wythe was not a man to play for the fool.

"No, Eliza," he said with no suggestion of the rage within him, "I had no understanding with Miss Beckwith. I never made any promises to her. If I had, I would not have wed another. Aren't you going to greet Rebecca?"

"Of course," said Lady Margaret quickly. She turned to regard the young woman holding so securely to her son's hand. There was no denying that this woman was a beauty, although her clothes were outlandish. Her wide blue eyes showed that she was impressed with Foxbridge Cloister and its inhabitants. That pleased Lady Margaret, for such a child could be molded in the way the older woman deemed proper. Later she would discover where Nicholas had found such an unsophisticated lass. "Excuse me, dear. This is admittedly a shock. Welcome to Foxbridge Cloister, Rebecca."

"Thank you," she replied with quiet dignity while her thoughts were on Eliza's words.

She wondered who this Clarisse was. Poor Clarisse must be another one hurt by her husband's stubborn insistence that they continue this farce of a marriage. Until now, she had not given the women in Nicholas's past much thought, but she could not help being curious about this Clarisse. She obviously had been very important to him. It was not the time to ask. She tried to remind herself that she should not complain if he took a mistress, for it would mean that he would not be as eager to share her bed. Strangely, that thought bothered her, but she had no time to examine her odd feelings.

The older woman was motioning for the newcomers to join her and Eliza by the fireplace, but Rebecca hesitated again.

Nicholas smiled and put his arm around her shoulders. With a gentle push, he propelled her forward. He bent to whisper in her ear, "Don't forget our bargain, sweetheart. You are my loving wife, remember?"

"I'm trying to do my best," she murmured in desperation. If he reneged on the agreement, she could be tied to him forever.

His arched eyebrows displayed his disbelief, and she subsided into frustrated silence. She did not know how he could expect her to act normal. Not only had she never seen a house this big, but, most of the time, she had no idea what his family spoke about. Until she was more sure of herself, she wanted only to sit and smile so she would not make a fool of herself. Seeing the curiosity in the eyes of the Wythe women, she knew her plan was doomed to immediate failure. They intended to make her the center on their conversation.

Once they were seated, Eliza asked, "Honestly, I think it was horrid of you, Nicholas, to marry without having us present. I so love weddings. I don't believe we've met before, Rebecca. You aren't from around here, are you? Are you from London?"

Nervously, she wet her lips before answering. "I'm from Connecticut." Seeing the women's confusion, she added, "Connecticut, in the United States of America."

Nicholas's mother's blue eyes widened in shock. "You're a colonist?"

"She was," Nicholas replied smoothly. He took Rebecca's trembling hand and caressed it.

As he gazed down into her eyes, only she could see the yearning he made no attempt to hide. Suddenly she thought she should be glad if he would reestablish his relationship with this Clarisse woman. She wondered how much longer he would be able to accept her adamant refusal to let him spend the night with her. It frightened her how well he could read her every emotion.

He continued calmly, although humor brightened his face, "Her home is here now."

With a delicate sniff, the older woman said, "That's just as well. I wouldn't like to think of my son and daughter-in-law having to deal with those rebellious colonials." She smiled at the disconcerted young woman. "It must have been so difficult to deal with that riffraff."

Rebecca bit back her retort, knowing that Nicholas must not have written of her in whatever missives he had sent home. His mother and sister had not even known that he was bringing a wife home. She wondered why he had not seen that it was advisable to prepare his family a little.

Her eyes narrowed in rage as she heard the two women discuss the low level of mentality of the colonists who had resisted the good policies of their king. She did not consider her family of any lesser quality than Nicholas's, even though they lived in comparatively primitive conditions and did not possess such fine clothes. Certainly, she did not consider them the dolts that the Lady Margaret labeled all supporters of General Washington. Rebecca's father had been a brave man who had been respected by his superiors and subordinates alike. Although she had no firm memories of her mother, Mira North had been a well-loved woman in their small community.

"Mother, Eliza, I think you have said enough," warned Nicholas, as he saw the sparkle of anger in his wife's eyes. He was surprised that she had been able to stay silent this long, for he had discovered that his own heated temper had met its match. Although she might appear docile, Rebecca North Wythe only projected that image because she had been taught that a lady must be polite at all times. When she could contain her vociferous emotions no longer, then they exploded to astound everyone. He was thrilled with her fiery spirit, for it was far more amusing to be wed to a spitting tiger than a quiet lamb.

"Now, son, I won't be told what I can or cannot say about those Yankee Doodles in my own house. Lazy fools, all of them."

"Mother," he cautioned again, "please watch what you say about the Continental Army, or the United States Army, as I should call them. Rebecca's father was an officer with General Gates who so successfully defeated our forces at Saratoga. I have heard much of Major North's valor and intelligence, and I have no doubts the description is valid, for his daughter has both."

Rebecca glanced at him in astonishment. He had never complimented her in front of others. What remarks he had made to her privately would have embarrassed her if overheard by anyone else. He seldom admired anything but her physical attributes, which he made no secret that he wanted to explore intimately. That he would defend her to his mother and sister was a double shock.

He stood and walked over to stir the fire on the hearth. The eyes of all the women followed him as he assumed a nonchalant pose best befitting the new lord of Foxbridge Cloister. Leaning easily against the oak mantel, he said, "All of Rebecca's family, including this sweet lady, espouse the ideas of liberty put forth by their Continental Congress. Political ideology and who was right and who was wrong is something Rebecca and I don't discuss. She graciously has refrained from rubbing my nose in the fact that I was fighting on the losing side which cost me too many years of my life in a dank, rat-infested prison which would have made Newgate Prison seem a true Eden in comparison."

"You are a revolutionary?" gasped Eliza. She looked at her surprising sister-in-law with new interest. Nicholas's sister knew little about the war which had been fought in far-off America and had cared little about it. All she had wanted was for it to be over, so her brother could come home. Somehow, she had not expected a real Continental to look like Rebecca Wythe. She was not sure how she had thought a colonist would appear, for her only view of them were the cruel caricatures in the London newspapers.

Rebecca smiled slightly in response to the young woman's question, but her thoughts were on her husband. She was disturbed by Nicholas's description of his time as a prisoner of war. She had given no thought to what he must have endured during those years. Her eyes explored his face which was nicely tanned by their time at sea, but wondered how long he had been free before he arriving at the perfect moment at the church. He had not come directly from the prison hulks. He knew too much about the Norths and their business. He must have spent some time investigating her past and present before he came to wrench her future from her. Somewhere, he had gotten the beautifully tailored clothes that he always wore.

Feeling her eyes on him, Nicholas looked at his wife. A slow smile inched across his lips as he saw the sympathy she could not hide. Gentle, innocent Rebecca had no idea what he had had to do to survive for the bleak years when each day brought the promise of only more degradation for men who ached to see the sunshine and feel fresh air on their faces. The smell of dying flesh and human waste would fill his senses forever. If he had his way, she would never learn of what he had suffered. She would never know that it was the memory of her sweet, childish smile that had given him the impetus to hold onto life while his comrades surrendered to despair and death. During his captivity, he had not felt desire to have Rebecca as his lover. He had known simply that someone nearby cared if he lived or died.

He listened as Rebecca replied to his sister. By the sound of her voice, nobody but he could guess the stress she felt. As he had thought, Rebecca was able to handle this difficult situation with apparent ease.

"We preferred to be called Patriots, Eliza. Of course, I had to put that behind me when I came here with Nicholas. The war is thankfully over, and America seems so far away."

It was impossible to miss the tint of sadness discoloring her voice. Only Nicholas guessed it was not simply homesickness for her family. The pain for her of losing Bennett as her husband apparently had not lessened. Every day made her sorrow deeper. He was beginning to think he should have renounced her and left her to face her future with that clod. Then he knew that would be impossible. He wanted Rebecca as his wife, not as some other man's.

Eliza leaned forward to speak to Rebecca. "Have you met Mrs. Washington or Mrs. Adams?"

Smiling, Rebecca shook her head. She was about to reply that was as silly a question as if she had asked Eliza if she had met Queen Charlotte. She stopped herself before the words left her lips, for it was possible that Nicholas's sister had been to court on many occasions. Softly she said only, "I haven't had the honor. Mrs. Washington lives in Virginia and Mrs. Adams in Massachusetts. They were not likely to be visiting our cabin in the backwoods."

"Cabin?" Lady Margaret stared at Rebecca as if she had suddenly turned a strange shade of green, then glared accusingly at her son. "What kind of joke are you playing, Nicholas? This is no longer amusing! Who is this woman?" She picked up a fan which had been resting on a table beside her and wafted it briskly in front of her flustered face.

Calmly, Nicholas replied, "Don't get so upset. She is my wife, Mother. Rebecca lived with her family in what you would term the backwoods. We met when she saved my life and married me five years ago. When I was released, I went back for her before I came home."

"Five years ago?" echoed his outraged mother, as she rose. "Were you crazy, Nicholas? Look at her! She must have been a child then."

His eyes darkened with the fury he tried to restrain. His mother was being resistant to the idea of Rebecca as his wife, but she would have to learn he was not a youngster to be ordered about or threatened with going to bed without his supper if he did not behave as she wished. Even if she did not like Rebecca being his wife, she must accept it.

He walked slowly to where Rebecca was watching the exchange with growing despair. Taking her hand, he brought her to stand next to him. He put his arm around her shoulders as he caressed her arm lovingly. The pose told his family that he was sincere in his devotion to her. "She is a child no longer, as you can see. I had my reasons for marrying Rebecca which are no one's concern but ours. Despite its unorthodox beginning, we are satisfied with the circumstances. Don't act so shocked, Mother."

Lady Margaret bristled. "What can you expect when you bring home a Yankee mudfarmer's daughter and tell us she is the new Lady Foxbridge?"

"Mother!" exclaimed Eliza. "This is Nicholas's wife." Her mother glared at her as if she was a traitor and left the room without speaking. Seeing the stricken expression on her new sister-in-law's face, she added, "Forgive Mother. Since the news came that Brad was killed in that ridiculous duel, she has been like this." More fervently, she said, "I'm glad you are home, Nicholas. Maybe you can convince her it is worthless to mourn like this. Nothing is going to bring Brad back. I wish she could accept that fact." She sighed. "Why don't you take Rebecca upstairs and let her rest? You'll have the master suite, of course."

"Of course," he repeated, but his eyes were on the door to the hallway.

Eliza glanced uneasily at him, then spoke to Rebecca, "Excuse me. I will go and tend to Mother."

As soon the young woman had left, Rebecca whispered, "Nicholas, why didn't you warn me that your mother would be so against this marriage?"

"You aren't the trouble, sweetheart." He frowned. "I truly didn't think Mother would be so opposed to you. She'll come around to loving you. It does nothing to change our relationship, Rebecca," he warned her quickly as he saw the light of hope flash in her eyes.

She spun away from him and crossed the room to look out the huge windows. The gardens were bright in the afternoon sunshine. There was nothing which was not alien to her. Her fingers on the window sill clenched in frustration and misery. "Nicholas, this is insane. I don't want to be married to you. Your mother is opposed to me. Why continue to make everyone unhappy when it would be so easy just to annul this marriage?"

He put his hands on her shoulders which trembled with her barely suppressed emotion. Over her head, he, too, regarded the formal gardens of Foxbridge Cloister. His hands moved leisurely along her arms as he drew her back against him. In her ear, he whispered, "You left out one very important person. I don't wish to see this marriage dissolved now, Rebecca. Right now, I am very pleased to have you as my loving wife."

"At what price do the rest of us pay for your happiness? How much wretchedness do you plan to inflict on me and the ones who love you before you admit the folly of this whole experiment?" She faced him. Her hands unconsciously went out to touch his arms in a posture of pleading.

His arm wrapped around her waist and brought her sharply to him. When he bent to kiss her, she turned her face away from him. He grasped her face and did not let her elude him as his lips touched hers with startling gentleness. Although she fought her own feelings, she could not keep from reacting to the lure of his mouth. Her fingers tightened on his arms as she was unable to escape the rapture which enfolded her as sweetly as his arms. A soft sigh of delight floated from her parted lips while he explored her skin with obvious appreciation.

When her knees buckled against his with the passion overwhelming her, he put his arm beneath them and swept her up to be cradled against his chest. Her arms automatically went around his neck as she gasped with astonishment, "Put me down."

He chuckled softly. "What will you do if I say no? Scream for help? I doubt it anyone will think you are in much danger from your husband. Remember the rÙle you promised to assume."

Tartly, she stated, "In public. I see no one else here. I think you should remember your part of this agreement as well."

He placed her on her feet. Cupping her chin in his palm, he said, seriously, "My dear Rebecca, this agreement is not carved in stone. If at any time you wish to change your mind and become the wife you should be, I will be willing to renegotiate this unwritten contract we have between us."

"I can't! I have told you that, Nicholas. I can't, as much as I would like to -- Oh!" She put her hand over her mouth in a motion which recalled the child she had been when he first met her.

Nicholas touched her cheek tenderly and smiled. "If you wish, I did not hear that. I know how important it is for you to be faithful to the man who, I'm sure, has not proven as steadfast to you. Come with me, and I will show you where we will have our apartment here in Foxbridge Cloister."

Slowly she reached out to take his hand. Her new life with Nicholas was starting. Whether she wished it or not. If only she knew which.

Chapter Six

Forcing down her fears, Rebecca walked with her husband back the hallway to the main staircase. A coldness swept through her as she realized Nicholas was taking her to the room they would be sharing for as long as he was kept her imprisoned in this marriage. Although he had most kindly let her have the bed alone during the long voyage, she did not think that situation would continue forever.

She wished she could begin to understand why he acted as he did. She could not hate him when he was as warmhearted as he just had been. Still, she knew it was only a matter of time before he made some snide comment about the relationship which seemed to be floundering on a self-destructive course.

She forgot her concerns momentarily as she became enthralled by the splendor of the house. Everything was spotless, telling her there must be a large staff serving the Wythes. She peeked into the rooms they passed and viewed the velvet drapes and furniture covered in light green brocade. Silver gleamed on the mantelpieces next to fine pieces of arts which even her unknowledgeable eyes could appreciate. As they passed one room more stately than the others, she paused in mid-step. Drawing away from Nicholas, she walked into the room. She bumped into a chair, but her gaze remained on the portrait above the marble fireplace.

It was of a woman dressed in the spectacular style of Elizabethan England. Even from where Rebecca stood near the doorway, she could see the gown was a sumptuous, blue velvet matching the woman's eyes. A full lace ruff surrounded her face to accent the dark upsweep of her curly hair. In her hands were a musical instrument that Rebecca could not name. A small, golden dog sat at her feet resting on a footstool in order to show off the fine silver of the buckles on her shoes.

"Who is that?" she gasped.

Nicholas looked from the painting to Rebecca. Until now, he had not been able to figure out who his wife reminded him of so strongly. With a laugh, he answered, "It would appear to be a portrait of Rebecca Wythe."

"But who is she?"

"Lady Foxbridge, my dear. Her name was Sybill Wythe, and she was my however many greats great-grandmother. It is rumored that she had a lover who was a Spaniard washed ashore during the Armada whose child she foisted off on her gullible husband as his own. That's the explanation for the dark coloring inherited by each generation since then. Does it surprise you that the present Lord Foxbridge might owe his heritage to bastardy?"

Dryly, she stated, "Not in the least."

His laughter bounced off the high ceilinged room. Putting his arm around her, he gazed up at his ancestress. "I have always admired Sybill. If the story is true, she must have been unafraid to face public ridicule to have the man she loved."

"Perhaps you should have instead felt some sympathy for her cuckolded husband, Nicholas."

He twirled her to face him. Once more, he looked from her face to the other. They were not identical, for it was more a trick of light than a macabre coincidence which gave them a resemblance. "The fool let a beautiful woman go looking for a man who could satisfy her. I have no pity to waste on such a dolt. If Sybill had been my wife, she would have found there would have been no need to haunt the shoreline looking for a lover from the sea."

"Is there a moral in this whole tale for me?" she teased. She was finding that more all the time, she enjoyed trading words with Nicholas. He was an extremely intelligent, cocksure man who delighted in trying to force her to admit that she cared for him in the way he longed to have her do. "Are you telling me that, like your esteemed Lady Foxbridge of the past, I will seek a man coming to me from the waves?"

Suddenly, his eyes turned thunderhead black with rage. He released her so abruptly, she rocked on her feet. "Isn't that what you have been waiting for from the second we set sail, Rebecca? Your hero who would fly on the fastest ship available to take you away from your husband! Don't worry about going down to the beach. Most conveniently, from the windows of our suite, you can see the sea."

He turned on his heel and stamped out of the room. Not knowing her way, she had no choice but to follow him. She said nothing. He had misunderstood her. The thought of Keith had not been anywhere in her mind. Nicholas's reaction warned her that he was becoming more frustrated with his fruitless efforts to end the loyalty she had to her onetime fiancÈ.

She hurried after him to the main staircase in the foyer. The thick banister was carved of smoke-darkened oak and was wider than her palm. Along the curving staircase, niches were built into the wall to showcase various small pieces of treasured art. The risers were stone worn smooth with the passing of countless feet over the centuries. At the landing which divided the stairs to go to opposite sections of the second floor, a stained glass window was outlined brightly with the setting sun.

Rebecca stopped to admire it. She recognized the intricate design of the Foxbridge family crest. The herald flag was the same green as the livery the staff wore. One quarter section contained the red rose of the Lancastrians, two others were decorated by fleur de lis, and the last by a single feather. The crest was supported by a pair of what could only be wolves. She bent to read the Latin inscription on the banner beneath it.

"'Always Prepared, Truth's Champion' is how it translates," said Nicholas as he rejoined her on the landing. "I'm afraid the Wythes have long been didactic by nature. Such a motto is a bit pretentious and more than a bit presumptuous." He smiled grimly. "I have hated that window all my life, except for the wolves. They are the one thing which seems to fit this family. If you knew the history of the Wythes, you would see the connection. In the past, we were far less urbane out here on the west coast."

Quietly, she said, "I don't think I would be like to be aligned with wolves."

"Why not, my love?" He took her hand in his again and led her up the last few steps to the wing where their rooms were situated. "A wolf is brave, wily, fights only to protect what is rightly its property, and chooses a mate that it will spend its whole life with. Explain what is so wrong with that."

She was spared from answering, for it was only a short distance to a door where Nicholas stopped. Turning the doorknob, he swung the iron bound door open and motioned for her to enter. With a glance at his emotionless face, she obeyed.

Standing in the middle of the room, she turned about slowly to see all of it. At one end was a huge fireplace like the one in the solarium. Oak furniture upholstered with velvet cushions was arranged about the room which was bigger than the Norths' cabin. One wall had shelves for books. Facing it hung a huge banner woven with the family crest. Along the walls were paintings of the seascapes visible from the house and several elevations of Foxbridge Cloister.

Touching the lush, green fabric on the chairs, she stared at the carpet below her feet. It covered the floor which was still of bare stone. Although some of the other rooms had wood floors laid over the original stones, this one had been left as it had been for centuries.

She went to the windows at the opposite end of the room from the fireplace. Opening one wide, she leaned out to see past the thick walls. The fresh taint of the sea that she had grown so accustomed to filled her as she breathed deeply. Not far distant, she could see the ocean fading into the rose of the twilight sky. With a sigh of regret, she closed the leaded panes. She had come to understand the siren's call of the sea which lured men to the hard life that mistress demanded.

Her eyes met Nicholas's amused ones when she discovered him standing behind her. She tried to dismiss the desire in her eyes by saying, "This is like nothing I have ever seen. It is so big!" Honest admiration brightened her voice.

"Aren't you interested in the sleeping arrangements, Rebecca?" he taunted. "That has been your major concern whenever we enter our newest accommodations."

Blushing, she tried to move away, but he grasped her shoulders and drew her back to him. When he kissed her, she found herself once again trying to fight the feelings that he seemed to be able to invoke so easily now. She hated her own body which was betraying her to this man whose touch was so delightful.

"Nicholas, please -- " she gasped.

"I would be happy to please you, my dear Lady Foxbridge," he whispered in her ear. "Whenever you wish, I would be very happy to teach you of the pleasures you are denying us so foolishly."

"No! Stop!" Fiercely, she tugged away from him. "How many times am I going to have to tell you that I am not interested in what you are offering me?"

"Until the time before you tell me yes." With a smile, he took her hand and led her to a door. He swung it open with a grand gesture. "Here is where you will sleep, my chaste bride."

Cautiously, she entered. As she gazed at the second room of the suite, her mouth became a circle. Her eyes regarded the massive tester bed. The headboard was taller than her own head and was carved with an intricate scene of the hunt. A heavy coverlet in the light green which was present everywhere covered it. Against one wall waited a dressing table with a large mirror and a gold trimmed chair. The russet rug beneath her feet was luxurious.

"This is for me?"

He laughed. "This is Lady Foxbridge's room when she does not sleep with her husband. Perhaps this is where Sybill entertained her Spanish lover while her stupid husband slept alone here." He walked across her room to a second door.

Curiosity spurred her feet forward. Beyond the door was a room very unlike this feminine chamber. All of the colors were darker, and the bed was made of oak nearly black with age. It was clearly a man's room. She saw nothing more before he closed it and twisted a key in the door.

Nicholas put his arm around her shoulders and turned her smoothly to face him. Putting a finger under her chin, he tilted it so he could look into her confused eyes. He would have to have been obtuse not to note her softening toward him since her recovery from the sickness. "My dear Rebecca, anytime you wish to join me in there, I will be happy to have your company."

There was regret in her voice as she said, "I can't."

"I know." He picked up her hand and pressed the iron key into it. "You have it. I will let you decide when you will use it to open the door again." Bending, he kissed her forehead. "Rest, Rebecca. We will be having dinner later. I'll send someone to help you dress."

She watched in astonished silence as he left. Holding up the key, she gazed at it. Anytime had been what Nicholas had said. Anytime she wanted she could join him. She laughed humorlessly. He had no idea how tempting that idea was becoming. The more time she spent in his company, the more she knew he was not the beast she had first imagined him to be.

The key she held was another sign of the kindness he had been showing her from the time they met a second time. She wondered if any other man would have controlled his desires for the woman he was married to in order not to hurt her. It was almost as if he loved her.

Angrily, Rebecca shook her head. Nicholas Wythe did not love her. He had told her that the day he ruined her wedding. For some reason, he needed to be married to her. It was for that reason that he had wrecked her life. Instead of being in this huge house with a mother-in-law who despised her and a husband who blatantly displayed his lust, she could have been wrapped happily in Keith's arms.

Going to the dressing table she opened a drawer. As she had expected, the staff had unpacked for her while she had been suffering through the intolerable interview with Lady Margaret. She pulled out a length of ribbon and slipped it through the top of the heavy key. Unbuttoning her bodice, she tied the ribbon to the strap of her camisole and let the iron key drop behind it to rest against her skin. She would not risk Nicholas changing his mind about their arrangements and finding the key.

She explored her room that was spacious by the standards she was used to, but small for the Cloister. It was clear that most of the previous Ladies Foxbridge had slept with their husbands and had used this room as a private haven. One door led to a small closet where her two dresses hung. The last door led to an alcove where her bath and other necessities were stored. It was a lovely room, and it made her unhappier than she had been in her whole life.

Rebecca stretched out on the thick mattress to stare at the engraved wooden canopy over her head. The fox hunt was in full motion across the planks over her head. The poor vixen was being run to ground by the silently baying hounds followed by the master of the hunt and the other riders. She closed her eyes. The house would be her home until autumn came to change the hues of the leaves from green to orange and yellow. She wondered how the seasons turned in this unknown part of the world. In Connecticut, she had known how to gauge the passing of time by the signs that told of the onslaught of winter snows and the blessing of summer rain. A wave of homesickness buffeted her as strongly as the storm had beaten on the Prize.

If the beginning of her visit at Foxbridge Cloister was an omen of what was to come, she wished that Keith would arrive before the end of summer. Lady Margaret despised her because Nicholas had not married the woman named Clarisse. Briefly, she wondered if her mother-in-law was superstitious and had seen in her son's wife the strong resemblance to the Lady Foxbridge who seemed to be admired and hated in this house of strong individuals. She could not guess how Eliza felt about her sister-in-law. Only Nicholas was her friend in the house, and she knew he wished to be far more than a friend.

Rolling over onto her stomach, she pulled the key from under her dress. She looked from it to the door that led to Nicholas's room. Silently, she replaced it next to her skin. It was not right for her to go to him and tell him how delicious his kisses were. Her craving that his touch set afire with the same intensity as the black blaze in his eyes must be kept a secret. How long could she resist him? How long could her desire to be faithful to Keith override her desire to be loved by Nicholas? She could no longer trust her heart which urged her to throw aside caution and learn more of what she had sampled in his arms.

Burying her head in her arms, she fought to untangle the disastrous maze that her life had become. She had to steer a course through waters far more treacherous than the storm-swept madness of the ocean.

*** *** ***

A hesitant knock roused Rebecca. She had no idea how long she had slept, but it was ebony black in her room. Recalling Nicholas telling her he would send someone to help her prepare for dinner, she called, "I'm coming." She bumped into several items before she managed to find the door. When she opened it, she saw a woman.

"Lady Foxbridge, I'm Collette," chirped the woman with a curtsy. "I will be helping you with your clothes and personal toilette."

"Oh!" she gasped as she stared at Collette who was plump and several years older than her. Raven black hair was piled imaginatively on her head, and her uniform was as black with a finely starched apron over the full skirt. Although her voice still carried the tint of her French birth, she spoke English perfectly.

"May I come in, my lady?"

Recovering from her shock at the idea of having a lady's maid, Rebecca replied, "Of course. Please, come in, Collette. Be careful. It's dark, and I don't know where the candles are."

Laughing lightly, the maid entered the room with easy assurance. She went to the fireplace and opened a box which was visible in the light from the sitting room. Efficiently, she lit a candle from the box and set it in a holder on the dressing table. She did the same with several more and placed them elsewhere around the room.

"You needn't light so many," Rebecca urged, appalled by the waste of the lovely wax candles.

"It's no problem, Lady Foxbridge. There are many more in the storage room." With a broadening smile, she explained, "Lord Foxbridge has told us that you are to have every luxury."

Collette did not add that the staff had been briefed already by the returning lord. He had explained bluntly that his wife would find life in the Cloister a very new and odd experience. Quickly, he had given them an overview of how his lady had lived until he had brought to England with him. He had ordered them to cooperate with Rebecca in every possible way and to help her learn what she needed to be the premier lady of the Cloister. Many of the servants had caught a glimpse of the new lady while Lord Foxbridge had been bringing her upstairs to rest after their astonishing arrival. They agreed that Lord Foxbridge had chosen well. Only a beautiful, spirited lady would be the appropriate mate for Nicholas Wythe.

Collette chattered to cover her thoughts, carefully gauging what Lady Foxbridge knew of the Cloister. When she opened the closet, she tried not to show her dismay. Only two dresses hung there. Another had been sent to be cleaned, so with the one Lady Foxbridge was wearing, it meant her wardrobe consisted of only four frocks. In Lady Eliza's armoire there were at least two dozen gowns for morning calls alone.

Keeping her voice calm, she asked, "My lady, which do you wish to wear for dinner?"

"I don't know!" Rebecca said, frankly. Her garrulous maid overwhelmed her as she tried to escape the clinging strands of sleep. "I have never had to change for dinner unless I was soiled from planting."

The maid laughed. "My lady, let me warn you not to make comments like that in the presence of other ladies. They won't understand why Lady Foxbridge would be working in the fields of her family farm."

"It's nothing to be ashamed of! It's honest labor, and I helped my brother keep our farm from folding while he was in the army."

"I know that, my lady. There's nothing shameful about manual labor. I know that. You know that, but many of the people whom you will be associating with socially would be aghast at the thought of dirtying their hands at something as menial as work."

Rebecca understood that Collette meant to help her. "I will remember that," she said with a smile of gratitude. "Thank you."

"You are welcome. Now which dress do you want?"

"Which do you suggest?"

Unerringly, Collette chose the blue silk dress. The other with its homespun material and plain design would never do. "It must be this one, my lady."

Rebecca reached out to caress the soft material which had been the realization of all her hopes. The dress Collette had selected was the one she had worn so briefly as Keith's bride. She was going to tell the maid to put it away, but hesitated. That wedding had been ruined. The next one she had would be far different.

"All right, Collette. If you could give me any suggestions on know to get through this meal with my in-laws, I would appreciate it. You have helped me already."

The maid laughed her bright laugh once more. She knew she was going to like working for this Lady Foxbridge. Without the snobby airs of many of the aristocracy, she was treating her maid like a person. "Well, my lady, the first thing you should do is. . ."

It was an hour later when Rebecca descended the stairs. At the base of the stairs was the man she recognized as the butler who had admitted them. Remembering his name from the list Collette had given her, she said, pleasantly, "Good evening, Brody."

He bowed respectfully. Although he was not young, he moved with the ease of a man half his age. "Good evening to you, Lady Foxbridge. I trust you are settling in comfortably at Foxbridge Cloister."

Her smile was impish. "Brody, I can find my way from my rooms to the stairs. Beyond that, I know nothing. I would appreciate if you could point me in the direction of the dining room."

"I would be glad to give you a tour tomorrow at your leisure and introduce you to the staff." He smiled, appearing very different from the stiff martinet of seconds ago.

Graciously she thanked him. She was warmed to know that already she had two allies in this strange household. Collette had taken the opportunity while she dressed Rebecca's hair to give her many hints on how to handle the Wythes. Now Brody was set to help her learn what she must to take her place in Foxbridge Cloister.

When he volunteered to take her to the dining room, she listened as he told her about the various pieces of furniture and how each was meant to be used. He spent most of the time while they walked to the dining room situated beyond the solarium telling her of how ladies called upon one another. Because of the rank she had acquired upon marrying Nicholas, the others would be responsible for calling on her first, but she had to follow the traditions of returning those calls.

She soon was laughing over his very droll impressions of the errors that the lesser ladies of the gentry had made when they had tried to call at Foxbridge Cloister during his long tenure. He left her at the doorway, and she thanked him once again for his assistance. She added that she would be ready for the tour whenever it was convenient for him.

Her smile faded as she stepped into the dining room and saw the disapproving expression on Lady Margaret's face. She did not need to be told that to speak to a servant as an equal was not proper. Anger swelled through her. She had not asked to be brought to this house with its well-established system of protocol. Nor did she intend to stay, so it did not matter whom she offended.

"Ah, here you are, Rebecca!" came a deep voice from behind her. "I went upstairs to look for you, but Collette said you had come down already."

Remembering her promise to act as his loving wife, she turned to greet Nicholas. "Good evening, darling," she said, astounded how easily she spoke the endearment. "I found my way with Brody's help." She held up her cheek. When he paused as he was about to kiss her and stared at her in surprise, she asked, "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing," he replied in a taut voice. "I'm just astonished to see how lovely you look in that dress tonight."

Her eyes went to his confused face. She had become so involved in the conversation with Brody that she had forgotten what she wore. Did he think she had worn this to hurt him by reminding him what he had done to her? She was afraid the answer was yes. If they were to be believable in the game they were playing, they must learn to trust one another even this slightly.

She gracefully put her hand on his arm. "I know it is wrinkled from the trip, but it is the best dress I own. I did so want to look fine for our homecoming. I wanted you to be as proud of me as I am of you."

He saw the sincerity on her face. Rebecca had sensed his unease with seeing her dressed in her wedding gown. He knew she was beginning to care for him far more than she wanted. A flush of warmth started to undo the threads of cynicism around his hardened heart. That she could come to care for him when he had hurt her so horribly was a testament to the sweetness of this woman who could be as unbending as granite and as pliant as a spring blade of grass teased by the wind.

Forgetting dinner, forgetting his family, remembering only the touch of her body, he put his hands on her cheeks and tilted her mouth under his. When he felt her arms go around his shoulders, he feared their charade was not the one they had planned to play out for the denizens of Foxbridge Cloister. Instead of pretending for others that they were in love with each other, they were making believe for themselves that they still hated one another. The caress of her fingers against the worsted of his coat belied her heated words when they had arrived at the Cloister.

He lifted his lips from hers to gaze into her passion-softened face. "Sweetheart," he whispered, "I'm glad you are here for this most special homecoming." When he bent to kiss her again, a voice invaded the gentle haze of their ecstasy.

"Nicholas, I don't know if you recall it after your years away, but we try to eat before midnight." Displeasure was vivid in Lady Margaret's voice.

Laughing, he offered his arm to Rebecca. As he walked with her into the formal room, he asked, "Do you have no romance left in your soul? A man has been a prisoner for many years and comes home to find his lady fair waiting. Sounds like a tale out of Childe Rowland or Blondel, don't you think?" His teasing faded as he saw the stranger standing next to his sister. His keen eyes noticed that behind the fullness of Eliza's skirt, their fingers were entwined. If Lady Margaret had no romance in her heart tonight, she was the only one. It appeared his sister had found a beau in his absence.

Critically, he viewed this man. He was nearly as tall as Nicholas, but his hair was a sandy blond which contrasted sharply with Eliza's dusky curls. The sharp line of his clothes and the full lace of his sleeves which were nearly as ornate as Eliza's announced that he was a London dandy. Yet his clear, brown eyes were filled with an intelligence that Nicholas did not usually associate with that breed of parasite which attached their meager fortunes to someone of greater social standing in an effort to advance themselves.

"Sir, I don't believe we have met," he said graciously. The manners which once had been so natural had been nearly forgotten in his years of rough living. "I'm Nicholas Wythe, and this is my wife Rebecca."

The man replied in a pleasant voice, "I am honored to meet you, my lord, my lady." He bowed his head to his host before picking up Rebecca's slender fingers and raising them politely to his lips. His smile focused on her as he added, "My name is Curtis Langston. I hope you can forgive me for intruding on your homecoming this evening."

Eliza seconded quickly, "I had -- I mean, Mother and I had invited him before we knew you would be home tonight, Nicholas."

"Don't act as if it is such an imposition," he said, with a laugh. "It's always a pleasure to have guests at our table." He was sincere. Having Langston join them, although he was obviously no stranger to Foxbridge Cloister, would silence his mother's cruel comments to her new daughter-in-law.

Curtis continued, "Forgive me for staring, Lady Foxbridge -- "

"Rebecca," she corrected. She tried to keep her voice calm as she wondered why she could not halt the quivers racing through her when Nicholas was near. Her fickle heart was determined to prove that she cared for him. Speaking to the light-haired man, she hid her feelings from herself. "As Eliza's friend, it would be far easier for you to call me by my given name."

Again he took her fingers, but simply bowed over them. His eyes narrowed as he noticed that her left hand wore no wedding band. That was most unusual. He would have thought that the Lord Foxbridge he had heard so much about would have wanted everyone to know that this vision in light blue was his alone. Remembering his place, he said, "I am honored, Rebecca. As I was saying, I beg your forgiveness for staring, but you remind me of someone. Eliza was saying the same thing. Neither of us can guess who it is."

When Nicholas laughed, Rebecca blushed. She was not pleased to call to mind their most controversial female ancestor. Putting his arm around his wife, he said, "Think of the portrait in the drawing room, Eliza."

"Sybill?" Her eyes narrowed. "That's who it is! You look so much like her, Rebecca."

"Let's hope she doesn't resemble her in other ways," interjected Lady Margaret tartly. "Shall we sit down before the soup is cold?"

The hot feeling of her blush became ice cold as Rebecca heard the cruel words. She bit her lip to keep in her retort. Anything she said would make Lady Margaret only hate her more. She had saved her son's life, but it seemed that was not enough to atone for the crime of marrying Nicholas.

When she felt Nicholas's hand take hers, she numbly let him lead her to a chair and seat her. Then he moved to push in his mother's chair. The soup bowl in front of her on the mahogany table blurred as tears of frustration filled her eyes. She did not look up.

She heard the others pick up their spoons to begin to eat, but she paused. Except for the time when they had been on the ship, she had never sat down for a meal without saying grace. Folding her hands in her lap, she silently began to say the prayer which had started every supper in her home.

Unaware of what she was doing, Nicholas asked, "Rebecca, what's wrong?"

In the middle of a word, she paused. Meeting his eyes, she flushed and answered, "Nothing, Nicholas. It's just -- just -- " The four at the table were regarding her with curiosity. Suddenly, she vowed that they would not make her ashamed of her past life or the parts of it she wanted to bring with her into this one. Clearly, she continued, "I was saying my thanks to the Lord for this fine meal."

"Will you share it with us?" he asked gently as he took her folded hands between his.

"With you?"

"Please, Rebecca. It's a habit I'm afraid the Wythes have forgotten. We certainly have enough to be thankful for tonight. We are together at last."

With a smile, she lowered her head over her folded hands. From the beginning, she said the Lord's Prayer that Aunt Dena always had favored. More than once, her aunt had told them she could think of no better way to start a meal than on the tail of those words. "Amen," she finished fervently.

"Amen," echoed her husband.

She raised her face to see shock on the other three faces. Glancing at Nicholas, she saw he was smiling darkly. He knew the reason for the astounded expressions, although he made no effort to explain to her. Calmly, he began to chat with Curtis about the trip from London. Rebecca hesitated, then began to eat her soup which was incredibly delicious.

Abruptly, Eliza gasped, "You are a Calvinist, Rebecca?"

It took her a moment to realize what her sister-in-law was asking. Then she nodded. "I was baptized in the Congregationalist church, if that is what you mean."

Lady Margaret rose and flung her napkin on the table. "Tell Deborah I will take the rest of my meal in my room. I have accepted about as much today as I can. I do not think I want to hear the next thing this woman will be telling us. Good night!"

Eliza glared at the baffled woman with her spoon halfway between her bowl and her mouth before following her mother out of the dining room without a word. As Rebecca stared at the two men, Curtis rose with a rueful smile.

"Excuse me," he said. "Perhaps I can soothe them. I'm sure I will see you again in more pleasant circumstances."

Rebecca shoved her own soup bowl away and lowered her face into her hands as her elbows rested on the tabletop. When Nicholas put out a hand to comfort her, he saw her shoulders were shaking. Only when she looked at him as he touched her did he see she was not crying. She was laughing.

"Rebecca?" he asked uncertainly.

Rising, she sashayed away from the table. "I guess I do not have to worry about impressing your mother. No matter what I say or do it is the wrong thing, isn't it?" She dipped in a curtsy to an imaginary Lady Margaret. "Oh, yes," she said in a mockery of herself, "that is right, dear mother-in-law, I admit it. I'm a patriot, not a member of the Church of England, and perhaps worst of all, I have had to work during my life. See, these hands are not the lily-white of a lady born with a household full of servants to answer her call."

"Enough, Rebecca!" Nicholas stood and grasped her shoulders. Twisting her to him, he held her when she struggled to get away from him.

"Let me go!"

"I know she is acting abominably, but that isn't your fault. Don't be ashamed for what you are."

Her eyes sparked with blue lightning. Coldly, she stated, "I am not ashamed of myself or any of the Norths. Nothing anyone says will ever make me ashamed of my family. If you are, that is your problem. I just won't sit here and listen to her belittle my family night after night!"

He enfolded her in his arms tenderly. He did not kiss or caress her. Simply, he held her until he could feel the stiffness of her outrage fade into the soft sounds of sobs as she cried out all her unhappiness and homesickness for the world she had left behind in Connecticut. "I apologize for the way my family is treating you." He tilted her tear covered face up to meet his sympathetic eyes. "Dear Rebecca, I'm not ashamed of you or of your family whom I have met so briefly. You are a right to be hurt by my mother's attitude. Come, sweetheart, and sit down. I'm sure Esther has prepared a fine meal. Sit with me, and we will forget the smallness of others while we enjoy each other's company."

In a soft voice, she said, "I can be nothing but what I am, Nicholas."

"I know, and I would have you no other way than the way you are. Shall we?"

With a watery smile, she nodded. He took her hand and seated her again at the large table that somehow seemed more cozy than when the others had been present.

Nicholas was his most charming as he entertained her with stories of his mishaps after joining the army and being transformed from a leisure-loving member of the gentry to a hardened soldier commanding twelve men who knew more about combat than he could have learned in a lifetime. He did not tell her that it was those men who had sacrificed their lives when his foolish commander had sent them directly into an ambush. They had given their lives to protect their captain who had nearly died despite their efforts. His stories were only of the amusing parts of soldiering.

As she ate, Rebecca relaxed. It was like a dream to be sitting in this beautiful room lit by candles in a crystal chandelier and drinking wine from goblets made of the same material. When dessert was served, she picked up the cup placed by her plate and took a sip. "Tea!" she exclaimed. "Oh, I haven't tasted this in years!"

He chuckled. "I hope it does not offend your patriotic sensibilities, sweetheart."

Before she answered, she took another sip of the steaming beverage. She shook her head. "No, it doesn't, for I used to love tea before the blockade made it impossible to get it. Sometimes we had something called tea made from roots but it didn't taste like this." She smiled broadly as she saw his amusement. "After all, as you have reminded me more than once, Nicholas, the war is over."

Taking her slender hand, he helped her to her feet. He picked up her cup and handed it to her. "Let's finish this upstairs. We can relax in the sitting room of our suite while I discuss some things with you that must be gone over even before the morning. If you haven't guessed, there will be an onslaught by the curious once our neighbors learn I am home and have brought a bride with me. There are certain things which will be expected from Lady Foxbridge."

She sighed. "Very well. I guess it's time for me to go back to school. It will be strange being a student again after being a teacher so long."

"Teacher?" he asked as they walked along the hall.

"Yes, I was the teacher in the village school at the church once Hart returned from the army and was able to take over the duties on the farm." When she saw the shock on his face, she asked, "What's wrong with that? Teaching is a most honorable profession."

"No one will argue with that, my dear. It is just that I realized that I know so little about you." He paused on the steps so that she stood one riser above him. Their eyes were nearly level. "I don't know your favorite color, what you love to eat, or if you like to dance and sing."

"Blue, apples in the fall and strawberries in the spring, and I love anything to do with music," she replied with a smile. "Anything else that you need to know before my tea grows cold, Nicholas?"

He bent forward and kissed her uptilted lips. "I will take my time learning of you. Come on, Professor Wythe, and take your lessons now." He put his arm around her waist and led her merrily to the rooms they would share for the short time they planned to live together as husband and wife.

Chapter Seven

Rebecca was coming down the front steps the next morning when she saw Nicholas walking toward her from what she guessed were the stables. He waved and motioned for her to join him before turning at the sound of hoofbeats approaching along the driveway.

The horse was racing at top speed. It came to a stop just in front of Nicholas. The rider slid off quickly and threw her arms around the man. Even from across the lawn where she stood, Rebecca could see the intensity of the kiss the red-haired woman gave Nicholas. Swallowing the surprising surge of jealousy, she strode toward the two. She wanted to meet this woman who was kissing her husband with such familiarity. She suspected she knew exactly who the woman was.

Nicholas gently was breaking the grip the woman had around his neck. He pushed her away without any regret. "Good morning, Clarisse."

She purred a greeting, as her green eyes roved over him with obvious appreciation. Clarisse Beckwith was a beautiful woman, and she knew it. Her auburn hair was thick and curled perfectly around the alabaster purity of her skin. The riding habit she wore accented the lush curves of her body which had known Nicholas's touch too long ago.

With him home at Foxbridge Cloister, she would be able to forget the rage and shock she had felt the morning she had discovered that he had left without telling her good-bye. For months, she had been waiting for this homecoming with eager delight. Nicholas had become Lord Foxbridge, a title he had deserved far more than his brother had. Ready to assume the rigors of running the estate, he would need a woman eager and able to help him as his lady. Clarisse knew of no one better than herself to fulfill that rÙle.

She had been visiting Foxbridge Cloister since Brad's death to convince Lady Margaret that she was the perfect choice for Nicholas's Lady Foxbridge. She did not think it would be difficult to bring Nicholas around to that opinion as well. He had been so fond of her six years before.

In a blatant invitation, she ran her fingers that glistened with gemmed rings along the front of his shirt. With a pretty pout, she regarded him from under her thick lashes. "It has been so lonely without your company around here, Nicholas. I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to return. Now you have had your adventure in far-off America, and you can settle down here at Foxbridge."

"That is exactly what I have planned to do." He turned to smile at a woman who was approaching.

Clarisse appraised the stranger. She nearly snickered at the low quality of the woman's dress. It looked like something her mother would have worn with its plain skirt split in the front to show the embroidered petticoat and with laces closing the top of the bodice. When the woman came closer, she lost all desire to smile. The dress did not detract from her loveliness. She wondered who the woman was. Even the servants at Foxbridge Cloister dressed better.

For a moment, she feared that Nicholas had found some cheap harlot to bed and had brought her to Foxbridge Cloister. If that was so, Clarisse would see that she was gone soon. No one else was going to have this man. She had waited too many years and turned down too many wealthy admirers' offers of matrimony so she could be waiting when Nicholas came home. She was not going to have her place usurped by a whore who did not have to sense to dress to fit her place as the mistress of a lord.

"There you are, Rebecca. Come, and meet our neighbor." Nicholas held out his hand. "Rebecca, this is Clarisse Beckwith, who lives at Beckwith Grange, about a mile south along the shore road. Clarisse, this is Rebecca Wythe, the new Lady Foxbridge I'm sure you have heard about by this time."

"Lady Foxbridge?" gasped the startled woman. She had not heard the gossip, for she had spent the whole morning readying herself for her expected reunion with the man she wanted. It had taken hours to choose the right perfume and clothes so that, when Nicholas took her to his bed, as she had thought he would be eager to do, she would be more alluring than ever. The staff at Beckwith Grange would not have dared to give her the news that Nicholas had come home with a wife. They feared her awesome wrath.

Rebecca smiled coolly. She was not deceived. This was the Clarisse who Eliza had said thought she had an understanding with Nicholas. That explained the kiss that she had given him. Rebecca wondered if this woman had been her husband's lover in the past. It would not have surprised her. That would explain the possessive gleam in the red- haired lady's eyes which were filled with astonishment that was rapidly changing to hate.

"Welcome to Foxbridge Cloister, Miss Beckwith," she said graciously.

Nicholas smiled. Rebecca, with her usual insight, had perceived that Clarisse intended on resuming the relationship they had shared six years ago. He would not have been interested in doing so, even if he had not brought Rebecca back to Foxbridge. The idea of letting Clarisse get her eager claws into him or his title did not appeal to him.

Recovering her aplomb, Clarisse managed to ask, "How are you, Lady Foxbridge?"

"Please, as we are neighbors, you should call me Rebecca." She smiled with genuine amusement. "I'm afraid I am not used to the grand title. I must admit it came as quite a shock when Nicholas told me that I was the recipient of such a grandiose name."

Nicholas kept his wry comments to himself. The way Rebecca told it, there had been nothing unusual about either their courtship or their marriage. He was not surprised she was reacting this way to Clarisse. Although she was not sharing his bed, Rebecca had no intentions of Clarisse doing so while she slept on the far side of the connecting door. There were very few people that Rebecca did not like, but Clarisse would be one of those.

The redhead smiled, but seethed underneath. She had been spending the last six years getting used to the sound of that name for herself. Who was this child who had spirited away Nicholas's heart? Next to her freshness, Clarisse knew she appeared an overripe spinster. With barely concealed barbs, she asked, "Nicholas, where did you meet your wife?"

"We met in America. She saved my life, so how can a man resist that?" He placed his arm around Rebecca's slender shoulders, not missing the narrowing of Clarisse's green eyes at the motion.

"Oh, you worked in the army camp or some such thing?"

Rebecca could not disregard the insult. With icy rage, she said, "Despite your insinuation, Miss Beckwith, I was not a camp follower. I'm afraid I come from a worse background than that. I'm one of those unspeakably horrid Patriots. Ironic, isn't it? A professed Yankee married to an English lord!" Without a change of tone, she added, "It has been most interesting meeting you, Miss Beckwith. I'm sure we will have the pleasure again soon."

"Good day," Nicholas said, trying to hide his pride in his wife for handling the situation so adroitly, but failing. His grin would further enrage the woman who wanted to resume her place in his bed and the way she had once controlled his life, but he did not care. There had been many changes in Nicholas Wythe in the years since they had last met. No woman was going to direct his life, especially Clarisse Beckwith who loved the idea of his title and wealth more than she cared for him. "Thank you for stopping by to welcome us home, Clarisse."

The spurned woman glared at them, then turned and mounted her horse. With a flash of her handheld whip on the horse's flank, she was gone in a cloud of dust toward the main gate. Even as she rode at full speed, she was trying to think of a way to pay back the chit who had dared to steal the title of Lady Foxbridge.

"You certainly handled her well, Rebecca."

Her eyebrows arched in an easy mockery of his most irreverent expression. "I don't think it is normal even in liberal England for a woman to welcome her husband's mistresses. See her if you must, Nicholas, but not at Foxbridge Cloister. If you want to maintain an appearance of marital bliss, don't entertain that woman in our rooms."

He drew her into his arms. "Believe me when I say that I have no desire to do any such thing with Clarisse. What we once shared is in the distant past. If I had wanted to have her as a permanent fixture, it would have been simple to arrange. You are the one I want, Rebecca. How did you sleep last night?"

"Fine." She lowered her eyes, so he would not see the truth. She did not want him to know that she had listened for his footsteps in the other room, and, until she had heard them, she had been unable to sleep.

"I have made an appointment for you with Mademoiselle Pacquette, Eliza's dressmaker. My sister thinks it is imperative that you have a new wardrobe as soon as possible." He teasingly kissed the tip of her nose. "I agree, sweetheart. Now that we are home, we must do some entertaining." He laughed loudly at her grimace. "All our neighbors, not just Clarisse."

"My mind is full with the rules of etiquette you tried to teach me last night. I think I remember them all." She smiled, but the glitter of anger remained in her eyes. "I promise I will use them on the next caller at Foxbridge Cloister."

He held out his hand. "How about going for a ride with me, Rebecca? I was just about to have my horse Donar saddled when I saw you coming out of the house."

Lowering her eyes, she said, "I can't. I don't know how to ride."

"You don't know how to ride?" he asked in shock. Riding was so much a part of life in the country that all children were taught at the same time they learned to walk. He could not remember not knowing how to ride or loving a race along the moorlands on horseback.

"I have never had a need to know how to ride. Father and Hart took our horses when they went to join the army. I know how to drive a wagon, but I have never ridden. If I needed to go somewhere, I walked. If I had something heavy to carry, I put it in the wagon. It was that simple."

"Then it is time you learn. Are you ready for your first lesson on horseback?"

"Now?"

"Why not, sweetheart? Come with me, and we'll find you a suitable mount."

Rebecca kept her hand in his as she walked with him to the stables. The long, low building was made of the same stone of the rest of the house. She saw the lovely carriage that had brought them from the village as well as numerous other vehicles. Her eyes widened as she saw the more than three dozen horses in the paddock near the stable doors.

Nicholas was not looking at them as he put his fingers to his lips and whistled sharply two notes. He waited a second, then repeated what appeared to be a signal. At his side, Rebecca gasped and stepped back as a strange creature appeared around the corner of the stable. Its speed was faster than the carriage. She wanted to race away, but it would catch her before she reached safety. Straight to them, it came, its legs a blur across the cobblestones of the stableyard.

When it stopped directly in front of Nicholas, she gasped. It was a dog, but she had never seen one like it. Full chested, its body narrowed dramatically toward its well-muscled rear legs. Short cropped fur of grey mixed with brown covered it from its long, pointed, black nose to the tip of its wagging tail.

Nicholas knelt and patted its narrow head. "Hermes, you remembered!" he exclaimed.

"I told you he was the smartest dog you would ever see!" came a voice filled with laughter.

When she looked from where she had hidden behind her husband as the creature had raced toward them, Rebecca saw the coachman whose name she recalled was Sims. The two men were delighted with the fact that the dog had answered the call that it had not heard in so long.

"What -- what is it?" she whispered.

Nicholas stood, his smile broadening. "It is Hermes."

"What is Hermes?"

"In addition to the messenger of the Greek gods, he is this fine greyhound."

"Greyhound?" She nodded, her fear vanishing as the dog regarded her with large, brown eyes. Its tongue lolled out its mouth as it panted enthusiastically. Although Hermes had a wide mouth, he did not appear interested in biting her. "I'd heard of them, but I never imagined they looked like this."

Nicholas patted the dog again. "Hermes is a fine courser. We will have to get you your riding lessons quickly, Rebecca, so you can ride with us to the hunt. He can run down any fox or rabbit."

"I'm sure."

"Why don't you pet him?"

Glancing from his smile to the one on Sims's face, she asked uneasily, "He won't bite a stranger, will he?"

"Hermes, this is Rebecca." With a laugh, he added, "There you have been introduced, so you are no longer strangers."

Rebecca hesitated, then put out her fingers to the dog's head. She was startled at how silken the fur was. She had expected it to be as hard as the muscles visible under its skin. "How lovely," she murmured.

"Just keep telling him that. Greyhounds are the vainest creatures on earth." With a grimace and a glance at the gate where Clarisse had disappeared, he mused as if to himself, "Or almost the vainest creatures on earth."

Unsure how to reply, she listened as Nicholas spoke to the carriage driver. While he laughed with Sims, she discovered a side of her husband she had never seen. Among the people he was most comfortable with, he seemed to feel no need to be the cold man he presented to others. He chuckled easily with Sims as if they were members of the same family. With a flush of warmth, she realized that Nicholas treated her with the same openness. Few would ever have seen not only his kindness but the darker emotions he let loose so slightly in her company. In a way, it showed how much he truly cared for her.

Rebecca savored that feeling all through the day as she met the horse she would be using to learn to ride. It was a docile mare named Blossom who would be willing to excuse her mistakes as she learned. Later that day she spent long, boring hours being measured by Mademoiselle Pacquette who chattered in French to Collette while she worked. She used the time to think of how hard it was to deny the feelings she had for her husband.

Her stay at Foxbridge Cloister would not be a long one, but there was no sense in having it be unhappy. She and Nicholas had enjoyed an odd friendship both in Connecticut and on the Prize. There was no reason why they could not be friends again. She could not deny that she felt happiest when she was with him. As she spoke with the seamstress and Collette about designs and colors, she did not give any credence to the idea that she might be falling in love with the man she had married.

*** *** ***

Rebecca slowly became adjusted to her new life. She enjoyed her riding lessons with Sims teaching and Nicholas supervising. Every morning, she worked with Brody in the house as he taught her to supervise the staff. He showed her the kitchens and storerooms were located and introduced her to Esther, the cook who oversaw those basement regions. He took her from room to room and explained its use or history.

Like her, he was fascinated with the oldest sections which were seldom used by the family. She had spent hours by herself examining the many bare cells where the monks had lived before being turned out into the world by the dissolution of the monasteries when King Henry VIII had assumed his position as head of the Church of England. She experienced an undeniable sense of awe when she entered the chapel which was still used for special family services. A shiver had run along her spine as Brody told her it last had been used two years ago when Lord Foxbridge had been buried.

The more Rebecca learned of the huge house and its many servants, the more she knew she would have to learn. Many of the members of the gentry were at a party at a house which was called Avelet Court and owned by the Carter family, so she was spared the immediate need of entertaining.

One night, almost two weeks after her arrival, she was speaking with the butler in the front hall about a question she had about the stillroom and what medicines were available when Nicholas came down the stairs for dinner. She turned with a smile as she heard him approaching.

"What do you think?" she asked as she twirled about so that the full skirts of her new gown whirled in a wide circle around her slender ankles. Mademoiselle Pacquette, after innumerable, interminable fittings, finally had delivered the clothes Nicholas had ordered.

Very seriously, he walked to her. Her smile faded as he came toward her, but it returned as she saw the twinkle in his eyes. He could fool her with that stern attitude no longer. She had learned much of her husband's inherent tenderness in the last twelve days. They had made the after dinner chat in their sitting room a habit that they both had come to look forward to with pleasure. Every night, he would kiss her longingly before she went into her own bedroom to sleep alone.

Often he would go downstairs to work during the quiet hours in his study. Those nights, she would lie awake until she knew he was in his room. As he walked through his adjoining room, her imagination supplied the scenes of him getting ready for bed. An ache filled her until she yearned to run to the door, unlock it, and pour out the longings of her lonely heart. A vow to a man she knew she had not loved as much as she was beginning to love Nicholas kept her from doing as she wanted to do. She was starting to wonder what she would do when Keith came for her. Would she go home or stay with the man she had wed?

Such thoughts were not in her mind as she regarded Nicholas's handsome face as he pretended to be scrutinizing her new gown. "This is the latest style?" he growled.

"That's what they tell me." She stroked the fine material and smiled. "Do you like it?"

He drew her so close to him that her wide skirt billowed out behind her, showing the multitude of starched petticoats. "If I say your new gown is beautiful, it is because you are the one who makes it so, my dear wife." His arms tightened around her silk clad form as his mouth reacquainted itself with hers.

Brody, with a smile, left to give his lord and his lovely lady a bit of the privacy which was so hard for them to find in the big house. He approved heartily of his lord's choice for many reasons, but the primary one was that they seemed to love each other so much. Love of any kind was a rarity in an upper class marriage, but for Lord and Lady Foxbridge, even after five years of marriage, they acted as if they were in the first, warm flush of their courtship. The butler would have been startled to realize how close to the truth he was.

"I was sorry I missed your riding lesson this morning, sweetheart," Nicholas said as they walked to the dining room. "I had some business to attend to on one of the tenant farms. A disagreement over payments due and who should be paid what. It was settled quickly, but I was all morning dealing with it."

She smiled. "You would have been proud of me. I did not fall off once today. I actually got Blossom up to a fast walk." The old horse had a tendency to go everywhere at the slowest imaginable speed.

"I must get you a better horse. I'll have Sims spread the word through the area stables that we are interested in a fine mare for you."

"That is not necessary. I can ride one of the horses in the Cloister stables while I am here." She bit her lip as her voice trailed away into silence. As she reminded Nicholas that she did not intend to stay, she felt his hand tighten over hers.

Coldly, he said, "I said I will buy you a horse, Rebecca, and I plan to do so."

Once more the barriers had dropped between them to destroy the happiness they more frequently shared. As much as they wished to pretend that this was going to continue forever, both knew that when the fall came, Rebecca would be leaving. Not until they reached the dining room did either speak. Rebecca was surprised to see Curtis standing next to Eliza. She had not known that he had arrived back from London. He must be staying in town, for his friends whom he had stayed with on his last visit had closed their house for a fortnight to call on other friends.

"Good evening, Curtis," she said, trying to mask the sorrow caused by her unthinking words.

"How good to see you again!"

She smiled briefly. For some reason, she could not warm up to Eliza's suitor. She did not understand why because he was always so kind. Even when Eliza was supporting Lady Margaret in her continual, cruel comments to Rebecca, he would try to say something to offset the nastiness. It was something about the way he seemed to watch the Wythes, especially Nicholas, as if there was something else on his mind than what he was speaking of at that moment.

As she had before, she told herself sharply to stop being foolish. Curtis must be interested in cultivating Nicholas's friendship if he wished to marry Eliza. It was clear she was captivated by him, but they would need Nicholas's permission to wed. Despite that, she could not dismiss the expression in his eyes when he did not know that she was watching him. He was like the huntsman deciding when to move in on the stag to best capture the prize. His calculated manner made icy fingers along her spine.

As they sat down for dinner, they listened to Curtis tell of the latest news from London. There was the usual selection of scandals, duels, and marriages for this time of year. The tempo of society's good and dark sides would not pick up until the winter season which would be a continuous round of formal dances and morning calls, clandestine affairs and men dying for the woman they wanted to impress.

After the meal, the men stayed in the room to talk about some business matters on which Curtis wanted Nicholas's opinion. Lady Margaret went to her rooms to avoid having to spend time with her detested daughter-in-law. That left Eliza and Rebecca to retire to the solarium which was their favorite room.

Trying to reach past the wall that had been forced between them by Lady Margaret's insistence of keeping them apart, Rebecca said, as soon as they entered the room, "You must be so happy to have Curtis here again, Eliza."

She smiled joyously. "Don't you think he's wonderful? I know you love Nicholas and all that, but don't you think that Curtis is nice?"

"He's very nice," she said, wishing she could be more sincere. "I know you care for him very much."

Taking Rebecca's hand, she pulled her down to sit with her on the settee. Their wide skirts covered most of it. Eliza looked with pleading into the Rebecca's eyes. "Tell me, for I need to know. What does it feel like to know that you are so in love with a man that you want to marry him? How do you know it isn't infatuation like with other suitors? I mean, I have thought I was in love before, but soon I would forget that one and fall in love with the next. How did you know that Nicholas was the man for you?"

Rebecca stared at her in shock. She could not reveal the truth that she had not loved Nicholas when she had married him and that she did not love him even now. No, she told herself firmly, as a stray thought filled her mind. She could not love him. She would not love him.

Trying to equivocate, she replied, "It's really very hard to explain, Eliza."

"I know about why you married Nicholas. I know, too, that he interrupted your wedding to another man."

In shock, she gasped, "He told you that?"

"I asked him, and he told me. I had been confused as to why you had not tried to contact us for all this time, so he explained that you knew nothing of us." She frowned at her own thoughts, then smiled again weakly. "That's why I thought you would be the best one to ask about this. How did you know that Nicholas was the one you wanted to be with and not this other man?"

"He is my husband, Eliza."

"I know that, but, if you had refused to go with him, Nicholas would not have made you come to Foxbridge Cloister. Anyone can see that he dotes on you. He is anxious to give you everything you want, and he takes such pride in showing you off to his friends when we go out for rides in the carriage."

She sighed. She could not explain the bargain she had made with Nicholas. Instead she said, "I guess you know that you want to spend your whole life with a man when you cannot imagine spending the rest of your life without him. It's as simple as that."

Eliza was silent as she tried to assimilate the advice. She was so enrapt in her own thoughts that she did not notice the expression on the face of her sister-in-law.

Rebecca was thinking of her own words. Was that what love truly was? A true, lasting love? If so, it must be a nascent love she felt for Nicholas. The thought of leaving him and Foxbridge Cloister sent a pain deep into her soul. She did not want to love him. She did not want to love the man who had hurt her to satisfy his own needs without caring for hers. Immediately her heart refuted her words. Nicholas cared for her. He cared very much as he had from the very beginning.

"Excuse me, Eliza," she said, shakily, as she rose.

"Do you feel poorly?"

She waved her hand weakly. She did not want to stay and explain. Only in the haven of her room could she sort out the strange thoughts bombarding her brain. "I'm fine. Just tired. Please tell Curtis I will see him tomorrow and explain to Nicholas that I decided to go to bed early."

As quickly as she could in her bulky gown, Rebecca ran along the hallway. She did not want to meet the men coming out of the dining room. She did not know what she possibly could say to Nicholas when her heart was in such an uproar.

Up she went past the huge, stained glass window and into their suite. Collette looked up in shock that Lady Foxbridge would be returning from dinner so early. She did not say anything as she saw the distress on her lady's face. All she did was put out one of the new nightdresses which had been delivered with the gowns and other apparel. Wishing her lady a good night, she left the room quietly, unsure if Lady Foxbridge had seen her from the depths of her misery.

Rebecca refused to think of anything as she put her nightgown on and brushed her hair as she did each night. Although she was not tired, she got into bed and rested her head on her pillow. Tears dripped onto its muslin cover as she tried to deny that this could be love she felt for Nicholas.

She would not let it be love. If she could choose any man in the world to love, it would not be the egotistical, self-confident Nicholas Wythe.

That was all true.

Yet, if it was all true, why did her heart leap in joy at the sound of his voice and threaten to break when she considered her trip home to Keith and her family?

To the dark of the room, she whispered, "I do not want to love you, Nicholas! I do not!" She buried her face in the pillows as she wept for the love she had lost and the one she did not want to find.

Chapter Eight

"Brody," Rebecca asked as she descended the stairs the following Sunday morning, "would you please have the carriage brought around?"

"Yes, my lady," he answered. He sent a lad running to the stable with the message. Turning back to her, he watched as she adjusted her gloves and settled her bonnet more securely on her dark hair. "If my lord should ask, whom shall I tell him you are calling on this morning?"

With a chuckle, she said, "For your and Nicholas's information, I'm going to church."

He nodded, hiding his surprise. The only church in town belonged to the Church of England. That Lady Foxbridge had practiced the rites of a different sect had been well circulated throughout the house with almost as much interest as if it had been announced she believed in witchcraft. He did not say anything of that as she waved lightly and went out the door.

Thanking Sims for holding the carriage door, Rebecca entered the carriage. It seemed so empty without Nicholas with her, but she needed to get away from Foxbridge Cloister and the sweet ties which were urging her never to leave. Perhaps in the quiet of the church, she would be able to think her problems through and find the answer which had eluded her so far. The problem had been plaguing her since her discussion with Eliza.

Lost in her thoughts, the journey went quickly down the hill and into the village. Heads twisted at the strange sight of the Wythes' carriage coming into the small village which was simply called Foxbridge. Whether it had been in existence before the monastery or had grown up in the shadow of its walls, no one seemed to know. The two were so interconnected that they were inseparable.

"I shall wait for you, my lady, if you wish," said Sims as he helped her from the coach.

"That isn't necessary. Go over to the Three Georges, if you want," she said with a smile as she pointed at the rickety tavern at the edge of the green.

Not wishing to offend any of the last three kings, the owner of the local taproom had named his place for all of them. It was the gathering place for after work and long into the night on the men's few days off. The men who had started drinking draughts last night would be sleeping off their bouts in the chairs and on the tables. A few hardy souls would still be bending their elbows as they leaned on the bar that Rebecca would never see. No ladies of respectable mien would enter.

He nodded. "That's kind of you, my lady. When church is over, send one of the lads for me. The vicar tends to be long winded some Sundays." As she started to walk toward the church, he added, "By the way, my lady, if no one mentioned it, the Wythes' pew is the first one on the right side of the church."

"Thank you," she said sincerely. Without her friends at Foxbridge Cloister, she certainly would have made too many unforgivable errors already. The system of etiquette was so much stricter than the one she had known. Many strictures were put on her, and she had learned that her title brought her only less freedom.

The church was as plain on the inside as on the outside. It appeared that none of the stained glass windows at the Cloister had been used in the building of the church which had replaced it as a place of worship. Even if Sims had not told her which pew belonged to the Wythes, she would have guessed. It was the only one with a door and cushions on the seats.

When the sexton saw who was entering the church, he leapt from his post at the back of the sanctuary to hurry down the aisle to unlock the special pew which had not been opened in years. At one time, the lord and his lady had attended every Christmastide and Michaelmas, but that tradition, like many others revered by the peasants, had disappeared. He could not remember the last time one of the Wythes had attended services at this church.

He was not the only one who reacted with astonishment as the churchgoers turned to see why he was unlocking the pew. Eyes widened in disbelief as they saw the young woman coming alone into the church. In her light pink gown with its flounces and bows, she could have been one of the angels in the treasured Bible on the altar.

Like the sexton, they immediately identified the lady. Few newcomers came to Foxbridge on the wild, west coast, so each one was noted carefully. Nobody knew quite what to make of Lord Foxbridge's wife, for she was an American, and everyone admitted that they were a most strange breed. By nature cautious, they were waiting to see why she had crossed the invisible class lines that divided the village from the Cloister. When the last Lord Foxbridge had deigned to interfere in their lives, it had meant only trouble. They were anxious to see what this new lord and his odd lady intended to make of Foxbridge.

Rebecca was aware of the consternation, but believed it would best if she acted unconcerned. She thanked the man who unlatched the pew. Flustered by her warm smile, he scuttled away to his usual seat in the last pew. She wished every eye in the church was not glued directly to her back. If she made a mistake during the service, it would be evident to everyone. She sighed, silently. There was nothing she could do about it. She could not get up and walk out before the service started.

When the minister came along the aisle to the altar, he stopped to welcome her. From his lack of surprise, she surmised that he had been informed of her presence. It showed Rebecca more than anything else in her experiences at Foxbridge Cloister that everything she did was subject to public scrutiny and opinion. As the wife of Lord Foxbridge, her life in a large way was no longer hers alone. If all the lands belonged to the lord of the Cloister, Lord Foxbridge and his family belonged to these people. It was just another way in which the bonds which had been formed and tempered for centuries enmeshed them.

"It is lovely to see you here, my lady." His face above his ecclesiastical collar and frock was handsome. He was a young man with intelligent, blue eyes not so different from her own. His light brown hair was tied back sedately at his nape.

"Thank you, Reverend." She was careful to hide her amusement. This poor man must be of interest to the mothers with marriageable daughters. Such good looks combined with a living in the parish made him extremely desirable to any maiden looking to better herself. "I have been anxious to attend your services. I have missed attending church."

He smiled before he continued to the altar. The service was a very enthralling one with the music Rebecca enjoyed so much. She sang well and had helped with the small choir in her own church. She avidly sang the songs which were ones she was familiar with. By carefully listening to the words spoken from the altar, she was able to make her way through the differences in the service without making any gross mistakes. Only at the end, when the minister left the church after the final benediction, did she err. When she saw no one departing, she tarried also until she realized that they were waiting for her to leave first.

Rebecca hurried along the aisle, glad her bonnet shaded her cheeks which must be a brighter rose than her gown. At the door, she greeted the minister. "I'm afraid I am the cause of the delay for your parishioners leaving, Reverend. I don't know all of the traditions of this title I possess yet."

"It's no problem, Lady Foxbridge," he said with a laugh as his eyes sparkled with boyish good will. "Any excuse to get them to stay longer in church is always a good one." He bowed over her hand, startling her, for she had not expected such an action from a man of the cloth. "My name is John Middleton, my lady."

"Reverend Middleton, I enjoyed the service very much. I hope my arrival will not be so disruptive next week."

He hid his surprise that she intended to attend regularly at his small church. When he had been sent to Foxbridge a year ago, he had been informed quickly by his flock that the gentry did not come to this church. "We will be glad to see you whenever you wish to join us, my lady."

"Thank you. Good day."

She stepped down the stairs to see Sims sitting on the ground by the carriage. That surprised her, for she had thought he was going to wait at the Georges. When she walked out onto the road toward where the coach was parked, she understood why he was nearby. In a half circle on the green across from where the fine vehicle sat, a group of men were ogling her with open admiration. She did not have to be close enough to smell the alcohol on their breaths to guess these were the men who had been patronizing the pub all night. One of them started to move toward her, but paused as he saw Sims step out from behind the carriage.

As if he had not seen the men, the carriage driver opened the door. He tipped his cap to her, but out of view of the others, he winked. She felt her lips twitch, but was able to control them long enough to wait until he had closed the door before she began to giggle. She wondered what Sims had heard at the pub that had warned him that the village men were interested in meeting Lady Foxbridge face-to-face. She was sure she never would get used to the curiosity of these people.

The ride back to Foxbridge Cloister was lovely with the light taste of sea in the indolent breeze. It was a summer day made to order for picnics and poets. When the carriage stopped at the door, she alit, but did not go into the house. Instead she walked toward the side of the house which overlooked the ocean.

The formal gardens seemed to go on forever, but eventually she left them behind. Knowing that she was a good distance from the house, she untied her bonnet and bent to unbuckle her shoes. Pulling her shoes and stockings off, she dropped them into the depths of her bonnet which she tied over her arm as if it were a bag.

Once again, she was Rebecca North, running in her bare feet through the summer grasses on her way to the fields or school at the church in the village. She twirled in the warm sunshine and felt the fine silk of her gown whirl around her. For the first time since she had come to England, she was herself and not someone named Lady Foxbridge. Gathering wildflowers, she wandered through the meadows that were steadily sloping toward the shore.

The pulse of the waters could be heard in the distance as the waves beat themselves to nonexistence on the shore. She took a deep breath of the fresh air which was one of the few things here that she found more delightful than Connecticut. She had discovered the sea and wanted to be near it always.

She sighed as she realized it was too far to go. By the way the sun was climbing in the sky, it soon would be time for luncheon. Lady Margaret had made her displeasure with her so clear that she did not want to do anything to alienate her mother-in-law further. Already it was so late, that she would have to hurry if she wanted to get to the house before the meal was served.

Swinging her bonnet in her hands, she strolled toward the main house. When she reached a small copse, she hesitated going through it in her fine dress. Then, when she thought of the ridicule she would face at Lady Margaret's hands if she arrived windblown and late for luncheon, she did not pause any longer. Tipping her bonnet onto the ground, she pulled her stockings on again and redid her shoes that reached above her ankles. She retied her bonnet under her chin. Too many lectures she had heard already from Nicholas's mother on how a lady was never seen outside without something on her head.

She folded her dress and petticoats tight to her legs. It was bulky, but this way she could get through this thicket without snagging the material of her gown. Wishing she had not gone so far and made herself late, she plunged into the wood.

Rebecca had no warning as she set her foot on what had been forgotten for more years than she had lived. When the deadly thing had been hidden, no one would recall, but it had remembered its purpose despite years of lying in wait in the heat of summer and beneath the winter snows. Her light step was enough to trigger it. When the trap encircled her leg, it threw her to the ground so hard that a burst of pain was the only thing lighting the darkness which soon swallowed even her agony into its maw of nothingness.

*** *** ***

Nicholas glowered as he came into the dining room. At the table were sitting his mother and sister. He knew Curtis would be by later in the afternoon to take Eliza on their regular Sunday afternoon drive. All in all, the scene was a peaceful one, but he did not feel like enjoying it.

"Good afternoon, son."

He did not return the greeting as he asked, bluntly, "Have you seen Rebecca today?"

"I haven't been looking for her," replied his mother with a sniff. "Where was she bound when you last saw her?"

He paused before he nearly blurted that he had not seen his wife. It would be unusual for a man not to see his wife upon awakening in the morning. He had not talked to Rebecca since she had gone to her room last night after they had enjoyed a pleasant chat in their sitting room. He evaded the question by saying, "It was very early."

"Well, she isn't here, as you can see, Nicholas." Lady Margaret picked up her cup of tea. "Heaven alone knows where her strange fancy might have taken her today."

"This isn't the time for snide comments!" he stated firmly. "Eliza, did she mention anything about plans today?"

She thought for a moment, then answered with a bright smile, "Rebecca said nothing to me, but Brody told me that she wanted to see me when she got back. He must know where she went."

"Thanks," he replied as he grinned at her. Despite his mother's efforts to separate the two young women, they were becoming friends. "Go ahead, and eat. I'll eat with Rebecca." He left quickly to avoid the insult he knew his mother would make.

The butler told him that Lady Foxbridge had gone into the village to attend church, but she should have been back at least an hour ago. It had been Sims who had taken her into the village in the family carriage.

Nicholas went directly to the stable. Sims was found and came to speak to Lord Foxbridge with his napkin from his Sunday luncheon still in his hand. He listened to the questions.

"Aye, my lord. I took her to church. I waited for her and brought her home. Must be over an hour ago we came back. She didn't go into the house, but, instead, she said she was going to go for a walk in the gardens to get some fresh air."

"Which gardens?" he demanded with growing frustration. He had not anticipated a puzzle when he sought his wife.

"The ones on the west side of the house. What's wrong, my lord?"

He did not hesitate as he explained that Rebecca had not returned. Sims did not hesitate either. Quickly, he said he would gather a group of the men together to search out the gardens to see if they could discover where Lady Foxbridge had gone.

"Keep it quiet for now. I do not want to alarm Lady Margaret and Lady Eliza." He did not add that he was not prepared to deal with incriminations from the former and hysterics from the latter if they learned that Rebecca was missing instead of simply late. "First, have Donar saddled for me."

Nicholas did not believe they would find Rebecca in the gardens. He was sure she had sought some less tamed horizon to explore. More than once, he had seen her looking longingly toward the sea. He hoped she had not tried to reach it. There were few places along the sharply dropping cliffs which allowed access to the sand and water below. If she had attempted to climb down, she could have been hurt or killed. He forced the thought of her lying motionless on the strand from his mind. Certainly, she was only delayed or lost on the massive grounds. There was no reason to believe there had been a calamity simply because she was late for luncheon.

Settling securely in the saddle of his bay horse, he whistled. Hermes burst from the stable in answer to the call. Although Nicholas doubted if the dog would be much good in hunting Rebecca, for greyhounds used sight instead of scent to capture their quarry, he wanted his dog's company while he found his wife. Turning the horse's head toward the west, Nicholas was racing across the garden before Sims had the other men organized. Donar easily cleared the shrubs in a single bound that did not break his stride. By his side, Hermes traveled easily. They did not slow until they reached the wild fields past the cultivated lawns.

Nicholas looked for a clue to determine if Rebecca had even come in this direction. He was a mile from the house when he saw the bit of pink fluff hooked on the side of a tall thistle. Stopping his horse, he dismounted. It was a silk flower from a lady's bonnet. Although he did not know what outfit she was wearing, he knew Rebecca had a hat with decorations like this. She must have come this way.

He looked at the dog which was sitting patiently by the horse. "Hermes!" Instantly the dog rose and looked expectantly at him. Flinging out his hand, he ordered, "Rebecca! Find Rebecca!"

The dog wagged his tail and obediently trotted off a short distance in the direction he had pointed. He barked twice which was a signal Nicholas had taught him when there was no game to be found.

Nicholas swore viciously as the dog returned to sit by the horse again. It was not Hermes's fault that he could not track by scent. If only there was some clue he could give the dog, he was sure Hermes would take him directly to Rebecca. They seldom had been unsuccessful when they hunted together.

Surveying the empty fields stretching to the horizon, he called out his wife's name. All that came back was the sound of the sea and the screech of the seabirds he had disturbed. Turning to his left, he shouted her name again. He did the same to his right. For two, eternal minutes, he waited for a response that was not forthcoming.

Either Rebecca had gone somewhere else or she could not answer him. He prayed it was the first. He turned to look back at Foxbridge Cloister. From this location, only its tall chimneys and the dormers of the attics were visible. Between him and the house was a windbreak of trees which obscured the view.

He smiled. In sudden inspiration, he knew that she would have taken the shortest route to the house. She had come this way. She might have gone back by way of the copse. Perhaps there was a clue there to her whereabouts.

Leaping on his horse, he set it racing again toward the small wood. He looped the reins over a briar as he called out again for Rebecca. Again he got no answer. He glanced down at the dog.

"Rebecca?"

Hermes's ears rose at the command he was trying to understand. Suddenly he barked a single time. Nicholas could not restrain his excitement as he heard the dog give the signal that he was ready to flush out his prey. The greyhound must perceive something in the copse he could not. Pushing his way through the thick branches of the overgrown area, he looked for clues to her passage. It did not take him more than a dozen paces to traverse the thicket, but there were no signs that she had passed through.

By the time, he had renegotiated back through to where Donar and Hermes waited, he was swearing loudly. His clothes were ripped, he was scratched, but most of his frustration was with not discovering anything about Rebecca's location.

He remounted. Shouting an order to the dog, he started to ride. When he realized the dog was not with him, he called over his shoulder. Again Hermes barked once.

"She's not there!" Nicholas snapped.

A third time the greyhound barked.

"She's not there! Why am I arguing with a damned dog?" he growled to himself. "Hermes, come!"

The dog hesitated, but followed as Nicholas headed toward the house. Perhaps she had returned safely while he had been out looking for her. Those hopes were dashed immediately. There was no news of Rebecca. It was time to start a full search. It had been two hours since she last had been seen. If she was unhurt, she would have come back to Foxbridge Cloister by this time.

Nicholas went into the house to gather more help. He ordered Brody tersely to send every available house-servant out to the barn to aid in the search. "And tell Mother and Eliza, if you would," he shouted over his shoulder. "I don't have time to deal with them now. When Mr. Langston gets here, send him out to the stable as well. We need everyone."

"Good luck, sir."

He did not reply as he went out to search toward the west on a slightly different tangent. Sims would have the others do an inch by inch search of the grounds starting at the house and expanding out until they discovered what had happened to Lady Foxbridge.

Hour after hour, the search continued fruitlessly. Too soon, even the late light of summer was beginning to fade into twilight. The seekers were becoming fatigued, but no one dared to stop until Lord Foxbridge called off the quest.

Those waiting in the Cloister were finding the hours moving far too slowly. Upstairs in the master suite, Collette was weeping inconsolably. In the solarium, Eliza was fighting the urge to do the same. She waited alone. Lady Margaret had shut herself away in her rooms, and Curtis was involved in the search. Although she held her petit point canvas, she had not sewn a stitch all afternoon. She had spent the hours walking between the tall windows leading onto the terrace and the hearth. As soon as there was news, she would be informed. She began to pray that the news would not come too soon, for she feared it would be only bad.

At the sea cliffs, Nicholas was a silhouette against the last red rays of the sunset, staring as the sun sank into the western sea. In the land where the sun still was shining was Rebecca's well-loved home. He feared that he had taken her from where she had been happy to bring her to the Cloister to be involved in some horrible tragedy which had taken her life. Although he should have left her in America, he had been compelled by his own desire to possess her. He had not expected that compulsion to end in her death.

"No!" he shouted to the water and the sky. He refused to believe that she was dead. His heart could not accept that fact.

Picking up the reins of his horse, he mounted and headed back to the house. There had been no further signs of Rebecca in the sea marshes. He paused as he was about to ride past the wood once again. Looking at Hermes, he asked as he had so frequently, "Rebecca?"

The dog's ears perked at the command. As before, he barked once. Nicholas smiled grimly, for Hermes's opinion mirrored his own. He could not shake his feeling that she had come this way. It would be so like Rebecca to push through the copse instead of taking the time to go around it.

He would not be able to rest until he checked the briar-filled underbrush one more time. If he wanted to do that tonight, he had to do it immediately. Although it was still twilight in the open, among the trees, it would soon be nighttime black. He sought a different tangent through the bushes, but again he had no luck. With a sigh of regret, he turned back. He could not believe both his intuition and Hermes's keen sight were wrong.

Shoving on the thick brush, he swore as briars tangled in his hair. He pulled sharply and left the tie holding the dark strands at the back of his collar. Absently he shoved the hair back from his face. He could not think of the irritating hair when he must figure out where Rebecca could be. As he neared the edge of the copse, he heard Hermes barking excitedly. Perhaps he had put too much credibility into a beast's skills. Sorrow slowed him, and he was not two steps from the edge when his eyes were caught by the glare of white on the ground. Something was bright in the moonlight.

Pushing aside some of the stubborn bushes, he saw he had found Rebecca. He must have passed within inches of her on his previous excursions through the wood. As he tried to break the briars to reach her, he called out her name. She did not answer, and he doubled his efforts to reach her, paying no attention to the blood which dripped from the scratches on his hands.

Kneeling, he did not move her, for it was clear that something had injured her. She did not respond to her name or his hand shaking her gently. At first, he could not tell what had caused her senselessness. It was only when he ran his hands along her to check for broken bones that he discovered what had delayed her.

Nicholas cursed as he felt the jaws of the trap that had closed upon her upper leg. He had thought there were no more of these on Foxbridge Cloister lands. Although other landowners used these man sized traps to keep poachers away from their hunting lands, for the past two generations none had been used at the Cloister. It appeared that one had been forgotten. If it had not been so old and rusty, it would have severed Rebecca's leg. Her thick dress might have saved her leg. How badly she was hurt, he had no idea.

Although he hated to do so, he left her on the ground. All of his efforts to revive her had been useless. He had to have help to get her back to the house. Ordering Hermes to remain by the copse, he rode at top speed back to the Cloister.

Nicholas did not wait to dismount as he entered the stableyard that was brilliantly lit with torches. Looking about for Sims, he signaled to the man directing the search.

"My lord?"

"I've found her."

"What -- ?"

Impatiently Nicholas stated, "No time. Hitch the wagon. Bring it to the copse to the west of the house. We need blankets. Get them! Fast!"

"Yes, my lord."

"Send someone for the doctor."

Sims replied, "The doctor is away visiting family."

"Go, then, Sims, and get the next closest one. Rebecca is going to need a doctor."

The coachman paused only long enough to ask, "My lord, the doctor will want to know if he should bring anything special."

"Tell him Lady Foxbridge has been caught by an ancient mantrap which somehow got left in the copse. Hurry, man, hurry!"

His face as pale as the moon's ghostly visage, Sims did as ordered. By the time the wagon was heading across the gardens, the coach was careening wildly down the drive to find a doctor. Although Lord Foxbridge had not elaborated, every man knew the damage such an instrument could cause to the soft body of a small person like Lady Foxbridge.

Brody stood on the steps by the front door with a torch in his hand. As he rode past, Nicholas shouted, "We have found her. Get her bed ready."

The butler nodded and rushed inside. Efficiently, he prepared for the worst. He did not know what had happened, but it was clear that Lady Foxbridge was in a bad way. Going upstairs, he went to the master suite. Lord Foxbridge had said he wanted her in her bed, so he must have meant the lady's room of the suite.

Collette calmed as she learned that Lady Foxbridge had been found. She set to work immediately to have everything ready when she was returned to her room. Soon the room would be swarming with staff and family, so she tried to anticipate every need before chaos hit.

In the copse, Nicholas went unerringly to where Rebecca had not moved. It took three men to open the trap enough to remove her snared leg. The jaws moved very sluggishly, but that is what had saved Rebecca's life. If it had worked as it had been designed, she would have bled to death. As carefully as they could, they lifted her onto a blanket and carried her to the wagon.

Nicholas left Donar and the greyhound in the hands of one of the undergrooms as he climbed into the back of the wagon to ride with the still silent woman. During the slow, bumpy ride, he gazed at her face which was lifeless in the glare of the moon. He had checked her pulse at her throat more than once. Although it was faint, it was steady. She seemed to be only sleeping, but he hoped in the light, there was the chance they would find the reason for this senseless state.

Brody ordered everyone away as the men carried the woman upstairs. Eliza ran forward to follow her brother up the stairs, but he motioned her back.

"Not yet, Eliza. Wait here with Curtis for the doctor. There's nothing you can do. Where's Mother?"

"In her rooms."

Nicholas's jaw tightened in rage. "Would you tell her that Rebecca has been found, but is unconscious?" He did not trust himself to speak to his mother. She had made it clear that she did not care what happened to her daughter-in-law. Once Rebecca was well, he intended to rectify this ridiculous situation.

When he went into the room where the men had placed her on the clean, white sheets of her bed, he paid no attention to Collette and Gilmore, his valet, who hovered to one side. Nicholas bent and untied the ribbons of her ruined bonnet. Her hair cascaded to the pillow. For a second, he smiled. He knew what Rebecca had been doing. She had been seeking the freedom she could not have as Lady Foxbridge. When he tenderly removed her shoes and stockings, he saw dirt on the bottom of her feet. She had reached for the life she had known across the ocean and had nearly lost the one she had with him.

The bunched up skirt came apart reluctantly. On her right leg, he could see the rips where the teeth of the trap had torn into the material. It was then that he saw blood and knew Rebecca had not escaped unscathed from the instrument of torture. He did not dare to probe any farther because he feared he would injure her worse.

His eyes rose from the bright red on the pink dress to meet the frightened eyes of the two who served them most intimately. Only these two knew that Rebecca did not share his bed each night. They had kept that secret well, mainly because they cared so much for the woman lying so still on the bed.

Gilmore dampened his lips and murmured, tritely, "She will be fine, my lord."

"Oui, mon seigneur," echoed Collette. In her distress, she reverted to her native language. She added, in English, "My lady will recover completely, my lord."

"I hope so," he said, softly. Shaking the seductive fingers of despair from him, he asked in a much more normal tone of voice, "Gilmore, can you get me a cup of tea and some toast? I have skipped two meals, and I have a feeling it may be a very long night."

"Of course, my lord. Anything for -- ?" He paused, unsure if he should continue.

Nicholas shook his head. "Let's wait to see what the doctor says. Sims should be able to find a doctor within an hour of here. Perhaps she will be awake by then."

His optimistic words did not prove to be prophetic. When the doctor arrived nearly two hours after she had been found, Rebecca was still unconscious. The cup of tea sat half-finished on the dressing table and the toast untouched.

Nicholas had pulled the chair by the bed and had spent most of unending hours holding Rebecca's hand. Every few minutes, he would call her name softly.

Gilmore and Collette waited stoically in the room. Neither dared to voice their fears. The sight of the strong man forced to his knees by his love for his wife nearly caused the tears in their eyes to brim over to roll along their faces.

When the doctor was announced, all three looked expectantly toward the man. He was a fine boned young man who introduced himself as Dr. Geoffrey Scott. "I understand Lady Foxbridge was caught by a mantrap, my lord." There was disgust in his voice. It was clear that he considered it was nearly justifiable that the one of those who had planted the barbarous devices in the ground deserved to be the victim.

Nicholas did not care what the man thought of him and his family, but he did not want the doctor's influenced negatively toward Rebecca. Quietly, he replied, "Yes, Dr. Scott. No one suspected any remained on the grounds. My grandfather ordered them all removed years ago when my father and his siblings were youngsters. This one must have been overlooked. It was so old and rusted, it could not close properly."

"Fortunately for Lady Foxbridge." Dr. Scott lost his belligerence. He could have compassion for his patient if she was innocent of the crime of trying so sadistically to keep starving men from providing food for their families.

"Yes," Nicholas seconded, "fortunately for her. She's over here." He liked the brash man who could be no older than himself. "She is unconscious, and it's obvious that she has been cut by the jaws of the trap which were around her right leg when we found her."

He walked to the bed. "Everyone will please leave while I examine her, except you." He pointed to Collette. "I shall need your help."

"Now, see here -- " began Nicholas.

Dr. Scott faced him as he slipped his black coat off. "My lord, please leave. You are delaying her examination. I will report as soon as I know what is causing this problem."

The light eyes of the doctor met the anguished eyes of the taller man, and, for once, Nicholas was the first to back down. Signaling to his valet, they went to the door. In the sitting room of the suite, others waited. As the doctor had dismissed him, Nicholas ordered everyone else from the room. He did not want the staff to witness to his disintegration into agony.

Only Eliza ignored his order. Curtis had left Foxbridge Cloister after the search ended. He would come back in the morning when he would not be in the way. She had appreciated his kindness.

She sat on a settee and did not say anything, so Nicholas paid her no mind. She watched as he went to the windows in the wall opposite the fireplace. He opened one and looked out toward the ocean.

In the extraordinary quiet of the house this evening, Nicholas could hear the far-off sound of the sea which did not cease its motion even though disaster had struck Foxbridge Cloister. He leaned on his elbows and hid his face in his hands. What he had feared had come to pass. He had brought Rebecca to his home only to add more sorrow into her life. He had wanted to give her love, but continued to provide only misery for her. He wondered if he ever would have a chance to atone for his crime of wanting her too much.

She must wake again. If she did not. . .He groaned as his hands fisted against his forehead. She must wake.

She must.

Chapter Nine

"My lord? Lord Foxbridge?"

Nicholas turned at Collette's impatient call. "Is the doctor done so soon?" He could not keep from thinking this meant the worst.

"No, my lord." She smiled to ease his distress. "It's Lady Foxbridge. She is awake, and she won't cooperate until she sees you."

He grinned as he stepped through the door. His eyes went to the bed where finally the blue eyes in the peaked face were open. As she met his gaze, he affixed a false scowl on his lips to match the mock anger in his voice. "I hear you are refusing to cooperate with the doctor, Rebecca. This is hardly the time for your Yankee stubbornness."

His smile returned as she laughed softly. She winced as the sound hurt her aching skull. "You had better be glad," she said, in a hoarse whisper, "that I have that thick head you've accused me of having. The doctor said I took quite a bump."

"Sit over there, Lord Foxbridge," ordered the doctor, although he was smiling also. "Now, my lady, you have seen your husband. Will you allow me to continue?"

"Yes," she murmured. She closed her eyes and sank back into the pillows. If the truth must be known, she felt awful. The last thing she could remember, before awaking moments ago, was the sharp pain pulsating in her right leg. She did not dare to ask what had happened, unsure if she wanted to know.

Quickly and competently, the doctor cut away her ruined gown. He frowned as he saw the row of toothmarks across her thigh. With the freshly boiled water he had ordered, he washed the dirt and dried blood from the injured area. He saw the lady's hands grasp the sheets, but she did not utter a sound. Most of his patients screamed during this process. His respect for her increased. He hated having to do what he must next.

"My lord, I need a bottle of whiskey." At the shock on the man's face, he added, "Not for me, but for your lady."

Nicholas nodded and sent Collette to fetch it. While they waited for her to return, he went to the other side of the bed. He picked up Rebecca's clenched fingers. Stroking her forehead, he asked, "How are you doing, sweetheart?"

She grimaced. "I may not be dancing for a while."

The doctor reassured her, "Only for a short time, my lady. It isn't as serious as it could have been. You were very lucky."

"This is lucky? What do you British consider bad luck?"

Both men laughed at her ironic words. None of Rebecca's sense of humor had been bruised. Nicholas was pleased, for she would need it in the days of recovery ahead.

Collette returned with a bottle and a cup. She knew what the doctor intended to do, so she had brought what he needed. Dr. Scott poured a large serving into the cup and handed it to Rebecca. "Drink, my lady."

"I don't drink this," she said in surprise. "I never have."

"All the better. You will need less if you aren't used to it. It's to dull the pain, my lady. Perhaps someday we will have something better to help, but for now this is the best I can offer you." When she hesitated, he ordered again, "Drink it all, but not too fast."

The first sip burned all the way to her stomach and brought tears to her eyes. No one laughed as she choked with the bitter taste of the whiskey. She looked into Nicholas's eyes and saw his pain. His expression told her of the torment he had known as he had searched for her. Taking courage from him, she tried a second drink. As she slowly drained the cup, it no longer seemed to taste so horrible. A warmth from her center enveloped her in a haze that ruffled the edges of her vision. She found it easier to close her eyes and be rocked on the gentle sway of the bed.

Dr. Scott took the cup from her fingers as she settled deeper into the pillows. He smiled grimly. "She's right. She must not drink at all, if this small bit of whiskey incapacitates her out so quickly. Collette, I need that bottle back. Pour more into the cup in case she needs it. Good. Give me the bottle."

Taking a deep breath, he tilted the bottle so the clear, amber liquid flowed into the deep cuts. As he had expected, the woman came awake with a scream of agony. He swore as her convulsive motion knocked the bottle from his hand. "Hold her down, my lord. I must put salve on these wounds and sew them shut. She must be kept still."

"I will do my best." Nicholas's face was grey beneath his deep tan. It hurt him to see her in such anguish. He concentrated on keeping her motionless. Collette helped also. From Rebecca's lips came mumbles of pain-wracked phrases that made no sense. It seemed forever until the doctor ordered them to release her. Across her badly swollen leg was a swath of medicine and bloodstained bandages.

The doctor motioned for Nicholas to follow him after ordering the maid to dress Lady Foxbridge in her nightgown. "If possible, don't move her leg. If you must, move it as little as you can."

Eliza came forward as they closed the door to the bedroom. Quickly, Nicholas introduced her to the doctor.

Both listened as the doctor spoke of his findings. "As I told her, Lord Foxbridge, she was very lucky. The cuts are deep, but I don't think there is any permanent damage. She must stay in bed at least a week, more likely two. The swelling in that leg must go down before she puts any weight on it. If she strains it at all, infection might spread through it, and it would mean amputating her leg."

"No! Not Rebecca!" cried Eliza. She could not imagine that happening to her sister-in-law.

"Hush, Eliza," said Nicholas. "The doctor said that all we must do is keep her in bed. All?" He chuckled, much relieved with Rebecca's near miraculous escape from death. "We may have to tie her down to keep her in bed, Dr. Scott, but she will follow your orders. I trust you will be checking her regularly. Of course, our carriage is available for your convenience for calls here and to help you make your calls on your other patients."

"That is very gracious of you, Lord Foxbridge. Keep her quiet tonight. It might not be a bad idea if you can get her to drink more whiskey to dull the pain. I can assure you she will be in misery for the next few days."

Nicholas asserted, "She will be a very stoic patient. Rebecca is brave about everything. Impatience with her injury is something else altogether, but we will deal with that when we get to that."

Dr. Scott rose and picked up his bag. "Very good. I will be back by midmorning at the latest. I have several patients I must check first. By ten, at the latest, I will be back to change the bandages. Don't touch them before then even if they get blood-soaked. Just slip cloths under her leg if you are worried about the mess."

"That doesn't concern me. All I want is for Rebecca to be well again." He held out his hand, for the first time noticing the multitude of scratches on the palm. Dried blood had etched a bas-relief design into his skin. Worried for Rebecca, he had ignored the slight pain. He continued to do so. "Thank you for coming so promptly. We will see you in the morning, Dr. Scott."

"My pleasure," he said as he shook the proffered hand. "If I may say so, Lord Foxbridge, both you and your sister should get some rest tonight if possible. It won't be a short recovery, and you don't need to get ill also."

"I understand."

Brody was waiting patiently in the hallway to take the doctor back to the front door. When he saw the smile on Lord Foxbridge's face, he sighed with relief. AS the two men walked away, Nicholas turned to Eliza. "You heard Dr. Scott, sister. Go to bed. I will need your help tomorrow."

She hugged him and kissed his cheek. "You rest, too, Nicholas. Let Collette watch Rebecca for a few hours."

"Yes," he lied, "I'll do that. Good night. Oh, Eliza, you can tell Mother that Rebecca is going to be all right." Bitterly, he added, "I'm sure she will be overjoyed to hear that."

His sister said nothing. Neither could understand Lady Margaret's continuing enmity toward Rebecca. It was ripping the family apart. Nicholas sided with his wife, and poor Eliza was not caught in the middle. She did not want to choose. She liked Rebecca, but she did not want to hurt her mother, whom she loved, by showing that friendship.

Nicholas went back to the bedroom. Tersely, he told Collette to get something to eat and a few hours sleep. He would call her later if he needed her. She did not dare to argue, for no one would convince Lord Foxbridge to leave his lady's side tonight.

Sitting on the chair next to the bed, he looked at Rebecca with a critical eye. A lump rose from her forehead where she must have struck the ground. Her hands were scratched also from hitting the briars when she had been caught unaware by the trap. It was her injured leg that drew his attention. Collette had cut one of Rebecca's nightdresses shorter so that the ragged hem was above the line of bandages. The strips of cloth continued to turn a deeper red as the cuts oozed her lifeblood from her body. The leg was a grotesque copy of the slender one next to it.

When her eyes opened a slit, her lips tilted in a smile. "Nicholas!"

"Yes, sweetheart, I am here with you."

"Don't leave me alone this time," she whispered as her fingers slid over his.

Shame filled him as he recalled how he had been so angry with her on the Prize that he had left her to recover on her own. That angry, jealous man seemed to be a part of someone else's life. He could not imagine being away from Rebecca when she needed him. Since those first, hate-filled days, they had learned to care for each other. Perhaps not love, but it was no longer hate.

He leaned forward to kiss her colorless lips. "I will be here as much as you want, Rebecca. You must be a good patient so you can get better as quickly as possible."

When she did not reply, he saw she had drifted away into a sleep which would help cure her weakened body. There was no use being irate that he had not found her when he had gone through the copse earlier. She had been found. No one had had to tell him that to spend the night in the grip of that snare would have been fatal to her.

*** *** ***

As Nicholas had predicted, Rebecca was a model patient for the first few days. She did not complain once of her pain, although her suffering was revealed by the whiteness of her pinched features. When Dr. Scott changed the bandages, she simply closed her eyes and fisted her fingers as she made no sound to show how much it hurt.

The only time Nicholas left her side was when he had to attend to business which could not be postponed. He had had a pallet brought in so he could sleep on the floor next to her. He did not want her to awaken in the night and be alone. When she had joked about them sharing a room, he had been pleased, for it showed that she was accepting her slow recuperation as well as could be expected.

The trouble began when the sharpest pains passed, and Rebecca became bored with her confinement. He could offer her books to read and needlework to do, but that soon was not enough. Eliza was the only other one who visited her. Lady Margaret had called once to fulfill her obligation to her injured daughter-in-law, but had not returned. Although Curtis sent his wishes for a quick recovery, it would not have been proper for him to visit when Rebecca was dressed simply in a cut-off nightgown and robe.

Two weeks after the accident, Nicholas was sitting in the room with her when he threw down his quill onto the dressing table he had been using as a desk. "That's it!" he shouted, angrily. "I am tired of it, Rebecca! I have heard enough complaints."

Her eyes filled with tears. "Don't yell at me. I'm tired of it, too. I hate being stuck in this room all the time."

He said nothing as he went to her closet. Grabbing out one of her dresses, he tossed it on the bed. From the bottom of the cupboard, he pulled a pair of shoes. He put one back with a sigh. Although most of the swelling had left her right leg, her foot would not fit into one of her shoes. She would have to wear a satin slipper on that foot. As he drew a pair of stockings and clean lingerie from her dresser, she asked, "What are you doing?"

"It's Sunday. I thought you might like to go to church."

"Church?" she gasped. "I can go out? When did the doctor say that?"

"Yes, yes, and he told me to delay it as long as possible," he replied with a smile. "I think if I had heard one more complaint, I would have done something wild like this."

He leaned over the bed and pulled her into his arms. Her lips beneath his sent a warm glow of desire through him. Slowly he released her. Even the gentle kisses and touching he wanted to share with her might injure her more, and he would not do anything to risk this sweet lady.

Softly, as he stared into her love glazed eyes, he said, "I will send Collette in to help you dress, sweetheart. While I'm changing, I'll have Sims bring the carriage around. I shall be back in about ten minutes. Is that time enough to get dressed?"

She nodded, not trusting her voice. All she wanted now was to bring those delightful lips back over hers. She would be content to stay in this bed if he would share it with her. As he strode out of the room, she was glad he had not been looking at her when that thought came into her head. The longing to be Nicholas's wife in more than name haunted her, but she must remember the promise that bound her to another man.

Collette twittered happily as she came into the room. She helped Rebecca get dressed in record time. There was no time for doing her hair, so they simply brushed it back and tied it with a ribbon.

When Nicholas returned, he smiled as he saw her dressed normally again. "You look lovely, sweetheart."

"My hair -- "

"Is perfect." He winked broadly at Collette as, stooping, he picked Rebecca up from the bed with no sign of strain. The maid ran ahead to open the doors. He went through each carefully. With Collette and Brody's help, he was able to get down the stairs without worrying about missing one of the steps.

When they stepped out into the sunshine, Rebecca's smile widened. Nicholas knew the delight she was feeling, for he had known the same sense of liberation when he had emerged from his wartime prison to see that the sun still shone and the clouds still blew across the sky on the breeze.

He sat her on the seat and joined her in the lovely vehicle. As soon as Sims had closed the door and had started it down the driveway, she threw her arms around him. "Thank you," she whispered against his chest.

"Thank you for what, sweetheart?" he asked as he rubbed her back. It seemed so wonderful to be able to hold her again. If he had lost Rebecca, he was sure he would have lost his mind also. She was becoming as much a part of his life as breathing.

"For everything," she answered. "For putting up with me, most of all. This is the second time you have had to help me recover."

He laughed. "If we are keeping score, I am willing to let the game be over. I don't want you hurt so ever again."

On the ride into the village, she leaned her head on him and propped up her leg on his which was balanced on the opposite seat. Her own legs were too short to reach the other bench without straining the abused muscles. When the vehicle hit an unavoidable bump, she winced, but did not complain. She was so happy to have escaped her bedroom prison, she was willing to put up with some additional pain.

As two weeks before, all heads turned as the sexton ran forward. A rumble of whispered asides filled the sanctuary when Lord Foxbridge came into the church with his lady in his arms. He thanked the sexton for opening their pew as if it were the most ordinary thing for them to be attending the services. Although Rebecca could not stand for the hymns, she joined in the singing enthusiastically. Her joy spilled over into her lovely voice.

Reverend Middleton was as pleased as Rebecca when he came over to the carriage to talk to her before the Wythes went back to Foxbridge Cloister. When he had heard of her terrible accident, he had been miserable. He had called at Foxbridge Cloister, but had been told that Lady Foxbridge could receive no callers.

"Thank you for your kind concern, Reverend," she said. "I was told you had called, but, for several days, I was in no condition to talk to anyone."

"A full recovery is expected?" he asked, hoping he was not being too nosy.

She did not seem to mind. "Dr. Scott is very optimistic that soon I will be dancing at the local balls." She laughed. "Of course, I have to be invited to one first."

He joined in her laughter. Lady Foxbridge was very candid, and he enjoyed her company so much he had not been able to get her out of his mind for the past two weeks. He did not examine his own feelings of why he had thought more of this lovely lady than was proper. "That is wonderful, my lady. If it isn't too presumptuous of me at this early point in your recovery, I was wondering if you would be interested in being involved in our church fair coming up in a month."

"Church fair?"

"Yes, my lady. We are trying to raise money to replace the steeple that was burnt by a lightning strike last summer." He pointed to where a charred spot showed on the roof of the building. "We were lucky we did not lose our whole church, yet we miss the dignity it had before. It's our hope to rebuild it someday and have a bell to toll the holy days."

Rebecca knew he hoped she would put the name of Lady Foxbridge behind this project to bring the support of the other wealthy families in the area. "What could I possibly do?" She laughed. "Nothing that requires two feet at this point, I am afraid."

He wondered why her laughter was sweeter than the sound of his imagined church bell. It felt as if a heavy weight were on his chest as his breath quickened just by being near her. Unable to control the rapid beat of his heart, he said, "I have heard how lovely you sing, my lady. Would you be willing to teach the youngsters some songs to sing at the fair? It is something that you can do without straining yourself. The children can come here or out to the Cloister whichever is more convenient for you, if you are willing."

Knowing that having the village youngsters at the Cloister would cause more trouble with Lady Margaret, she told him she would be glad to help at the church. If he would inform her of the best time for rehearsal, she would help. It was something she could do easily, for working with children always had been a joy for her.

He thanked her profusely and vowed to have the details to her by Tuesday at the latest. When he wished her a good day, he went to talk to her husband who had been speaking with his tenants. They had taken the opportunity to present their landlord with problems on their farms. He listened and made appointments to see most of them early in the week. Some of the complaints he dismissed as too petty for his concern. Nicholas expected his people to be self-sufficient and only come to him when the problems involved two or more farms.

When he spoke to the minister, he thanked him for coming to see Rebecca after the news of the accident had circulated through the shire. "I think you can expect that she will be coming to church regularly, Reverend."

"And you, Lord Foxbridge?" he asked, impressing himself with his audacity in approaching the man so openly.

Nicholas grinned, once again reminding the onlookers of the fallen angel. "Don't ask too much from an old sinner too quickly, Reverend. Perhaps when the demands of Foxbridge Cloister have lessened slightly, you will see me more often. Good day, Reverend."

"Good day, my lord." He stepped backward as the man moved past him.

Although his face was blank, Reverend Middleton wondered how the sweetly vibrant Rebecca Wythe could have married this dark man who stirred awe in the dullest of his people. Many marriages were arranged, so it might not have been a love match between Lord Foxbridge and his lady. He was very sorry for Lady Foxbridge if that was the truth, for he did not think her cold husband would have much compassion for his wife.

Normally astute at deciphering the intricacies of human nature, Reverend Middleton did not realize his error. It came from the fact he had fallen in love with the lady he had met only twice. His idea to ask her to become involved in the church fair had nothing to do with her title. He just wanted to be sure he would have opportunities to see Rebecca more often. Foolishly, the minister was letting his heart rule his head in regard to the one woman who should have been off limits to him, for her husband controlled the living of the vicarage.

When Nicholas entered the carriage, he sighed. Rebecca glanced at him and saw there was a smile on his face. She took his hand in hers. "Are you as happy as you look or as sad as you sound?"

"Happy, Rebecca. Happy because you are well. Happy because you are happy now as I am." He drew her head down to rest against his chest. "I am finding it quite a surprise to discover how much I am enjoying all this business of being Lord Foxbridge. Years ago, I would have raced away if it had been suggested that I would be interested in solving tenant disputes and arranging the planting schedules." He chuckled. "I now am so wrapped up in all of it that even an outing to church with you becomes a business meeting."

She smiled. "That's all right, Nicholas. I have been asked to become involved in a project of my own, so you need not worry about paying less attention to me. Reverend Middleton asked me to help with the church fair."

"I'm sure he understood when you told him that you would not be able to do it. There always are other good works you can be involved in."

Sitting straighter, she looked into his dark eyes. "What are you talking about? I told him I would be glad to help, of course."

His eyes narrowed. "My dear Rebecca, you can't walk. How are you going to do work at the church? Don't be silly and ruin your recovery that has gone so well this far."

"Are you saying that I cannot do it?"

"Yes!" he said sharply. "If you want it in a nutshell, Rebecca, I am saying you cannot do it!"

Rage like he had not seen on her face since they had arrived at Foxbridge Court brightened her snapping eyes. She drew away from him. Although she could not help wincing as she moved her leg, she ignored it. Coldly, she said, "You have failed to understand our agreement, Nicholas. I'm pretending to be your wife. My life still belongs solely to me. If I want to work at the church fair, it isn't your place to tell me what to do or not to do. As far as I am concerned, I don't need your permission to do what I wish."

He grasped her face in his hands. "You are my wife, Rebecca! Until the annulment, you belong to me. What I tell you to do, you will do! It is clear that you are too stubborn to see that this plan will hurt you more. You won't be involved in this church fair." He released her. "Do you understand?"

As she rubbed her face where his fingers had bit into her skin, she said, "I understand how you feel completely. What you don't understand is that you are going to have to lock me in my room to keep me from going to the church to help with the children's choir."

"Children's choir?" he repeated. All the wrath left his face as he began to laugh heartily. When he could control his own amusement enough to speak, he said, "All right, Rebecca, you win. Go, and work with those youngsters. It may teach you the sense you won't listen to."

He knew enough about the village urchins to guess that any attempt to mold them into any sort of formal group was doomed to failure. They ran wild while their parents worked in the fields or in the cottages. Some of them were headed for real trouble, for there had been too much laxity with no Lord Foxbridge present to give authority to the lazy, craven constable. If Rebecca wanted to try this, she soon would discover it was useless. Then she would be home where she belonged, recovering quietly as she should.

Although she did not know why he had relented so suddenly, Rebecca was not going to question him. She would not strain herself. When Hart had returned after being mustered out after he was injured at the battle of Monmouth in the summer of 1778, he had had to depend on a cane to get around the farm. She had helped him learn to use it. She would use those lessons for herself.

In a much calmer voice, she said, "I will know by Tuesday when rehearsals will be. I would guess it will take up two or three hours a week." She looked into his sparkling eyes. "I promise I will do nothing to delay my recovery."

"I'm sure you will keep that promise," he replied with a smug expression. One visit with those untamed children would convince her that her place was at Foxbridge Cloister. Nicholas would not have been so sure of his own estimation of the situation if he had had more time to learn about his wife. He was not aware that he was the one about to be taught a lesson.

Chapter Ten

Sims insisted on carrying Rebecca into the church, although she assured him that she could manage on her own. For once, the coachman refused to listen to her. He made it clear that if she did not let him help, he would close the door and drive her back to Foxbridge Cloister. With a smile, she concurred.

Reverend Middleton had sent his message to Rebecca early Monday morning. The children would be waiting for her at the church Tuesday afternoon. She had had Collette search the attics to find a cane for her to use, had bid Nicholas good-bye and noted the sparkle of amusement in his eyes once more, and had arrived at exactly the requested time.

When Sims put her down at the back of the sanctuary, she told him she would send for him when she needed him. He looked at the group of rascals racing through the church and was tempted to stay to help her, despite his promise to Lord Foxbridge that he would let Lady Foxbridge do this all herself. The coachman sensed that his lord was expecting his wife to fail in this enterprise. That had surprised Sims, for he had thought Lord Foxbridge would be pleased to see his wife involved in a project like this.

"Thank you, Sims," Rebecca said as her eyes took in the raggedly-dressed children who were playing with no regard to the sanctity of the building. "I will see you in two hours."

"Yes, my lady." He paused as he started for the door. "If you need me -- "

"I won't," she answered calmly.

After he left, Rebecca watched the youngsters for a moment longer. The youngest could be no more than four, while the oldest must be about twelve. Such a disparate group, and they obviously felt no need to behave in church. She raised her cane and sharply hit the back of a pew twice. At the sound, they froze instantly. When the frightened faces turned toward her, she saw they were not malicious children. They just were being children freed from the drudgery of their lives for a brief afternoon of fun.

"Good afternoon." She used the cane to point to two pews next to her. "If you would please be seated, we can get to work on this project."

One of the younger ones spoke a phrase which was most out of place in the church. Expectantly, the children waited for Lady Foxbridge's outraged reaction.

Coolly, she asked, "Is that so, young man? If you think you can shock me with those words, let me tell you that I have heard them used before and far more imaginatively. Now that you have stated your opinion, would you kindly sit as I have asked?"

Awed by her lack of astonishment, the youngsters started to move toward the pews. The child who had cursed so loudly hesitated, but one of the bigger boys shoved him forward, so that he joined the parade to the bare benches.

When they were seated, Rebecca said, "I'm sure you know that I am Rebecca Wythe, Lord Foxbridge's wife. It will take me a little longer to learn all your names, so please bear with me. I'm sure that you know, too, why I am here this afternoon. You, young lady, why are you here? Tell me your name, please."

Rebecca purposely had singled out a young girl who had been one of the few behaving themselves by the altar. With a smile of pride that she had been acknowledged by the lady, the child rose. Her heavy, blonde braids bounced as she did. "My name is Brigit, my lady. I'm here because Ma told me to come."

She laughed at the little girl's forthright answer. "That's the reason I'm sure all of you are here today. That's fine for today, but next time I want you to come only if you want to have fun singing here and at the church fair."

"Fun?" cried a towheaded boy. "It won't be fun to learn stuffy church songs and to stand straight and still while everybody listens."

Slowly Rebecca sat. She did not want to preach to the youngsters. She wanted them to see this as a lark. When a spasm of pain flashed across her face, the children shared guilty expressions as they recalled how they had heard that Lady Foxbridge had been hurt very badly just a short while ago. It impressed them that she was willing to come to work with them.

"I agree," she said when she had smoothed her skirt over her aching leg. She had to remember to be careful, for she had been on her feet only during the past twenty-four hours. "Standing still and singing boring songs is no fun. That is why we won't do that. I shall make you an offer, my young friends. Will you tell me when what we are doing isn't fun? If I tell you to stand straight, I want you to tell me that isn't important. What we are going to do here is for you. Not for your parents and families, but for you."

The tall, dark-haired boy who had subdued the troublemaker said, "Lady Foxbridge, that sounds like a good to me. My name is Greggy, my lady," he added, quickly.

"Greggy, you know your friends better than I. Will you have them line up in front of the altar?" Letting her eyes rove over all of them, she stated, "Children, I don't care how you line up. Just be in two rows. Stand next to whomever you want. If the littlest ones want to stand in the back, fine. Just decide where you want to be, and remember it, so you can stand in the same place next time."

Rebecca watched with a half-smile as they surged to the front of the room again. Despite her words, most of the shortest ones stood in front and the taller ones behind them. She was not surprised that the girls were primarily on one side, the boys on the other. If she had told them to line up that way, they would have grumbled. By doing it themselves, they felt like they were controlling the situation.

"Wonderful!" she called, clapping her hands. The children looked smug at her praise. She wanted them to long to hear the sound of applause for that would give them the impetus to work harder to impress their elders.

She called them back to the pews and had them line up again as if it were a game to remember where they had been standing. They responded perfectly. After they were sitting once more, she talked with them about what they would like to sing. They were very impressed that she would ask their opinion. When they had discussed the three types of song they would like to sing, Rebecca had let them think they had chosen exactly what she had been planning on doing from the beginning.

Quickly she discovered the children had few choices and fewer expectations. They were sure their futures would be identical to their parents' lives. How different from the youngsters in America! There, every farm child hoped to grow to own more than his parents or to become something grand. When she dismissed the youngsters after an hour, for she knew she had to keep them from becoming bored, she told them that if they wanted to learn the songs to be back on Thursday at the same time.

Reverend Middleton rose from his pew at the back of the church as the children exuberantly ran out into the sunshine. He watched as several paused to speak to Lady Foxbridge. She listened to each one as if she were deeply interested in their young thoughts. Catching the door before it could crash closed, he shut out it more slowly to keep out the summer heat.

"I think you are going to do very well with these children, Lady Foxbridge," he said with a grin as he sat in the pew in front of her. His eyes took in her happy smile which lit her pretty face even brighter than it appeared in his dreams.

"They are fine children." She laughed. "I think we will do wonderfully together, Reverend."

"Please, my lady, if you would call me John, I would appreciate it. We will be working closely on this fair, and I know 'Reverend Middleton' is a mouthful." When she started to speak, he added, "I shall continue to call you 'my lady,'so I do not get into habits that might be hard to break."

Rebecca's blue eyes twinkled with mischief. "I didn't know that ministers had bad habits."

"We are human, too." He held out his hand to her. "And, right now, this human is thirsty. Would you care for a cup of tea before you return to the Cloister? You must be thirsty as well after all that discussion with the children."

She placed her fingers in his palm and leaned on him and her cane as she rose cautiously. Intent on her effort, she did not see his expression of delight as he felt her slender hand in his. He transferred her hand to his arm as they walked out of the church very slowly. When her body slanted against his as they went down the steps, he was able to control his smile with only the full force of his self will.

In public he could not show anyone how he felt about the beautiful Lady Foxbridge. He could allow no one to see until he knew how she felt about her husband. Even if she despised Lord Foxbridge, there was no hope for a relationship between them, for she was bound to her husband for all her life. He tried to ignore that fact.

The vicarage was a small house, but it was decorated well and seemed very comfortable. Opening the door onto a hall which led directly to the kitchen at the back of the house, he assisted her into the parlor which was filled with many book shelves and his desk.

"Excuse me while I put on the pot for tea, my lady. My housekeeper Mrs. Martin is out today. Please sit on the settee, my lady. I will be back in a moment."

Gratefully she sank down onto the faded material of the once fine piece of furniture. The day had strained her, but she dared to mention that to no one. If she even hinted that she had pushed herself too far, Nicholas would refuse to let her continue. She wanted to see if she could teach those rascals to be a choir. They were delightful, enthusiastic children, and she was sure they would have fun together. She had to discover the words to one of the songs they wanted to sing so they could learn it correctly. Undoubtedly one of the servants at Foxbridge Cloister would know it.

"Here we are, Lady Foxbridge."

She looked up to see her host returning. He had removed his coat, for summer had burst upon the shire, but still wore his church collar under his waistcoat and shirt. Setting the tray in front of her, he handed her a cup of the tea and offered her her choice from a plate of cakes.

"Thank you, John. You are a wonderful host. You didn't need to go to all this trouble."

With a chuckle, he sat next to her. "It's no trouble at all. Anyone who can accomplish what you have with the youngsters so quickly deserves to be fÍted."

His admiration embarrassed her. To change the subject away from her small success, she asked him more about the fair and what they planned. He told her of the storm the previous year which had disrupted the fair that had been held to raise money for a bell to replace the one cracked years before. Instead of raising money, they had witnessed their church nearly burning to the ground when lightning reached out of the sky to turn the steeple into a tower of flames. The hard rain more than their feeble efforts had saved the church.

As he spoke of his hopes for this backward parish, Rebecca listened intently. Much of what John discussed were things she would like to see happen. She forgot that she did not intend to stay in Foxbridge. When she heard him talk of a school for the children and medical care for their families, she realized how little had been provided for those who looked to the Cloister for aid. She vowed to see if Nicholas was planning on changing this slow fall behind the rest of the world.

Rebecca paid no attention to the passing time. The minister was interested in the New World, so she told him about the bits she had seen. Many of his questions she could not answer, for she had no more knowledge than he of the circumstances in the other former colonies. All of her world had been centered on a few square miles in northern Connecticut.

The chiming of the mantel clock brought her back to her senses. "Oh, my, look at the time!" she gasped. "I was supposed to return to Foxbridge Cloister two hours ago. Nicholas will be furious!"

"My dear Lady Foxbridge," he said, quickly, taking her words literally, "tell your husband it was my fault that you were delayed. I shouldn't have presumed to take so much of your time."

"Nonsense," Rebecca replied. "I have plenty of free time. I certainly enjoyed our talk, John. I'll see you on Thursday, if Nicholas allows me to come back." She smiled at her small joke.

The minister did not find it humorous that the new lord of Foxbridge Cloister was dictating his will on this beautiful woman. Again Reverend Middleton's common sense was blinded by his powerful attraction to Rebecca. He wanted to believe that her husband was the demon he resembled, so he did not feel guilty about his longing to pull this married woman into his arms and kiss her with the fire of his desire. Sitting next to her for the past three hours, listening to her lyrical voice, watching her intelligent face as she heard him spin out his dreams for his poor parish, he had fallen even deeper in love with Rebecca Wythe.

"I will see you on Thursday," he said somewhat breathlessly. "Let me help you out to your carriage, my lady." He intended to take advantage of any opportunity to hold her close.

"Thank you." Rebecca did not suspect the true reason behind his offer to help her. She placed her hand in his. As she rose, she swayed slightly while she tried to regain her sometimes precarious balance.

He immediately put his arms around her to keep her from falling. His hold tightened as he felt her soft curves pressed so intimately to him. He gazed down into her face which was turned in profile to him. She was so beautiful, but he did not dare to kiss her cheek as his aching heart urged. When she was steady again, he reluctantly released her. He did not want to, but he could cause more trouble for her if he revealed how he felt.

"Thank you, again," she said softly as she leaned on her cane. "I hope this dizziness isn't permanent. Dr. Scott tells me it is because I have not been on my feet for so long. I hope he's right when he says it will disappear."

Concerned by the breathlessness in her voice, he urged her to sit. Not bothering to put on his coat, he raced across the green to where the carriage waited. He called out to her driver.

Sims rounded the back of the carriage and saw the expression on the minister's face. He had guessed Lady Foxbridge was at the vicarage when she was not in the church when he returned. Although, as the time had gone on, he had become worried, he did not go looking for her. It would not do to show that Lady Foxbridge was considered incapable of looking after herself. "What is it, Reverend?" he asked, anxiously.

"Lady Foxbridge is very tired. I think you should bring the carriage over to the vicarage, so she doesn't have to walk so far."

He nodded and climbed into the seat. Competently he turned the large vehicle so that he could drive it close to the steps of the house. Middleton followed more slowly. Both men were shocked to see Rebecca standing on the porch.

She laughed lightly. "You worry too much, John. I'm fine. Oh, thank you, Sims," she added as he opened the door. It was nearly at the same level as the porch, so she was able to get into the carriage easily. When the door was closed, she waved out the window as it went toward the Cloister.

Behind her, the man watched as the coach drove out of sight along the twists of the road leading up to the imposing house ruling over all of the countryside. Thursday, when he would see her again, seemed eons away. He almost dreaded her next visit, for he was unsure how long he could keep from letting her see his true feelings. Even as he climbed the steps to his small house, he knew that on Thursday he would arrange for Mrs. Martin to be busy elsewhere, so he could entertain Rebecca once again alone.

The explosion Rebecca anticipated came as soon as she stepped into the suite she shared with Nicholas. Standing in the middle of the sitting room with his arms crossed over his chest, he watched as she limped toward him. His eyes noted the fatigue etched into her face and the more pronounced weakness in her right leg. As he had guessed, she had pushed herself too hard.

"I thought to see you home hours ago, Rebecca," he stated without a drop of emotion to color his voice.

Pulling off her bonnet, she dropped it and her gloves on the table. Although every bit of her body ached, her right leg most of all, she perversely straightened. "I was delayed, Nicholas."

"You should have been home two hours ago."

"So I'm late. Is that such a crime? I stopped to have tea with John after the children's practice. We got to talking about the church fair, and the time just sped past." She could not contain a tired sigh.

"John?" he demanded viciously.

Startled by the rage in his voice, she finally looked directly at his arrogant face. That anger was vivid on his features as well. Quietly, she answered, "Reverend Middleton. He asked me to call him 'John.' He's a very pleasant man, and we had a nice conversation." She closed her eyes as she swayed. "For goodness's sake, Nicholas, don't act the jealous husband. He's a man of the cloth."

He scooped her up in his arms as he saw she was about to fall. When he heard her soft gasp of pain, he knew he inadvertently had hurt her. "Rebecca?" he asked in a more tender voice.

"Yes?" She opened her eyes as she leaned her head against the strength of his shoulder. In Nicholas's arms, she felt no desire to show that she was tough and capable of anything. She wanted only to be cuddled sweetly.

"Sweetheart, remember that, although the good reverend is a man of the cloth, he is a man first. Don't put yourself in a position that will bring you unhappiness."

Startled by the way he had expressed his concerns, she asked, "Me? How about your happiness?"

The fiendish sound returned in his sharp laugh. "You know very well what would happen to any man, cleric or not, who tries to seduce you from me, Rebecca." He had to say no more. His threat was clear. If she chose a lover, that man would soon be dead by her husband's hand. It revealed the violence which simmered beneath his suave exterior.

He carried her into her bedroom and placed her on her bed. When he pulled back her skirts, she began to protest. She realized quickly that he was interested only in checking her leg. When she saw that it was slightly swollen, she was not surprised. It felt horrible, and so did she. As she leaned back into the pillows he had plumped for her, she answered his questions about how the children's choir practice had gone. She saw he was shocked that things had taken place so smoothly. Her smile was triumphant as she told him how the youngsters had been cooperative and excited about the next practice.

"You don't have to look so surprised, Nicholas!" she retorted tartly as he helped her unbutton her shoes and remove her stockings. "You expected this to go horribly, didn't you? That's why you agreed for me to go to the church today."

Instead of replying, he bent and kissed her lightly. "Rest, darling. I think it would be a good idea if you took your supper here tonight. Shall I have it brought up on a tray for us?"

"That sounds lovely."

Telling her he would be back in a few minutes, he closed the door. Rebecca rested her head on the pillows and stared at the hounds racing along the top of her bed. She always was glad that the vixen was outdistancing her pursuers in the frozen tableau. It seemed that she had outfoxed Nicholas today. That he would not admit he falsely had foreseen that she would fail told her those had been his exact thoughts. She would not fail. In four weeks, the youngsters would show everyone that they were could rise above their poverty and lack of education to shine like gleaming starlets born in the summer sky. She closed her eyes to enjoy her thoughts.

When he came back minutes later, Nicholas was not surprised Rebecca was asleep. She had had a long day, and, by the expression on her face, she had had a very happy day. He felt a surge of jealousy race through him as he thought of her with Middleton. That it was entirely innocent, he did not doubt, for she would have allowed nothing else. It did not keep the tainted tentacles of fury from teasing him with images of Rebecca in another man's arms.

He let her sleep as he ate his dinner alone in the sitting room. When Collette entered, he told her not to disturb Rebecca. She asked if Lady Foxbridge had had fun on her day in Foxbridge, and he controlled his uneven emotions enough to reply pleasantly. When she left, she asked him to tell Lady Foxbridge to ring if she wanted her when she woke.

Although he checked Rebecca several times more during the evening and before he retired for the night, she remained asleep. Like the sweet angel he had first imagined her to be, she slept in oblivion of the darkness inhabiting his heart. If she had known of his pain, she would have laughed it away with the humor which helped her survive all her own anguish. Kissing her lips which breathed lightly in sleep, he tiptoed out of the room to go to his own bed. . .which begged for his wife's warmth to bring happiness to its wide softness.

He was beginning to fear it never would.

Chapter Eleven

Rebecca was careful not to overdo again as she had that first day. She let the children know that she depended on them to help by disciplining themselves. At their first true rehearsal, she was not surprised to see more children than the first day. Soon their sweet, treble voices were learning the words to the songs for the fair. Also she let them sing other songs just for fun.

Reverend Middleton always was present for part of each rehearsal. He continued to let Rebecca and the children know how proud he was of their music which soon sounded as fine as he pretended it had at the beginning. He had not repeated the invitation for Rebecca to visit at his home. Instead, if he had something he wanted to discuss, he did it in the church where there was no chance he would forget himself.

A week before the church fair, he had come, as usual, to listen to the youngsters. Rebecca was holding the rehearsal an hour earlier than usual, saying only that she had plans for later in the afternoon. She did not explain that Curtis and Eliza had invited her and Nicholas to join them and some friends for a picnic on the beach past the gardens of Foxbridge Cloister. She thought of the cool air longingly, for it was an extremely hot and humid day with no hint of breeze in the village.

The children were uncooperative, so she dismissed them early. They laughed as she told them to cool themselves off with a swim. She accepted the moist kisses many of the children gave her each time they were together.

"Those little ones certainly love you, my lady," said the minister as he rose.

"They are lovely youngsters. They work so hard."

"To please you." He smiled as he took his accustomed seat in front of her. "I think they will be the most remembered part of this fair."

She laughed. "Whether they do well or their songs are a disaster, it will be memorable. I wanted to tell you that I will be willing to work at the drink booth, if you still need someone, John. Nicholas has some appointments that will keep him busy all day, so I can work here the whole day without being missed at Foxbridge Cloister."

"You are being so generous with your time, my lady."

She smiled as she reached for her bonnet. "I'm having such a grand time with the children and you, I don't wish it to stop."

If Rebecca had realized how her words would affect the minister, she would have phrased them differently. It was only when he reached past his pew and took her shoulders to bring her slowly to her feet that she discovered how unthinkingly silly her words had been.

"My sweet Rebecca, there is no reason for these times to stop." His fingers caressed her arms tenderly.

Her hands shook as she reached up and removed his hands from her. "That isn't what I meant. You forget that I'm married."

"I can't forget anything about you." He drew her into his arms again. When he leaned forward to kiss her, she turned her head away. A confused expression furrowed his forehead. "What is this? I thought you didn't love your husband. You act so afraid of him."

"Me? Afraid of Nicholas?" She laughed lightly. "No, John, I'm not afraid of my husband." She ignored his other words. How she felt about Nicholas was not something she wanted to discuss. . .because was not sure of anything. "Please. I think it would be a good idea if you would release me."

"I think so as well." The very calm of the deep voice reverberated through the empty church like the nonexistent bell tolling the coming of Doom.

Rebecca whirled away from the man whose face had become pasty white. She looked from Nicholas who did not show the rage she knew he was feeling to John who realized that he had overstepped himself dangerously. Gripping the sides of the pews to help herself walk to where her husband stood motionlessly, she put her hand out to him. Immediately he took it and pulled her to him slowly enough so she would not trip without her cane. She had been able to walk short distances without it, but in these stressful circumstances, she felt as weak as the first time she had tried to stand.

Tilting her chin up, Nicholas said, "I warned you what would happen."

Her face paled. When he saw how she reacted, Middleton interjected, "She isn't at fault, my lord. It was totally my fault."

"I have no doubts of that, Reverend," he replied tersely as he regarded the frightened man. "None whatsoever."

"Nicholas, please be sensible about this," interjected Rebecca. "Nothing has happened. Nothing will happen. John and I are friends. No more and no less."

Slowly a smile spread across his lips. "I know, my dear. Come, for we are going to be late for our picnic." He turned and walked with her toward the doors. He paused and looked back at the man still standing in the aisle. "Rebecca will be back as usual on Thursday, but I trust there will be no repetition of this incident. I believe every man is due one mistake. You have made yours, Reverend Middleton."

When they had gone outside and the door closed, Middleton dropped into a pew. Perhaps Rebecca was not in awe of her husband, but she must be the only one. He realized how lucky he had been. Lord Foxbridge had been willing to forgive him this transgression, but, if he tried to hold Rebecca again, his clerical collar would not keep the lord from obtaining his revenge from the minister who dared to trifle with his wife.

He sighed. More than Lord Foxbridge's warning, Rebecca's words had told him that she was devoted to her fear-inspiring spouse. His own yearnings to have her care for him had made him unable to see the truth. Bowing his head over his clasped hands, he sought the peace to deal with the temptation to be disloyal to everything which had given meaning to his life. He could not blame Rebecca, for she had done nothing wrong. He had mistaken kindness for more.

Rebecca said nothing as Nicholas lifted her in his arms to carry her down the steps. She had left her cane in the church. Calmly, he ordered Sims to retrieve it.

"Knock before you go in, so you do not disturb Reverend Middleton," Nicholas suggested. His coachman gave him a startled glance, but only nodded.

Sitting beside her in the carriage, he waited until Sims returned. He ordered them driven to the beach where the picnic would be held. Then Nicholas relaxed back against the cushions. He slipped his arm around Rebecca's stiff shoulders, but did not pull her closer.

His fingers under her chin tilted it toward him. "Rebecca, don't be so upset. I'm not angry with you."

"You sounded as if you were," she whispered.

He touched her lips briefly with his. "I know you aren't cuckolding me with any man. You hold so tightly to your vows and would never betray them. You will not share my bed because of a promise to Bennett. You have become my loving wife in public in accordance with our little bargain. Your only fault is being so beautiful and warm that no man can resist you."

With a sob, she turned to hide her face against his chest. How she longed to empty her heart's secrets to him, to confess of a love she knew she could not stop from growing with the power of a summer storm. He had not retaliated against John only because she considered him a friend. Any other man who tried to seduce her would feel Lord Foxbridge's awesome wrath.

"Hush, sweetheart," he murmured against her hair. "It's over. Reverend Middleton won't forget himself again and try to compromise you and his own vows. Cheer up, Rebecca. We have our picnic by the shore. You don't want everyone to see you arriving with red eyes. They will think that you have been beaten by your husband who apparently inspires such fear in you." Nicholas laughed loudly as she blushed.

Softly she asked, "You heard that? How long were you there?"

"Long enough to learn that you take the vows we share to heart."

When he captured her mouth again, there was nothing gentle about his kiss. His arm drew her back against the cushions. Being careful not to hurt her nearly healed leg, he leaned over her and allowed his mouth to explore the small amount of skin bared by her modest dress. Although he yearned to unhook her gown and remove it to make love with her in the carriage, she was not well enough yet for such delightful antics. Instead, he listened to her soft breaths against his ear as his tongue etched its fire into her throat. Her small hands wrapped around his shoulders to hold him to her.

As the carriage slowed for the steep descent to the shore, he drew away regretfully. If he did not convince Rebecca to join him in his bed soon, he feared he would not be able to wait for her to come to him willingly. No woman had ever stirred his blood as his wife did with her loveliness and the seductiveness that was innate in every motion when he held her in his arms.

"We are nearly there," he said with a laugh as she brought his lips back over hers again. Asking himself why he was holding back when she wanted only to continue what he did not want to stop, he pulled her up to sit on his lap.

She nestled against him as she felt his lips press against her temple. Her fingers caressed his chest where his shirt was open at the collar. When he began to stroke her as gently, she lifted her lips for his demanding kiss. She knew what it was that he was asking her to give to him. He wanted her. It was that simple. It should have been so simple to give her love to Nicholas who drove her to the very edge of the reason with his touch.

All such thoughts vanished from her mind as she was washed away into ecstasy. Only the lure of his mouth tantalizing hers and his fingers playing a magic melody of passion across her body had reality. Everything else disappeared.

Laughter and other voices brought her back to reality. She gazed up into Nicholas's strikingly handsome face which was as bemused as hers by their rapture. His fingers teased the muted angles of her face as he bent for one final, lingering kiss before they joined the others on the sand.

As the coach halted, he lifted her off his lap and reached for the door. Jumping to the hard-packed sand, he turned to take her hand. His eyes widened as he saw the slender line of her legs as she was removing her footwear. Even though he had viewed her limbs while she was recovering from her accident, it had not lessened his appreciation of them. Only when she had kilted her skirt as she had when they sailed with the Prize did she allow Nicholas to help her from the carriage.

With her hand in his, she leaned against him instead of her cane which she left in the carriage. Soon she hoped to be rid of the cumbersome thing which had been at one time so beloved as her means of escape from the confinement of her room. Walking slowly, she could manage quite well on the sand. It still made her skin crawl when she recalled the doctor telling her husband when they had thought that she was asleep that if she had been the height of a normal man, the jaws of the trap would have crushed her knee and she never would have been able to use that leg again.

Another accident like hers was unlikely to happen again on the grounds of Foxbridge Cloister. The staff had been sent on a second quest with the instructions to look for any other mantraps which might have escaped notice years ago. Although they had searched the grounds, no more snares had been turned up.

The picnickers came forward to greet them. It was a small group. In addition to Eliza and Curtis, there was Clarisse Beckwith and a man introduced to Rebecca as Jackson Edwards, a friend of Curtis who had come to Foxbridge to meet the lady Curtis seemed to love so deeply.

The narrow strand of sand and rocks was poised between the ocean waters and the sheer cliffs which were pitted with the violent scars of past storms. Blankets had been spread on the uneven ground so they could eat more comfortably, but everyone was too busy enjoying the fresh ocean breeze and the rare chance to play in the cold waters. Like Rebecca, they had removed their footwear. When Eliza saw how her sister-in-law had raised her skirts to keep them out of the heavy, wet sand, she did the same.

Rebecca wondered why Clarisse had been chosen to even up the group. Eliza explained as soon as she could that she had not invited the redhead, but that Clarisse had badgered Curtis into an invitation. Having her with them was a guarantee of trouble, but they could not retract the invitation Curtis had extended to their neighbor.

Rebecca sat on a blanket and watched as the others enjoyed the water and played games along the edge of the splashing waves. At first, Nicholas sat next to her, but she urged him to join the others. She chuckled as they acted like giant children. She guessed it was just a matter of time before Curtis and Eliza approached Nicholas asking for his permission to wed. As the two of them embracing with open delight, she wondered why she could not be so free with her feelings for her husband. Whenever she was close to him, she felt as if she were cheating a man she could no longer love, but was bound to as tightly as she was bound to Nicholas.

Her eyes narrowed as she saw Clarisse moving toward Nicholas with her intent clear to his wife. She carried something in her hands. Although Rebecca could not tell what it was, when Clarisse dropped it down the back of Nicholas's shirt before running away down the beach, he reacted in shock. He pulled it out and started to chase her with what was obviously some type of marine creature.

Rebecca closed her eyes and put her head down on her drawn-up knee as the two disappeared to a part of the beach blocked by the carriage. She could not help the pang racing through her. Clarisse had made it clear from the beginning that she intended to win back Nicholas. Rebecca wondered how she could compete with a woman who once had been his beloved mistress.

When Clarisse decided there was enough space between them and the others, she slowed to let Nicholas catch her. By this time, he was only a pace behind her.

"You devil," he said with a laugh. "Here is your dead fish, Clarisse." With a mighty heave, he tossed it out to be swallowed by the unceasing movement of the waves. "Maybe I should do the same with you."

He reached out to tease her. The second he touched her arms, he realized he was being no brighter than Reverend Middleton had been earlier. In an instant, Clarisse had her arms around him and was pressing her lips to his. Six years had not dulled the memories of this woman's easy sensuality which had taught him much of satisfying and being satisfied by a woman. At one time, he had thought the gratification he knew in her arms was the total of what love consisted of between a man and a woman. He had learned differently.

Trying not to show his change of heart, he smiled as he took her hands from around him and held them. "Come, Clarisse. The others will be wondering where we have gone."

"They won't be wondering," she whispered as she stepped so near that the lushness of her curvaceous body teased him with the remembrance of his mouth against it. "They will know we are on the beach."

He did not want to hurt her by telling her he was no longer interested in her invitation, but she was making it difficult not to speak the truth. Placing her hand on his arm, he began to walk back toward the carriage.

With a jerk, she yanked her hand away. Turning, she shouted, "It's not the others! It's Rebecca! You can't stand being away from her for a minute, can you?"

"She is my wife, Clarisse," he said, reasonably.

"Your wife who has a rendezvous with the minister twice a week in his church. Oh, I know she goes there ostensibly to teach those urchins to sing for the fair, but they leave long before she and Reverend Middleton come out." She laughed as she walked her fingers along his arm. "Your Rebecca is cuckolding you with the parish's minister, and yet you slobber after her like a dog after a bitch in heat."

Nicholas pushed her hand away. Cruelly, he asked, "Must you judge everyone by your promiscuous standards? I know about their friendship. I know that I need not worry if my wife is sleeping with another. That's the one thing that's the same about you and Rebecca. I didn't need to worry about that with you either because you always found someone to share your bed if I was not there."

While she sputtered in rage that he dared to speak to her like this, he walked away. Nicholas had been changed by his trip to America. Before he had left, she had needed only to crook her finger, and he would come running to do her bidding. Then she realized that the Nicholas Wythe she had controlled so easily had been a boy enjoying the adventures in her bed. He had become a man who wanted more than a woman whom he could tumble whenever he was in the mood.

As she stood with her hands on her hips, she wondered what he saw in meek Rebecca. The simple fact that she had saved Nicholas's life could not be the basis of this strong devotion. She had not thought that a man like Nicholas Wythe would fall in love to a woman like Rebecca. It was clear it was love. The way his black eyes glowed like embers of coal when he gazed at his wife made his feelings obvious.

Her fury increased when she returned and saw he was sitting next to his wife with his arm around her as he whispered in her ear. Rebecca's light laugh drifted across the sand to Clarisse, and she gritted her teeth. She would pay back this little colonial tramp for daring to steal Nicholas from the one who should have him.

Rebecca looked up to meet the green eyes which glowed in the late afternoon sunshine like a cat's in the night. She could not mistake Clarisse's malice. The owner of Beckwith Grange had been interested in offering Nicholas the same thing John had wanted to offer to her at the church. Her eyes moved from the loathing to her husband's face. Everyone was willing to share with them what they could not share with each other.

"Sweetheart," he asked when he saw her disquiet, "how about a walk along the water? Do you think you are well enough?"

"If you help me, Nicholas, I would be glad to go with you."

He took her hand to help her to her feet. "Ouch!" she cried, involuntarily. When she saw the expression on his face, she laughed. "No, not my leg. When I was greeting to Curtis, the signet ring he wears scratched my hand." She held it up to show him the red line across it.

"Did you ever consider you might be accident prone, Rebecca?" He chuckled when she made an amusing face.

His smile did not fade as he aided her to her feet. By now, she should know that he was happy for any excuse to hold her enchanting form close. Her arm slipped around his waist as they moved slowly through the foam bubbling on the sand.

Clarisse was not the only one who watched as they wandered along the beach. Other eyes were not as open with the emotions felt inside, but there was a sense of impending events building up to detonate although neither Nicholas nor Rebecca were aware of it. Lost in the wonder of their burgeoning love, they could not feel the hate growing to overshadow it and smother it.

By the time they had returned to share the contents of the picnic hampers, the evil feelings had been masked behind pleasant laughter. Clarisse was deciding to keep the evening from being a total loss by flirting blatantly with Curtis's friend Jackson. The man did not seem averse to her obvious invitation. It was no surprise that when the party broke up as the moon was high in the sky, he left with the auburn- haired woman.

Rebecca glanced across the water. The reflection of the moon made a white path on the waves which seemed to lead to the west and the land she had left behind so reluctantly. She did not wish that her feet could walk on that trail of moonlight back to America. If she returned to Connecticut, her heart would remain in Foxbridge Cloister. She yearned to stay with her heart and the man it adored.

"Did you have a good time?" Nicholas whispered as they rode home sleepy from the sun and the food.

"I always have a good time when you are with me."

His reply was without words, but she did not have to guess what his lips were trying to tell her as he held her to him all the way home to the Cloister. She only wished she knew how she could answer him with the truth and still be true to the vow she made to Keith.

Chapter Twelve

"Good day, Lady Foxbridge."

Rebecca glanced up from her duties pouring the punch for the multitude of children who came with their pennies. Her eyes met the steady grey ones of a man she recognized from her trips about the area, but she could not name him. She smiled. "It's a good day, isn't it, sir? Are you buying a cup of juice?"

"That would be pleasant, my lady." He took the cup and handed her a gold coin.

In dismay, she looked at it. "Oh, sir, I don't have enough pennies to give you change."

With a laugh, he said, "This is for the church to raise money for the new belfry, isn't it? Consider it a donation, or if you wish, give these youngsters free glasses until the money is depleted." He took the cup she handed him. "By the way, my name is Richard Carter. I'm your neighbor to the north."

"At Avelet Court?"

"That's right." He watched as she continued to serve the children as she spoke. When one of the youngsters tipped his mug, she had a piece of linen ready immediately to clean the child's clothes. Before the little one could pucker up, she had another cup for him. With an admiring laugh, he said, "You're very competent at that, Lady Foxbridge."

Glancing up from where she knelt by the child, she said, "When you have served at as many church fundraisers as I have, Mr. Carter, you learn to be prepared for every emergency. There, you are fine, Timmy. Go play, but be back for the songfest."

While he sipped the cold liquid, Richard continued to chat. He was astonished at how well the youngsters from the village and the cottages obeyed her quiet orders to wait patiently to be served. Even more impressed was he by the fact that she called each one by name. When the crowd of children thinned momentarily, he drew another coin from his pocket and placed it on the table.

"Another cup, Mr. Carter?"

"Richard, if you please, my lady. No, I wish to purchase one for the hard-working lady who has charmed these children so completely."

She laughed and wiped her hand against her forehead. It was a very hot day. The heavy air clamping her clothes to her body had muted the celebrations only slightly. There was a good turnout. Perhaps they would be able to raise a good portion of the money for the new belfry and the bell she hoped would hang there again one day.

"Thank you. I would be pleased to take your donation and a cup of this cool juice. Why don't you call me Rebecca?"

He bowed his head in her direction. "I'm honored, Rebecca."

"Tell me about what else you have seen on the carnival grounds." She smiled wryly. "I have been stuck here since before the fair opened."

He laughed at her enthusiasm. He had been attending these village events every summer since he had outgrown swaddling clothes. His family had summered in Avelet Court, far from the heat and congestion of London for generations. Before that, they had been well-established country gentry living year round in the drafty expanses of the house. Every year, there was a fair on the church grounds in an effort to finance some repair on the lovely building or an addition that the parishioners desired.

In all those years, it was the first time he could recall the aristocracy ever being involved to the extent that Lady Foxbridge was. Dressed in her simple cotton frock with a plain apron over it, she almost could have been one of the village lasses herself. By the bright rose of her cheeks and the sparkle in her blue eyes, he could tell she was enjoying herself as much as the youngest child discovering the convivial atmosphere for the first time.

He leaned on the table and talked with her until he saw her eyes narrow before they turned away to look at the large bucket of juice. Involuntarily, he looked over his shoulder. He smiled as he saw Clarisse Beckwith walking toward the table. He long had admired the pretty lady who was dressed in a pale green silk gown which had cost more than would be raised by the efforts of the churchmembers. More than once, he had called on her, but he had seen quickly that she still harbored her longing for Nicholas Wythe. He knew Clarisse could often be shallow and hurtful, but he thought it was because of her broken heart.

"Good day, Rebecca," she purred as she tilted her lacy parasol. "I must say, you are looking quite unusual today."

Rebecca glanced from her stained, spotted work dress to her rival's splendid gown. She knew her face was dirtied from lovingly offered, sugar coated kisses given by the youngsters who had surrounded her from the second she arrived. Her hair had fallen out of its braids to hang in wavy strands around her face in a dark aurora.

Coolly, she said, "I am sure I do look unusual to you, Clarisse. As you aren't used to doing anything but the monumental task of making yourself up each day, you probably would not recognize the sweat of honest labor."

She laughed Rebecca's insult away lightly. "You're right. I intend to continue this way. You wouldn't see me wasting my time for these shiftless people."

Seeing the youngsters listening to Clarisse's condescending tone, Rebecca struggled to control her outrage. She wondered how Clarisse dared to speak so nastily of these good, deeply caring people who had not had the fortune to be born into wealth as she had. "Clarisse, do you want to purchase a glass? If not, please move on, for you are blocking others who are interested in quenching their thirsts." She did not raise her voice, but all listening could tell she was enraged.

"Yes, my dear Lady Foxbridge, pour me a cupful like a good lass." Taking it distastefully in her finely laced gloves, she dropped a coin disdainfully on the table. She sniffed the contents of the tin cup and poured it on the ground. "Here, Rebecca, serve this swill to those who do not have the palate to appreciate anything better." She draped her hand on the arm of the man who had been watching the exchange with an unhappy expression. "Richard, why don't you take me for a stroll around the grounds of this quaint, little fair? Rebecca can handle this quite well on her own. It would seem that she has finally found something in her background that she can use as Lady Foxbridge."

Richard shot an apologetic glance toward the dark-haired lady, before turning away with Clarisse. He was sure the best thing he could do for Rebecca was to take the redhead elsewhere.

Rebecca watched with ill-concealed anger as the two walked toward the other booths. When she saw the concern on the up-turned faces of her young customers, she forced a smile and poured the crystal drink into their cups. She listened to their childish attempts to try to atone for the cruelty of Clarisse's words. Soon their kindness cooled the fury inside her.

The hours of the fair passed quickly, but she did not become fatigued as she served more cups of the lemonade than she could have counted. When Reverend Middleton came over to tell her that it was time for the children's performance, she gratefully turned over her booth to one of the other church ladies.

After the incident when Nicholas had discovered him holding Rebecca, John Middleton wisely had acted as if the whole episode had not taken place. Knowing that Rebecca loved her husband, he had resumed his friendship with her. Although the situation was strained between them at first, they were becoming friends again.

With the innate knowledge that children possessed, they discovered Lady Foxbridge was looking for them. Quickly they lined up with a minimum of shoving and none of the cursing that she had insisted was unacceptable for a cherub's choir. While they were getting in place, Rebecca washed her face in lukewarm water from a bucket near the porch of the church. She undid her hair and tied it back in a loose fall along her back. There was no time to waste redoing it.

"Stage nerves, sweetheart?"

She glanced up to see Nicholas standing on the bottom step. With a chuckle, she said, "No, just a dirty face. I told all the children they had to be neat. I didn't think I should be less." She stepped down next to him. "I'm so glad you could be here, Nicholas. They are so proud of themselves, and I know they will be especially pleased to show off for you."

He stroked her damp face. "You didn't think I would miss this chance to see the results of what you have worked so hard at for so long."

"I knew you were going to be busy today."

"Solicitors can wait, darling. I wanted to handle the most important business first."

She was astonished at the warmth which filled her had nothing to do with the summer temperatures. When he bent to kiss her cheek for luck, she smiled and ran her fingers lovingly along his arm before rushing to the center of the green where the children and their families were waiting.

Nicholas followed more slowly. When he saw the vicar, he signaled to the man. He was pleased that Middleton acted naturally with him. Until the episode with Rebecca, he had been very pleased with the minister's performance in the parish. He would hate to ask Middleton to leave when he was doing so many good things. They spoke quietly as Rebecca whispered final instructions to the children.

Everyone became quiet as she motioned for little Timmy to step forward. Even the distant rumble of thunder did not distract the audience when the child opened his mouth to sing in a childish soprano the first verse of the hymn Rebecca had learned herself as a child. So sweetly did he sing that a murmur of appreciation circled the green.

At the motion from Rebecca, the other children began to join in slowly, a few at a time. It was not long before the open area was filled with the sound of heartfelt singing. If a few flat notes or missed words marred the perfection, no one noticed. When the last chord drifted away on the fitful breeze, silence settled on the green. In an explosion, applause erupted.

The children grinned in pride, but did not move. They watched Rebecca intently. When the clapping stopped, she nodded her head for them to begin. This time they sang a folk song which was native to western England. Only Nicholas knew that his wife had hounded the staff at Foxbridge Cloister until she could find someone familiar with all the words to the complicated rhyming song. The youngsters had no trouble dealing with the madrigal tunes which wove together and apart like dancers performing the minuet.

The applause was more enthusiastic at the end of the second song. Although every parent in the village had heard a bit of the music for the past month, no one had been able to hear the whole. They were astonished that the children had this much talent. There was always time for music in this land so controlled by the rhythms of the sea and wind, so it was an especially great joy to hear the children in such an organized chorus.

Rebecca paused as she saw Reverend Middleton wave to get her attention. When he walked out to stand beside her, he said, "Please allow me to interrupt this joyous noise unto the Lord to make an announcement. Today, through the efforts and generosity of everyone in Foxbridge, we have raised enough money to buy the materials to rebuild the church steeple. We -- " A cheer interrupted him, for soon the men would be spending their few leisure hours working to raise the proud structure on the church roof once more. He raised his hands. "I have another announcement to make before the children sing their last song for you. Not only will we have our steeple, but the kind donation from Lord and Lady Foxbridge will enable us to have a bell for it."

A gasp of surprise erupted from Rebecca as the crowd clapped enthusiastically again. Her eyes settled easily on Nicholas who smiled. She bit her lip to keep it from trembling like the tears of happiness on her eyelashes. He had known how important this project was to her. All the time when she had been concerned that he would be angry because she was working with the youngsters, he had been planning this wonderful gift to his tenants. She had no words to thank him. In front of this crowd, she could not run to him and thank him wordlessly. She shook John's hand as he expressed his gratitude, but she did not know what she said. As she turned to the children, she saw their broad grins.

"All right," she whispered. "This is the last number. Make me as proud of you as you have so far."

Rebecca need not have worried. The youngsters performed the song with even better than they had in practice. The hand motions and play-acting it required went without a hitch. Never had she seen them perform so faultlessly.

When they finished, she was the first to begin to applaud for their efforts as she faced their audience. "As you can see, your children have worked long and hard to entertain you. I am sure you will be pleased to know that they plan to continue their choir which Reverend Middleton has agreed will be a part of the church service once a month. Thank you very much."

"No, we ain't done!" called out a voice as the adults started to disperse. "We have one more song to sing."

Rebecca whirled and gasped in astonishment, "Greggy, that is all we have."

The tall boy who had been one of the most enthusiastic proponents of the choir from its onset shook his head. He bowed smoothly. "If you please, my lady." He took her hand and led her to stand by Nicholas.

Standing in front of the others as she had been doing, he counted off the tempo of the tune in the air before them in an accurate imitation of Rebecca. She felt her husband's arm go around her shoulders and looked up at him. At the question in his eyes, she shrugged. She had no idea what the youngsters had planned.

Greggy said without looking at his audience, "We have practiced one final song by ourselves after our regular practice. We want to sing especially for Lady Foxbridge who has done so much for us. Remember it's for her alone."

A soft swell of shock murmured through the fairgoers as a trio of children stepped forward. In a slow tempo that did not make it sound like the taunt it originally had been, they began to sing in close harmony the all too familiar words of Yankee Doodle. As the rest of the children joined in, nobody was surprised to see tears of joy rolling along Lady Foxbridge's cheeks.

She made no effort to brush them away as she listened to the love that had nothing to do with the silly words of the song that symbolized the spirit of revolution in America more than any other. She knew they had chosen it for her because, like her, it was from the New World.

Although the children had been prepared for protests from their parents, there was none. When they finished, there was silence as they looked at Rebecca for her reaction. "Thank you," she whispered in heartfelt gratitude. "That was the loveliest version I have ever heard."

Immediately the green was alive with cheers. It had been a successful fair which ended on a happy note. Many of the children rushed over to hug Rebecca before rejoining their parents and friends.

"That was wonderful, Rebecca," said Nicholas, as he watched the last youngster run off to the candy booth.

She smiled. "They did beautifully, didn't they?"

"You did beautifully." He turned her in his arms to face him. "You have worked so hard, and the effort shows. I am so proud of you."

"But 'twas you who gave the money for the bell. Soon we shall hear the chiming when it's time for services."

He replied, "That was only money, sweetheart. What you have given of yourself is far more valuable. Do you think they would prefer the cold clang of a bell or the sweet sounds of their children's voices?"

His arms drew her to him, and he brought her lips up to his. Not caring about the crowd, he kissed her with all his desire. He had never thought he would be as pleased to be linked with this lady as he was today. He had expected her to fail in her effort, but she had succeeded superbly. What she had done had nothing to do with her incredible beauty, but with her warm heart.

Only a flash of lightning followed in a few seconds by the lazy sound of still distant thunder separated them. With a smile, she told him she had to get her bonnet from over by the table where she had been working.

"I'll have the carriage brought around," he answered. When she turned toward the lemonade table, he captured her arm. She looked at him, and he ordered in a husky voice, "Don't be gone long, sweetheart."

"I'll be but a moment." She stepped back from him, unsure if she could escape the warm bonds of his eyes. Weaving through the crowds taking apart the booths and hurrying to get home before the downpour began, she pulled her plain, straw bonnet out that she had worn when she left Foxbridge Cloister. She tied it under her chin.

Her trip back to Nicholas was slowed by being stopped by villagers thanking her graciously for the music she had brought to them. She understood that they felt more comfortable approaching her than her husband who represented the long-time, separate attitude of the Wythes. As he had told her, there was more gratitude for the children's choir than for the extravagant gift.

She moved to the church porch where Nicholas was waiting for her. As she slowly climbed the steps, she tried to keep dismay from her face as she saw Clarisse beside him. She wondered where Richard Carter was, but knew it did not matter. Once Nicholas arrived, Clarisse would have noticed no one else.

Because they stood at the far end of the porch, the sounds of the dismantling of the fair and the oncoming storm masked her approach. Her eyes widened as she saw Clarisse step close to Nicholas and slip her arms around him. The red-haired woman put her long nailed fingers against the back of his head as she raised her lips toward his.

"Enough, Clarisse," she heard Nicholas state firmly. "I have told you before that I'm not interested."

Clarisse's seductive voice murmured, "Come now, Nicholas, don't be so silly. That little Yankee Doodle can't satisfy you as I can. Come to me, darling, and I will help you what we shared before you were so foolish as to go away to America and marry a child."

"Rebecca is my wife. Not you. I told you many years ago that when I took such vows there could be no other for my wife or myself. That was when I asked you in a moment of romantic fervor to be mine."

"You never asked me to marry you!" she argued.

He laughed with a hard edge to the humorless sound. "You did not believe me. You thought I was joking when we went on that picnic with your friends up from Bristol. How coldly you told me that you never would marry me, Clarisse. Now it seems you were right."

"Divorce her, Nicholas. It wouldn't be that difficult. She hasn't given you an heir. You know that I would be willing to do so."

"You pregnant, Clarisse?" He chuckled. "I can't imagine that! You would never shut yourself away when your body grew heavy with a child who would remind everyone that you were no longer the carefree woman you once were. I am married to Rebecca, and that is how I want it to be. She is the type of woman I long ago decided I wanted to be married to. She is sweetly sensual, beautiful, and so intelligent I cannot help but care for her."

Her hand rose to slap his face. Viciously, she spat, "And I am none of those things?"

He caught her wrist as she was set to strike him again. There was a hatred in his voice that Rebecca had never heard. It made any anger he had directed at her seem insipid by comparison. "What you are I wouldn't say in the churchyard, Clarisse. You have broken more hearts and destroyed more marriages than any one woman has a right to do. You won't destroy mine. Once I was set to offer you my heart like the fool that I was. Now it has been placed in the safekeeping of another woman who will not betray it just to cause misery to everyone she meets."

Before Clarisse could snarl the insults she was thinking, a voice intruded. She heard the vicar call, "Lady Foxbridge?"

Both Clarisse and Nicholas turned to see the man hurrying to speak to the woman who stood not a dozen paces from them. Clarisse knew that Rebecca had heard every humiliating word her husband had uttered.

Rebecca said nothing as she smiled at the minister. Again she accepted his thanks. For a second, as she looked into his warm eyes, she saw the apology he had never spoken as they tried to forget that he had fallen in love with her. "I had a lovely time, John," she said softly.

"I'm glad, my lady. I hope we will see you tomorrow at the service. You and Lord Foxbridge had best hurry home before the storm breaks." Wishing her a good evening, he scurried away to his own snug cottage on the opposite side of the green.

The warm feeling of Nicholas's hands settled on her shoulders. He bent and whispered in her ear. "Are you ready to go home, my dear?" he asked gently, knowing she was embarrassed by her accidental eavesdropping. Taking her hand, he walked with her toward the carriage.

The first drops of rain were falling as he helped her into it. She could not keep from looking back at the church, but Clarisse had disappeared. Inside, she sat uncomfortably on the edge of the seat as she stared at the green. It had become a tattered painting of litter and empty tables growing wet in the storm.

"There will be another one next year, Rebecca," Nicholas murmured. "This is an annual event."

"But I won't be here next year." Her voice was mournful.

He twisted her to look into his eyes. "That is and always has been your decision to make, sweetheart. I have never seen you as happy as you have been the last few weeks. Even Mother's nasty comments have rolled off you like water on eider. You are happy here with me, aren't you?"

She closed her eyes and nodded. "I have never been happier."

"But?" he prompted when she paused.

"You know the 'but,'" she said softly. "I promised I would stay until fall. Then I have to go home."

His hands on her face tilted it back so he could look into her pain-filled eyes. "Silly Rebecca! You are so obstinate that you won't see your own heart is becoming entwined with the life in Foxbridge Cloister. What awaits you if you go back to Connecticut? A life with a man who has not kept his promise to come for you."

"He will," she said, but without conviction.

"If he had loved you, Rebecca, he would not have let you go. If the situation had been reversed, and it was Bennett who was interrupting our wedding, do you think I would have allowed him to take you from me? Do you think I will if he dares to show up at Foxbridge Cloister, although it isn't likely to happen?"

Her eyes searched his face and saw the truth. Nicholas would never let her go to another man. He had had no intentions from the beginning of letting her return to America. His farcical bargain had been simply a way to ease her into Foxbridge Cloister and to keep her from becoming desolate in her sorrow and homesickness. As he had told Clarisse, he took the vows he had spoken with Rebecca seriously. She was his until death parted them.

Weeks ago, those thoughts would have sent terror spinning through her, but it was joy which filled her. Although he had not said the words aloud, she was beginning to believe Nicholas loved her. Her fingers traced the varied planes of his face before slipping to entangle in his hair.

This invitation to kiss eager, soft lips Nicholas did not ignore. Thirsting for the satisfaction of the desire driving him mad, he took her mouth with unfettered yearning. When his mouth explored the responsive skin of her neck, she moaned softly and pressed the curves of her slender body close to him. His fingers moved along her to discover once again the body filling his dreams night after night until he woke in agony to stare at the door which was all standing between him and the woman who should be sleeping by his side. As he touched the sweet roundness of her breast, he could feel her delight though her thin dress.

A knock on the carriage door forced him to pause as he was about to reach for hooks at the back of her dress. "My lord?" came Sims's voice, as if he had not seen the passionately embracing couple. "We are at the Cloister."

With his irreverent grin, Nicholas said, "Thank you, Sims." He smoothed Rebecca's dress back into place with a caress as sweet as the ones she had enjoyed moments before. "Ready to run in the rain, sweetheart? I think we should consider building a porte cochere on this old house to keep the new lord and his lady dry."

"You aren't made of sugar, Nicholas. You won't melt if you get wet."

He laughed as he lifted her from the carriage. Taking her hand, he led her quickly up the steps. "No, I'm not made of sugar, and neither are you. I would guess you were created out of the tartest green apples which look so tasty but are dangerous to the one who dares to overindulge in enjoying them."

"I don't think that was a compliment!" she retorted.

They hurried through the door Brody held open. Nicholas paid no attention to the butler as he kissed his wife lightly. "That's where you are wrong. I think you are perfect the way you are." He was about to add more, but looked past her head as the clock gonged the hour. He groaned in emoted anguish. "I have to leave you now, sweetheart. I was supposed to be back to meet with the solicitors half an hour ago. I may see you at dinner, if we can get some of the details squared away by then."

"Is there a problem?"

"Nothing you need concern yourself with." He tweaked her nose playfully. "I just have to convince my tight-fisted solicitors to part with enough money to buy a bell for the church."

Rebecca laughed as she ran up the stairs. She rang for Collette and ordered a bath. After the long, hot hours at the fair, she was ready to soak for a while. Stripping off her filthy dress, she tossed it on the floor. It was so disgustingly dirty and stained, she did not want to put it on a chair. She pulled on a robe as she went out to the main room to get her needlework. It would keep her fingers busy while the bath was being filled.

When the door opened, she glanced up to greet Collette. She gasped as she saw it was not her maid, but was Curtis Langston. Lady Margaret had invited him to stay at the house to show her pleasure with the relationship that had developed since he had become Eliza's steady escort in London during the previous season. Clutching the neckline of her robe closer to her chin, Rebecca was aware of how little she wore in the presence of this man who remained little more than an acquaintance.

"Excuse me," he said calmly, as his eyes swept over her body outlined by the thin material. He noted her bare feet and smiled in a way which made her more uncomfortable. "I was looking for Nicholas."

"He's with his solicitors in the study. Unless it's extremely important, I would suggest you wait, Curtis. What they are doing is very complicated."

Instead of leaving as she had expected, he closed the door. "How was the village fair?" he asked.

"It was fine," she answered tersely, wishing he would leave. "We raised enough money to replace the steeple, and Nicholas donated the money to buy a bell."

"He did? How generous of him!" He walked smoothly toward her as he spoke.

Stepping backward in tempo with his paces, she said, "I would be glad to tell you all about it at dinner. If you will excuse me, I must get cleaned up."

He nodded. His smile broadened as his eyes wandered over her once more. "I understand, Rebecca. I will look forward to hearing all about it. Have a pleasant bath. I will talk to Nicholas later."

Before she could react, he had opened the door and was gone. She was still standing in the center of the room when Collette came in moments later. As she watched the hip bath being filled, Rebecca told herself she must have imagined the expression in Curtis's eyes as he had backed her toward the wall. He loved Eliza. Why would he look at her with lust?

She forced the thought from her mind as she sank into the warm water. Telling Collette to come back in fifteen minutes, she scrubbed the heat of the day from her skin and hair. Climbing out, she wrapped one thick towel around her head and put her robe over her dried body while she went to her closet to see which dress she would wear tonight. With all the clothes Nicholas had ordered for her, it was a pleasant decision. Her fingers reached for a gold dress, then settled for a ivory gown she had worn only once before. If Nicholas brought his business associates in for supper, she wanted to look lovely so he would be proud of her.

She went to sit at her dressing table to brush out her damp hair. On top of it was a small chest with a note with her name printed on the outside of it. Curiously, she opened the page.

My dear Rebecca,

These rightfully belong to you. They have been at the solicitors' in London, but I requested they be brought to Foxbridge Cloister for you to enjoy. Some of the pieces may be antiquated, sweetheart, but wear whatever you like. They are yours.

There was no signature, but only one person could have written the letter. Putting it aside, she opened the box. She gasped as she saw the collection of jewelry inside. Gems of every color were set in bracelets, pendants, rings, and earbobs. A single stone could have purchased her family's farm in Connecticut. She had known that the Wythes were far from poor, but she had had no idea they owned such wealth.

She glanced up as Collette opened the door. The maid's eyes widened as she saw the jewelry box. Feeling a need to explain, Rebecca said, "This was waiting when I finished bathing."

The maid chuckled. Lady Foxbridge clearly was embarrassed by this sudden show of Foxbridge riches. "They are lovely, my lady. What do you wish to wear? How about these?"

She lifted out a pair of earrings and a necklace made of slender strands of gold with sapphires set in a designs like flower blossoms. "With your ivory gown, these will be perfect, my lady."

"I think you are right." She smiled. "I just can't imagine me wearing something so valuable."

Collette hooked it around Rebecca's neck. "There. Now you are wearing it, and it looks as if it was made especially for you. If I may say so, my lady, you must learn to enjoy luxuries. Don't accept the burdens and reject the pleasant parts. Come, and I will help you dress."

An hour later, Rebecca descended the stairs feeling very different from the ragged, stained woman who had gone up after the fair. She noticed Brody was not at his usual post by the door. That unusual circumstance did not bother her. She suspected he was dealing with providing accommodations for the solicitors who would be staying overnight. The butler was so efficient that her duties were minimal and enjoyable.

Knowing she was early for dinner, she went into the drawing room to look at the portrait of the woman who had come to fascinate her as much as she did her many times great-grandson Nicholas. The more she looked at the painting, the more she saw that she did not resemble that woman more than superficially. She wished she could reach back in time to speak to Sybill and learn the truth about the most notorious Lady Foxbridge.

"You like her, don't you?"

Rebecca turned to see Eliza watching her with a baffled expression. "I think I feel sorry for her, more than anything else."

"Sorry for her?" Feeling sympathy for Sybill Wythe was an astounding idea for Eliza.

"Yes, for she must have been very unhappy. She was married to a man she obviously did not love. Whether she took a lover or not, she has been scorned for centuries for that faithlessness." She added, "I don't understand why you Wythes have kept her portrait in the most public room of the house if you hate her and what she was."

Familiar laughter filled the room as Nicholas joined them. "Don't you understand us yet, Rebecca? Her crime, whether it was committed or not, is the shame all Wythes must bear. Instead of hiding the past in the dark recesses of the attic as other families do, we indulge in self-flagellation to prove to everyone that we can arise above such crimes as lust and infidelity."

"Nicholas, that's awful!" scolded Eliza with a chuckle.

"But you must admit it's true."

"You are probably right, brother dear. Have you finished with your business so you may join us for dinner?"

Her question was unnecessary, for Nicholas had changed into formal clothes. "We'll finish in the morning. If I had to look at one more legal form written in Doyle's handwriting, I think it would have to have been one to order me declared insane. Will you go ahead, Eliza? I have something I want to discuss alone with Rebecca."

His sister looked startled, but went out into the hall. Nicholas closed the double doors and flipped the latch that locked them before coming over to stand by his wife.

"What is wrong, Nicholas?"

He smiled as his eyes devoured the body his fingers longed to learn. "Only that the carriage arrived home too quickly."

He swept her into his arms and leaned her back over one arm to kiss her deeply. Scooping her up into his arms, he moved to the settee. He sat with her on his lap, her full skirts flowing over him to cover his legs as well as hers. Unlike the dress she had worn to the church fair, this one dipped deep to give him an enticing view of her bosom accented by the fine jewels he had given her. His fingers picked up the necklace while at the same time caressing the skin beneath it.

"This looks lovely," he whispered into her hair.

She breathed a wordless answer as he continued to touch her. When his head bent to place flame hot kisses along the bared skin at the neckline of her gown, she clutched his shoulders to contain her longing to surrender. It would be so easy to beg him to make love to her. From deep inside her a steamy fire filled her with the urge to feel his body moving with hers in a rhythm she had yet to learn.

He regarded her lovely face softened by the passion she no longer tried to hide. He ran his hand along her body and saw her pleasured reaction. Although she wanted him as desperately as he longed to have her in his bed, she would not come to him willingly until she was sure Bennett no longer wanted her. Her vow made in distress was creating more torment for her.

Sadly, he said, "I hear Brody announcing dinner, sweetheart." He lifted her to her feet and held her as she swayed on weakened knees. A stronger swell of desire surged through him as he knew that it was his loving that sapped her strength. She was so sure on her wounded leg that she had stopped using her cane. "If he doesn't come in another few weeks, you can be sure he isn't coming."

Rebecca did not need clarification of his words. Like him, whenever she was ready to give in to her desire to be his, Keith invaded her thoughts. Her voice was very subdued as she said, "I think you are right. I almost wish I knew he wasn't coming."

"Do you want to stay with me? There's no reason for you to go back with Bennett if he was to come here. I know you don't love him now. If you want to stay here, stay."

She laughed, shortly. "Why wouldn't I want to stay? You have given me everything I could desire."

"Everything, but the one thing I truly want to give you." He raised her fingers to his lips. "Why can you accept everything I have offered but my heart and my life?"

Lowering her head, she fought to keep tears from dripping from her rapidly blinking eyes. She could speak only the same trite reason she had told him over and over. The same trite reason that was a lie. She did not want to go back to Connecticut to satisfy a vow made by a different woman who had not discovered the bliss of real love.

"All right," he said gently. "Let's go in for supper. I do not want to ruin your most wonderful day by making you miserable. I just wish you would let me make you happier."

"I am doing the best I can, Nicholas."

"When have you done anything else?" He smiled suddenly. "Are you ready for the ball at Marchwood Hall on Saturday?"

She nodded. "My gown is nearly done. Mademoiselle Pacquette is outdoing herself. I even should be able to dance, if you wish."

"Of course, we will dance. I will want to show off the most beautiful woman ever to grace that house." He twirled her around so her full skirts brushed the furniture. He laughed as he opened the door and led her to the dining room where the others waited for Lord Foxbridge and his lady.

Chapter Thirteen

Nicholas smiled brightly as he entered his mother's sitting room. "Good morning, Mother," he said pleasantly. He kissed the cheek she held up. "I was told you wished to speak to me about an hour ago. Have you been waiting all this time? I'm sorry it has taken so long, but there is always something that demands being done."

"Sit down, son." Lady Margaret had a grim expression on her face. When Nicholas was seated, she said, "I think we should talk about what being Lord Foxbridge should mean to you, Nicholas. You have been home for a while now, so you must becoming aware of what the responsibilities of Lord Foxbridge should be."

"What it should be?" he queried. His brows drew together, for he knew that his mother was going to use this new tact to defame Rebecca.

"Let me put this bluntly, son. Have you considered having your marriage to that woman annulled?"

"That woman is my wife, and I don't wish to change that." He nearly laughed aloud. If she only knew the truth. Rebecca wished the same thing or had. A flush of pleasure filled him as he thought of how eager she was for his kisses and to share his life. "I'm very fond of Rebecca. I have told you this before."

Lady Margaret smiled mirthlessly. "I know you think you love her, but have you considered what it will be like when we return to London? Rebecca will not fit in there. She is a bumpkin, not suited for the rÙle of the wife of Lord Foxbridge. Divorce her, Nicholas. It isn't that difficult. Use your need for an heir as the excuse. Keep her as your mistress, if you wish. She is a cute thing, so I can understand the physical attraction you have for her. Just dissolve your marriage, and remarry someone capable of handling the duties of Lady Foxbridge."

Softly, Nicholas asked, "Are you done? Let me tell you my opinion. I think you are letting your hatred for Rebecca blind you. She is not part of the peerage, I admit, but she is trying to learn. She will do well in London. I won't divorce her nor seek an annulment." He shrugged with studied nonchalance. "We were married by an army chaplain. I have no idea how to go about such a course of action, even if I was interested."

"Army chaplain?" She smiled. "That might make it easier to dissolve this marriage. You were injured, so you could not have been cognizant of what you were doing when you decided to marry a girl who had been so kind to you. Yes, it could be worked if it was handled correctly."

Nicholas stood. "Forget it, Mother. I shan't divorce Rebecca." He grinned with the fire of rage in his black eyes. "I anticipated your desire to see me rid of my wife. That's why I had Doyle and his associates out from London. You were mightily curious as to what we were doing, weren't you? You knew I did not bring them here simply to deliver the jewelry that now belongs to Rebecca."

"I thought if you wanted me to know you would tell me," she said stiffly.

"I want you to know now. I formalized all the paperwork that makes Rebecca North Wythe and her progeny my heirs. Whether we are married or not, the day I die, all of my assets, including this estate and our holdings elsewhere are hers."

"That's insane!" she cried. "You will give everything to that woman and nothing to your sister?"

He laughed stiffly. "Don't worry. If something happened to me today, Rebecca would see that you and Eliza were well taken care of. Could I have trusted you to do the same for her? Hardly." He paused, then his demonic smile widened. "This discussion, Mother, has raised some points that I have heard too often from others overly interested in my marital relationship. I think it might not be a bad idea if Rebecca and I were remarried. Let everyone see that I am sincere in my devotion to my wife."

"No!" she stated. "I won't allow it! You are not going to make Foxbridge Cloister into a joke, Nicholas, by wedding that ignorant wench here. It's bad enough that you shamed us all by bringing her here in the first place. Now you have shown that you are so under her control that you give her everything your family has worked for for the centuries. I shan't allow this idiocy to take place."

Nicholas did not raise his voice. The decision had been made. She could abide by it or not as she wished. "I am Lord Foxbridge, as you are so fond of reminding me. I will do as I see fit to insure the best for Foxbridge Cloister. I have said that I wish to set everyone's tongues to rest. If you do not want to attend, I can arrange for the house in London to be opened for your use. There's no need for you to be involved if you do not wish." He turned and walked to the door. "Good day, Mother."

The door slammed loudly. Lady Margaret scowled at the heavy panel. Her son was besotted with his backwoods wife. If Nicholas would not listen to reason, perhaps she could convince his wife to do so. With a sly smile, she sent for Rebecca. There always was more than one way to solve a problem.

Although Rebecca was surprised at the request from her mother-in-law, she answered it quickly. She did not dare to hope that Lady Margaret was ready to accept her. When she knocked, she was told very graciously to enter. That instantly warned her of impending trouble.

"Come in, my dear," Lady Margaret said. She asked the young woman to sit in the chair that Nicholas had evacuated such a short time before.

"Good morning. Is there some problem?" Rebecca could think of no other reason why she would be summoned. She was sure she would hear the latest complaint of her activities.

Picking up a cup of tea, Lady Margaret handed it to her daughter-in-law. "Nothing's wrong. I thought we should have a talk."

"All right," she said suspiciously. "About what?"

Lady Margaret hid her displeasure behind her cup. The little harlot was not fooled. It appeared she had some intelligence. "I have been receiving reports on your progress in your duties at Foxbridge Cloister. It seems that you are being quite enthusiastic in your new rÙle."

"I'm trying. Nicholas has been pleased."

"I'm sure Nicholas is pleased with everything you do, my dear." Her slight stress on the word everything brought a blush to Rebecca's face.

She knew Lady Margaret did not intend to patch over their differences. She was trying to put an end to them by telling Rebecca once more that she was unfit to be Lady Foxbridge. That she wanted Nicholas to marry Clarisse was a well-known fact. Coolly, she asked, "And, Lady Margaret?"

"And what?"

"Why don't you stop pretending and tell me outright what you called me here to tell me?" Like her husband, Rebecca did not raise her voice.

Putting her teacup on the tray on the table separating them, Lady Margaret said, "Very well, Rebecca. I will tell you the truth. I want you gone from Foxbridge Cloister."

"Isn't that Nicholas's decision to make?"

With a sniff, she rose. Walking across the room, she put as much space as she could between them. "Nicholas is blinded with love for with you, as you well know. What are you going to do for him, but drag him down to your level? Can you imagine the laughingstock he will be in London? The fine Lord Foxbridge with a wife who has her maid teach her how to dress. How many errors will you make before he is so shamed that he cannot show his face again?"

"You needn't worry about me shaming Nicholas in London this fall!" she averred. "I shan't be there!"

She pounced on the words. "What do you mean? Can it be that you are thinking of leaving Nicholas?"

Rebecca gasped as she realized what she almost had divulged. If the truth of her marriage with Nicholas was discovered by his mother, in no time, everyone would learn that Lady Foxbridge kept her husband from her bed. Coolly, she thought of the one lie she could use. "I mean only that if Nicholas and I are lucky, you will be announcing around that time the anticipated birth of your first grandchild, Lady Margaret." Smiling at the aghast expression on her mother-in-law's face, she said, "I wish you a good day."

Rebecca was proud of her self-control which kept her from slamming the door. Blindly, she sought her own room. Going in, for the first time, she ordered Collette from her room. Although the maid was shocked by Lady Foxbridge's action, she left quickly as she wondered where Lord Foxbridge might be found at this time of day.

She threw herself on the bed and began to cry out her frustration with her mother-in-law's continual hatred. How hopeful she had been when she had received the invitation to visit Lady Margaret! How quickly those hopes had been dashed!

When comforting hands rubbed her back tenderly, she looked up to see Nicholas regarding her with sympathy. "Hold me, Nicholas, please," she begged.

"Anytime, my love, anytime." He did not kiss her as he held her close to his body. Feeling the quivers of distress wracking her, he wondered what had hurt her so. When he had seen her earlier, she had been happy as she chatted about her excitement over the ball at Marchwood Hall that evening. "Do you want to talk about it, Rebecca?"

She shook her head. With a watery smile, she said, "Not really. There is nothing that serious wrong."

Recalling similar incidents, he knew that his mother had tried to hurt Rebecca again. She had not succeeded with him, so she had attempted to drive a wedge between them by attacking his wife. Although he hated to do it, to protect Rebecca from this torture, he was going to have issue an ultimatum to his mother. Either she would have to treat his wife decently, or she would be banished from the Cloister. Trying to make light of the weighty problem, he said, "If you say there's nothing wrong, I believe you. Collette was upset, and she thought you might want me."

"I do want you, Nicholas." She buried her face in his damp shirt front.

"Smile, for I have told you over and over that with you is where I want to be also. Come on."

She watched as he stood and held out his hand. "Where are we going?"

Nicholas laughed in a much lightened tone. "How about a ride? You have been back on Blossom for a week now. How about that ride you have been promising me as soon as we both have a free moment? I am not busy, and you don't need to spend anymore time in your room!"

"That sounds wonderful." She rang for Collette. "I will meet you in ten minutes at the stable, Nicholas."

"Five, sweetheart. I don't wish to be away from you any longer." He drew her to him and kissed her with the promise that this ride would be an excuse to escape the many eyes at the Cloister to share the sweetness of the touching which sent lightning racing through their souls.

In a whisper, she gazed up at him. "Five it will be." Suddenly even that seemed too long.

*** *** ***

Nicholas was waiting at the base of the main staircase when Rebecca descended the stairs after her many hours of preparation for the formal affair at Marchwood Hall. When Collette had finished helping her dress in the lovely teal silk dress whose satin underskirt was nearly a midnight blue and had done her hair, the reflection in the mirror had been a stranger.

Never before had Rebecca dressed so fancily. The jewelry setting off her dress was crusted with pearls. Yet what drew her eyes most was the powder in her onetime dark hair. To see the ornate curls on her head dusted all in white was queer. Suddenly she seemed like some cold, high ranking lady whose heart should not have been beating so hard with the excitement of the upcoming ball.

As she saw her husband in the hall below, her eyes widened. Like her, he had had his hair powdered in the prerequisite style. It was tied back with a navy velvet ribbon which matched the material of his dress coat. Fine lace at his throat and wide sleeves made him look so different from the man who wore casual clothes while working on the grounds of Foxbridge Cloister. For the first time, he appeared to be Lord Foxbridge and not her dearly beloved Nicholas.

His eyes met hers, and she smiled broadly. She saw his humor. He was far too aware of the difference between their appearance tonight and what they normally wore. This was like a joke. Neither of these dressed up dolls were their real selves. They were more comfortable in the things they had worn so long ago on the never to be forgotten shores of the New World.

When she reached the bottom, he took her hand and bowed over it most formally. Opening the fan attached to a band at her wrist, she gazed coquettishly at him over it. "My dear Lord Foxbridge, I would guess." Her tone was a copy of the overly obsequious ladies who had begun to call on her.

"Your intelligence is only second to your beauty, my dear Lady Foxbridge." His dark eyes twinkled beneath the raven eyebrows which seemed even more sinister in contrast with his white hair.

Rebecca could not refrain from laughing merrily. His normal satirical humor would make the evening a delight even if it was otherwise boring. She had dreaded the gala all week and would be happy when it was over, although at the same time she had been thrilled with the idea of attending a fancy ball like those she had heard of from Eliza. "I feel so odd dressed like this," she said.

"You look beautiful, sweetheart." He kissed her cheek. His eyes swept her slender form accented by the wide shape of her skirt. The gown dipped off her shoulders to display her soft skin. His fingers could not resist caressing it eagerly. He swallowed a moan of unsated desire which urged him to take her back upstairs and teach her the dance unlike the minuets they would dance later. Huskily, he asked, "Are you ready to go?"

She nodded carefully, not wanting to disturb the multitude of curls on top of her head. By keeping her eyes lowered, she was able to prevent him from seeing the light glowing in her eyes as he touched her with such obvious longing.

Nicholas took her cape from Brody who had been watching them with his normal tranquil expression although he had not missed a nuance of the love that bound the two of them together. Placing it over her shoulders, he tied the satin ribbons as his passion filled eyes held hers. His own, he folded on his arm, for it was still warm.

Holding out his other arm, he bid a good evening to the butler who held the door open. At the base of the steps, the carriage waited. Sims waited patiently as Nicholas aided his lady into the plush interior. When they were seated comfortably, the vehicle started on the ten mile drive to Marchwood Hall, the home of Sir Alec Carrollton.

During the long ride, Rebecca listened as Nicholas discussed the progress of the harvest. She was pleased that he treated her as a partner. Although he made all decisions publicly, often he would talk about some problem during the quiet evenings they enjoyed in the privacy of their suite's sitting room. Usually she had no advice to offer him because she did not know much about what he talked about, but she knew it helped simply to have someone to listen.

Lately those discussions had turned into far warmer methods of communication. It was useless to fight her desire for Nicholas any longer. She could not deny what she felt was love. She must let go of promises which had no meaning and fantasies with no substance. Her dreams centered on the life she was living by Nicholas's side.

When they approached the gates to Marchwood Hall, torches burned on the gateposts. All along the road to the house, candles had been inserted onto posts to light their way. The country house glittered with the glow of hundreds of lights. It was a lovely house, matching Rebecca's image of what Foxbridge Cloister might be. The stone walls were not as stained with sea salt as where the Wythes lived, but the house must be at least a century old. The windows were wider and not set so deeply in the walls. It was a home built for peacetime luxury, not for the protection of ravaging enemies from the sea.

Sims drove the carriage under a porte cochere much like Nicholas joked about building at Foxbridge Cloister. At the top of the steps, a pair of liveried doormen stood like twin statues. They only moved to open the double doors as Nicholas and Rebecca approached. This elegance was on a scale which added to her discomfort.

"Try to enjoy yourself, Rebecca," came a whisper in her ear.

She looked up to see Nicholas's dark eyes admiring her openly. If she was beautiful tonight for her husband and he was pleased to be with her, then nothing else should matter. "I hope to have a lovely time," she said as quietly.

A quick smile flashed across his face as he turned to hand their invitation to the man standing at the door of the ballroom. Without glancing at it, he turned to the man beside him and intoned, "Sir Alec Carrollton, my Lord and Lady Foxbridge."

Their host was a middle-aged man whose hair was white by nature, not by powder. He was short, not much taller than Rebecca, and appeared as round as he was tall. The gold buttons on his waistcoat strained to hold the garment closed. Nicholas had informed her that she should not be fooled by his pleasant, grandfatherly appearance. He had warned her that Sir Alec had a reputation for a fondness for lovely, young ladies which had made him unwelcome in several households in London.

Even without that foreknowledge, Rebecca would have sensed the truth when she was introduced. His eyes candidly regarded her with open admiration. When he raised her gloved fingers to his lips, he squeezed them in an obvious invitation. She pretended not to understand what he intended by his eager looks and moist kisses. Her voice was icily correct as she said, "We were pleased to be invited to your fÍte this evening, Sir Alec."

"You honor me with your lovely presence this evening, my lady. You and your husband are doing this house a great honor by attending our simple entertainment."

Her lips twitched at the pompous little man's attempt to impress them. If this party was simple, she wondered what Marchwood Hall would present as a formal affair. She opened her fan to hide her smile under the pretense of using it to cool herself. When she felt Nicholas's hand on her arm, she agreeably went with him to the main part of the room.

The orchestra had completed its preparations and played a lyrical tune by one of the new European composers who were writing so many lovely melodies. Rebecca could not guess which one it was. About the room, many people were gathered, talking easily about the latest gossip and political news. The colors worn by the guests made the room appear as if it was filled with a multitude of silk butterflies.

Rebecca felt a warm sense of self satisfaction when she saw that her gown was as fine as any of the others. Never before had she been vain, and it was not vanity that made her compare herself favorably with the others. She simply wanted to make Nicholas proud of her. She wanted to see that sweet light of love in his eyes which had been there when he had congratulated her on the success of her children's choir.

"Get set, Rebecca," he said, with a laugh. "Here we go."

"Excuse me?" she asked in sudden confusion.

He did not have a chance to answer as the guests noticed who had arrived and swarmed around them to bask in the reflected glory of the rank possessed by the Wythes. It did not take her long to understand his amused warning. There was no doubt that everyone wanted a chance to meet the new Lady Foxbridge and try to impress her imposing, influential husband.

Smoothly, he steered her through the circle which formed around them on every step. When he knew it was useless, he stopped and spoke to those intent on fawning over them. Watching him, Rebecca learned quickly the needs of being politic. She smiled and allowed the men to kiss her fingers as they bowed to her. Sternly she controlled her shock when the ladies dipped in a brief curtsy when she was introduced to them.

Nicholas's arm slipped around her shoulders. To the man he was speaking to, he said, "Excuse me, Lambert, for I hear the orchestra getting ready for the next dance. Rebecca, would you like to dance?"

"Yes, I would, thank you," she answered calmly. Only in her eyes could he see her relief that the many questions would be halted, at least for a short time.

He kept his arm around her as they walked to where the dancing would be. "You are doing beautifully under the most horrible circumstances. I don't know why all of these people seem compelled to try to impress us. Before I left six years ago, I saw Brad going through the same gauntlet each time he entered a room. I didn't realize then how ridiculous this whole situation is. It will calm down when the season reopens in London. We will no longer be the latest topic of gossip."

"Let's dance," she urged.

"If you feel any strain on your leg, you must drop out immediately. We will be attending other dances."

When she promised, he led her out to the dance floor. She was glad that it was a very simple minuet so that she could follow the steps easily. Her smile was lovely as she held her husband's hands and twirled gracefully through the pattern of the dance. When they switched partners, she recognized the man but could not remember his name. It was fortunate that he was willing to carry the majority of the conversation. Once again her plan of simply listening with a pleasant expression worked well. She dipped in a curtsy as the dance demanded and took the fingers of the next man along the line.

Her blue eyes narrowed as she looked into the face of her newest partner. She did not know him, but the way he ogled her gave her a sensation as if some insect were crawling along her skin. He held her fingers too tightly so he could draw her closer than necessary. When his arm went around her waist very briefly, she could feel his fingers stroking her audaciously through the fine silk of her gown. Outraged, she twirled away. When she broke the pattern of the dance, the others stopped to regard her. Rancor burned in her eyes as she stared at the unknown man. A hand on her arm made her spin about forcefully.

"Lady Foxbridge, is there some problem?"

She regarded the face of her host who was clearly upset with the disruption. When Nicholas pushed through the other dancers, she was spared having to lie. In a frigid voice, he stated, "My dear Carrollton, you may have forgotten that unfortunate incident when Rebecca was injured, but you needn't confront my wife in this ungracious manner. If she doesn't want to dance, she can step out at any time."

"It is all right," she said quickly. "Please, may I sit down? I don't feel like dancing now."

All eyes centered on them as he took her hand and placed it on his arm before leading her to a small room which was little more than an alcove off the main room. He sat her on one of the padded benches. "Are you hurt, sweetheart?" His voice was gentle with his concern.

"I'm fine. It is just that I'm not used to being pawed while dancing, and I didn't like it. I don't know your English customs, Nicholas, but if that is one of them, I do not wish to dance anymore."

His eyes grew black with fury. "'Tis a custom that no gentleman would practice. Who was so crass, my love?"

She sighed and stroked the curve of his cheek. "Don't worry about it. I'm not hurt. There is nothing you can do to change what happened. I don't know the man, but I will avoid him from now on."

"You must learn that society here is far less puritanical than in America, sweetheart. It is not unusual for a beautiful woman like yourself to have a whole court of admirers and lovers surrounding herself."

"I don't want that!" she vowed.

Nicholas framed her face with his hands and drew her face close as he kissed her hungrily. His fingers caressed her cheeks where the rose color had deepened when his tongue had wheedled her lips to part so he could savor the varied textures of her mouth. "My Rebecca, I wouldn't want you to have any lovers but me," he whispered as his lips brushed hers.

She felt her body melting against his as the flame in her soul burned outward to bring the blossom of her love for her husband into full flower. Her hands slipped beneath his coat to feel his virile body through the silk of his shirt and waistcoat.

He chuckled lightly in her ear. "This isn't the time or the place, darling. I think we should remember that we are far from alone here." He kissed her swiftly, but there was no lack of desire in the slight touch. "A glass of champagne?"

"That would be very nice," she replied quietly. She was still overwhelmed by the opulence of the sensations she experienced in his arms. Perhaps a glass of the cooled wine would take the heat from her face.

He kissed her cheek. "Wait here. I will be back in just a few minutes."

Rebecca's eyes followed him as he crossed the salon to where the champagne was being served from a fountain by the edge of one of the many gardens. When he disappeared among the crowd, she closed her eyes and savored the fantasy of joining her husband in his bed. If she could have guessed that hell was waiting for her, she would have clutched more tightly to her dreams of heaven.

Chapter Fourteen

Content with her dreams of love, Rebecca gazed at the other guests at Sir Alec's party. No longer the center of attention, she could stare without anyone realizing she was watching them. The men were dressed as ornately as the women with brocade coats which rivaled the hues of the gowns. It appeared as if there were a contest to see who could pile their powdered hair higher. Rolls of false hair and pinned on curls augmented the hairstyles taller than her Aunt Dena's best hat and, in Rebecca's opinion, just as silly.

She looked at her gown which had seemed too ornate when Eliza had helped choose it. She was dressed plainer than most of the other guests, although the material of her gown was as fine as any in the room. Only the servants in their livery were dressed more drabbily than she was. She was not concerned, for she had no desire to mimic the outrageous clothes.

From her early years, when times were most lean, she had been taught that the changing fancies of style were only for those who had no sense of self worth. She did not know if that was true, but she had learned that the personage of Lady Foxbridge commanded enough respect that she would not be censured for not following the dictates of the haute monde.

With the orchestra playing again, some of the guests were dancing, but most were talking. What they spoke of, she had no knowledge. The well-established parameters of polite conversation remained a mystery to her. She did not understand the rules of what was flirting and what was cause for her husband to call out her admirer. Eliza had tried to teach her some of the rules, but she found them incomprehensible.

"My dear Lady Foxbridge!"

She frowned as she saw her host approaching her haven. It added further to her discomfort that by marrying Nicholas she had assumed a rank above most of these people. In a country where title was only secondary to wealth, she had wed a husband who possessed both and had gained the same level of prestige instantly.

Struggling for something to say to this man reputed to be a lecher, she smiled. "This is a lovely party, Sir Alec."

"Far more lovely because of your ladyship's presence," he replied smoothly, as he bent over her fingers. His lips lingered in an obvious question on her hand.

She blushed before she pulled her hand away. "Thank you, sir, for your kindness." Disappointment shone in his eyes as he accepted that she was not intrigued by his invitation for a dalliance.

Carrollton had not expected Lady Foxbridge would be interested in him when she had her dashing husband who clearly was as devoted to her. There had been no stories of the re-emergence of the love affair between him and Clarisse Beckwith. If Lord Foxbridge was keeping a mistress, it was a secret. As he gazed at the loveliness of the lord's wife, he doubted if Foxbridge would desire anyone else.

His thoughts were interrupted by a man clearing his throat, and he recalled the promise he had been forced to make. As he stepped to one side, another man entered the small room. "Allow me to introduce my friend Lord Halsey Royce. Royce, Lady Foxbridge, Rebecca Wythe."

Rebecca gasped as she saw the man who had dared to caress her in the midst of the minuet. Her gaze flew past him, but Nicholas was nowhere in sight. She could not know that he was being delayed seemingly innocently by one of the baron's friends at the far side of the ballroom.

Royce lifted her fingers to his lips. She raised her eyes as he did not release her hand. He was not a handsome man for his face was pitted with scars from the pox. Like all the men at the ball, he wore his hair powdered so she had no idea of its color, but his eyes were a lighter blue than hers.

"How do you do, Lord Royce?" she asked coldly.

"Very well, my lady. I'm sorry your accident kept us from completing our portion of the dance." He smiled as she drew her gloved fingers away in obvious disgust that he would dare to remind her of his boldness. "I have been anxious to meet you since your arrival with Lord Foxbridge. I had no idea that his lordship had decided to take a bride so suddenly."

Her eyebrows arched in derision. She did not like this oily and falsely submissive man. "Our wedding wasn't sudden, sir. We will be celebrating our fifth wedding anniversary next month."

"Excuse me," said their host, suddenly. Refusing to meet Rebecca's shocked eyes as she heard the urgency in his voice, he added, "I fear duty calls. I trust I will see you later, my lady." He bowed again before he left her alone with the despicable man.

Royce did not seem in a hurry to leave. "Five years, Lady Foxbridge? I swear his lordship must have robbed the cradle to find a bride of such tender years."

"That, sir, is none of your business," she declared stoutly. Deciding he would not be brushed off by coldness, she rose. "If you will excuse me, my lord."

"No, I don't think so, my lady," he said in a totally different tone of voice. All courtesy vanished to be replaced by a threatening stance.

"Excuse me?" she asked, astonished by the sudden change.

He grasped her arm and twirled her through a door at the back of the room. It led to the gardens which had been left purposely dark for those who wished a rendezvous far from the eyes of the gossiping gentry and suspicious spouses. She cried out for him to release her, but he did not pause until he reached an arbor deep in the gardens. He was not worried that anyone would hear her, for the music from the orchestra and conversation would drown out her terrified calls for help.

Putting his fingers on her cheeks, he turned her face from side to side so he could view it in the moonlight. She tried to pull his hands away, but he paid her flailing hands no attention. Quietly, he said, "So you are the souvenir Nicholas brought back from America. They told me how beautiful you are, but I didn't believe them. I admit I was wrong."

"Will you let me go? I don't understand why you have dragged me out here, and I shan't stay to listen to your apology!"

Royce chuckled with ill-humor. "You are very much the backwoods provincial, aren't you, my lady? Why do you think I brought you here? Don't you Americans, as you call yourselves now, deal in flirtations?"

"I don't want any kind of flirtation with you, Lord Royce." She looked past him, hoping to see a shadowed form moving through the thick shrubs. No one came into sight. Her voice trembled as she asked, "Do you forget I am a married woman?"

As an answer, he captured her mouth with his. Although her fists pounded against his back, he ignored them as he pressed her backward toward the ground. His fingers pulled the pins from her hair so it fell into a white cloud. As she struggled to escape, the powder billowed out like pale smoke around them.

She screamed as she felt her dress rip, but the sound was muted by his mouth. When she slipped to the ground, she could feel the dampness of the evening dew seeping into the fine material. His hand was placed over her mouth as his lips moved to discover the planes of her face.

Royce looked down into her wide, blue eyes and laughed in honest delight. "I met many women on my sojourn in America, my so-called Lady Foxbridge. You are all good for only one occupation. It was interesting how many daughters of patriots were willing to play the harlot for their hated masters. Did you do it for money, or is it that your Yankee Doodle lovers make you crave for the touch of a real Englishman? You are no different. You just captured yourself a man with a title."

She shrieked as she felt his fingers examining her body with leisurely interest. By this time, Nicholas should have returned to where she was supposed to be waiting. When she was missing, surely he would look for her. Her heart sank as she realized he would have no reason to search in the garden.

The man continued to taunt her. "How old were you when you married, Lady Foxbridge? You could have been no more than fourteen or fifteen, but whores learn very young how to market their wares, don't they?"

In sudden rage, she clamped her teeth on one of his thick fingers. His cry filled the night. While he pulled back from the unexpected attack, she rolled from beneath him. Forgetting her slipper which had come off when he had pushed her to the ground, she ran back to the well-lighted house.

As she stepped into the ballroom, she heard a woman gasp and point at her. For a moment, she stared at the other guests. Then, from the depths of her tortured soul, she screamed, "Nicholas!"

Instantly the whole room hushed. Even the orchestra halted in the middle of a chord which blew away in disharmony. Everyone turned to see the disheveled remains of lovely Lady Foxbridge. From the edge of the crowd, Sir Alec waddled toward her. She backed away in fear from the man had introduced her to that beast Royce. She was sure they had contrived the attack together.

"Stay away from me!" she whispered. Scanning the room, she raised her voice over the murmurs and cried out once more, "Nicholas! Nicholas, where are you?"

The crowd parted reluctantly to let the dark-haired man through. Nicholas shoved aside those who did not move quick enough, for from an upper landing he had heard the anguished sound of his wife's voice and had come racing back to the ballroom. He had been on his way upstairs to look for her when she had not been waiting when he returned with two glasses of champagne.

He paused in the middle of a step as he saw her. "Rebecca! What happened to you?"

She could not reply as she ran to him. He pulled her into his arms and held her close to his heart which beat rapidly with his fear for her. Although dozens of questions were being fired from every direction, he did not listen. All he cared about was the woman who obviously had been attacked. Ignoring everyone, he led her to a bench and helped her sit. Her dress ripped again as it caught in the broken heel of her remaining slipper. He knelt beside her, so their eyes were on nearly the same level.

He asked a single question, "Who?"

Her voice was distorted by her heartrending sobs. "It was -- it was Lord -- Lord Royce. He told me -- " Anger returned to combat her fear. In a stronger voice, she said, "He told me that American women were only good as harlots, and that I had -- " She paused as she recalled the guests eagerly hanging on every word.

"She lies as well as acting the whore!" came the terse comment from the wide doorway.

Rebecca's eyes grew dark with antipathy as she saw Royce showcased against the star-strewn sky. She said nothing as she rose. Her hand slipped into her husband's as they faced her tormentor together.

Nicholas glanced down at her damp face and smiled. Squeezing her hand, he released it to step forward to close the distance between him and the scurrilous Lord Royce. His voice was emotionless as he spoke. Only Rebecca knew how enraged her husband was to act so calm. "Royce, Lady Foxbridge is neither a whore nor a liar."

"I did not say that, my lord." He smiled broadly. "I did not say she was either. I said she was both. Look at her. She teases me into a seduction, then runs back to you."

By the bench, Rebecca clenched her teeth and her fists to keep from throwing curses at him. If she said what she wished, it would label her no better than what he accused her of being. She would have to let Nicholas handle this as he considered appropriate.

He was saying in a closely clipped voice, "My dear Lord Royce, I shall give you one more chance to retract your words and to apologize to her for your crass actions."

"I need no more chances, Foxbridge. I don't intend to apologize for your whorish wife." Carelessly, he laughed. "It's a shame that a man with your reputation as a lady's man cannot keep such a woman satisfied. Perhaps, after all the years you chased Clarisse Beckwith's skirts, you are tired of having to do the same with your wife."

A gasp of disbelief rippled across the crowd. Such an insult could not go unanswered, although it seemed as if Lord Foxbridge had been willing to give the baron every chance to beg his forgiveness. No one believed that Lady Foxbridge had done as Royce accused. Everyone had been impressed by the genuine adoration she had for her intimidating husband.

"Very well," said Nicholas stiffly. "You give me no choice but to demand satisfaction for your spurious allegations. Shall we say tomorrow at sunrise? Send your second to my house with the location and weapon of your choice."

"As you wish, my lord. Sunrise it shall be." His grin widened as he looked past the man to the pretty woman he had held in his arms so briefly.

Rebecca had been listening to the exchange in growing despair. "No, Nicholas, don't be foolish! It isn't that important! Don't get yourself killed because of this."

He looked at her, but his words were intended for his newest enemy. "I don't intend to get myself killed." He held out his hand. "Come, sweetheart. I will take you home where you don't have to worry about other attacks by depraved, self-styled aristocrats."

When she moved to place her fingers in his, she tripped on the broken heel of her slipper. Bending, she pulled it off. Nicholas held out his hand, and she placed the ruined shoe in it. Her confusion turned to a weak smile as he tossed it to land directly in front of Royce.

"There is your gauntlet, Baron." He laughed darkly. "I will see you at dawn. Can you walk in your stockings, Rebecca?"

"I am fine," she replied. She knew his teasing was to lighten her fears, but it was to no avail.

He led her through the crowd which parted silently. Sir Alec went met them as they were waiting for their evening capes to be brought by a maid from an upstairs cloak room. Profusely, he tried to apologize, but Nicholas waved his words aside as if they were unimportant. Rebecca did not hear them. All she could think of was that in just a few short hours, her husband would be facing Lord Royce on the dueling green in a battle that could lead easily to one or both of their deaths. She knew how intensely he despised the perverted sport that had claimed his brother's life.

The carriage was brought around quickly. Nicholas settled her cape around her shoulders, and her fingers rose automatically to tie it in the front. Whether she said farewell to their host or not, she had no idea as they went out the door into the summer night.

Inside the coach, he wrapped his arms around her and held her as she fought the trembles racing through her body. She longed to beg him not to go through with the duel, but knew he was bound by honor to continue or admit that she was the type of woman Royce accused her of being. That she did not care what that man said when Nicholas's life was at stake made no difference.

Her fingers reached up and steered his head down so she could place her quivering lips next to his. His arms slipped beneath her cape to feel her warmth. When his fingers encountered the tears in her dress, he raised his head to gaze down into her terrified eyes.

"Did that bastard Royce hurt you, sweetheart?"

"No. I think he intentionally has done this to provoke you. He tried to scare me and insulted me, but let me go when I bit his hand."

She was startled when he began to laugh uproarishly. "You bit him?"

In a small voice, she explained, "Not very hard and only because he put his hand over my mouth to keep me from calling for help."

"You are a true delight, my love!" Nicholas hugged her. "Put your head back against my shoulder. It's a long ride back to the Cloister. I assume you will insist on coming along in the morning."

"If you don't mind, Nicholas."

He put his mouth close to her ear. "I want you there, so I don't forget why I am fighting. I just don't want to force you to watch what might be very bloody." He felt her shiver again. "No, darling, do not worry. It won't be my blood staining the grass at dawn."

Lifting her to sit on his knees, he leaned back against the thickness of the seat. She placed her head on his chest and cuddled close to him. Her tear heavy eyes closed swiftly as she fell asleep, content in knowing that she was with the man she could not help loving.

As he felt her breaths slow to the dainty puffs of slumber, he brushed her hair away from her face. Very little of the powder remained among the dark strands. It was just as well. He preferred his fiery wife with her dark hair shining as brightly as her azure eyes. He felt no fear. He did not expect to die in the morning. One time he had been tempted to give into the easy lures of death, but that had been before this woman showed him how much more wonderful life could be. When he held her in his arms, he wanted more than ever to live. Although Rebecca still did not sleep in his bed, he hoped soon she would come to him speaking of the love glowing on her guileless face.

If for no other reason than he had not yet tasted the sweetness of his wife's love, he was determined that Royce would be the one to suffer. Forcing the thoughts of that deadly meeting from his mind, he settled more comfortably into the seat. He rested his head against her soft curls and joined her in slumber with the ease of a man confident of his own ability to face death and triumph over it one more time.

*** *** ***

As the carriage slowed, Nicholas woke. In his arms, Rebecca stirred slightly, but remained wrapped in her dreams. When the driver opened the door, he slipped out awkwardly as he carried the sleeping woman in his arms. Sims ran ahead to make sure the door to the house would be open.

Brody was waiting in his nightshirt. The butler had heard the familiar sound of the family coach returning up the long driveway and had leapt from his bed on the third floor and rushed downstairs to meet his lord and lady. When he saw the disheveled, slumbering woman, his age worn eyes rose to the dark ones of Lord Foxbridge.

"My lord?" he asked in a shocked whisper.

"Brody, Lord Royce's second should be calling within the hour. I would appreciate it if you would go to Mr. Langston's room with the message that I want to see him in my study immediately. I will meet him there as soon as I take Rebecca upstairs." His voice softened for a moment as he looked down at the worried expression on the butler's face. "She's unhurt, Brody."

"I'm glad."

Nicholas concurred. If Royce had hurt her, there would have been no duel. He would have killed the sadist himself, not caring that there would have been a hundred witnesses to view the slaying. Carefully he climbed the stairs. The butler opened the door of their suite and waited until they were inside. Then he closed it before going to deliver the message to Curtis. When Nicholas started toward the room where Rebecca slept each night, he paused. He wanted her in his room. Although he would not be there with her, he wanted to know she was safe in his bed.

He placed her on the bed and untied her cape. She was so deep in her sleep that she did not notice when he removed it and her stockings.

Pulling the covers over her, he gazed down at her with a smile. Sweet Rebecca, who haunted his thoughts during the day and his dreams at night. It was time they resolved the issues forcing them apart when they both longed to be together. Tomorrow, after the duel, he would take her in his arms and tell her of his true feelings for her, feelings he had known from the second their eyes had met in the small church.

He bent to kiss her. Blowing out the candle, he went out of the room. With a sigh, he shook off thoughts of love and concentrated on the matter at hand. He had to get through that useless show of masculine pride in the morning.

Curtis was waiting in his office. As the older man entered, he asked, "Nicholas, what's wrong? You are home far earlier than we expected from Sir Alec's fÍte."

"I have a favor to ask of you, my friend." He grinned wryly, as he added, "I have been put into a position where I must fight a duel with Lord Royce in the morning."

"You? That's absurd! I know how you feel about dueling, especially after Brad -- " He interrupted himself as he saw the bleak expression on Nicholas's face. For the lord of Foxbridge Cloister, the two-year-old tragedy was still freshly painful. "Excuse me. I know that remains an unhappy subject."

Nicholas sat down at his desk. Picking up a quill, he twirled it in his fingers as he spoke with a tranquillity that masked the rage inside him. "I had no choice, Curtis. He was most ungentlemanly toward Rebecca in actions and words. I will not allow a man to say things like that about my wife and not let him know my displeasure. What I need is a second. Would you do the somewhat disgusting honors?"

"I'm truly honored that you would ask me. I would be glad to do as you ask."

With another deep sigh, he said, "Thank you. Royce's man will be over in a short while with the details as to where and the choice of weapons. If you would deal with that, I would appreciate it. Come back at about an hour before we have to leave, and let me know it is time."

Curtis leaned on the huge oak desk. "You intend to stay awake all night, Nicholas, and fight a duel in the morning? Go to bed, man, and get some rest so you are in a condition to save yourself in the morning."

"I will be ready to face Royce at the time of the duel. Now I would appreciate some time alone." He did not make it an order, but the other man knew he was being dismissed.

Without a word, Curtis went out and closed the door quietly. His footsteps along the passageway toward the front of the house were loud in the night silence. As they diminished in the distance, other creaks and moans could be heard as the stones and wood settled themselves in the dark cool of starlight.

Nicholas leaned back in his chair. Although he had refused to consider it when speaking to Rebecca, there was always the chance a man could be killed by a less competent marksman or swordsman. Royce had survived many such duels, for he was a hot-headed rouÈ who delighted in harassing the ladies of his social inferiors. This was the first time he had dared to attack the wife of a man who outranked him. Perhaps the baron had been the victor in many duels, but Nicholas had faced death many more times. It had taught him the cost of over-confidence and underestimating the abilities of his enemy. He had learned, too, the respect for his own cool head and steady arm.

As he put his boots up on the cluttered surface of the desk, he closed his eyes. The most important lesson he had garnered as a soldier was the ability to fall asleep anywhere, anytime, and to awaken refreshed and ready for battle.

*** *** ***

Rebecca turned on her pillow as she heard a noise. She saw darkness past the edges of the drapes at the windows and wondered why Collette had arrived so early. Her eyes narrowed as she recognized the strange curtains on the bed. This was not her room. It was Nicholas's room.

Sitting quickly, she discovered she was still dressed in her tattered ball gown. Instantly the events of the previous evening flooded back into her mind. When a shadowed form approached to become her husband, she forgot that he had brought her into his room without consulting her. All she remembered was that he was going to fight a duel because of her this morning.

"Good morning, sweetheart," Nicholas said, as he sat on the bed. He had rinsed the powder from his hair and wore his comfortable riding clothes.

She threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shirt. As he had the night before, he rubbed her back tenderly. He tilted her mouth up to be caressed by the ravenous touch of his. When he pressed her back into the softness of the bed, she did not protest. Instead she drew him closer.

A gasp of delight parted her lips, and his tongue searched for the dulcet flavors of her mouth. At the same time, his fingers were undoing the tiny hooks along the back of her gown. He pushed the sleeve along her arm to bare her skin which awaited his eager lips. Only when he felt her hands reaching to undo the buttons on his shirt did he pause.

Taking her hands in his, he kissed her lightly on the lips. "I know what you are trying to do, sweetheart, and I appreciate it, but now is not the time. You must change into something appropriate. We have to hurry if we are to get to where Royce will be waiting for us on time."

Her eyes filled with tears. "Don't worry about being late. Don't go, Nicholas. Stay with me. You have asked me to join you in this bed so many times. Now I am asking you to stay with me."

"I would much prefer to remain here and make love with you, sweetheart. First, I must deal with Royce. Then, shall I accept this charming invitation?" He bent to kiss her, but she turned her face away in pain. Grasping her cheeks, he said sternly, "I must do this, Rebecca. If you don't want to be my lover is irrelevant. You are my wife, and I will not let another man hurt you. It doesn't matter whether you care for me or not."

He stood and crossed the room to where he had brought her clothes from her room. He picked them up and tossed them to her. Dropping the things on the bed, she ran to him.

"Please, Nicholas, don't you know how much I care for you?" she asked as she put her fingers on the wool of his hunting jacket.

Scowling, he gave her that dark expression that no longer daunted her. "To tell you the truth, dear wife, I have no idea how much you care for me. Your lips say one thing, and your body when I hold you close says another."

"If you weren't so confounded stubborn, you would know I care very much for you, Nicholas Wythe!" Her voice grew sharp with anger.

"Very much? But not as much as you still love that useless Keith Bennett. Am I right? Where is your chivalrous knight, Rebecca? Wasn't he coming immediately to rescue you from my bed?"

"Stop it!"

He pulled her to him. "Why, Rebecca? Have you considered the idea that Bennett told you that only to make you miserable for betraying him by not telling him of your previous wedding? He knew he wasn't coming for you, but he wanted to make sure that you would not be happy with me. Why should he come, when he could stay and force your brother to pay for cheating him?" Staring down into her shocked eyes, he demanded, "When are you going to wake up to realize that he never loved you as you loved him? When are you going to stop throwing away your best opportunity for happiness?"

Her eyes searched his face and saw only his love for her. She wondered when he had begun to love her. At the beginning, she had been sure that he had been interested only in her as a bed partner. Now he wanted her as his wife to share all parts of his life. She longed to do exactly that, but the promise she had made to the man she would have wed kept her from throwing herself into his arms and saying the words she felt in her heart.

All she could whisper was, "I don't know, Nicholas."

He released her, and he turned to the door. "You have made your feelings very clear, my dear," he said coldly. "If you wish to see this blood-letting, be downstairs in ten minutes."

"Don't go to that idiotic duel angry at me."

He gazed at her face and her gown which gaped to give him a fine view of the soft curves of her skin above her chemise. A swell of yearning flared through him as he thought of how wonderful it would be to feel that skin against his. He kissed her cheek and walked out the door.

Rebecca went to the bed and picked up the dress he had selected for her to wear. It was her riding habit. Had he chosen it because of its dark color? She did not want to wear the color of mourning. Fear ran along her back as she stripped off her ruined dress and pulled on the heavier outfit.

It was possible that Nicholas could die this morning. He could die without knowing what she knew in her heart. Could she let him face his enemy without telling him the truth of her love for him?

Twisting her hair in place, she grasped her jacket and boots and raced along the hallway. At the top of the stairs, she looked down into the up-turned faces of the rest of the family. Even though it was early, both Eliza and Lady Margaret had risen to discover the cause of the turmoil which could be felt throughout the house.

Terror identical to the turbulence in Rebecca's middle was clear on Eliza's face, but pure hatred was on the older woman's face. Her mother-in-law blamed her completely for this meeting that could mean the loss of her only surviving son to the same death his older brother had suffered. There was nothing she could say to defend herself. Although she believed that she had been only a pawn Royce had used to raise Nicholas's ire, it was undebatable that she was at the center of the conflict.

After she had pulled her boots on her feet and bent to button them in place, she walked down the stairs. Taking Nicholas's hand, she gazed up into his eyes to plead silently for his forgiveness. A smile floated briefly across his lips, and she knew that despite his words, he understood her feelings.

Eliza gasped, "Rebecca, you are going with Nicholas and Curtis?"

"Curtis?" Only now did she see the other man standing in the shadows.

"He is acting as my second," Nicholas explained quietly. "Part of the whole procedure of which you have been blissfully ignorant until now."

She turned to Eliza who was dressed in her night robe and said. in a near whisper, "My place is with my husband. His trials are mine, as well."

"They should be!" snapped Lady Margaret. "Especially when you are the cause!"

Rebecca's face crumbled with sorrow as she lowered her eyes. When she felt Nicholas's arm around her, she leaned against his strong body.

Tightly, he said, "What has and will happen isn't Rebecca's fault. She's the victim, not the villain. Come along, Curtis. We should be home in about two hours. That will give enough time for all the formalities."

She glanced at her husband and discovered he did not share her fear. Confident of his own skills, he was ready to face Royce and teach him an overdue lesson. As she put her her fingers on his proffered arm, Rebecca wished she could be as sure that when the midday sun stood overhead Nicholas still would be alive. It seemed the greatest irony that she could be the cause of his death just when he was becoming the center of her life.

Chapter Fifteen

The coach waited for them, for Nicholas knew Rebecca was still not overly confident on horseback. This morning was not a time to test those new skills. The spacious carriage was not crowded with the three of them, but a heavy silence settled on the interior. What the two men were thinking, she could not guess, and she did not want to tell Nicholas of her true feelings in front of Curtis.

Fortunately, it was not far to what was known as the dueling green. It was, in fact, nothing more than a clearing on a deserted road. The open space was the perfect size for two men to face each other across cocked pistols or well-sharpened sabers. When the carriage pulled off the road to roll to a stop under the trees, the first hints of dawn were visible on the eastern horizon.

The others had arrived before them. Rebecca was surprised, for she had considered the baron a braggart and a coward. It appeared he was anxious to do battle with Nicholas.

As Curtis opened the carriage door, the pungent smell of dew-wetted grass erupted around her. Soon the sun would evaporate the dampness which by then might be discolored by the red of a man's lifeblood. It did not seem right that this morning appeared the same as any other. Some heavenly sense of foreboding should have darkened the sky with grey clouds instead of the bright promise of summer sunshine.

"Stay here, sweetheart," said Nicholas as he stepped out. "There's no place for you over there, and, from here, you'll be able to see all that happens."

"It isn't too late! It doesn't matter that he called me those names. I know I am neither, and so do you! Who else matters?"

He smiled sadly. "No one, but this must be done. Wait here for me, will you?"

As he turned to go to where the others waited, she stretched out trembling fingers to grasp his sleeve. "Nicholas, please, don't leave until I tell you what I must."

"I will be careful. I promise."

She slid across the seat so her face was close to his. Her eyes swept along it to view the sable hair that twisted obstinately on his forehead above his full eyebrows and the sharp angles of his face with the intense eyes and expressive mouth that could give him the image of Satan or of an adoring lover. She stroked his freshly shaven cheek. "Nicholas, I love you. Don't do this to try to show me what I should have known long ago. I love you, my most precious husband, more than any man I have ever known."

Drawing her face to his, he kissed her with brief passion. "I love you, too, Rebecca. I have since you were an obstinate child. I have grown to love you more as an even more obstinate woman." Hecious husband into it. When his head rested on her lap and his long legs on the seat opposite, Curtis swung up to sit next to Sims. As gently as possible, the coachman turned the vehicle toward Foxbridge Cloister.

Intent on her husband, Rebecca did not look back to see the satisfied smile had returned to Royce's face. He had done as he had agreed, although his shot had been high. If all went well, Lord Foxbridge would die from his wounds and would be a problem no more.

Screams of horror met them before they reached the door. Quickly, Rebecca instructed the servants to take Lord Foxbridge to his bed. She wanted hot water and clean cloths and whatever was available for wounds in the stillroom brought to her immediately. Brody was instructed to send for the doctor. She would have preferred to have Dr. Scott attending Nicholas, but did not want to offend the loyal family doctor.

When she started up the stairs, a hand grabbed her arm and brought her back. She was spun to face her enraged mother-in-law. Lady

Margaret demanded, "Are you satisfied, Rebecca? You have been the cause of your husband's death."

Coldly, in a tone she had never used to the older woman, she said, "I haven't been the cause of Nicholas's death, but you will be if you don't let me get upstairs and take care of him!"

"How dare you!"

As the servants watched in secret satisfaction, Rebecca drew herself up to her slightly more than five feet of height and said, "I am Lady Foxbridge. This is my house. I will say and do as I please in this house, Lady Margaret. My husband has been wounded because of a gun which was tampered with. Is your hate for me more important to you than your son?" She started up the stairs before turning on the second riser to say, "If you wish to discuss this after Nicholas is well and that man brought to trial, I will be glad to do so. Until then, I will not be countermanded in any orders I give on Nicholas's behalf."

Although she heard her mother-in-law call, she ignored her as she raced up the steps. Rushing along the hallway, she reached their suite just as the men who had carried Nicholas into the house were coming out of the room. Each gave her a glance of sympathy as she thanked them for being so gentle with the wounded man.

Throwing her jacket on a chair, she crossed the room to see Nicholas resting on the pillows where her own head had been just a few short hours before. She went to the ewer and dipped a cloth in its cooled water. She placed it on his forehead. In his unconscious state, she had no idea where he hurt other than the hole in his shoulder. Until the doctor could check him, she did not want to risk hurting him more. She locked the door leading to the sitting room. She knew the door to her room was locked because the key rested, as it always did, against her skin.

As gently as she was able, she pulled off his boots and dropped them out of the way by the dresser. With no more resistance to her efforts and with no more help than a rag doll would have given her, his arms sagged around her as she removed his coat after cutting away the section near the bandage. That part she did not want to disturb. She did the same with his fine lawn shirt. For the first time, she saw the scar of the wound he had suffered five years ago. It was a crease under his left ribs. Unhooking his stockings attached to the button closing his breeches at the knee, she pulled them off his legs.

She pulled the blanket over him to keep him from taking a chill although the air was luxuriantly warm on this late summer morning. When a knock sounded on the door, she called quietly, "Who's there?"

A gruff male voice demanded admittance, but she opened it only when she was sure it was the doctor. Although others waited, she refused to let them in.

"Later," Rebecca said gently when she saw the tears on Eliza's face. "He's still unaware of anything. As soon as he awakens, I will call you."

The young woman nodded silently, knowing that to open her mouth would release all the sobs beating against her ribs, demanding a chance to escape in a great burst of hysteria. If Rebecca could be brave, she must be also. When Curtis pulled her down to sit next to him on a settee, she leaned her head against his shoulder to wait out what might be a long vigil.

Closing the door, Rebecca watched uneasily as the doctor removed the makeshift bandage and scrutinized the wound. Although she waited anxiously for him to say something, he was silent as he redid the covering. He stood and repacked his medical supplies.

"Doctor?" she queried.

"Who are you?" the squat, grey-haired man demanded sharply.

Startled, she realized that he had not noticed her while being involved with his patient. "I am Rebecca Wythe, Nicholas's wife."

"Oh, excuse me, Lady Foxbridge. I had forgotten that Lord Foxbridge has a wife." He smiled compassionately. "It is a clean wound. Fortunately, it was bandaged quickly before dirt could get into it. I assume that was your handiwork, my lady."

Dismissing his unspoken praise, she stated tersely, "One learns much when there's a war going on all around you."

"You learned well. If it doesn't fester, and there's no reason to believe that it should, he should be up and about in a week or two." He picked up his hat. "Damn dueling! It continues to confound me why otherwise intelligent men will face each other over incidentals. It was a shock to hear that Lord Foxbridge was involved. I didn't think he would be as foolish as his brother."

"He had no choice." She glanced at the bed. "Why is he still unconscious?"

He patted her arm. "I think he must have hit his head when he fell to the ground with the concussion of the shot. That is nothing to worry about, Lady Foxbridge. I will be going now. If you need anything, don't hesitate to send a boy over to my house."

She thanked him and returned to the bedside. Dragging a chair near, she prepared to sit by him until he awoke. She had not counted on how long it might be and how exhausted she was by the emotional upheaval of seeing her husband shot before her eyes. Not until she felt a hand move over her hair in a tender caress did she realize she had fallen asleep with her head on the bed. Wiping the sleep from her eyes, she looked up to see Nicholas smiling at her.

"Not much of a hero, am I?" he asked in a gruff voice.

"How are you?"

He smiled weakly and wrapped his uninjured arm around her and pulled her mouth over his. Although the kiss was brief, it said much of the love they had admitted so recently. He winced as he tried to move to face her more easily.

Plumping up some pillows, she placed them behind his back to raise him into a propped position. She promised to return immediately, then went to the windows and opened the drapes wide to let in the midmorning sunshine. By her guess, she had slept for nearly an hour.

Rebecca turned to find his dark eyes regarding her intensely. He asked, "Is it a distortion of my mind, or did you really tell me that you love me?"

She smiled. "I told you, and I will tell you as often as you want to hear it. I love you, Nicholas Wythe, even though you are stupid to try to get yourself killed by that cheat."

"The gun jammed." He cursed imaginatively.

"He knew it would, I am sure. Why else would he have waited so patiently for you to fire? He knew your shot would disable him. I gave your gun to Curtis to have it checked. If what I think will be found is discovered, Lord Halsey Royce will find himself facing a charge of attempted murder!"

He motioned for her to come to the bed again. When she would have sat on the chair, he took her hand. "Here with me, my love."

Happily, she rested against him as he placed his arm around her. They spent a few minutes simply speaking of the duel and what had happened from the time he had been shot. He chuckled as she told of confronting the baron with the useless gun. Although he knew there was little chance of proving that the gun intentionally had been fixed not to fire, the story that Royce had shot him in such a manner would make the man a pariah in society for a long time.

Realizing she could avoid it no longer, Rebecca told him that his family was waiting to see how he had fared. She started to rise, but he laughed and pulled her back onto the pillows. Leaning over her, he was smiling as his lips flit lightly to her eyelids, her forehead, her cheeks, the tip of her nose. Her own lips turned upwards in a soft smile.

"Kiss me," she begged, in a half-joking tone.

"In time, my love, in time."

The husky rasp of passion in his voice urged her to put her arms around him and pull him down to rest with her in the nest of their love. She was afraid to hurt him if she touched him. All she dared to do was run her hand along his bared right arm.

Her eyes closed, and her body swayed toward his to feel him next to her. His right hand learned the variety of shapes of her body that he had waited to touch for too many months. He could not love her as he wanted, but it would not take him long to regain his strength sapped by his wound.

As his mouth continued to tease her, he unbuttoned the front of her shirt to slip his hand against the warmth of her skin. When his fingers followed the pleasing curve of her breast to its tip, she gave a soft moan of uncontrollable delight. At the same moment, his mouth settled firmly on hers to feel her desire building to that cataclysmic peak he longed to share with her.

A violent spasm of pain erupted through him as he moved his left shoulder. Immediately Rebecca sat and frowned. In the fantastical forgetfulness of rapture, she had not thought of his injury. She climbed out of the softness of the tester bed and redid her shirt. Bending, she kissed his forehead.

"We have all our lives for that, Nicholas, my love," she admonished him gently. "You must get better. Then we will see if you are still interested in this."

As she turned to go to the door, he grasped her hand. His eyes drilled deep into hers, eliciting a wave of yearning to submit to his loving. "I will never stop being interested in making love with you, Rebecca. Once you learn what it is that we can share, you will feel the same."

"I don't know," she whispered, "but I want to learn if you are my teacher."

Lifting her fingers to his lips, he replied, "As soon as possible, my love. As soon as possible." Suddenly, he smiled. "Go, and get the family before they burst from worry."

Rebecca went to the door, trying to control the trembling of her fingers that echoed the hasty beating of her heart. She had had a small sample of Nicholas's love, and she had been left with the longing for more. Her voice quivered as she said, "Eliza, Curtis, he's awake, Where is Lady Margaret? He is able to see all of you."

"How is he?" asked Curtis as the young woman went for her mother.

She smiled. "He should be fine. Have you checked the gun?"

"You aren't going to like what I found. I took the gun out behind the stables and tried it myself. It fired perfectly. If you had pulled the trigger one more time, you would have killed Royce."

Her face paled as she turned away to lean against the wall. All the joy she had known in Nicholas's arms vanished as she thought of how close she had come to killing Lord Royce. As much as she had threatened to see the man dead, she would have been haunted all her life if she had shot him outright.

Curtis put his arm comfortingly around her shoulders and drew her close. His hands sympathetically caressed the tense muscles of her back. "I know you want to think that Royce set up Nicholas, but it appears it was just a bit of bad luck. It could just as easily have been the baron who had chosen that gun." He turned her to face him and gazed down into her incredibly beautiful face. Although Eliza was the woman he hoped would one day be his bride, he could not help admiring the loveliness of Lady Foxbridge. Any man who looked at her wanted to possess her. He put those thoughts from his mind. "Luck was on Nicholas's side after all. Royce was aiming his gun to kill him."

"Why does he hate Nicholas so? Do you know?"

The man started at her blunt question. "Me? Do I know?" He forced a smile which covered his own turbulent emotions. Exactly what he knew, he was not going to divulge. "My dear Rebecca, I know Royce from the season in London, of course, but as to why he would choose you and Nicholas to torment, your guess is as good as mine."

She sighed. The door to the hallway opened, and the two Wythe women entered. This was yet another trial she had to face. After her sharp words to her mother-in-law earlier, she knew she would have to apologize profusely.

Lady Margaret said, "He's awake?"

"Yes," Rebecca answered meekly. "He wants to see you. You can go in, if you wish."

"If I wish?" she demanded with a frigid sniff. "Do you forget I am his mother? Of course, I wish to see my son. I am not accustomed to being kept from my children's bedsides by the very ones who endangered them in the first place."

Stung by the venom of the words, Rebecca backed away from the closed door to allow them to enter. When the three had gone in, she went instead to her own room. Ringing for Collette, she ordered her bath and fresh clothes to make herself presentable for the multitudes who would be swarming on the house to obtain all the gory, grisly details of the duel. The gossipmongers would have spread quickly the story of the jammed gun and the wounding of Lord Foxbridge.

From beyond the closed door connecting her room to Nicholas's, she could hear the soft murmur of his family's voices. It was a family to which she would never be welcomed. Sometimes Eliza treated her very kindly, but Lady Margaret seemed determined never to forget that Rebecca was far from the proper wife for the respectable Lord Foxbridge.

She thanked Collette when everything was arranged. Undressing, she slipped into the tub. The water was deliciously warm, and she longed to be clean of the blood which had stained her hands so deeply that a quick rinsing in the bowl in the other room had failed to scour it away.

Soaping the remains of the powder from her hair, she wished she could wash away all of the events of the last day with the exception of her declaration of love for Nicholas and his for her. It seemed as if the fates were determined to keep them from bringing that love to full fruition. She smiled at the bubbles that were being rinsed from her hair. It was just a matter of time before the nights would be sweeter than the honeysuckle blossoms woven in the hedgerows.

She dressed in a formal gown of light green which would signal to her inevitable guests that there was no reason to be mournful. When she brushed her hair back, she ran through it a velvet ribbon that matched the bows on her gown. Standing before her mirror, she was satisfied with her appearance. She wanted to look as if the lady of Foxbridge Cloister did not consider this whole event to have any importance to her, her husband or the estate.

Her riding habit was on the floor where she had dropped it. She bent to pick it up and place it over a chair. As she did, she saw the wide splotch of blood staining the skirt where Nicholas's shoulder had rested against her during the ride from the dueling green. She fought to keep from crying as she let it fall to the floor again.

Although she could pretend with others, Rebecca knew it was useless to try to fool herself. What had happened last night and today had shaken her to her very soul. It had shown her that the man she loved was mortal and that the love they were still discovering could be snatched away without warning.

She sighed as she went back out to the main room of the suite. A knock kept her from opening his door. When she saw Brody at the hallway door, she urged him to come in.

"Nicholas is awake," she said quietly.

"So I heard, my lady." He glanced at the hallway. "Can he have a visitor?"

"His family is in there now." She hesitated, for she did not want to insult the kindly butler. "If you can wait a few -- "

"Not me, my lady, although I'd be glad to visit him. It's Hermes."

"Hermes?" She smiled as she saw the dog appear in the doorway at the sound of his name.

"Came up to the front door and waited until it opened. Then he scooted right in. He had a hard time on the stairs, so I managed to catch him, but he didn't want to leave." Wryly he grinned, his face becoming more wrinkled. "He wants to see his master."

Rebecca bent to look into the liquid brown of the dog's bright eyes. "You want to see Nicholas, Hermes? I don't see why not this once." She put her finger directly in front of his long nose. "Just don't jump on the bed." Getting the wag of a tail as her only answer, she slipped her hand beneath his collar.

Thanking the butler, she went to Nicholas's door. Knocking, she entered. All her fears dissolved as she saw her husband. Although he was pale as he had been when she had nursed him back from death so long ago, he was smiling, joking, and so alive as he talked to his family.

"Come in, sweetheart," he called.

Eliza turned around in surprise. "Rebecca! You startled me!" She laughed. "Why didn't you come in the connecting door after you had changed?"

Nicholas answered quickly. He knew Rebecca would not want anyone to know that they kept separate bedrooms. Although that situation would soon be rectified, it was no one's business, not even his innocent sister's. Eliza did not realize what her question implied to his wife.

As if it was of little importance, he asked, "Did you forget that I moved the desk back over by the window yesterday, Rebecca?" To the others, he explained, "She was doing some needlework, and, with the overcast weather the past few days, she found this window the best place to be. It's amazing how quickly we get used to change."

Rebecca flashed him a brilliant smile of gratitude before she looked at the dog nearly hidden by her skirts. "Nicholas, you have a visitor."

When she released the dog, he bounded directly to the bed, nearly bowling over Lady Margaret. Rebecca winced, knowing she would be blamed for Hermes's enthusiasm. The older woman had no chance to scold her as Nicholas eagerly greeted his dog who rested his head on the bed. He laughed when she recounted the tale Brody had shared with her.

After a few minutes of light conversation, Rebecca turned to his family. "If you do not mind, I think Nicholas should get some rest. He needs to heal. Curtis, will you take Hermes out to the stable?" She smiled as the young man endured an eager lick from the large dog, then continued, "I am sure Nicholas will be glad to see you all again this afternoon."

"Don't you think he can speak for himself, Rebecca? It is his shoulder that was injured, not his head." Once again, there was bitterness in Lady Margaret's words.

The distaste that she had felt for her unwanted daughter-in-law had deepened because of the duel into undisguised hatred. Each word was like a whip biting into the sensitive surface of Rebecca's soul, but there was no way to defend herself from this acrimony. To retort would only add more tension to the situation. To suffer silently was making her more miserable with each passing day.

Nicholas saw the pain on his wife's face, and he scowled. He wondered what had been said when he had been returned senseless to Foxbridge Cloister. That Rebecca had mentioned no discord did not surprise him. She was doing all she could to be pleasant to his mother. It had been to no avail.

"Mother, Rebecca is speaking sense," he said to ease the tense situation. "She's as concerned with my well-being as you. She is also correct. I'm very tired. I think I'm going to enjoy my time as an invalid to catch up on some well deserved rest, so I can resume my responsibilities as soon as I am declared well by the doctor."

His smile to Rebecca brought a warm blush she could not hide. Nobody else in the room said anything, but Nicholas had made it clear that his beloved wife was one of his first concerns when he was hale once more.

With a sniff of disdain that was becoming habitual when she was around Rebecca, Lady Margaret swept out of the room. Curtis and Eliza left quickly with words of good will to diminish the rancor filling the room. They closed the door behind them.

Rebecca patted the bedcovers and said, quietly, "Rest. You need worry about nothing. Don't be offended that Foxbridge Cloister can run quite efficiently without you for a few days."

"It did well for six years without me, sweetheart." He dismissed his wound as if it were unimportant. "Are you all right? Let me speak to Mother about how she is treating you."

"No!" she stated vehemently. "I don't want her to be kind to me only because of an order from Lord Foxbridge." She shrugged. "Nothing can change how she feels. Please, do not worry about it or me or anything else. Rest. If you are in a lot of pain, ring and I will see you get a posset."

He crooked his finger toward her. "Come here a moment." When she went to him with a smile, he drew her face down to his. "It is the honeyed taste of your lips that relieves the pain the best, Rebecca."

"Whenever it hurts, call me then."

"It may hurt often."

She ran her fingers along the skin of his wind roughened face. "Call me every time, darling. Call me as often as you wish."

"I'll remember that," he said as he put his hand against the back of her head to move her lips in a delicate stroke on his and ignite an unsated craving that called out for two to find the answer as one.

Chapter Sixteen

The days after the duel fell into a normal rhythm with the exception that Nicholas was not a part of their daily activities. Rebecca spent most of her free time with him in his room. Despite his vital nature, she found him to be as good a patient as he had been when she had nursed him so long ago. She read to him or told him about amusing incidents in the house. His other visitors she supervised very carefully. She allowed his family to come in to see him twice each day, as well as some of the workers on the grounds. There was some business that only Nicholas could handle, but she limited those visits also.

Nobody from outside Foxbridge Cloister was allowed to see Lord Foxbridge for the first few days. Only when she heard from Sims that it was rumored that the lord had died in the duel did she let an occasional caller see him. She chose wisely those she knew would spread the news quickest of Lord Foxbridge's obvious viability.

Outside his room she was having the most difficulty. Lady Margaret was not the only one who delighted in insinuating that Lady Foxbridge was at fault for the whole set of circumstances. She learned swiftly that those who spoke to her most cruelly were close friends of her mother-in-law and had not been present at Marchwood Hall to see what actually had transpired. She continued to be pleasant, although she often had to grit her teeth to contain her outrage as she poured tea for the ones who took delight in her sorrow.

That afternoon had been different. Eliza had been with her to greet callers. Usually the younger woman spent the afternoon with Curtis as they acted as Nicholas's eyes to survey the work on the harvest. It rained so hard that she stayed home, but the weather had not kept the latest group of vultures avid for blood from descending on Foxbridge Cloister and its lady.

As had become a habit, Rebecca endured the only slightly veiled comments without retorting. When Eliza exploded in rage, it startled all of them. Few knew that she had inherited the volatile Wythe temper as well as the coloring that was so instantly recognizable.

"How can you say that about Rebecca?" she demanded of their guests. "How can you even hint that Rebecca would do anything to risk Nicholas? If you took half a minute to think, you would know that she loves Nicholas dearly. I am tired of hearing derogatory comments about my sister-in-law! If you can't be nice to Rebecca, you are welcome to leave Foxbridge Cloister and not come back until you have learned some manners!"

"Eliza!" scolded Rebecca softly. She did not want the young woman to be hurt by the vicious gossipers as well.

"No need, Lady Foxbridge," said the most voluble of the vultures. "We are leaving. You have made it most clear that you do not want us here." She rose in the epitome of wounded dignity and flounced out of the room with her flock in tow.

Instantly Eliza tried to apologize for her words which had ricocheted to be used against Rebecca again.

Rebecca waved aside her apology. "Don't worry, Eliza. They wouldn't think well of me even if an archangel testified on my behalf. Too many poisoned tales have been spread of me for the truth to heal the wounds."

"I'm sorry, Rebecca. I will speak to Mother about her friends. There's no need for you to take this abuse."

As she had with Nicholas, she said, "Don't. Lady Margaret would not take such criticism easily."

When Eliza nodded, Rebecca was glad she did not have to speak the true reason. For Eliza to broach the subject would cause only more trouble, for the older woman would see that as an attempt by Lady Foxbridge to turn all her family against her. There was nothing any of them could do except wait for Lady Margaret to change her mind, if she ever would.

Finally the uneasy day was drawing to a close. Earlier Brody had given her a letter which had arrived in the mail packet. He had been smiling, so she had known immediately it was a special missive. When she had seen the handwriting and the postmark, she had nearly cried with joy. It was from Hart and was the first time she had heard from home since she had come to Foxbridge Cloister. She had sent several letters, but it was likely that none of them had arrived in Connecticut. The transatlantic mail was notoriously slow.

Rebecca took her letter and went to her room to read it before she went to sleep. It had been a long day as she had tried to learn the multitude of duties she still had to master.

There had been good news when the grey-haired Dr. Withers had pronounced Nicholas able to get out of bed for good tomorrow. He had been up, but had been advised to take his recovery slowly. She had seen the signs of continuing improvement, but was happy when the doctor seconded her opinion.

In the past week, she and the doctor had become good friends to the point where she had been able to convince him to call her Rebecca instead of Lady Foxbridge. When he had hinted that he would be most honored to be the physician at the birth of the heir to Foxbridge Cloister, she simply had smiled. Lately, there had been a great deal of interest in this nonexistent child who, if a boy, would one day inherit his father's title.

Sitting on her bed, she unbuttoned her shoes. As eager as she was to read that note, she was more tired. She would get ready for bed, then read it before blowing out the candle. Quickly she rushed through her normal routine after she had redressed in one of the lovely nightgowns Mademoiselle Pacquette had made for her. She brushed the tangles from her hair before tying it back with a single ribbon so it cascaded down her back in a rich, chocolate river.

Her face was bright with happiness as she broke the wax on the seal at the back of the letter. Unfolding it, she began to read Hart's splendid handwriting. Her smile faded as she saw this note did not contain news from home, but had been written shortly after she had left with Nicholas and was the confirmation of what she had fought so long to believe was untrue. Now that it no longer mattered, she was forced to see the reality she had denied so vehemently.

Dear Rebecca,

I am writing this letter to tell you what you should have known long ago. First, let me say I am sorry. What I did was wrong and more cruel to you than any childish prank I teased you with when we were young. At the time, I thought you would not be unhappy with the situation. I had no idea that you loved Nicholas, or I would never have done what I did. Instead I would have faced my own problems in my own way. The sacrifice I asked of you was too great.

Now I can explain that my support for your marriage to Keith Bennett was not entirely voluntary. During the war years when the harvests were lean, I borrowed money from him so we could eat. When he demanded payment, I did not have enough set aside to pay him back. I asked for more time. In another season, there would have been more than enough to settle my debts and for us to survive on until the next harvest.

He offered me an alternative. He wanted you. Forgive me, sister, but I agreed to the plan for him to court you. I know you had great affection for him, but he was not a kind man. The image he presented at our house was not the real Keith Bennett. I know he told you that he could not marry you until he had built you a home. The truth was that I insisted on the time in case of a windfall.

That is the other thing I must beg your forgiveness for, Rebecca. I found your marriage lines and letters from Nicholas one day when I was searching the house to find any money I could use to pay off Bennett. At that time, I thought your husband had married you only in order to have someone to leave his estate to when he died. That was why when Nicholas showed up at your wedding, I did not protest once I knew who he was. I knew beforehand of that childhood marriage of yours.

Forgive me, Rebecca. By this time, I hope you are happy with Nicholas and have forgotten a man who wed Shirley Fitch two weeks after you left. Her father has the money Bennett craves. Although how he knew to do it I will never guess, the money Nicholas left has gotten Bennett off my and Aunt Dena's back, so all is well with us. Tell him he has our gratitude for what he did to help us when he had no reason to do so, other than his marriage to you.

Write soon and tell us about your life as a fine lady. There is a great deal of curiosity here about your new life. We hope you are happy with your husband, although we miss you. Aunt Dena sends her love and told me to tell you that she wonders when she will become a great-aunt of the heir of an English lord.

I remain

Your loving brother, The slip of paper fell from her nerveless fingers to her lap as she stared at the wall. Her first thought was that everything Nicholas had told her was true. He had told her of the deal between Hart and Keith, but she had refused to believe him. Keith had tried to ruin her life by having her believe that he loved her enough to come to England and take her back to America as his wife. He nearly had succeeded. Only Nicholas's kindness and patience had saved her from ignoring the love which had come into her life when she was too young to look for it.

From her collar, she drew the key to the connecting door. It was time for that door to be thrown open and to put this folly of a separate life into the past where it belonged. Her life was entwined with Nicholas's life, as it had been from the moment she had discovered him in the barn.

She was surprised how her hands shook as she slipped the key into the lock. It was not fear as it would have been when she first arrived. She quivered with the anticipation of loving life with her husband. She gasped as the door opened before she could turn the doorknob.

On the other side of the doorway, dressed in his long lounging coat over his breeches, stood Nicholas. He smiled at her expression of astonishment. "You have no idea of the number of nights I have lain awake waiting for the sound of that key turning uselessly in the latch. The door has never been locked, Rebecca. That key does nothing. If there was a key to this door, it disappeared years ago."

"It has never been locked?" Undisguised shock muted her voice.

"No, my love. The only thing that has been locked away has been your heart. Are you offering it to me tonight?"

She stepped forward to put her fingers against his chest that was bared by his open jacket. "Do you want my badly patched, foolish heart, Nicholas? Can you love a woman as silly as I have been?"

"Darling, I have loved you for nearly five years. First as a sweet child, then as the lovely woman you are now." He drew her into his room and closed the door behind her. "Tell me again that you love me, too, Rebecca. I never can hear those words from your lips often enough."

"Nicholas, I love you. I cannot help it, although I have been trying to fight it because I felt obligated to Keith. This changed that." She handed him the letter.

After he read it, he asked, "Are you coming to me for love or from loneliness?"

"For love. You know I love you. I am so glad I told you days ago, so you would not think that you are a second choice for me." She grinned, impishly. "Don't you know you have always been the first one with me? My first patient, my first husband, and," she said, as her voice softened to the texture of warm butter melting in the sunshine, "now I want you to be my first lover. Love me, please, Nicholas. I am tired of being your wife in name only."

"My lady, your wish is mine. Although I shan't be able to hold you as easily as I would want, tonight you will become my Lady Foxbridge."

Taking her hand in his, he led her to his bed that dwarfed hers. When they stood next to it, he kissed her in the way she could not forget. Her arms slipped around his waist as he held her close to him.

"Where does it hurt too bad for me to touch you?" she breathed into his hair as he tantalized her skin with his lightning quick kisses.

"I would like to say nowhere, but that isn't true." He gazed down into her eyes. "My left shoulder and upper arm. Anywhere else will be wonderful, darling."

When he leaned her back onto the bed, her hands drew him down to rest over her on the cool sheets. His fingers slowly untied the ribbon holding her hair in its maidenly style. After tonight, sweet Rebecca would be a maiden no longer.

He was smiling broadly as he kissed her once again. What he had waited for during long months was about to come true. His fingers slipped along the slender line of her body before settling gently on the sweet softness of her breast. When she gave a breathy sound of pleasure, his tongue took possession of her mouth.

Beneath him, she was learning of every bit of his male body as he pressed her to the mattress. Her eyes closed as she savored the sensations buffeting her body. All of her centered on the touch of his fingers and the caresses of his mouth. Remembering the wistful yearning in his voice when he told of how she could touch him almost anywhere, she slipped her hands beneath the looseness of his jacket to touch the smooth skin of his back. As he began to explore the bare skin above the neckline of her nightgown, she answered his passion with the heat of her own.

When he stood, she looked up at him in sudden concern. "What is wrong?"

He laughed at the tremor of mixed desire and fear in her voice. "Nothing can be wrong now, my love." He moved to the window and pulled open the drapes. "I just want the moonlight to brighten your loveliness. Such beauty should never be enjoyed in the darkness."

Her eyes widened as he threw his jacket onto the nearest chair and unbuttoned his breeches. In his silhouette against the glow from the window, she saw the strong line of his male body which soon would be part of hers and bring her a love she could not imagine. Kneeling on the bed, she lifted her nightgown over her head and dropped it to the floor. She could feel no maidenly shyness when she wanted to feel his skin against hers.

Holding out her arms to him, she watched as he crossed the floor to her. He ran his hand along the supple smoothness of her skin. As if his touch were a pebble and she an untouched pond, the stroke of his fingers sent ever increasing ripples of rapture along her body. As he had before, he kissed her with feather soft kisses along her face. The yearning to be held to his hard body overwhelmed her until she thought she would beg him to love her.

Suddenly with a sigh of longing, he pushed her back into the mattress as his mouth captured hers and asked for her love wordlessly. The new, luscious sensation of his naked body pressed to hers caused an explosion of unrecognizable feelings through her. So heady were the delights that she was not aware of her own voice speaking of the love she had for him.

He felt her body quivering beneath his and knew she was being conquered by the love she had tried to refute for too long. Once she surrendered to it, she could not control her own emotions which were erupting outward to help him share in her joy. When he felt her slender hands seek to discover him, he learned that the fire he had seen burning in her eyes was a reflection of the conflagration blazing deep within her.

"Teach me," she whispered. "You said before that you would teach me to love you."

"The best way to learn is by doing what brings pleasure to you and to me, sweetheart." He gasped as her fingers touched him enticingly. "You know best already."

He stopped her from speaking by lowering his mouth to the round surface of her breast. As his tongue climbed its gentle slopes, he felt her reaction in his mouth and against him as her body began to move with the rhythm that invited him to join her in the paradise of their love. He was in no hurry. He wanted to sample each treat she had for him.

His fingers swept along the firm surface of her legs which had been visible to him too seldom. No part of her was hidden by heavy clothes and her loyalty to a man who did not love her. As his hands moved upward to caress her, she gasped in unrestrained passion.

"I love you so much," she breathed into his ear which was close to her mouth as he continued to explore the flavors of her skin.

"I love you." He smiled as he felt her body grow warm with the unconstrained flame brightening her face with ecstasy.

Moving carefully so not to injure his shoulder and not to give her anything but joy, he raised his body over hers to bring them together. Lost in his own world of rapture, he did not notice as her hands wrapped around his neck to bring him deeper into her ardent body which ached for his love. His mouth took hers to feel the heat of her breaths deep in his throat.

Together they sought the fulfillment of the love born so long ago. She felt him move against her and set loose all conscious thoughts as she submerged herself into a warm ocean of bliss. Each wave of wondrous sensation lifted her higher into ecstasy until she reached beyond the silver lined clouds to the sun. In its heated depths, she exploded into a million pieces of star dust, sparkling in the reflected light of their love.

*** *** ***

When Rebecca opened her eyes, the silvery shimmer of the pale moon lit her life. She felt Nicholas's lips against her neck where her pulse was wildly reacting to the love which had taken them past the bounds of her imagination. Closing her eyes, she savored the feelings. "I didn't know," she whispered.

He gazed down into her face surrounded by her messed hair which was a living shadow against the pillowcases. Lightly, he kissed her. "You didn't know what, sweetheart?"

She ran her fingers along his face that was partially obscured by a day's growth of black whiskers. "I didn't know it would feel like this."

"Neither did I!" He laughed as he saw the expression of disbelief on her face. "It is the truth, Rebecca. There have been others in my past, but I did not love them as I love you. Without this love we share in our hearts, there cannot be the thrill to share with our bodies. Will you sleep here with me tonight, sweetheart?"

"Of course! I want to be with you every night." She leaned her head against his right shoulder.

Pulling the covers over them, he nestled with her in the succulent vestiges of lethargy. As if all the walls between them had been breached by the opening of that unlocked door, they talked of the love they had for each other. They could joke about their impressions of the disastrous wedding.

As he spoke, Rebecca learned of how she had misunderstood so much on the trip to Foxbridge Cloister. He had not meant to be cruel. She had not let him be kind. Listening to Keith's poisoned words and seeing the man who seemed to be the embodiment of the Dark Angel, she obstinately had refused to believe that he could be tender. Even when he was so kind she could not disregard it, such as when he had not forced her to sleep with him, she had accused him of having an ulterior motive. It shocked her to learn that he had loved her from the moment he had seen her again in the church. As patiently as he was able to be, Nicholas had waited for her to fall in love with him.

"Nicholas, it's a small thing, but I have been curious what you said to that little girl when we stopped that first night." She ran her fingers along his chest, being careful not to touch him near the bandage covering his wound. "She seemed so charmed by you that I wondered if I was wrong about what I thought about you." She laughed lightly. "You tried your best to convince me that I was right that you were one of the devil's spawn."

He had to search his memory for the incident. When he recalled it, he smiled. "She thought I was King George in that fancy coach. When I told her that I was not, she was so disappointed, that I told her that you were a princess who had been hidden away and was traveling to her castle floating on a cloud." Rising to lean on his elbow, he kissed the softness of her lips which were nearly black in the color draining moonlight. "My Rebecca, you may not be a true princess, but you are my very special Lady Foxbridge."

"No," she disagreed in a sibilant whisper, "I am neither. I am simply the woman who loves you and is lucky enough to be your wife. I love you, Nicholas Wythe, although you are the most impossible man in the world."

"Perhaps that is why we get along so well, sweetheart, for you are the most contrary woman I have ever known. Also the most beautiful, the most appealing, and the one I love with all my heart." He sighed as he felt a twinge wrack his shoulder. "I'm afraid I won't be able to fulfill all my fantasies with you this night."

Gently, she drew him closer to her on the pillows. "We have forever, my love. Hold me, and we can dream together. I have had a rough day, and I want to sleep here with you."

His mouth on hers as he kissed her good night held the promise of the delights they would share again soon in the lushness of the huge bed. They left the bed curtains and the window drapes open so they could enjoy the hint of a breeze filtering past the deep set windows. With his arm around her, and her face against the furred surface of his chest, they were swept away into a dream world where their dreams were a repetition of the joy in the waking hours of their lives.

*** *** ***

Gilmore, Nicholas's valet, opened the door to the bedroom at the lord's normal rising time. One glance at the two cuddled in the bed brought a smile to his face as he closed the heavy portal. He turned and saw Collette entering. With a smile, he motioned for her to come over by the fireplace.

"Yes?" she asked in her lisping accent.

"Lady Foxbridge won't be needing you for a while, Collette."

When she saw his broad grin on his wizened face, she brightened. They had been the only ones who had known the true situation of the marriage between the lord and his lady. Not a hint of it had they given to anyone, for they had known that there had been many things unusual about this marriage.

"I think I will get my lady's things packed to be moved over to the other room," Collette said lightly. Her eyes twinkled as she added, "I'm glad they have finally come to their senses. I did not know how much longer they could pretend that they did not love each other."

"As my pa was fond of saying, 'All's well that ends well.'"

She laughed. "I think that this is just the beginning, not the ending."

The two went to empty Lady Foxbridge's drawers to transfer her personal things to the unused dresser space in the main bedroom of the suite. They were careful to keep their happy voices low so not to wake the two on the far side of the connecting door.

Warm tentacles of sunshine tickled Rebecca's bare skin to urge her awake to greet the morning. Content to remain in her enchanting dreams, she resisted the invitation to awake. When a kiss warmer than the daylight touched her hair, she opened her eyes to look up into Nicholas's smile.

"Good morning, Rebecca," he whispered before he kissed her tenderly on the lips.

"How are you feeling?"

His hand ran along the nakedness of her slender body. His fingers paused for a brief moment as they encountered the scars on her right thigh. The marks would be a permanent reminder of the accident that, like the duel, could have separated them before they had discovered this most special love. "That, my dear," he said, reprovingly, "is one of the few truly silly questions you have ever asked me. I feel wonderful to have my wife in my arms where she belongs."

She giggled with delight. Her happiness brought back all the simple feelings of childhood. "I didn't mean that, Nicholas! I was talking about your shoulder."

His eyebrows arched in characteristic impudence. "My dear Rebecca, I have yet to give a thought to that most insignificant wound. My thoughts have been totally involved with your sweet body."

"That, my dear Lord Foxbridge," she said in the same tone of hauteur, "is absurd. I'm going to get up and get dressed. Dr. Withers will be here soon. As much as he is trying to convince me to let him be present at the birth of your heir, I don't think it will ease the situation on that topic to discover us together here."

He laughed loudly as he saw her wry smile. He had known there was much discussion why there had been no announcement of a forthcoming heir from this nearly five year old marriage. The thought of their upcoming anniversary reminded him of a subject he wanted to discuss with her later, but he said only, "Very well, sweetheart. I will let you leave me only if you promise to come back me as soon as we possibly can find a moment together again."

Her hand stroked the hirsute hardness of his chest. "You won't be able to keep me away."

With a lingering kiss, he pulled her to him. He winced and swore at his injured shoulder. Once again, she giggled at his unique curses which told her how frustrated he was by the weakness of his own body. He reached past her to pick up her nightclothes and handed them to her, knowing she was still shy, for she had kept the sheets close to her chin.

Dressing, Rebecca went to the door that led to her room. She felt a warm flush as she saw Collette supervising the filling of her bath as if there were nothing unusual about finding Lady Foxbridge's bed unslept in.

The maid pretended not to see Lady Foxbridge's blush as she said calmly, "Your bath is ready, my lady. When you are done, I will finish packing your clothes. I thought you might want your pink gown today, for you are expecting callers, if you remember."

"Packing?" she asked.

Collette smiled at the disconcerted, young woman. "Gilmore and I, my lady, thought it would be more convenient for you and my lord to have your things in the dressing room instead of crushed together in this small closet."

"Fine." She did not know what else to say. From the beginning, she had known that she and Nicholas could have no secrets in this huge house. It was just that she did not expect that this most intimate part of their lives would be part of public knowledge. Then her worries eased. Collette and Gilmore would keep this as quiet as they had the fact that she had slept alone. If that had been sent along the gossip vine, it would have been disastrous for their fledgling love which had needed quiet and time to develop into the devotion they had yearned to share.

Quickly, she bathed and put on the fancy morning gown which would be appropriate for receiving the next group of curious ladies intent on finding out the details of the duel. She was tired of repeating her edited tale over and over, but knew it was necessary to stop the poisonous tales Royce would be circulating. In a small way, she was glad that Curtis had discovered that the gun had not been tampered with, for it would have dragged on the misery of the incident endlessly.

When she went out into the sitting room, she found Nicholas waiting. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her with the desire that only had been whetted by their lovemaking during the night. She could tell by his voracious kiss that he was not planning to wait until nightfall to love her again. Her daily schedule was due for a revamping to include some time alone with her husband in the bed they would share always.

He held out his hand, and, with a smile echoing the happiness within her, she took it. Together they walked down the stairs to share breakfast with the rest of the family and try to begin their lives anew.

Chapter Seventeen

Rebecca was brushing her hair when she felt the teasing touch of lips against her neck. "Nicholas!" she scolded, with a laugh. "Don't you ever get tired of this?"

He leaned forward to kiss her cheek. "Do you, my love?"

She laughed again. "All right, I retract the question, for it was foolish. Just wait a minute." Jabbing a hair pin into her hair, she added, "There. I'm done." She twisted on the bench to face him. "Do you have something on your mind, or did you simply decide it would be amusing to bother me?"

"Both. Mostly the first." He took her hand in his and knelt by her chair. "My dear Rebecca, I love you. Would you marry me?"

"Excuse me?" she gasped. "I thought that we were married already. Isn't our marriage the reason you gave for dragging me half way around the world? That makes it a little late for a proposal on bended knee."

Chuckling, he said, "We were wed, my love, but I thought for our upcoming fifth anniversary, you would like to have that church wedding that you have been denied twice. We could be married here at the Cloister."

She did not answer immediately. The thought of retaking their vows in the family chapel had never entered her mind. It was a wondrous thought. When she married Nicholas nearly five years ago, she had repeated the vows without thinking of what she promised. It had been a game, nothing more. Both of them had expected that death would part them before they could fulfill any of the vows of binding love. Finally she could speak them with all her heart.

Putting her other hand against his cheek, she kissed him warmly. "Yes, Nicholas, I will marry you. As many times as you wish."

"Once more should be sufficient. Our anniversary is most conveniently on Saturday. Will that be all right?"

"Saturday? This Saturday? With all there will be to do?" She thought of the tasks necessary to ready Foxbridge Cloister for even a small group of guests. "Yes, we will try for Saturday." Suddenly she brightened, and, with a laugh, she said, "This is going to be fun."

"I thought so, sweetheart." He stood and pulled her into his arms. "First we will have the church wedding we never had. Then, later, we will have the honeymoon that started five years too late." His lips turned up in a smile as they claimed hers and teased her with the love which made every bit of their lives more joyous.

When they announced their plans at breakfast, silence reigned at the table. Rebecca was glad it had been Nicholas's idea, for the unorthodox ceremony did not please Lady Margaret. She knew her mother-in-law would have been most enthusiastic if they had stated that they were dissolving their marriage instead of strengthening it.

Once Eliza recovered from her shock, she was thrilled. Because of her love for Curtis, every romantic idea appealed to her. Certainly there could be nothing more romantic than the repetition of the heartfelt vows joining two lives together. She volunteered to go for Mademoiselle Pacquette herself, so that the modiste would know how important it was to design and make the wedding gown quickly.

The household staff was immediately excited over the idea. They enjoyed working for this lord and lady and, like Eliza, were enthralled by the sentimental idea of the Wythes marrying again on this special anniversary. All the problems Rebecca had feared were quickly laid to rest by the staff.

She went to see Reverend Middleton alone. In his cozy parlor, on a rainy afternoon, she asked him to come to Foxbridge Cloister and remarry her to Nicholas. She explained her honest desire to take as a woman the vows she had spoken as a child. Pleased by her candidness, the minister knew that anyone who could count on his fingers realized Lady Foxbridge had been very young when she wed Lord Foxbridge. Her account of a dying soldier and the young girl who saved his life touched him deeply. He stored the tale in his mind to use for a future sermon with enough changes so that no one would guess he spoke of the Wythes.

John Middleton had put aside his foolish love for Lady Foxbridge. Thinking back over the month he had pined for her, he knew that he had forced the facts to be what he wished. Since the confrontation in the church, both the lord and his lady had continued to be pleasant. It had shown him that he had misjudged the intentions of both of them. Not once had they mentioned the incident, and he knew that, as far as Lord Foxbridge was concerned, if he continued to work well for the parish, his living was guaranteed.

He was willing to do almost anything to repay them for their kindness. This fanciful wedding appealed to him, for he had heard the nasty rumors about Lord Foxbridge's family being unhappy with his bride. He had taken the stories as the sign of ignorance that they were. Anyone familiar with Rebecca Wythe knew she was a lady through and through.

There was a problem over the guest list. Eliza wanted to throw the doors of Foxbridge Cloister open to everyone, but Rebecca limited those invited to the ceremony to twenty-five, for the chapel would hold no more than that comfortably. At the reception on the lawn afterward, everyone at the Cloister and in the village of Foxbridge would be invited as well as the gentry.

While she was writing out the invitations, Eliza hesitated on the one to the mistress of Beckwith Grange. She had never liked her brother's ex-mistress, for Clarisse had delighted in parading her beauty in front of a gawky teenager. With a wicked grin reminiscent of her brother, she addressed it. Clarisse deserved the humiliation of watching the wedding.

With all the work that needed to be done, Saturday arrived very quickly. On the day of the wedding, the chapel was decorated with flowers from the gardens. The staff had outdone themselves in the effort to show their pleasure with the ceremony which could bring only happiness to Foxbridge Cloister.

The chapel was in the oldest part of the original monastery. Unlike the newer section, it had no stained glass in its windows. The plain windows complemented the simple lines of the altar. The niches where the statues of the saint that the order had been dedicated to had stood, were filled with vases brimming with seasonal flowers. Ribbons of light green were draped along the side of the half dozen pairs of stone pews. The room had been opened and aired earlier in the week so it would remind no one that the last rite performed there had been the funeral services of Lord Foxbridge, Bradford Wythe.

Slowly the small room filled as the guests arrived. Curtis greeted each one solemnly. He knew Eliza was upstairs helping Rebecca dress in a style which would reflect the wealth and honor of Foxbridge Cloister. He smiled. While everyone was thinking of weddings, it might be a good time to ask Eliza to announce their own plans. He had asked her to marry him the week before the ball at Sir Alec Carrollton's house. Because of all the excitement happening since, she had not had a chance to speak to her brother about Curtis's proposal. Without his permission, she could not be wed.

"Good morning, Miss Beckwith," he said, cordially. He was shocked that Clarisse intended to watch her ex-lover reenact his marriage to her detested rival. If he guessed right, she had some mischief planned to ruin the day. It would be amusing to see what she would attempt this time. He wondered if she would ever learn that she could not destroy the devotion between the Wythes by trying to seduce Nicholas from his wife.

"Good day, Mr. Langston." She glanced about the room. As usual, she was dressed elegantly. Her gown was a gold which set off the highlights of her hair. It dipped deeply across her magnificent figure. Her lips curled into a satisfied smile as she saw every eye on her. That was what she wanted. She placed her fingers seductively against Curtis's sleeve. In a soft voice, she asked, "Where do you suggest I sit?"

Curtis wondered if she was offering him an invitation or if she was unable to behave any other way with a man. "Mr. Carter had mentioned that he would save you a seat. He's in the second row on the right."

She grinned like a cat who has sighted a bowl of cream. "That will be wonderful. Would you escort me there?"

"It would be my pleasure to go anywhere with you, dear lady." As he held out his arm, he admired her lovely form. She was not as petite as Rebecca, but her curves were fuller, and he suspected she possessed the skills of a courtesan. If he did not want to be faithful to Eliza during their courtship, he might have considered a late night visit to Beckwith Grange. He would be welcomed. His friend Jackson had told him of his enjoyable night with Clarisse after the picnic.

When he had seated her next to Carter who was immediately captivated by her charm, Curtis went back to stand by the door. He held out his arm when he saw the dowager Lady Foxbridge approach. "Good morning, Lady Margaret."

She sniffed angrily. "If you say so. I shall be happy when this travesty is completed. Whoever heard of such a thing? A couple remarrying on their fifth wedding anniversary. Just an excuse for Nicholas to show off for that chit he married."

Curtis wisely said nothing to agree or disagree. Lady Margaret did not know that she was the only one in Foxbridge Cloister who thought this was foolish. Everyone else had joined in with the strange idea as if it was the newest fad.

He chuckled to himself. It might be soon. The Wythes were the center of much gossip throughout the aristocracy. This odd wedding might be just the first of many. Of course, few were as devoted to each other as Nicholas and Rebecca.

Eliza appeared at the door. She smiled as he bent to kiss her swiftly. "Everyone is here?"

"All but Nicholas and Rebecca. Is she ready?"

"She told me to come down. She's on her way. Will you inform Nicholas and the minister?"

After he had escorted her to the front pew to sit next to her mother, he went to the small door behind the altar and knocked. "All is set, Lord Foxbridge," he said formally. Sitting beside Eliza, he squeezed her hand with a smile that told her they would be the next ones married in this lovely chapel at the far end of Foxbridge Cloister.

A gasp of shock rippled through the guests as the door opened. Behind the pastor in his black robes came Nicholas. He was dressed in the uniform he had worn when he served with the British expeditionary forces in the New World. His bandoliers were pure white to match his new breeches beneath his scarlet jacket. The shine of his black boots reflected back the candles burning on the altar. Although he could not help noting the whispered comments that rustled in the high ceilinged room, he pretended to be oblivious to them. He hid his smile. The guests had more shocks ahead of them.

Music came from the gallery as the doors at the back of the chapel were opened by Brody. The guests turned to view the bride. Again astonishment filled the room. Instead of the silvery confection she had ordered from Mademoiselle Pacquette, Rebecca was dressed in a frock of the plainest homespun. In her hands was a bouquet of wildflowers instead of the roses in the garden. Her hair was braided simply and hung down her back, and her feet were bare.

In a flash of comprehension, everyone understood that Lord and Lady Foxbridge had meant exactly the invitations literally. It would be a reenactment of their original wedding vows five years ago. Although the child had matured into a woman and the man had lived through hell since that time, their devotion had grown into love.

As Rebecca walked past them, the guests realized she was still one of the most beautiful brides they had ever seen. Her gaze did not leave the smiling features of the man who waited for her at the front of the chapel. He held out his hand to help her step up to the altar.

"You look so pretty, sweetheart," he said quietly.

"I never saw you dressed like this, you know. It is quite impressive." She laughed as her eyes roved along the uniform which accented his firm body. "We used to call men dressed in these red coats lobsterbacks and other things far less complimentary."

His smile broadened. "I hoped to impress you with this before I complete the arrangements to sell my commission. Most women like to see a man in uniform."

Her laugh rang out through the chapel, but nobody could hear her words as she whispered, "I would have preferred it to be Continental blue. You must admit it would have made things much simpler."

"Can you love me anyway?" he teased.

Her answer glowed on her face as they turned to the pastor who had been waiting patiently. Reverend Middleton had had some trouble getting this unusual ceremony sanctioned. His superiors had not been sure if they approved of such an unconventional rite, but they did not want to do anything to alienate the man who had been so generous to the local church lately.

The ceremony proceeded well until where he asked for anyone to step forward if they knew of any reason for these two not to be wed. Being forewarned by the glitter of amusement in the bride's eyes, John paused dramatically and looked at the groom with a smile.

Clearly, Rebecca asked, "Well, Nicholas?"

"I have no problems with this one, my love. Perhaps Reverend Middleton should hurry before someone leaps out of your past to stop this."

Eliza began to laugh as did the servants who were watching from the back of the room. Many of the other guests who had not heard of how Nicholas had returned to Rebecca's life so dramatically could not understand either their words or the amusement. Lady Margaret's scowl only deepened.

All amusement ceased as the smiling reverend led them through the exchanging of the vows. As if they were taking the promises for the first time, they stood hand-in-hand and gazed into each other's eyes while speaking the words of their hearts. When Nicholas placed an ornate gold band on the bare, fourth finger of her left hand, she glanced at it in surprise. Two hands of gold held a heart shaped emerald. Slowly her eyes rose to his.

"With this ring, I thee wed, Rebecca Wythe," he said. More quietly, he added, "This is the ring of the lady of Foxbridge Cloister. It has been off your hand for too long. Now you are, as I once promised you, my Lady Foxbridge."

He did not wait for the completion of the benediction as he swept her into his arms and kissed her with all his desire for her that increased with the each passing day. Charmed by their obvious love, the minister hurriedly finished and stepped back.

Slowly, Nicholas raised his head and said, "I love you, dear wife. It's official, I'm afraid. It will be nigh to impossible to get an annulment now that we have been married twice."

Taking his arm, she grinned. "That was the whole idea. Did you think I would let you get away from me?"

"Me away from you?" He chuckled as he led her up the aisle. At the back doorway, he turned and spoke to their guests who were overwhelmed by the whole performance. "Dear friends and family, thank you for attending our wedding. As our first one was hidden in a barn, we thought it would be nice to celebrate our fifth anniversary this way. Please go outside to the garden. We will be with you as soon as we change into something a little more conventional."

Leaving their startled guests with that announcement, they ran up the back stairs to their suite to turn from Rebecca and Nicholas Wythe to Lord and Lady Foxbridge. The sound of their laughter lingered in the hallway after them.

The servants rushed away to prepare the wedding feast for the many anticipated guests. As those in the chapel rose slowly from the pews, many of them turned to Eliza to demand an explanation of the odd behavior of her brother and his wife.

Clarisse listened with no comment to how Rebecca had thought Nicholas dead and had been set to marry another man. The redhead's envy doubled. Rebecca had two men who wanted to marry her, while Clarisse had none. She did not want to think of that the bridegroom had asked her to marry him many years ago, but she had not thought him serious. Then she had not wanted to be married. Now. . .More than ever, she longed to see her rival gone from Foxbridge Cloister. It was too bad Nicholas had arrived to stop the other wedding. She would have preferred to see Rebecca shamed as a bigamist.

When she saw the glower on Lady Margaret's face, she realized Nicholas's mother was no more pleased with this ridiculous ceremony or the whole marriage than she was. She would have to remember that. It might come in very handy when she had devised a way to repay Rebecca for stealing Nicholas.

Married in a barn, indeed! Probably because he had tumbled her in the haymow above, and she had feared she was with child. She need not have worried. They had been together for months, and there was no sign of the long-awaited heir.

Richard Carter offered to escort her out to the garden. Pasting on a false smile, she accepted. He was a fine-looking man, but beside Nicholas all others paled. She would let him charm her, and perhaps, he would help her forget that Rebecca would be sleeping wrapped in Nicholas's love. Richard was one man she had never been able to convince to share her bed on a whim. He wanted a long-term relationship with her, but she was not interested in being Mrs. Richard Carter. She wanted to be Lady Foxbridge.

Upstairs, the newlyweds were laughing as they entered the suite. Collette and Gilmore met them with happy smiles. They chuckled together about the guests' shock over their choice of clothes. Only these two loyal friends had known their plans. The maid took her lady's arm and led her into the second bedroom where she would prepare Lady Foxbridge to prove she could be both a backwoods lass and a fine lady.

Nicholas was pacing impatiently in his tan wool breeches and green brocade coat when Rebecca finally emerged. His eyes widened. Her dress was made of spun moonlight. Swaths of material fell along the front of the skirt in tiers. At each side they were held up by white velvet ribbons decorated with pearls and glitter. The bodice was cut in a heart shape to accent her lovely figure and was completely without decoration. On the sleeves which ended at her elbows was a wide band of silver edged lace dropping halfway to her wrists. In her upswept hair were laced silver ribbons and pearls to match those on her gown.

When she twirled around, he saw the layers of stiff petticoats had been decorated with the same silver ribbons. Even her slippers were silver. "Well?" she asked.

"My dear Rebecca," he said, "I am overwhelmed." He reached out and pulled her to him. Bending he whispered in her ear, "I would say I have only seen you lovelier on one other occasion."

"When?"

"When you lie in my arms in the other room, sweet one," he said softly, before he captured her mouth with his. He did not worry about crushing the dress as he explored the contours of her inviting mouth.

Regretfully she pulled away and said, "Remember our guests downstairs? They are waiting for us."

"Let them wait!" he retorted.

She laughed and twirled out of his arms. "This party was your idea. You must play host."

"Only if we can have our honeymoon later." With a roguish grin, he took her hand and walked sedately by her side down the stairs.

On the lawn most of the shire was present. The tables of food were the center of attention until someone noticed the bride and groom approaching. Immediately a cheer went up from the staff and the villagers. Like an unstoppable wave upon the beach, the smallest village children ran forward to greet their beloved Lady Foxbridge. As one, they stopped to stare at the fancy lady dressed in what looked like fairy wings. When Lady Foxbridge visited them, she had worn a work dress not so different than what their mothers wore. They were unsure how to treat this fine lady.

Seeing the confusion on their young faces, Rebecca bent down. "Good day, children. What's wrong? Aren't you enjoying yourself at our party?"

"Is that you, Lady Foxbridge?"

She smiled. "Yes, Timmy. I'm Lady Foxbridge. Aren't you dressed in your best clothes today?" She pointed to his breeches that, for once, were not patched at the knees. "Well, so am I. This is how I look when I dress up fancily." She stood and turned about slowly for their inspection. "What do you think?"

Instantly they all were complimenting her beautiful gown. Nicholas laughed aloud when a little girl wondered rather wistfully if it was made of sugar. When one asked if they could touch it, Rebecca agreed. A dozen sets of eager fingers caressed the material they would never wear.

"Go and play," she urged them. "I have to talk to the adults, too. Maybe later, you can sing for us again."

Delighted, the children ran among the flower beds. Rebecca looked at her gown that was not so silver-white as it had been. Along the full skirt, small fingermarks were visible in colors matching the food being served. It did not upset her.

Nicholas said softly, "Perhaps it's time to think about that heir who interests everyone, sweetheart. You have a magic with children."

"In time." She looked at the house. "There is room for many children. I have been thinking that one of the unused monk's cells might make an excellent schoolroom for the village children."

"School? Here?" The idea was astounding. "Who would teach it?"

"I would, Nicholas. I taught when I lived in Connecticut. If these children learn to read and write, they will be more able to make good lives for themselves when they are adults. You have mentioned over and over that it is hard to find educated employees out here. If you are willing to wait a few years, I can guarantee you that you will have many to choose from, for these children are hungry to learn." She smiled coyly. "Also it will give our little ones playmates when they are old enough to attend the school."

He saw she was serious. Although he had never given such an idea a thought in the past, he knew soon there would be a school at Foxbridge Cloister for the village children. Once Rebecca got this determined glitter in her eyes, no one stop her. "We will make the plans for it later. Today is our wedding." He led her over to where their guests were waiting.

The hours passed quickly as they spoke with the ones who had come in curiosity and love to see what the Wythes had meant by a reenactment of their vows. Only one person tried to talk business to Nicholas, but he was silenced instantly by others who reprimanded him for acting so on a man's wedding day.

More toasts were drunk to the newlyweds than anyone would have guessed possible. The kegs of beer and wine were watched carefully that nobody got too intoxicated on the grounds of Foxbridge Cloister. Everyone celebrated in a way that had not been seen since the lords had collected their rents so formally every quarter day.

When an orchestra was set up on the terrace, the dancing was enthusiastic. Unlike the ball at Marchwood Hall, if someone made a mistake in the steps, everyone laughed and urged the person to try again. It was the first time the villagers had ever had a chance to dance the minuet. The musicians delighted in playing the folk tunes of the west country as the gentry tried to learn the complicated dances refined through centuries.

At a break in the dancing, the children were urged to sing before it grew so late that they fell asleep by the rosebushes. The applause was as enthusiastic for the second performance as the first. Rebecca stepped aside and let Greggy lead them as he had been doing for the past weeks. He was the one she had thought of first for her school. He was ten and extremely intelligent. Only if he could read and write his name would he be able to fulfill his potential. Perhaps even as a minister, for he spent much time with Reverend Middleton asking questions about their faith.

Rebecca left Nicholas chatting with some of the men about the latest news from Whitehall about the situation in Europe. As far as she could tell, there was always political unrest on the continent. She could not begin to decipher the complicated relationships between France, Spain, the German states and her adopted country. With the British no longer fighting their recalcitrant, former colonies, they could concentrate on their next door neighbors. There was a sense of smugness among them about their superiority over the others across the English Channel.

Taking a plate from the table, she moved to an arbor to sit for a moment of quiet. After being the center of attention all afternoon and dancing every dance, she wanted to rest. Her right leg ached with fatigue, and she wondered if it would ever be normal. Her smile returned as she thought of the real reason she wanted to rest.

Her eyes lingered on Nicholas. She admired the trim lines of his athletic body which had recovered so quickly from the wound inflicted by the currish Lord Royce. After the end of the festivities, it would be time for the celebrations she would share with her beloved, oft-married husband. She chuckled softly as she took a bite of the food on her plate.

All hunger left her as she heard two women talking nearby. She knew they did not see her in the arbor, or she thought they did not. Both Clarisse and Lady Margaret would delight in hurting her, but she thought they would prefer to do so to her face. To make her presence known would simply damn her further in their eyes.

Clarisse was saying, sarcastically, "This has been quite the wedding. Not exactly what we expected when we heard Nicholas was alive and coming home to Foxbridge Cloister."

"What can one do? Nicholas is Lord Foxbridge, and it shall be as he wishes. We can do nothing about this vulgar girl he has brought home to play with. At first, I thought it would pass when he saw how poorly she fit in here, but it hasn't. The infatuation has increased." Lady Margaret sighed as if she were a martyr having to bear the load of her daughter-in-law's lack of breeding. "She has turned Nicholas from his own mother, and now she threatens to do the same with Eliza."

"What a shame! It's positively disgusting how she allows those urchins to paw her over. I guess they remind her of her own family."

Lady Margaret chuckled shortly. "Rebecca cannot see that she is being used. Of course they act as if they love her. Hasn't she convinced Nicholas to pay for resurrecting that ugly, little church?"

"Maybe it wasn't for the villagers," said Clarisse, snidely. "There was some talk about her and Reverend Middleton being very friendly last month. Why, I heard from Marie, my maid, that the first week she went there, they were alone in his house for nearly three hours."

"Surely the housekeeper was there!"

"No, just the two of them. I am sorry that you have such a Lady Foxbridge to deal with. Poor Nicholas is so blinded by love for his little harlot that he will accept her child and never question its parentage." She laughed cruelly. "Perhaps there is something to this resemblance she has to Sybill Wythe. Shall we have another glass of champagne, Lady Margaret?"

"Why not? It's a pity to waste it on these peasants who have no appreciation for it."

As the voices faded in the distance, Rebecca hid her face in her hands. The stories about her were still strong. She could not believe that her friends in the village cared for her simply because of what her husband's money could do for them.

"Lady Foxbridge?"

She glanced up to see the disturbed face of Brigit. The child remained as sweet as she had been the first day of choir practice. "What is it, Brigit?"

"Are you sad? You shouldn't be because today is a party day for you. My Ma said we should all be happy today because you are happy." The little girl threw her arms around her and whispered, "I love you, Lady Foxbridge."

Rebecca felt the heaviness of tears. Such a heartfelt testimonial told her that the words her two enemies spoke were lies. She was the one who had approached the children, not the other way around. She was the one who had come to them in need, and they had given her love in return. "I love you, too, Brigit. You look so pretty today. Is that a new dress?"

She nodded, her braids bouncing with enthusiasm. "For me. Ma cut it down from one of hers, so I could have something pretty to wear. I hope when I get married, I can have a dress just like yours."

"Let me tell you a secret. This isn't my wedding dress." In a conspiratorial tone, she told the little girl about her real wedding to Nicholas and how she had worn a dress not so different from the one Brigit wore.

One by one, the children wandered over to listen. Soon she was telling them of her childhood on the farm so like their parents'. They laughed when she told of mishaps of bring uncooperative cows home, for it was something that they all knew. When they shared their own stories, she enjoyed them.

Rebecca looked at their young faces, no longer as clean as when they first had arrived, and knew she wanted to start her school as soon as the harvest was completed. Few would be able to attend until then because their hands were needed in the fields. She was sure she could convince the parents to let her have their youngsters for a few hours each day. Education was something belonging only to the Èlite, and certainly they would want the best for their children. John had told her the lack of a teacher had kept them from starting a school. That problem was solved.

"Ah, here you are," said Nicholas with a laugh as he peeked around the arbor. "Good day, youngsters. I should have known you all would be here plotting mischief."

When Rebecca laughed, the children joined in. They were not so sure of how they should treat this imposing man who was taller than most men they knew. He owned all the land farther than most of them had ever traveled.

"We have been telling stories about the tribulations of growing up on a farm," she said. "I'm afraid time has slipped away from us."

"Your parents are looking for you, children." As they obediently rose, he added, "Don't forget to get an extra piece of cake to take home. First ones there get the most icing." He laughed as they turned from subservient, little adults back into children as they raced across the lawns.

"Nicholas, you are as bad as you accuse me of being. They have had enough cake today. I hope they don't get stomach cramps."

He laughed as he drew her to her feet. "It's a well-known fact that no child can have enough cake. Don't you remember that?"

She had no chance to answer for his mouth found hers in the twilight. Her arms slipped around him as he pressed her tightly to his strong body. When his hands slid along her in a clear invitation to what they both wanted, she gasped with the strength of the soaring passions building inside her. Familiarity with each other only had enhanced their loving. Although they knew what the other enjoyed when they were close, Nicholas had taught her there was no need for their lovemaking to be rote. Constantly they explored new ways to express that love.

A shiver raced along her as he whispered in her ear, "I think I have played host long enough. Come with me now, and let us continue this wedding as it should be."

"A reenactment of that, Nicholas, would mean you going away from me for over four years." She ran her fingers along the breadth of his chest. "I don't think I would like that."

He laughed in honest delight at the mournful sound of her voice. Sweeping her up into his arms, he said, "I know I wouldn't like that one bit, my love." He glanced up as the music began again. "Do you wish to dance, or shall I offer you other entertainment?"

She leaned her head on his shoulder. "It's time for the bride and groom to retire gracefully."

He did not put her on her feet as he carried her through the back gardens to a private door. No one noticed until much later that the guests of honor were missing. They knew the newlyweds would not wish to be interrupted as they enjoyed their commemoration of their wedding.

Although Rebecca warned Nicholas not to strain himself, he just laughed as he carried her to their suite. With a chuckle, he tossed her onto the bed. He left only long enough to lock the door leading to the hallway. He did not intend to be disturbed by anyone. As he returned to her, the faint sounds of the merrymaking wafted up from the lawn.

Neither of them noticed as her eyes were held by the intense, burning desire in his. He shoved her back against the mattress. His hand reached under her and grasped the hooks on her gown. One swift tug ripped them apart.

"Nicholas!" she gasped. "You are destroying my dress."

"I waited so long to make love to you that I was afraid some night I was going to throw open that door, press you like this to your bed, and ravage your pretty body." His eyes glittered demoniacally. "Would you care to play such tonight, my love?"

She laughed. "Dear husband, how can you play the rake when I am so willing?"

"Hush," he whispered before he bent to kiss her just below her ear. "If you don't want to play in that manner, I will woo you with poetic phrases. My darling Rebecca, high priestess of love, deign to notice your unworthy suitor tonight."

Her eyes closed at the touch of his fingers on her skin as he pulled her ruined dress aside. His caresses sent powerful cascades of ecstasy over her, but humor remained in her voice, as she said, "I think you had too much wine to drink. You are quite intoxicated."

"Only with your beauty, dear twice-wed wife. We had a wonderful wedding. Now I want to sample your sweetness once again. Love me, my lady."

Pertly, she retorted, "Is that a command, my Lord Foxbridge?"

"A request only, but one I hope you will satisfy."

She pulled his mouth down toward hers. "I will try, if you will be my Nicholas and love me as you do so well."

Any answer he would have given her was lost in the rapture spinning sweet webs of desire around them as she hoped this joy would last forever and not be destroyed by the anger around them.

Chapter Eighteen

As soon as possible after the harvest was completed, Rebecca put her plans for the school into action. Reaction was much as she had anticipated.

The villagers were thrilled with the chance for their children to have some book learning.

Lady Margaret was outraged. The older woman threatened all kinds of mayhem until her son told her if she did not like it, it was unfortunate. The school would be held three mornings weekly for two hours each day. If she did not want to be at the Cloister during that time, she should feel free to use the carriage to call upon her friends.

Eliza and Curtis were amused by Rebecca's enthusiasm for her latest project. So wrapped up were they in their own love that very little of what went on around them seemed to enter their own private world.

The first morning of school, Eliza peeked in to see fifteen children perched on the hard benches that the monks once had used for their prayers. They watched Lady Foxbridge explain the beginning mysteries of letters and numbers.

Nicholas knew that his wife would not fail. She was urging the children to share what they were learning with their older siblings who could not attend the school. He did not visit the little classroom, for his presence would daunt the students and disrupt lessons.

One night, several weeks after the school had opened, he was enjoying the quiet in their sitting room as he read the latest newspapers from London. They were only two weeks old, so he was finding much of interest in them. Rebecca sat on the settee with her feet drawn up under her as she worked out the lesson plans for her class the next day. It was becoming more complicated as the children progressed.

They had all started at the same point of ignorance, but some were leaping ahead of the others. She wanted to press them on as fast as they could go to cram all they should learn in the short hours and years she would have them in her classes. Once they were old enough to work, they would be lost to her. Greggy was her oldest, and she had gone to his mother directly to ask that he be allowed to attend. As she had guessed, he was her star pupil. Already he was learning to read phrases from the Bible which was the only book she had for children. She vowed to search the nursery in the attic to see if there were others.

A knock interrupted the tranquil, domestic scene by the fireplace. With the nights turning crisply cool, they enjoyed the warmth of the burning logs.

"Don't get up, my love," said Nicholas. He called, "Who is it?"

When his sister answered, he told her to join them. Eliza opened the door, and they saw she had her sweetheart with her. As Nicholas motioned for them to sit by the fire, Rebecca automatically tightened the neckline of her morning gown.

Since the time when Curtis had come into the room after the village fair and found her dressed only in her robe, she had been aware of the appreciation in his eyes when they settled on her. She had grown accustomed to it with other men, but she did not think Eliza's suitor should be looking at her that way. Hoping it was all her imagination, she said nothing of it to anyone. Nicholas's keen eyes had not noticed it, so over and over she tried to tell herself that she was over-reacting to something that had not happened and never would.

"Nicholas, we would like to talk to you about something very important," began Eliza with uncharacteristic nervousness.

He smiled at his wife. There was no doubt what the twosome wanted. He had been expecting this since the remarriage ceremony. That day he had seen how Curtis and Eliza had looked at each other as if they were wishing it was their marriage being performed in the family chapel. "Go ahead, sister." He had joined Rebecca on the settee, and he put his arm around her shoulders. They had never had to endure this situation, for they had asked no one's permission to marry.

Eliza glanced at Curtis, who took her hand in his. The young man said, "I have asked Eliza to marry me. We have known each other for more than two years, and the devotion between us is very strong." He smiled innocuously. "We have been very impressed by the love we have seen that you share, and we feel that ours is the same. We have come for your blessing and permission to marry."

He turned to Rebecca. "What do you think, sweetheart?"

Batting his hand away from where her hair, she laughed. "Stop teasing them, Nicholas. Tell them yes or no. Don't be cruel."

"You have heard how she orders me about, Curtis. I do not doubt that Eliza will be much the same." He chuckled as Rebecca gave a false groan of misery at his continued jesting. "If you think you can endure being married to a hot-tempered Wythe, welcome to the family." He rose and held out his hand to his future brother-in-law.

A victorious grin shone on the slighter man's face as he shook Nicholas's hand. Eliza and Rebecca embraced as they chattered about the next wedding to be held at Foxbridge Cloister. Nicholas sent Gilmore for a bottle of wine to toast this betrothal. The rest of the evening was spent in celebrating the betrothal which would come as a surprise to nobody. When Eliza asked if they could hold a masquerade ball to make the formal announcement, she did not tell them it had been Curtis's idea. She would have agreed with almost anything her fiancÈ suggested. The idea of a masked ball here at Foxbridge Cloister appealed to everyone.

Eliza had decided already she was going to go to the party dressed in the style of ancient Greece. With her dark hair piled high on her head and a simple gown draped over her slender body, she would be as beautiful as one of their temple priestesses. "I know who you must go as, Rebecca," she added, enthusiastically. "You must go as Sybill Wythe."

Rebecca laughed. "Shall Nicholas be the cuckolded Lord Foxbridge or my Spanish lover?"

"We shall rewrite history, my love," he said, whirling her into his arms. "I shall be your Sybill's beloved husband."

"There will be no man coming from the sea for this Sybill," she murmured before his lips on hers made talking impossible.

The others were baffled by their words, but there was no misunderstanding the fervency of the kiss. The love which had bound Rebecca so tightly to distant shores had been replaced by one which would last for as long as she lived.

Curtis tugged on Eliza's sleeve and led her from the room. Quietly, he closed the door, but he doubted if the lord and lady would have noticed their leave-taking if they had slammed the door as hard as they were able. As he looked at Eliza, his mind was on the one in Lord Foxbridge's arms.

He had not been able to ignore the fire that burned in those intriguing blue eyes that often turned near violet with emotion. That the flames were blazing only for her husband he knew. The rumors that she had been Middleton's mistress over the summer was a lie started by vicious busybodies. Rebecca Wythe would never come to any man willingly but her husband.

"What are you thinking of, Curtis?" came the soft whisper as his pretty Eliza put her hand on his arm.

With a smile, he gazed down into her innocent eyes. "Why, you, of course, darling. You and our wedding that is one step closer to reality."

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her with eager passion. As she pressed close, he was glancing past her at the door that led to the lord's suite. He had nearly reached his goal. Soon Eliza would be his, and they would live in this wonderful house. His arms tightened around her. Yes, things were going perfectly for Curtis Langston.

*** *** ***

Lady Margaret was as thrilled with the announcement of her daughter's engagement as she had been appalled by her son's. Wholeheartedly, she began work on the ball which would be held in two weeks. Once the formal proclamation had been made at the ball, preparations could be started for the wedding.

Rebecca once again was the odd one out. She could not shake her feeling that something was not quite right with the man her sister-in-law loved. Finally, she could not stand to do nothing any longer. She wrote a short note to Nicholas's barrister, Mr. Doyle, who worked at Mallory and Sons in London. Letting him think that she was needed the questions answered to plan a surprise party, she asked him to check into the unknown background of Curtis Langston, Esquire. She gave his address in London and asked the solicitor to get any information he could discover in a week to her by speediest messenger.

When she posted the letter, she felt an immediate sense of relief and guilt. Although she had asked Doyle not to mention anything to Nicholas in his regular correspondence, she was afraid her husband would find out what she had done and be furious. If the solicitor told her Curtis was the fine, young man everyone else seemed to believe he was, she would be ashamed of her distrust. Yet she could not do nothing about what she felt so strongly.

Following Eliza's suggestion, she arranged with Mademoiselle Pacquette to make her a gown in the Elizabethan style to match the one in the portrait of Sybill Wythe. The dressmaker spent hours making sketches of the dress in the painting and returned to her shop to create the outfit, recalling skills lost a century before. She also had asked for a portrait of Sybill's to use as a model for Nicholas's costume. Although they had searched the portrait gallery and the attics, they had been surprised to find nothing. Eliza told them jokingly that as he was no true ancestor of this house, perhaps their family had destroyed his portrait.

Among the preparations for the ball, Rebecca was busy also with her school. The number of students had grown to twenty. She heard recitations and tried to teach them sums using examples taken from their own lives. Often they would return to school with questions she knew their parents had posed. It pleased her that her efforts were reaching past the twenty children and the small room which was becoming too crowded. She would have to divide the class and teach part in the morning and part in the afternoon.

Such a plan would not please Nicholas who did not want the school to monopolize her time. Often her afternoons were spent in sweet love with him behind the latched door of their bedroom. He would not be willing to give up those times. Neither would she, so she must devise some other way to manage the growing class.

One day about a week before the ball, she looked up from her table to see Curtis standing in the door. She had dismissed the children, but had stayed to do some work.

"So this is the famous schoolroom at Foxbridge Cloister?" he asked with a smile. He looked at the plain walls and the slates which were piled at the edge of one bench. "Not much like the schools we attended, is it, Rebecca?"

Coolly, she answered, "It's very much like the school I attended. Don't let the dullness of the room make you think the minds here are the same."

"I wouldn't think that. I'm sure you are inspiring these youngsters to seek a life far above their own level."

Anger filled her at his calm attack on her school. "What do you mean by that? Are we supposed to be content to be no more than what we were born to be? If that had been the case throughout history, we would be barbarians still." She stood slowly and closed the book she had been using to garner ideas for her next class. "We must have something to aspire to. Those dreams are what give us the will to continue on through the mundane times of our lives."

He grinned as he leaned on the single window sill. "Not only are you beautiful, but philosophical. You certainly have made your advice come true. Could you have conceived a year ago of living in a house like this and being Lady Foxbridge?"

Her frown deepened. "A year ago, my dreams were very different. Still my dreams were so dear to me. We are not as class conscious in America as you are here. It's far easier to move from one level to another. Both up and down. There are no guarantees of a soft life there, unless one deserves it."

Curtis had been wandering around the room as she spoke. He examined her teaching tools as if they were odd museum pieces. When he stopped, he stood directly in front of her. He smiled as she stepped away from him. He did not pause as he backed her toward the wall. When she bumped into it, a startled look filled her expressive eyes. He walked closer and leaned forward to put his arms on either side of her shoulders. Carefully, he did not touch her.

"Why do you act so scared of me, Rebecca?" he asked, seemingly nonplused.

Trying to act normally, she replied, "I'm not scared of you. Should I be?"

"You are a lovely woman all alone in a deserted wing of this huge house."

"And you are my sister-in-law's fiancÈ!" she retorted, wishing he would stop playing whatever game this was.

He smiled coldly. "That's true. Eliza soon will be my wife, and we will be living together here. Eliza and me and Lord Foxbridge and his distrustful, incredibly beautiful wife and Lady Margaret who hates you so deeply, although I have never understood why. Except for the fact that you are from America, you should be everything she would want in a daughter-in-law."

Rebecca tried to move away, but his arms kept her imprisoned. When he pulled the book from her hands that she had held between them, she broke away. Before she could go more than a trio of steps, his hand caught her arm and brought her back sharply against the wall. She cried out in pain.

"Do not act so scared of me, Rebecca," he said in a totally different tone of voice. It had softened as if he wished to court her with sweetened phrases. His fingers reached out to caress her cheek, but she turned her face from him. "We will be family soon. I just came to tell you farewell, for I am leaving for London. I won't be back until Thursday next."

"Let me go. Have a pleasant trip, if that is what you want to hear." Her eyes remained downcast so she did not have to look at his face.

When he bent to kiss her cheek, she flinched. His hand stroked her soft cheek before slipping to rest on her shoulder. "I will see you next week. My business will be done for a while, so I can devote more time to getting to know my sister-in-law. I have discovered I don't know you as well as I would like."

Her eyes widened involuntarily at the implied meaning of his words. He laughed and patted her cheek once more before releasing her. With a casual wave, he walked out of the room, leaving her baffled.

Rebecca hid her face in her hands and tried to force the nausea back into her stomach. Although she had seen the light of lust in Curtis's eyes, she had not thought he ever would be so open about it. She knew she should go to Nicholas immediately and demand that he put an end to his sister's betrothal.

What could she tell him? None of Curtis's actions in themselves were wrong. He had not tried to seduce her, although she could see the desire to do so in every motion. A man could not be convicted of a crime that he had committed only in his mind. Curtis was certainly attentive to Eliza. He treated her as if she was the most precious thing in his life. That was why his actions were even more of a shock.

She counted the days since she had posted the letter to Doyle. The reply would not be back, at the earliest, until the day before the ball. Curtis would be gone for all but one day of that time. She would wait and see what the solicitor had to say. If Curtis Langston was just an amorous man who believed the gossip of her easy virtue, she would set him to rights. She was sure that a calm discussion of how he upset her would put an end to the problem.

Reasonably, rationally, Rebecca soon had convinced herself that she had mistaken a simple farewell between friends for desire. By the time she went back to the main part of the house, she had forced the whole incident into the recesses of her mind so deeply that when she would need to remember it, the episode would be forgotten.

*** *** ***

Rebecca canceled school for the two days before the ball. She had too much to do for the formal affair. All the invitations had been sent, and many weekend guests would be arriving on Friday. The guest rooms were prepared. Although her students were accustomed to her desire for perfection, the house staff was astounded to hear the usually pleasant Lady Foxbridge requesting tasks redone to her satisfaction. Their anger dissipated when they saw she was working as hard and expected the same level of faultlessness from her own efforts.

She found time to have the final fittings for her gown which was an exact duplication of Sybill's. Mademoiselle Pacquette apologized for the uncomfortable ruff collar. Rebecca laughed aside her concerns, for it was for only one night that she must wear the heavy, velvet dress. They shared many laughs about the doublet and short bloomers designed for Lord Foxbridge. Although Rebecca secretly thought Nicholas would look dashing as his ancestor, she was sure he would detest the outfit.

On Thursday after lunch, she finished with the last fitting. The modiste promised to have the dress delivered by midday the next day. When she had bid the woman farewell, Rebecca went to redress. Picking up her petticoats, she bent to put them on over her chemise and pantalets. Her fingers slipped behind her back to tie them at her waist.

"No need for these, sweetheart." Strong fingers settled over hers to keep her from making the bow.

Smiling at her husband, she lamented, "Nicholas, I have a hundred things to do. Let me get dressed."

He twisted her into his arms as her petticoats drifted to the floor to lie in a circle around her feet. "No, you have one thing to do, and, for that, you don't need to be dressed." His lips seconded the invitation glowing in his eyes as his fingers reached for the ribbons which held her camisole together.

With a sigh of delight, she leaned against him as she put her arms under his open shirt to caress the expanse of his chest. Her fingers sought their way through his dark hair and became entwined in it. As he pulled the chemise from her, she pressed close to give her whole body a chance to feel his strong firmness. Soon all her clothes were in a pile on the floor. Within seconds, his rested atop them.

He smiled as he drew her to the bed. "My sweet love, you have been so busy with this formal affair, that I thought it was time that you devoted yourself to a different type of affair with your husband."

"I want this to be perfect for Eliza."

"And I want this to be perfect for us. I love you, my Rebecca."

"I love you," she whispered as he pinned her sweetly to the mattress.

His mouth drew rapture from her lips to surround them in the warm aura of their love. Everything else disappeared as they became enrapt in each other. As always she hesitated as she touched the scar under his ribs. That injury had brought them together.

She forgot the past as his tongue created a moist path along the upsweep of her breast. Quivers erupted from the depth of her being as she stroked his wide shoulders. His hair drifted forward to brush against her naked skin. When his mouth continued its explorations to her most feminine secrets, she writhed with her longing.

Whispering his name, she surrendered to the rapture overwhelming her as she touched him. She needed to feel the firm textures of his skin beneath her fingertips. Her need became an agony, and she clutched his hands as he drove her to the very edge of existence with his mouth.

His arms surrounded her as his lips found hers again. She moaned with the pulse exploding throughout her. Easily, gently, but with the hunger only she could satisfy, he brought them together as they reached for the glories they could know only with each other. As they dissolved into the tender, tempestuous maelstrom of their passion, they became one in the dulcet desires consuming them.

*** *** ***

Rebecca rested her head on Nicholas's shoulder as she stretched languorously. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. With a breathless laugh, she whispered, "I'm not going anywhere, darling."

"You have been so busy lately, that I wouldn't be surprised to see you leap from this bed to rush off to do your errands."

She looked up at him. "Have I been too busy? Do you want me to spend less time on other things and more time with you?"

He grinned. "I would like to have all your time being spent with me, sweetheart. I would keep you here next to me. Unfortunately, it cannot be so for either of us. There are many responsibilities I have inherited along with this title. You have your school and now all the plans for Eliza's ball and wedding. We will find time to be together, never fear about that."

"I don't. If I decide I cannot wait to hold you to my heart again, I will interrupt you enough so that you will get the idea." She smiled, mischievously before sighing. "I do have something I must do this afternoon. I must ride over to Beckwith Grange with Eliza."

"Beckwith Grange? Whatever for?" He was shocked, for Rebecca had never set foot in the place which once had been as familiar to him as Foxbridge Cloister.

Her slender shoulders shrugged. "Eliza wants to talk to Clarisse about something. She won't tell me what it is, but asked me to come along. I have no idea what is going on, but I told her I would go." She sat and leaned over him. With a quick kiss, she slipped out of bed and began to redress.

Nicholas placed his hands beneath his head as he enjoyed the sight of his lovely wife moving about the room changing from the temptress she was in his arms to the pretty, ladylike Rebecca Wythe. When she pulled her gown over her petticoats, he offered to help her hook up the back. He drew on his breeches and went over to where she stood by the dressing table that had been moved into his room.

Picking up his coat, he pulled a small box from a pocket. He placed it in her hands. With a glance of surprise, she opened it to see a small, gold pendant. Engraved on it was a ship that resembled the Neptune's Prize.

"How pretty!" she gasped. "Oh, thank you!"

He clasped it around her neck. "I saw it when I had to go into Liverpool last week. I thought you would like it. It's not as fancy as the jewels from past ladies of this house."

"But this is from you!" She spun and hugged him. She listened to the soft, steady beat of his heart as her head pressed to his chest. "I love you. Not because you bring me gifts, but because you are the most wonderful man I know."

Nicholas drew her lips to his. Then, with a smile, he released her. "Perhaps it will be a talisman to protect you from the dark emotions at Beckwith Grange. When do you think you will be back?"

"Long before supper. Why?"

"I was hoping I might fit a bit more time with you into my schedule this afternoon." He put his mouth against the side of her neck and heard her pleasured reaction. "Hurry home, sweetheart."

Laughing, she picked up her gloves and bonnet. Her cape she draped over her arm. "I had planned to spend as little time in Clarisse's company as necessary, but, now, I will be even more eager to return to Foxbridge Cloister."

He blew her a kiss as she hurried to meet Eliza. Later, he would wonder why he had not sensed the cold fingers of premonition alerting him to tragedy. He felt nothing but the gratification of his yearning for his wife and the impatience to share that love once more.

Chapter Nineteen

As Rebecca came down the stairs, she was tying her cape around her. She greeted Eliza with a smile. After what she had just shared with Nicholas, she felt generous even toward Clarisse Beckwith. She could afford to be pleasant to the obnoxious woman for a short call.

Before they got into the carriage, she spent a few minutes talking to Sims about arrangements to have the horses in the stable made available to their house guests over the weekend. All but Donar, Nicholas's horse, and Sybill, the new mare that they had named in honor of the woman she would portray at the masked ball, were to be ready for their guests. She patted Hermes's head as they talked, but paid no attention to the greyhound's interest in riding with them in the carriage.

She discovered Sims was eager for the ball also. It had been a while since there had been a party of this magnitude at Foxbridge Cloister, for the house had been sunk in mourning along with Lady Margaret for the past two years. The staff wanted a chance to prove how capable they were.

It was a very short ride to Beckwith Grange, showing Rebecca how much she had become acclimated to changes in her life. In Connecticut, she would have considered the distance between the two houses a pleasant walk.

"Eliza, you are being so quiet," she said. "Is there something wrong?"

Dark eyes rose to meet the concerned ones of her brother's wife. "Not now. Let's talk of something pleasant. How is your gown coming?"

"It's nearly done." She was curious about what was bothering Eliza, but respected her need to hold it inside her. "It'll be delivered tomorrow. Nicholas thinks we should greet our guests in the front parlor under Sybill's portrait."

"I don't think that would be a good idea."

Hearing Eliza's distress, she exclaimed, "There is something wrong! Will you tell me?"

"Soon. Please, Rebecca, accept that. Soon."

She had no more time to quiz her, for they had arrived at the small, country house known as Beckwith Grange. Years ago, it had belonged to the Foxbridge Cloister estate. The house and the few acres of gardens attached to it were surrounded on every side by the Cloister property. Why it had been given to the Beckwiths, no one seemed to know.

Sims opened the door for them. He nodded silently when Eliza told him they would not be long. Now that Lord Foxbridge had severed his relationship with Miss Beckwith, no Wythe would be comfortable setting foot in this house.

At the door, the butler took their capes and bonnets. He suggested they await Miss Clarisse in the morning room. Although Rebecca was astonished that Eliza had to have directions as to which room it was, she kept her reaction hidden. Nicholas must have been the only one from Foxbridge Cloister welcomed often. That thought caused no jealousy, for what he had shared with Clarisse was long over. It had been ended before he had met and married her, although that had not stopped Clarisse from hating her.

The room was a lovely one. Rebecca sat uneasily on a finely upholstered chair as she watched Eliza roam about looking at the bits of fine china and pottery decorating it. Sunshine would be bright on the pale carpet before midday, but the room was shadowed, and candles were burning to chase away the darkness.

Clarisse kept them waiting nearly twenty minutes before she made her grand entrance. With a fake smile, she greeted the two Wythe women. She offered to order tea, but Eliza told her tersely that they would not be staying that long.

"Very well, Eliza." She sat and spread her fine, silk skirts around her. "You asked to see me. I am here. What do you want?"

Eliza's voice was a female counterpart of Nicholas's when he was enraged. Totally devoid of emotion. "I want you to apologize to Rebecca. I brought her here, so you could do it in private. I didn't think you would want to have to apologize at the ball."

As Rebecca glanced in shock at the young woman, Clarisse asked quietly, "Me? Apologize to Rebecca? For what?"

"Forget the innocent act. I have heard the rumors you delight in spreading about Rebecca and Reverend Middleton, about Rebecca and any other man who has ever been seen talking to her, about Rebecca and Nicholas and why there has been no announcement of an heir. I'm sick of the lies. I'm sick of your envy. I want you to apologize to her."

Their hostess rose and stared at them disdainfully. "I have no reason to say I am sorry to anyone. I have listened to what has been said first by others. Perhaps I have repeated it once or twice, but only to those who already had discussed it with me."

Rebecca spoke for the first time. She stood and took Eliza's hand. "I do not want your apology, Clarisse. I do not want anything from you. You are my neighbor, and that is something I must learn to endure." She turned to Eliza. "I wish you had told me why you wanted me to come with you. Don't worry about the tales that Clarisse is spreading out of jealousy. What she does not seem to realize is that it was Nicholas who fell in love with me first, not the other way around." She said, coolly, "Thank you for your hospitality, Clarisse."

When Rebecca left the room, Eliza paused in the doorway. "You are a hateful person, Clarisse Beckwith. I hated you when you tried to capture my brother in your web of deceit. I hate you still."

Clarisse smiled coolly. "If you want a word of advice from a wiser woman than you, keep your eye on your fiancÈ. Don't be blind to his expression when he looks at Rebecca. I haven't been."

"You are lying!"

"Am I? Watch him for yourself." She patted her perfect curls back into place. "Watch him as he looks at your sister-in-law, then ask yourself if he has ever looked at you like that. She entrapped your brother into marrying her. Now watch she does not steal your lover as well."

Whirling, the young woman ran from the room. She grasped her cape and raced out the door without tying it around her. Eliza did not want to believe the poisonous words Clarisse had spoken, but a bit of doubt had been planted in her mind. She could hardly believe it was true, for Curtis had stated before he left for London last week, that he felt he and Rebecca were still strangers. He had suggested they plan more activities with the four of them together. That did not sound like a man who lusted after his fiancÈe's brother's wife.

She sighed.

Rebecca took her hand and squeezed it. "Thank you, Eliza, for what you tried to do, but with that woman, common decency is useless. She twists everything so much that her lies seem almost like truth." With a laugh, she said, "Our best hope is that she will find some poor victim to marry and move to his estate far from here."

The younger woman's face lightened. "Perhaps you are right. It just made me so angry to hear her say those things."

"I have heard her say them, too, but I know they aren't true. Nicholas knows they aren't true, so it does not matter what she says. Let's talk of something else, all right?"

Eliza soon was giggling as Rebecca told her the story of how her whole home town in Connecticut had been spooked during the war by a farmer driving his pigs through the underbrush. Everyone had evacuated their homes and spent the night in the woods as they waited for the attack that never came.

For Eliza, the war had been an inconceivable distance away and beyond her imagination. As used as she was to being waited upon and having fine clothes to wear, Rebecca wondered if her young sister-in-law had any idea of the realities of life on a war-torn frontier. Like Nicholas, she did not try to wrench away the young woman's illusions. Instead, she told her stories that entertained her and brought the two of them closer together.

"Oh, Rebecca, you have the most amusing tales! I can't wait for the ball. You will be the center of attention."

"Me?" She smiled. "It's your party, Eliza."

"But many of those coming have never have met a real Yankee."

Rebecca chuckled. "Are we that different? I mean, I haven't grown a second head, have I?"

"No, no, but there is an example. You are always so forthright. I do not know if I would want to be around people who always are so honest as you are, Rebecca. I enjoy the subtleties of proper conversation, which I know bores you." She smiled and took the other's hand. "I am glad you married Nicholas. At first, I thought he had made a frightful mistake bringing you here from America, but now that I know you, I like you very much and I am happy you are my sister-in-law and my friend."

"Eliza, I -- " She paused as the carriage rocked to a sudden stop. Eliza who was riding facing forward nearly slipped into Rebecca's lap. As she righted herself, Rebecca asked, "What's going on?"

"Maybe a horse went lame, or there is an accident in the road." She started to look out the window, but Rebecca halted her. Something told her that whatever awaited them on the road was not friendly. A wave of fear washed over her.

"Stay back from the windows." Her voice was a whisper.

"Why?"

"Please, Eliza," she said in quiet desperation. "Just stay back."

From outside the carriage, they could hear loud, male voices demanding something from their driver. Before they could do anything beyond looking at each other's pale face, the door swung open. "Good afternoon, ladies. If you would be so kind as to get out voluntarily, it will save us a great deal of trouble."

Rebecca gazed down into the sparkling, brown eyes which were the only thing visible behind the domino covering the man's face. A hat drawn down low over his forehead hid his hair. His coarse shirt was dusty from his ride along the country road. She noticed that later. What caught her attention first was the gun in his hand. It pointed unerringly at her midsection.

Taking Eliza's hand, Rebecca rose to obey. She gasped as the man put his hands on her waist and lifted her to the ground. He held her arm as he turned back to the other passenger. "No need for you to get out, Miss Wythe." He motioned with his gun for her to resume her seat.

Stubbornly, Eliza demanded, "Let Rebecca go, you fiend!"

The man's voice which had been pleasant grew as dark as the mask he wore. Slowly he raised his pistol to press into Rebecca's temple. "Cooperate, Miss Wythe, if you do not want to see Lady Foxbridge slain before your eyes."

Eliza sat on the very edge of the seat. When he closed the door of the coach, she moved so she could see out the window. She wondered why this highwayman had stopped their carriage. He seemed to have no interest in the jewels they wore. It was clear that he had in his hands the one thing he wanted.

Rebecca Wythe.

"Miss Wythe," the masked man said calmly, "tell Lord Foxbridge not to come looking for his lady. If he gets too close, it could make my men very jumpy, and this poor lady could be hurt very badly. We will be in contact with him at the masquerade ball Saturday night. You can assure him that Lady Foxbridge will be taken care of well until then. Make sure he understands he is to do nothing."

Rebecca stared up at the disguised face of her captor. When he shoved her roughly toward his horse, she turned to try to run. In one long stride, he recaptured her. Twisting her in his arms, he struck her with the flat of his gloved hand. At her muted cry of pain, she heard the click of a trigger.

When the gun fired, it brought back the terror of the duel. Her memories supplied the sounds which always signaled death. She cringed and put her hands over her ears. Before her eyes, she saw the coachman fall back against the top of the carriage. Blood covered the front of his pale green livery. He was too still.

"Sims! Sims!" She tried to break away from her captor to see if Sims continued to breath.

"Shut up!" growled the man who held her. "Shut up, Lady Foxbridge, or the next target will be Miss Wythe."

Instantly, her cries ceased, although tears fell along her cheeks. Sims had been her dear friend. There was no doubt that these men did not care what they did in order to gain their ends. Even murder was acceptable.

What would they do to her?

The man swore under his breath as he stared at the dead man. Picking Rebecca up, he placed her on his horse. Mounting behind her, he turned the horse's head and gave the command to leave.

She heard Eliza call her name in desperation, but did not reply. With the man's arm so tight around her, she could not turn to look back to where the coach was motionless in the middle of the road. In silence, they rode a short distance along the lane, then pulled off into the trees which bordered both sides of the road. They stopped, and Rebecca was lowered to the ground where another masked man held her until the leader had dismounted.

Fearfully she regarded her abductors. When she tried to pull away, a pistol was pressed against her skull. Tears of pain dribbled from her eyes, but she remained quiet. The unspoken warning was clear. If she betrayed them, she would die before her rescuer could arrive.

She watched from the corner of her blurred eyes as the leader walked around her. She was not sure what he had planned. When a blindfold was secured over her eyes, she gasped in astonishment. Before she could protest further, she was gagged as well.

When she felt hands untying her cloak, she tried to scream, but the sound was lost behind the gag. Hands on her shoulders slid down her arms to force them behind her back. Her gloves were ripped from her fingers as her wrists were pressed together. Easily, they were bound with a piece of scratchy twine. She was lifted into someone's arms while her ankles were as callously lashed together.

Around her, she could hear the men laughing as they enjoyed her distress. Although they talked among themselves, they carefully did not say anything to give away their identities. Realizing that, Rebecca grew more terrified. These men were professionals who knew exactly what they were doing. What she could not understand is why they had abducted her.

She was handed up to a mounted man. When he spoke, she knew it was the leader. He was dismissing his men and telling them when they should meet again. The tightening of his arm around her waist was the only warning Rebecca received before he started the horse on its way.

Desperately, she tried to determine where they were going, although they had blocked most of her senses. The breeze was cold in her face, but she could not remember which way it had been blowing when they left Beckwith Grange. Without her cloak, she was cold in her short sleeved, silk gown. Most of her chill came from inside her. Her remaining senses could not tell her in which direction they rode, so she would have no idea how to escape from where she would be imprisoned.

It was only Thursday, she realized, with a shiver that had nothing to do with the weather. Nicholas would not even be contacted for two days. For two days, she would be in the control of this man who led a band of murderers and kidnappers. She did not dare to think of what other crimes they might commit since they had been bold enough to stop her carriage and drag her from it.

A victorious laugh sounded near her ear. "Don't worry, Lady Foxbridge. You will be unbound when we get to our destination. Cooperate like Miss Wythe, and you might live to see Lord Foxbridge again. Don't think that you may ask too many questions, for we want you to be a quiet little lady and do as you are told." He laughed again.

They rode on in silence. Rebecca discerned two clues to tell her where they were going. One was the pungent smell of the salty air. The other was the steady rhythm of the waves crashing themselves to death upon the cliffs. Their path paralleled the narrow beach.

Once again, his arm constricted around her waist just before the horse headed down one of the few paths to the sand below the ledges. Like all the ways, it was steep. If her hands had been free, she would have clung to her captor. All she could do was lean back against his solid strength. When she felt the horse's hoofs slide, she screamed, but little sound emerged from behind the soaked material in her mouth.

"Don't worry, Lady Foxbridge," came the amused voice in her ear. "He is a sure-footed steed. I don't plan on you dying so easily."

A sharp sliver of fear sliced through her. As she should have known from the beginning, this man did not intend to honor any deal he made with Nicholas. Once he had what he wanted, he would kill her. She would have to become as desperate in her attempts to escape as he was in his plans to put an end to her life.

When they stopped on the level strand, the man gathered her in his arms and slid from the side of the horse. He carried her a short distance, then put her on the wet ground. Swiftly, he untied her and removed the cloths around her head.

Rebecca looked around her. It was dusky, but she could see water glistening off the walls of what appeared to be a cave. Beneath her the sand was compacted with water. It smelled of brine and long dead aquatic life. A rough jerk brought her to her feet. Her eyes rose to meet her captor's. He still wore his mask. With a snarl, she reached up to grasp it and pull it away to reveal his identity. Her abused muscles failed her, and he caught her hand before she could touch the material covering his face.

He laughed cruelly as his fingers bit deep into the sensitive bones and muscles of her wrist. His eyes remained riveted on her face which reflected her pain as he tormented her. Bending her arm, he forced her to her knees.

She fought back the tears of agony. She would not let this animal force her to grovel. Blackness filled her mind as the pain pushed her past her limits of enduring what he was doing to her. When he released her, she sagged to the wet sand. She cradled her aching wrist in her other hand. Immediately, she was grasped and pulled to her feet. The epithet she threw in his face was most undignified for Lady Foxbridge to use, but she smiled as she said it.

He chortled before he said, "Don't be foolish, my lady. While I remain anonymous, your chances of survival are much higher than if you learn to recognize my face. Don't compel me to kill you, sweet lady. It would such a waste to have to sever your pretty head from your shoulders. Think of Lord Foxbridge's reaction if he were to receive such as a gift."

Her face paled. "You wouldn't do such a thing! That's barbaric!"

"Don't be so sure. I would hate to do that to you, I must admit." He drew his finger across the center of her throat. "It isn't an easy way to die. I would guess it would be most painful as the knife slits into your soft skin on the first pass. How long it takes for you to die would depend on how fast you drown in your own blood as you gasp for the air which will never reach your lungs." Again, he slid his finger along her throat.

She closed her eyes as she fought to control her revulsion. Although she had lived in a war ripped area, she had never heard of such cruelty. Even the most depraved soldier gave his victim a quicker, easier death. She whispered, "I don't want to die."

"I know, Lady Foxbridge. There is no need to worry about that if you cooperate with me. So far, you have been very naughty, and you have paid with your coachman's life."

A sob ripped from her as she thought of Sims leaning back against the front of the carriage with blood rapidly staining his livery. "You bastard! Why are you doing this to us? You had no reason to kill Sims!" she cried as she struggled to free herself from his painful grip.

Easily he held her as he continued to taunt her. "I told you that you shouldn't ask too many questions. You will learn at the proper time." He chortled at the rage on her face. "I apologize about your coachman. It was a necessary accident. He had been warned not to interfere, and he refused to listen. There is a lesson in that for you, my dear Lady Foxbridge. I have told you to behave or pay the price. The same as he was told."

Pulling her farther back into the cave, he did not let her escape him. When Rebecca tripped on the uneven floor, he chuckled with sadistic delight. More than anything else, she hated his laugh sounding so cruelly at her expense. It disconcerted her that he could read her reactions so easily.

It was as if he knew her.

No, that was impossible. No one, not even Lord Royce, would be so low.

They reached a chasm just where the dim light from the outside world was disappearing. It was a scar about six feet wide cut into the floor. How deep it was she had no idea, for the bottom was lost in the darkness.

"Do not attempt to run away, Lady Foxbridge," her captor warned as he released her arm. "One step, and you will learn that I mean what I have threatened. Do you understand?"

"I understand that you are brutal pig!"

He reached into a pocket of his coat and drew out a long-bladed knife. Even in the twilight, as he turned it before her eyes, she could see the sharp, ten inch blade. He shoved her hard against the wall and pressed the flat of the knife against her neck.

Her scream was totally instinctive as she felt the cooled surface on her skin. Her fingers reached to push the deadly weapon from her, but he moved quicker. As the point of the blade pricked the lobe of her ear, she cried out more in fear than pain. Touching her ear, she felt the wetness of her own blood. This man would keep her alive only long enough to lure Nicholas into his snare. Then he would delight in killing her with the most barbarous methods he could devise. She should let him kill her now, so Nicholas was safe. No, she would not give him the pleasure of slaying her. She would escape and warn her husband.

"Are you ready to be a good girl now, Lady Foxbridge? I truly don't want to hurt you. Don't move. I'll ask you again. Do you understand?"

Her eyes filled with hatred. "I understand."

The man could tell she was willing to obey his orders only because she was defenseless. He had known from the beginning that Lady Foxbridge would not be a swooning, sobbing woman promising anything to escape his plans for her. With a smile she could not see, he put his gloved hand out to her tear-dampened face. It would be much more fun to break this strong lady than to deal with a shrinking flower who docilely would accept his every dictate. "I thought you would understand, my lady, when you learned I was serious."

Rebecca watched as he lit a brand which was waiting there for his use. Her eyes blinked in the sudden brightness. She saw he had not returned the knife to his pocket. It rested in his belt next to his gun. Fearfully, she wet her lips which seemed so dry in terror. In the light, she could see a single board stretched across the chasm.

He ordered her brusquely to cross it.

"I can't!" she gasped. "Please, don't make me do that."

"Afraid of heights, Lady Foxbridge? What a pity! I said you should go now." He rested his hand on the hilt of his knife. It was the only threat he needed to make.

She looked from the weapon to the plank. He would not hesitate to kill her, for he had no reason to keep her alive. As long as Nicholas thought she was alive, he would do what this animal and his men told him to do. At any time, her captor could slay her without ruining his plans. She did not want to end her life here in this dank cave. She had no choice but to cross the board.

Taking a deep breath, she lifted her full skirts and placed her foot on the wooden bridge. It took all her strength of will and desire to survive to shift her weight onto that foot so she could place the other ahead of it. When the board shook, cold sweat rolled along her spine.

Halfway across, she froze in a terror which would not let her move forward or back. Her eyes stared into the pit whose bottom was no more visible in the torchlight than before. To slip would mean her death. Only her desperate yearning to escape from this nightmare alive forced her to move toward the opposite side. Although it was, in truth, a short distance across the board, it seemed to take an eternity to traverse it.

Once she reached the far side, she sank to the ground and put her hands over her icy cheeks as she shook as she had dared not do while on the makeshift span. She ignored the derisive laughter of the man who held her life in his hands. Again she was pulled roughly to her feet and shoved away from the edge of the gap.

"Welcome to your new hall, my lady."

Rebecca looked about in shock. When he lit a candle, she saw they were at the end of the cave. With the split in the floor, this space was effectively cut off from the rest of the world. It was the perfect location for storage by the smugglers who always were rampant along the coast.

The space was not empty. It was clear that this would be her prison, for there was a wooden shipping crate to use as a table as well as a cot. At least, the walls were dry. As they had walked steadily uphill, she guessed they were above the high water line.

Her rage boiled over as she saw the cruelty in the eyes staring at her. Stepping away from her captor, she pretended to be examining the rock-walled room. She said with cool disdain, "If this is my home, sir, then I ask you to leave it posthaste. It isn't my habit to entertain cads and criminals."

"Don't think you can give orders here, Rebecca," he sneered. "This isn't Foxbridge Cloister."

Her eyes grew wide as she heard his easy switch to her given name. When he ran his hand along her bare arm, she pulled away in horror. This man was not interested only in bringing Nicholas to his knees. He wanted to be her lover. That thought was more frightening than any threats he had made so far. She would be unable to halt him if he decided to rape her. In the isolation of this cave in the walls of the cliff, no one would hear her screams.

His arm wrapped around her waist, and he forced her to him. "You want to see the man under the mask, Rebecca?" He ran his hand along her side until it rested on the slender line of her waist. "Soon you shall see the whole man. You will know me very well then. For now, I must bid you farewell. The tide rises, and soon the entrance to this cave will be underwater. You have food and water for tonight. I will return tomorrow with more provisions."

She could tell he was smiling by the way his eyes glistened. He caressed her cheek that was still reddened from his hand striking it. Before she could stop him, his tongue caressed the incision he had made in her ear with his knife. A fire hot pain sliced through her, and she moaned.

Once again he laughed loudly. Picking up the brand from its holder on the wall, he blithely crossed the plank.

"No!" Rebecca cried as she saw him pull it across to his side. Her voice echoed weirdly in the cave. "Don't leave me alone! Please!"

"I shall see you in the morning, my lady. Don't worry, for you'll be safe in my little cage. Have a pleasant evening."

He doused the brand. She could hear his footsteps fading down the corridor, but it was not until he was silhouetted against the egress that she could guess exactly where he was. Coolly, he turned and waved to her, for he knew she would be watching him.

With a sob, Rebecca turned away and sat on the cot. Once again, she hid her face in her hands as she wept out her desperate fear. This faithless man was going to lure Nicholas to his death with her as bait. Then he would kill her after he had raped her. It seemed absurd that she and Nicholas had survived the horrors of the war in America and had adjusted their lives to become the lord and lady of Foxbridge Cloister simply so this madman could kill them.

She could not hope that Nicholas would not try to find her immediately. He would disregard her captor's warning. All involved in this insanity knew that. If Nicholas was forced to play along with this man, he willingly would sacrifice his life for hers never knowing that it had been in vain.

As the dampness of the cave enfolded her in its clammy arms, she pulled the coarse blanket off the cot. She recognized it as a horse blanket. Curiously, she looked for any identifying signs on it. If she had some clue to the origins of the man with the unseen face, she might be able to guess who he was and learn a way to escape.

Rebecca gasped when she saw the monogram in one corner of the heavy woolen coverlet. FC -- Foxbridge Cloister! Her captor had access to the Cloister. He would be there to be sure that Nicholas followed his orders explicitly. Her fear increased tenfold, for the one who would kill them was someone they had trusted.

Somehow she had to discover his identity. Then she must find a way to keep him from completing his plan. Twice Nicholas had escaped death since she had known him. She did not want the third time be the time death succeeded.

Chapter Twenty

Nicholas paced from the solarium, where his mother sat, to the front door.

After watching his disquiet for an hour, Lady Margaret said, "Why are you acting like a caged tiger, Nicholas? They are just a little late. I'm sure they were delayed at Beckwith Grange."

"They should have been back long before this. Rebecca said they would be home before dinnertime. It is past that already." He did not explain why he had expected the carriage to return to Foxbridge Cloister quickly. What he and Rebecca shared enraged his mother. Much more calmly than he felt, he said, "I think I will ride out to meet them."

"Fine!" she snapped. "Just do not feel the fool when you learn they have just been having a pleasant chat with Clarisse and forgot to keep an eye on the time. It's just like that woman you married -- "

Enraged, he turned as he was about to leave. "That's enough, Mother! Both Rebecca and I have had to endure your nasty comments. She has not once complained to me about your crass behavior. In fact, she has asked me more than once not to let you know how your intolerable actions have hurt her and me and Eliza. If nothing else, that should prove to you that she is a lady of the finest caliber. I don't want to hear you speak of her in this manner again. She is my wife. She is Lady Foxbridge. If you can't be pleasant to her, at least, respect her for those two reasons."

She rose. "You should have married Clarisse. She understands the rÙle of a lord's wife. She's not always out riding in the sun without a bonnet and speaking to the servants as if they were her equals. Of course, in Rebecca's case -- "

"I said that was enough, and I meant it. I do not and never have loved Clarisse. I love Rebecca dearly. If you can't accept that, you are welcome to go to London so that you don't have to be sullied by my Yankee wife, as you are so fond of calling her." His fury muted as he looked past her to the windows. "It's getting dark. I'm going to find Rebecca and Eliza. It will give you time to think about what you want to do about changing your attitude toward Rebecca."

Without waiting for her answer, he went out of the room. Gathering his cloak, he was calling to the stableboys before he had slammed the front door behind him. By the time he reached the stableyard, his horse was saddled, and he turned it down the drive at top speed.

It took him only a few minutes to reach the carriage which sat in the middle of the shore road. One glance at the dead coachman told him that the vehicle had been attacked. A wave of pain sliced through him. Later he would have the peace to mourn for his friend. He could do nothing to help Sims, and Eliza and Rebecca might be in horrible trouble. He called out their names.

"Nicholas?" came a whisper so quietly that he was unsure if he had heard it until it was repeated.

He turned to see his sister peering over the lower sill of the window. Her pale face was streaked with tears. Swinging down off his horse, he ripped open the door so hard, it hung from one hinge. He paid it no attention as he reached into the carriage.

Eliza threw herself into his arms and sobbed. Through her hysteria, he could make no sense of her words. He held her close. For a moment, he concentrated on soothing her terror. Glancing past her, he saw the coach was empty. His horror returned double strong.

"Eliza, listen to me!" He took her face in his hands and forced her tear filled eyes up to his. "Eliza, where is Rebecca?"

"He took her."

"He? Who?"

When she could not answer, he slapped her face to break the grip of her panic. With a gasp, she caught her breath and almost immediately regained control of herself. Eliza was as strong as her brother, and she fought to submerge the images of the masked bandit flitting through her mind. Clutching her brother's coat, she shivered.

"I should have come home, but I was too scared they were still around. I didn't know what to do when they left with Rebecca." Her voice was a choked whisper interrupted by the remnants of her sobs.

"Who? Who took Rebecca?" Desperation colored his words. Scars of violence surrounded them. He wanted to find his wife before she could become the next victim.

"I don't know, Nicholas," she murmured while her eyes grew haunted as she recalled the horrendous scene. "He was dressed like a highwayman and wore a domino over his face. There were four or five others with him that I could see and hear. He told me to tell you that you should not look for Rebecca, that he will contact you at the masquerade ball Saturday night. He said if you look for her before then, he will hurt Rebecca."

"He dares to use her to threaten me?" Rage etched his face.

She reached up and took his face in her hands. "Don't be foolish enough to chase after them when you are this upset. All you will do is force them to murder Rebecca. I don't think he wants to do that. He doesn't seem interested in killing her."

He glanced involuntarily at the corpse on the top of the coach. "It seems they have some interest in murder. Why did they shoot Sims?"

"Rebecca tried to escape." She shivered as the memories became reality again. Tears rolled down her cheeks faster as she looked at the murdered coachman, then away again. "He hit her, Nicholas. He hit her hard. You know how fond Sims is -- was of Rebecca. When he saw what the man did, Sims was going to shoot him. His comrades shot Sims first. It made the man really angry. I don't think he wanted them to kill anyone."

Nicholas controlled his wrath. It was the time for clear-headed thought, not taking off in a worthless search that might endanger Rebecca more. Her abductor obviously had plotted this out well and had waited his chance when Rebecca was traveling the lonely, country roads with no protection other than her young sister-in-law and a middle-aged coachman. Her abduction had not been by a highwayman who had stopped the carriage for jewels and money, but had discovered someone far more valuable. If that had been the case, there would have been a demand for ransom. This kidnapper did not want wealth. He wanted something else, and Nicholas was sure his life would be the price of Rebecca's deliverance. If that was what was demanded, he would be sure his wife was guaranteed safety before he died.

"Which way did they go?" he asked in soft resignation.

"Toward Foxbridge Cloister."

On the trip out, he had seen no signs of the road being traveled by a troop of men. It was too dark to do any tracking. The first thing in the morning, he would do a little discreet checking. He did not want to endanger Rebecca, but he did not intend to sit idly for two days and let those men do as they wished with her. His face paled under his permanent tan. It did not take much imagination to know the violence she might face while in the far from tender care of her jailers. How pretty Rebecca had looked when she had left with Eliza! How enticing she would appear to any man! A man who abducted a woman and shot a man would not have any remorse about rape.

"Come on, Eliza. I'll take you home on Donar. I'll send someone back for the coach." He took her hand and lifted her onto his horse. "There's nothing to be gained from standing here in the twilight. You should go to bed. Curtis is due back this evening from his business in London." He smiled darkly. "I'm glad he will be to watch over you and Mother, because I won't have time to do that."

"What are you going to do, Nicholas?"

He mounted and turned the horse toward Foxbridge Cloister. "I'm going to find her. If I haven't before Saturday night, I will do anything they want to get her back. It doesn't matter what it costs. All I want is Rebecca returned unharmed."

As she heard the grimness in his voice, Eliza knew her brother meant exactly what he had vowed. He would trade anything, including his own life, in exchange for his wife's release. She wondered if Curtis would do the same for her. She hoped she would never have to find that out.

When they arrived home, he left her sitting on the horse while he spoke quietly to the stablehands. Glum expressions were on their faces as Lord Foxbridge told of Sims's murder. Only when he mentioned that Lady Foxbridge had been kidnapped did the rigid visages turn to fury. Nearly as much as their lord they were outraged at the audacious behavior of the unidentified man and his gang. Two went running to bring the coach to the estate. The rest were cautioned to be calm and speak to nobody of what they knew.

Eliza was helped from the horse by her brother, but her knees were so weak, she could barely walk. Nicholas simply scooped her up and carried her into the house. He did not pause in the hallway to answer Brody's questions, but took her to her bedroom. Setting her on the bed, he tugged on the pull to call Collette. He knew Rebecca's maid would be much calmer than Eliza's vaporous servant.

"You want me, my lord?" Collette asked, bafflement on her round face.

"Will you help Eliza?"

"Yes, my lord." Glancing at the young woman's colorless face, she dared to ask, "What has happened?"

Nicholas had been about to storm out of the bedroom to wait in the sitting room, but he paused. Rage pulled his lips so tight that white puckered around his mouth. "Rebecca has been kidnapped. Sims is dead."

In horror, she crossed herself and whispered a prayer. She listened as Lord Foxbridge tersely told her what he knew and ordered her to help Eliza change from her traveling clothes. Although the maid's face grew pale, she simply nodded. On Lord Foxbridge's face, she could see his suffering which would be far deeper than any the rest of them could feel. As much as the staff loved Lady Foxbridge, to this man, the blue-eyed woman was the wellspring of his life.

Nicholas paced as he had before he had gone to search for the carriage. His fingers itched to be at the throat of the man who threatened his wife. He would take great pleasure in choking him slowly while the criminal begged for a mercy he had not afforded Rebecca. Over and over in his mind, he could hear Eliza's words that the man had struck Rebecca viciously. Her captor would never beat Rebecca into submission. Her stubbornness would bring her only more pain. Such treatment would make her perversely more intolerant of her captivity. He had to find her before she destroyed herself like a wild bird beating itself to death against the bars of its cage. Rebecca would be no more accepting of her prison, wherever and whatever it was.

Without knocking, he returned to his sister's bedroom. Collette was assisting her back into bed. Quietly, he ordered, "Tell me again what the man said, Eliza. Try to remember his exact words."

She trembled as she drew the blankets around her lacy nightcoat. "I will try, but I was so terrified much of it is a blur." Although she wanted to forget, she was the only witness. She must remember every detail to help Rebecca. She repeated the words that the man behind the domino had told her to convey to her brother.

Nicholas nodded with a grim smile. "It's as I thought. Rebecca's abductor must be one of the guests. I still don't understand why this has happened."

"There have been rumors that Rebecca is working for the government of the United States and that she wants to see the monarchy deposed here, Nicholas. That is the reason, it is rumored, that she wanted her school. To indoctrinate the children with her ideas of democracy."

He stared at her in astonishment, then laughed. "Rebecca? Trying to topple the British government single-handedly? That's absurd! No one would believe that!"

Softly she said, "I think someone has. Why else would they kidnap her? They must think that you agree. There is no other reason why they would abduct Rebecca. She is Lady Foxbridge, but, if it was money or favors they wanted, they would not risk waiting until Saturday before they contacted you. They would want to make the deal quickly."

Although he yearned to scoff at her words, she might be correct. All it would take is one craven fool to convince his comrades that Rebecca Wythe was a threat, and she would be easy prey. In these strange days, such idiocy could be believed. If Rebecca was in the hands of a madman, then it was all the more reason to find her as swiftly as possible.

A knock interrupted his thoughts. He opened it to see his mother's colorless face. She was unsteady as she stepped into the room, so he took her arm comfortingly. "Is it true, Nicholas? Is Rebecca gone? Where is Eliza?"

He nodded. "Eliza is here. Someone disguised as a highwayman stopped the carriage, killed Sims, and rode off with Rebecca."

"Killed Sims?" she repeated in shock. The coachman had been at Foxbridge Cloister when she had arrived as a young bride. She could not imagine him being murdered on these quiet, country roads.

"He was trying to protect Rebecca." His calm was splitting to show the pain beneath his normally unbreachable faÁade.

She shook off his hand and crossed the room to gaze down at her daughter. "Are you unharmed, child?"

"Except for my nerves, Mother. It's Rebecca who we need to worry about." Eliza's voice cracked as tears began to slide along her face again. "It was horrible. The man had a gun which he held to her head. Those horrible men took her with them. They are going to hurt her more."

Lady Margaret looked at her son compassionately. She sat on the bed and held her devastated daughter in her arms. "What are you going to do, Nicholas? Is there anything I can do to help?"

In astonishment, he stared at her. Less than an hour ago, she had been defaming his wife. His eyebrows arched with typical insolence. "What do you think I plan to do? I intend to find her. Do you think I am going to leave my wife in the hands of those men?"

"Don't look at me like that. Although I truly wish you had married someone other than a Yankee, I never wished Rebecca such ill fortune." She sighed as she finally accepted the inevitable when it might be too late. "As you said, Nicholas, she is your wife. We will do whatever is necessary to get her back safely. What do they want? I hope they aren't too anxious. It will take a couple of days for us to have the solicitors bring gold from London."

"They don't want money, Mother. Certainly, they are in no hurry. They won't be contacting me until Saturday night at the ball." He paused in his pacing to stare directly at the two women. "What they want is me, although I have no idea why. Those who I know are my enemies would not be so ungentlemanly to attack me through Rebecca. They would confront me directly. If only I had some clue as to who they were, I might be able to find her before -- " A second knock halted him. Irritably, he demanded, "Who is it?"

"Curtis. Brody told me you were all up here. May I speak with you, Nicholas?"

As soon as the door was opened, Eliza propelled herself off the bed into the arms of her sweetheart. He pulled her to him as he tried to comfort her. She sobbed with the same strong emotion as she had wept when her brother had discovered her in the coach driven by a dead man.

Over her head, Curtis glanced at the haggard faces of the other Wythes. "What's wrong? Where's Rebecca?"

"She has been kidnapped," replied Nicholas shortly.

"Kidnapped?" His brow furrowed as he regarded the lord with an uneasy, half-smile. "You're joking, aren't you?"

Viciously, the distraught man turned to him. "Do I sound as if I am joking? My wife is in the hands of some madman. That is no reason to joke, Langston!"

Curtis took a step backwards when facing the fury of the taller man. For a moment, fear shone on his face. It was replaced by sympathy as he looked at Eliza who clung to him. He took a deep breath before saying, "Excuse me, Nicholas. That was an unforgivably crass remark. It's just that this situation is hard to believe. Why Rebecca?"

"I have been asking myself exactly the same thing. I would guess it is to get to me. Rebecca has no enemies who would be involved with something like this." He did not need to clarify his statement. He considered his wife's only enemy to be a jealous Clarisse Beckwith. Suddenly his shoulders sagged. The pressure was growing too intense. "I'm going to our rooms to do some thinking. I must get Rebecca home safely. If you will excuse me. . ."

His mother came over and put her arms around him. Tears bubbled from the corners of her eyes. "She'll be all right, Nicholas. Rebecca is strong. She will fight them."

With horror blatant on his face, he asked, "But, don't you see that is what I fear most? Rebecca will fight them, and they will retaliate by hurting her." He paid no attention to his sister's strangled gasp. "Don't wait supper for me."

"Rest, son. She will be in our prayers."

He nodded. Silently, he went down the hall to the suite which belonged to the lord of Foxbridge Cloister and his lady. He closed the heavy door and gazed across the sitting room toward the fireplace. By the chair where Rebecca sat in the evenings were her papers and books she used to prepare lessons for her little school which had fueled rumors leading to this insanity. Her slippers peeked from under a chair. She had kicked them off last night when their kisses had lured them into bed.

With a moan, he walked into the bedroom. On the bed, her nightgown waited. His hands wrapped around the massive upright of the tester as he leaned his head against it. If he closed his eyes, he could hear her light laugh and see her sparkling eyes as she ran to embrace him. He could visualize her face below his lost in the passion they shared. Another image flashed through his mind as he recalled her sleeping next to him, her dark hair a cloud upon the white pillowcase and her body curled against his.

For the first time since they had consummated their marriage and discovered the depth of their love, he would sleep without Rebecca at his side. He sighed as he tried to keep the sorrow deep inside him.

At first light, he would be searching for the woman he loved. He would be wide awake at dawn, for he would not be sleeping at all tonight. He could hope only that clues to Rebecca's whereabouts would be less elusive than sleep through this tortured night.

Chapter Twenty-One

Rebecca was not surprised her captor returned the next morning soon after the waters receded from the mouth of the cave. She did not know whether to be pleased or not when he came with another. For a moment, she had to be happy simply because he had come back. It would have been so easy for him to abandon her. Easy, but she knew he wanted to enjoy her torture. She was less fearful of the upcoming interview with another to watch. Surely he would not abuse her so violently when one of his men witnessed it. Then she was not so certain. These animals most likely would enjoy seeing one of their number hurt her.

As she watched them walk along the long passage from the beach, she wondered why he had brought the other man with him. He had proven that he could control her effectively by himself. The reason became obvious when the leader drew his pistol and trained it on her as the second man pushed the plank back into place.

He laughed as he saw her expression. "Just in case you got the idea that you could knock me off when I cross, Rebecca. It wouldn't be very smart to do that. No one but my men and I know where you are. How long do you think it would take you to starve to death if you sent us to our deaths?"

Stubbornly, she refused to answer. She would not delight this man by showing her fear. Through the night, as the candle burned lower and lower, she had wondered if he truly would come back and bring her more food and light. She knew how small her chances of survival were whether her captor lived or died. She had sat on the hard bed and watched the tidal waters advance slowly along the floor to the rim of the crevice where the man with the gun stood. As water filled the entrance to the cave far down the tunnel, night had taken over her world. By the time the waters began to recede, she had known that she had to find a way to escape before this man found time to kill her. He would never let her go back to Nicholas with her tale of abuse.

Only the leader came across the plank. When he was on her side, he signaled his companion to wait for him outside the cave. He tossed a pair of packages of food and a canister of water on her bed and placed several candles on the table. When she continued to ignore him, he took her arm and spun her to face him.

She could not see his appreciative smile as he stared at his lovely captive. Even though her gown was dirtied and her hair tangled, she looked as beautiful as when he had pulled her from the Foxbridge carriage. For the first time, she was his to enjoy as he wished. He had been waiting a long time for the opportunity to have this woman for his own. Without the imposing Lord Foxbridge to protect her, she would be easy prey when he chose to take her sweet softness.

He twisted her arm painfully behind her and was pleased to hear her involuntary mew of pain. "Not even a thank you for your provisions, Rebecca? Don't they teach you better manners than that in the colonies?"

Her blue eyes raised to meet his. In her cold stare, there was no sign of the terror she had experienced for the last eighteen hours. He shifted his eyes away, unable to meet her unrelenting gaze for long. With a curse, he pushed her toward the bed.

"Play games with me, Rebecca, and you will be sorry. I hope you can take orders better than that foolish husband of yours. He is trying to find your trail, but he is unlikely to trace you here. Even if he gets as far as where we were in the forest, all the hoofprints going in multiple directions will confuse him. Of course, our way was disguised very well, first by the rocks over our heads, then by the waves which so neatly washed away the prints of the horse we rode here." He laughed his maniacal laugh. "Don't worry, my dear Lady Foxbridge. If he gets close to your little hideaway, you will know about it." Putting his hands around her neck, he said, "It will be the very last thing you know."

Her hands reached up to grab his wrists as he slowly tightened his grip on her throat. For the first time, the fear she felt was visible on her face. Rebecca clawed at his arms as he forced her back onto the cot. Before her eyes, his cloth covered face steadily turned into a blur. The sound of the rushing ocean waves filled her ears as she lost consciousness.

The first thing she heard when she opened her eyes was her warder's chuckle. She looked up into the mask which hid his face from her. Involuntarily, she cried out in denial as his fingers brushed the bare skin above the neckline of her gown. Although bright speckles of light danced before her eyes, she sat and backed away from him. Pressing against the clammy wall, she stared up at him in horror. She could not see the rest of his face, but his eyes told her of his lust for her.

When he reached for her, his hands were not hidden by the riding gloves he had worn for her abduction. She screamed. He did not touch her. Instead he picked up the pendant Nicholas had given her the previous day. With a sharp tug, he ripped it from her neck. Her hands stretched out to take it back, but he slapped them away.

"Is this precious, Lady Foxbridge?"

As he waved it before her, she tried to grasp it again. He kept it just beyond her fingers. Frustration raised her voice as she ordered, "Give it back. It isn't valuable, except to me."

"To you and Lord Foxbridge, do you mean? He would know it was yours, wouldn't he?"

"Yes," she admitted slowly. "Nicholas gave it to me. Sir, it has no real worth. Give it back to me."

He laughed and tossed it lightly in the air. When he caught it, he secured it in an inner pocket of his coat. "I think I will see it is returned to Lord Foxbridge. As I said, he is ignoring my instructions. Luckily for you, my dear, you were wearing this. I will send this to him as a warning. I would have hated to maim your pretty body."

"You won't intimidate Nicholas!" she asserted.

"I think you are wrong, my lady. When this bit of gold is returned to his lordship with its accompanying note, I think I will soon be reporting to you that Nicholas Wythe is being much more patient. The note will tell him that if he continues to disregard my orders, he will be given more of your jewelry next time." He picked up her left hand. "I will send him your wedding band with your slender finger still wearing it."

In disgust, she pulled away. Her brow furrowed as he turned to the table where the candle burned brightly. When he blew it out to enwrap them in darkness, she blindly tried to rise from the bed. She did not need to guess what he intended to do to her. She knew.

He grasped her shoulders and pressed her to the thin mattress. Her cries of protest were silenced as he put his mouth over hers. In the deep gloom, he did not worry about her seeing his face well enough to recognize him in the light, so he had removed his mask. His lips held hers captive.

Fighting her revulsion, she lifted her hands to slide them along his arms. She must have any clue to learn the identity of the man who had imprisoned her. When his tongue forced its way into her mouth, she struggled not to gag. At the same time, her fingers stroked the surf-dampened strands of his stylishly long hair. Slowly, she drew her hands forward. If she could touch his face, she might be able to discern some feature to solve the mystery.

As her fingertips rested on his cheeks, his broad hand came up to wrap around both of them. In one smooth motion, he pulled them to rest on the pillow over her head. "You will never learn, will you, Rebecca?" he growled. "I'm beginning to lose patience with you. You are nowhere near as clever as you seem to think you are. I enjoyed your sweet touch, my lady, although I discerned immediately what you planned. Learn to behave, or you will have more harsh lessons than this one."

She cried out as he struck her viciously. Something sharp cut into her cheek, and a flash of pain seared through her. She forgot it when his hand grasped the top of her gown's bodice and ripped it to reveal the whiteness of her chemise which glowed ghostly in the dark. His body imprisoned her as she struggled to avoid his fingers slipping beneath her camisole to caress her. With her hands held securely over her head, she could not push him away. Not releasing her, he bent to place his mouth against her bared skin as his hand raised her full skirts to allow him to stroke her legs.

She moaned in complete horror. The love she had shared with Nicholas made this man's pawing even more disgusting. As his mouth moved with leisurely appreciation along the curve her breast, her fingers clenched in impotent fury.

When his fingers encountered the scars on her right leg, he murmured against her skin, "It is a pity that your perfect body was maimed. How lucky for me that you weren't killed that day! I wouldn't have had this opportunity to enjoy you."

She spat a curse at him, and he laughed. When his mouth touched her skin again, it was not gentle, and she cried out in pain. This was his greatest perversion, for he made the motions which should be loving into a vehicle for his revenge against her and her husband for some unknown crime.

An impatient shout came from the other side of the chasm. The man sat and relit the candle. When she realized, with astonishment, that he was not going to rape her immediately, she saw his mask was firmly in place once more.

Her hands held the tatters of her gown closed. Not that it mattered, for he had explored her body well enough to know what was hidden beneath her clothes.

"You're fun to play with, Rebecca," he taunted. "We shall have a lot of fun after I take care of your lord husband." His hand caressed her bruised skin where his cruelty had injured her.

"Why?" she gasped as she brushed tears from her eyes. "Why are you doing this to us? Why do you hate Nicholas and me so much?"

His fingers touched her face again lightly. He frowned as he saw the cut on her cheek and knew it had happened when he had struck her. As he had done the day before, lifting his mask slightly, he kissed the bloodstains which discolored her face. He laughed maliciously as she flinched away.

"I certainly don't hate you, Rebecca. If things had been different, I would have liked to be your very good friend. You have all the attributes of a fine mistress. It was unfortunate for you that Lord Foxbridge decided to take a Yankee bride. Although it will be a shame to destroy you, it is, I am afraid, ultimately necessary. Be a good girl, my lady, and perhaps I will let you view your husband's demise."

"No! You can't kill Nicholas!" She was willing to prostitute herself in any manner this man wanted to save her husband's life. "Please, sir, do not kill Nicholas. I beg for you to reconsider this plot you have embarked upon. I will do whatever you wish if you will spare him. I will become your mistress if you want. I will get you money if that is what you want. I will perjure myself to keep you from paying for this crime. Anything, as long as you don't hurt Nicholas."

"Rebecca," he said, sadistically, "you will do anything I want you to do anyway. You don't seem able to understand that you are mine now. I don't need to bargain with you to obtain what I want from you. What I want from Lord Foxbridge is his life. That you will get for me also."

She leapt to her feet. "No! You won't kill Nicholas! I will kill myself first before I will let that happen." Desperately, she cried, "I will leap into the chasm. Then you will have no hostage to lure Nicholas here."

As she walked toward the edge of the break in the floor, the masked bandit grabbed her shoulders and spun her to face him. Fury burned in his shadowed eyes. "I have been courteous to you thus far, my lady. If necessary, I can have you bound hand and foot and left on the bed over there. If you make such foolish threats again, I will do just that." His eyes narrowed as they dropped to ogle her ripped dress. "Of course, I would complete what we sampled on your cot before I tied you up and left you. Give me your word that you will not attempt suicide, or I will take you now."

Rebecca had had no intention of taking her own life. It had been only a desperate threat. She intended to escape from her prison alive. Haughtily she stated, "I won't kill myself, sir."

He laughed the laugh she despised. "I will see you tomorrow, my lady, both before and after the ball. I shall tell you all the details of the last social event the present Lord Foxbridge celebrates at Foxbridge Cloister."

Numb with shock at his threatening words, she stared at him as he swaggered away from her to cross the bridge. Even the nagging thought of a clue to his identity failed to reach her conscious mind. All she could think of was Nicholas walking into whatever trap this man had set for him. She could only hope that Nicholas could prove a match for this man and his cohorts.

How well he had bested colonial troops to return to his own unit when he was hurt! He had used a much younger Rebecca as his ally to deliver the message which abetted his rescue. She remained his ally. Certainly he could deal with these criminals as readily. Her heart cried out across the unknown distance urging him to be careful. If this enemy killed him, her own life would not be worth living.

She huddled on the mattress and hid her face as the tears began anew. The salt of her tears burned painfully against the wound on her face. Even her tears could not wash away the ache and the terror of knowing that the man hidden behind the domino intended to kill Nicholas outright and then debase her before he murdered her as well.

For the first time, she began to believe he might succeed.

Chapter Twenty-Two

When Nicholas entered Beckwith Grange, the butler stared in surprise, but regained his aplomb to ask the unexpected guest to wait for Miss Clarisse in the drawing room. Nicholas stood in the middle of the room where he had awaited Clarisse on so many other occasions and found it impossible that more than six years had passed since he last had been in this room. A lifetime ago, yet only a moment ago.

How easily he remembered the night when they had had the argument which led him to purchase a commission and go away to the American colonies just in time for the hostilities to break out. Clarisse had become so sure of herself that she offered him an ultimatum. He must marry her or she was going to sever their romantic liaison.

He chuckled to himself as he thought of how terrified he had been of the thought of spending his whole life trying to keep track of Clarisse Beckwith as she sought to satisfy her promiscuity. From the time he foolishly had asked her to be his wife to that moment, he had had time to think of what his life would have been like with that woman as his mate. It was not one he had wanted.

He turned as he heard the red-haired woman enter the room. Her dress swished across the glistening wood with the soft whisper of satin. Holding out her hands, she gave him a sympathetic smile he knew was totally false. Clarisse would be delighted to see her despised rival disappear permanently.

At a late breakfast after searching fruitlessly for Rebecca, Nicholas had learned from Eliza why she had asked Rebecca to come with her to Beckwith Grange and the words exchanged before they left for Foxbridge Cloister. He had convinced Eliza that the abduction was not her fault for trying to smooth the differences between Clarisse and Rebecca. At the same time, he had known he must pay a visit to the country home himself. Wrapped in his grief, he was sure only one person could help him.

"Oh, Nicholas, my poor dear." Clarisse kissed him warmly on the cheek as she took his hands in hers. "How devastated you must be! Poor Rebecca! When I think of those ghastly men waylaying her and Eliza, I will tell you the truth. I was so terrified I could not sleep all night."

Coolly, he answered, "You need have no concerns. They were interested only in Rebecca. They think they can force me to do anything to save her."

"If they are eager to hurt you, Nicholas, certainly none of your friends are safe!" she argued. How she wished he would let her past that frigid front which used to crumble so easily for her! He treated her like he treated everyone, except that Yankee bumpkin he had married. Around Rebecca, he panted like a lad in the throes of first love. She had found the whole situation disgusting, but, perhaps, that was all over. Keeping her voice a soft invitation, she asked, "What do you plan to do? Has there been any news?"

He walked across the room. Picking up the decanter, he glanced back at her. She motioned for him to help himself. He poured two glasses and brought one to her. As he moved, his black cape flapped out behind him like the wings of an avenging angel.

Clarisse felt a shiver ripple through her. Her yearning for his touch was mixed with superstitious fear. She was glad she was not involved in this plot against Lady Foxbridge.

Taking a drink of the brandy, Nicholas said, "I received a missive from Rebecca's captors late this morning. They are keeping a close eye on me to be sure that I follow their instructions. With the note was a broken necklace I know she was wearing when she came over here yesterday." His gaze sought across the room to the flames on the fireplace as he remembered hooking the useless clasp around Rebecca's neck after they had enjoyed love together in the early afternoon. Raising his glass, he drained it neatly. "The note told me to stop looking for her, or they would send me her wedding band next with her finger in it."

Clarisse turned her head as she fought the nausea in her stomach. There was no use pretending she did not hate Rebecca, but she did not like the idea of her rival being tortured. A clean, simple death would have satisfied her completely. All she wanted was Rebecca out of Nicholas's life, so he would come back into hers in the same way he had nearly a decade ago.

As if he did not notice her motion, Nicholas continued, "I'm not able to do anything, but what I have been ordered to do. The ball must be held as planned. Not only is that the place where the blackguards are going to contact me with their list of demands, it isn't fair to Eliza to delay the formal announcement of her and Curtis's engagement."

"How brave you are," she whispered as her fingers settled on his arm. Beneath his wool coat, she could feel the steel of his muscles and ached for these limbs around her.

"Not brave. Shackled by these fools who dare to take what is mine." He stamped back to the decanter and refilled his glass. "I must go through this parody of a ball. It is because of that that I have called this afternoon, Clarisse. Would you act as hostess for me tomorrow night? I know it is a large favor, but neither Mother nor Eliza feel up to it."

Clarisse's green eyes glowed with her obvious delight. This was the answer to her dreams. To be at Nicholas's side, greeting their guests in what once had been the medieval monastery's refectory. Together they would lead off the opening dance in the full view of everyone who had laughed at Clarisse Beckwith for waiting in vain for more than six years for Nicholas Wythe. Perhaps it had not been in vain, after all.

"I would be pleased to help you. You know I would do nearly anything for you," she purred. "How difficult for you to be forced to go through with this ball! Yet, if the beasts who have Rebecca insist this be so, what can you do but comply? I wish there was more I could do to help you forget your unhappiness." She moved so her curves brushed his arm in an open invitation.

Although she had meant her words to be enticingly suggestive, she gasped as his strong arm hooked around her waist and pulled her to him. After all the times he had ignored her hints to return to the relationship they had had before he left for America, it was a shock that he would accept her offer when Rebecca was in deadly peril.

His voice was a soft caress as his black eyes pierced her to her rapidly beating heart. "Come with me to Foxbridge Cloister. Stay with me and help me forget in the way only you can."

Involuntarily, she whispered, "But, Rebecca -- "

"Rebecca is as good as dead, my scarlet vixen, if she isn't already. Just because they are sending me her necklace is no indication that she is still alive. The facts are plain. Her abductors will never release her to bring them to trial before the magistrates." He bent to tease her ear with gentle nibbles as he had done when they had been lovers so long ago.

Clarisse moaned and pressed closer to him, delighted by his touch and the nickname she had been sure he had forgotten.

Against her neck, he whispered, . "I must get used to my life without Rebecca. I know you will help, my dear." Slowly he released her. "Go, and ready yourself to come to Foxbridge Cloister. I must return immediately."

Bemused, she nodded and rushed upstairs to pack what she would need for her night at Foxbridge Cloister. She hoped and expected it would be only the first of many she would spend there. Nicholas had come to her. He was hers again. There was reason finally to believe that the day was coming when the title of Lady Foxbridge would be hers as well.

She smiled victoriously as she pulled from her armoire a special peignoir she had despaired of ever wearing. How long ago she had ordered it when she had expected Nicholas would agree to her demand to marry her! It had been a surprise when he had left without a backward glance. She could feel no sorrow for Rebecca's death if it brought Nicholas back to her arms. Things would be the way they should have been. He could mourn for his wife's tragic demise the prerequisite year before they married, but there was no reason for him to be lonely. It seemed that he had not been as enamored with his colonial bride as he had pretended.

Thinking of it, she decided the relationship between Nicholas and Rebecca had seemed strange from the beginning. It was most like the honorable Nicholas Wythe to accept the fact that he was married to a woman he did not love. He would never have come back here to wed another. So he had made the best of an unhappy situation and acted as if he adored the wife he was bound to through a mistake he had made so long ago.

With a grin to her reflected self in her dressing table mirror, she rang for her maid so she could leave instructions with her for bringing her gown for the masquerade to the Cloister. She would dress there for the ball. Her costume was of a young Juliet pining for her dearly beloved suitor. The vigil was coming to an end. She sat to wait with uncharacteristic patience for Marie as she enjoyed visions of spending the night with Nicholas in that massive bed.

He stood at the bottom of the stairs as she descended with her bag in her hand. Disquieted by the fire in his gaze, she lowered her eyes as she took his hand. Silently, he took her bag. Instead of the warm delight she expected at Nicholas's touch, she felt a chill race along her spine. It was as if she were signing a covenant with Lucifer himself.

When Nicholas turned to smile at her, her unease increased. Firmly Clarisse told herself that she was acting like a guilt-ridden mistress when it was obvious that he intended this to be the renewal of their love affair interrupted so rudely by his decision to fight for King George. No one could accuse her of forcing her attentions on a bereaved man when he was the one who had approached her.

At his side in the open carriage, she cuddled close. With a smooth motion, his arm encircled her as he brought her mouth under his. Clarisse forgot her concerns as she was swept away by feelings she had known only with him. None of her other numerous lovers had offered these raptures.

As he raised his mouth from hers, she asked softly, "Do you think we should be so intimate where everyone can see? I mean -- "

He chuckled shortly. "Since when have you cared that anyone sees us kissing, my scarlet vixen? You were pleased enough to do so to try to hurt Rebecca."

"That was before I realized that you were serious about your marriage." She had the decency to blush as she recalled his anger. With a smile, she told herself he was no longer enraged at her.

"Shall we go home to Foxbridge Cloister?" he whispered.

"Oh, yes, Nicholas." She rested her head on his shoulder as he slapped the reins on the horse.

*** *** ***

If Brody was shocked that his lord would bring Miss Beckwith to Foxbridge Cloister under the present circumstances, he wisely did not show it. That tranquillity required all of his years' experience of carefully cultivated unemotionalism. Inside he wondered if his lord had gone mad with his grief over the missing Lady Foxbridge. Only that would explain why he would bring his ex-mistress the Cloister as he never had in the past. His eyes widened as he saw how the woman clung to Lord Foxbridge's arm. Could it be that she was being brought to replace his wife who had been gone for only a day? Although the idea seemed too bizarre, it appeared true.

The butler felt rage like he had never known flash through him. From the self-satisfying Bradford Wythe, this would not have been a surprise, but not from the present lord. Brody was very fond of Lady Foxbridge, and he did not like seeing her husband treating her disappearance as a convenience so he could install his harlot at the Cloister.

All he could say was, "Good evening, my lord. Welcome to Foxbridge Cloister, Miss Beckwith. My lord, the ballroom is waiting your inspection as you requested." As the two turned to go, Brody added with his sorrow evident in his voice, "Mademoiselle Pacquette delivered Lady Foxbridge's gown, for she had not heard of her ladyship's abduction. I told her to put it in your suite, my lord. I hope that was correct."

Nicholas coldly replied, "It doesn't matter where that costume is. I doubt if Rebecca will be here to wear it. If you would let Esther know that Miss Beckwith will be staying for dinner, I would appreciate it."

He nodded. He had seen the bag Lord Foxbridge held and knew that the woman was staying past the meal. It was inconceivable that Lord Foxbridge was having her spend the night in Foxbridge Cloister, but the improbable was becoming the normal.

As if it was an afterthought, Nicholas handed the small bag to his butler. "Take this up to my suite, Brody. Collette can handle it from there."

For a moment, rebellion flared in the old man's eyes, but it faded as he saw the fire in his lord's. The expression on Lord Foxbridge's face was one he had never seen of hardness, hatred, and the black desire to do exactly as he wished. The abduction of his lady had caused the gentle Nicholas to vanish to be replaced by the demon he was accused of resembling.

"Yes, my lord. It shall be as you request."

Taking Clarisse's hand, he placed it on his arm. "Come with me, and we can look over the ballroom. Then, if you have any concerns, you can have them fixed before you assume your rÙle as hostess."

"That sounds wonderful," she replied in a love-filled voice.

Brody watched with ill-concealed disgust as they walked toward the older wing of the house. As he bent to pick up the bag he had placed on the floor, he saw the astonished eyes of other servants who had watched the exchange in the hall. For once, he did not reprimand them for spying unabashedly on the family. What they had seen and overheard was so astounding that it would stop any of them in their tracks.

Nicholas had his arm firmly around Clarisse's waist as they wandered slowly toward the ballroom. When he reached the large, double doors, he swung them wide to reveal the room that had not been used for many years. It was a huge room that had been used as a dining room for the monks when the monastery had been at the height of its glory. The windows were high in the wall to capture the light from the sun and bring it down to the stone floor beneath the peaked roof far above them. Even the ceiling beams were ten feet below the peak of the roof which was over twenty-five feet from the floor. At one side was a raised platform where the abbot would have had his table.

Many changes had been made in the intervening centuries. A minstrel's gallery had been added part way up the wall. It was accessible by a door from the upper hall. Doorways cut into the walls allowed access to the present-day kitchen. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling to make it bright in the night. Benches had been added to the walls for those who did not wish to dance.

As they walked into the room, Nicholas noticed a motion in the shadows. His first thought of Rebecca's abductors were dashed when he saw that it was a child-sized form.

"Come out here!" he ordered sharply. As the child walked toward him, he recognized him as Greggy who had taken over the choir from Rebecca. "What are you doing here?"

For once the child did not act overwhelmed to be in the presence of his lord. Correctly, he bowed while touching his forelock, but it was only a cursory motion. His eyes filled with surprise to see the woman by Lord Foxbridge's side. Even at his young age, Greggy knew the significance that Miss Beckwith once had had in his lord's life. It shook him to see her with her hand placed so possessively on the man's arm.

His voice was clear as he stated, "My lord, I have heard Lady Foxbridge is missing. I wanted to find out if it is true. I have heard so many lies about her, so I wanted to know if this story is true."

Tersely, Nicholas said, "It is true." He did not have to look at Clarisse to know her lips were pursed tightly at the youngster's barbed comment which could be directed only at her.

"Can we help, my lord? I know all of us in the school will want to help. We love Lady Foxbridge, my lord. She has made us proud of ourselves. We want to do more than simply attend the prayer vigil that Reverend Middleton is having at the church tonight and every night until she is home safe. Do you want us to find her? There are few places around here where they could hide that we cannot find her."

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a note. "I understand you can read quite well. If so, read this."

The youngster took the message from the self-styled highwayman. His brow furrowed as he picked his way through the words, some of which were unfamiliar. When he had finished it, his face paled at the threat to the lady he admired so deeply. Silently, he handed it back to the waiting man. "I understand, my lord. We will do nothing to endanger Lady Foxbridge. You can be sure of that. If you want us at any time, don't hesitate to call us."

For a moment, the brittle surface of Nicholas's face splintered into a near smile. The child had the demeanor of a vassal knight offering his services to his lord. He could not help being touched by this simple show of the love Rebecca had inspired in of these children. "I will remember that, Greggy. Go home, and wait until you are notified before you do anything. It's all we can do."

With a bow and a soft farewell, the lad ran to the door leading to the gardens and opened it to go vanished into the night.

Clarisse watched as it closed quietly before she demanded, "Why didn't you tell him what you told me about your opinion that Rebecca is dead already?" She had not thought that he would continue to welcome these urchins in his home since his wife and her radical ideas were gone.

He shrugged as he moved to gaze up at one row of windows along the wall. "Why rush the inevitable? If I had told him that, the news would have been all over the shire in hours. Then Rebecca's captors would know their game was over. I do not want them to escape my revenge for daring to take something that belonged to me to try." He smiled. "I want them to come here tomorrow night, so I can see their faces when they are sent to hang."

Reaching out, Nicholas took her hand and tugged her back to his side. He led her around the room pointing out things she had never seen. Any questions she had he answered quickly. Her smile grew wider as she imagined herself presiding over the fÍte. In her beautiful gown that was so conveniently the green of Foxbridge Cloister's colors, she would be the center of attention instead of Rebecca. Even the announcement of the betrothal between Eliza and Curtis would be of secondary importance to the fact that she was once more at Nicholas's side where she belonged.

"It will be a wonderful ball tomorrow night!" Clarisse exclaimed enthusiastically. Instantly her smile disappeared as she cooed, "Oh, Nicholas, I am sorry. I forget you don't feel like entertaining. I know of no other man would hold a masquerade ball for his sister when he knew his wife was in such danger."

Nicholas stepped closer to her. Slowly his hands rose to stroke her arms that were bare below the sleeves of her gown whose neckline was provocatively deep to show off the fine curves of her full bosom. She stared into his brown eyes that had darkened with emotion to the color of freshly turned earth.

"It's been a full day since Rebecca vanished. I have not slept, so I have had time to think through many things in my life. I have been thinking of the part you will play in the future events of my life, Clarisse. So many people told me I was foolish for trying to bring Rebecca into my life. Maybe they were right for Rebecca never fit in here. My scarlet vixen, do you still care for me?"

In a seductive whisper, she said, "I have never stopped being fond of you. I thought you knew that. I hope this will all come to rights for us."

He smiled broadly as his eyes swept her form. "That is my heartfelt desire."

Clarisse did not resist as he pulled her tight to him again. His mouth on hers sent a thrill through her. He leaned her back over one arm as he explored the length of her neck. Her fingers clutched on his back as she yielded herself entirely to the sensations bursting within her.

"Nicholas!" A shocked voice echoed hollowly through the huge room.

The two embracing separated to see Eliza and Curtis standing in the double doorway of the ballroom. Pain shone from the young woman's eyes. At her side, her fiancÈ scowled, his brown eyes filled with anger.

"Yes?" Nicholas replied coldly. It was clear he was displeased with the interruption. His arm remained securely around Clarisse.

Tears fell from his sister's eyes. "How can you be kissing her when Rebecca may be -- may be -- "

"May be dead? Is that what you are trying to say, Eliza?" Nicholas laughed tightly. "I fear you may be right. You all may have been right. Rebecca was out of place at Foxbridge Cloister. Obviously too much so for whomever was betraying us."

"Nicholas, how can you be so unfeeling?"

Once again, he laughed. He drew Clarisse closer. "I have decided to listen to the advice that you and Mother have offered so often. Clarisse has so pleasantly agreed to replace Rebecca as our hostess tomorrow. Haven't you, my dear?"

Clarisse smiled superiorly at the astonished face of the young woman she suspected soon would be her sister-in-law. "Nicholas was just explaining the duties he wanted me to perform." The others could not miss the true meaning of her words. Her satisfied expression resembled a well-fed cat. She had caught the prey she wanted.

Eliza turned to her fiancÈ. "Curtis, do something! Tell Nicholas to stop being so callous! Rebecca is in trouble. He should be thinking of her and not some harlot."

"Nicholas," said the man uneasily, as he stared at his irate host, who clearly did not like his sister's disparaging words, "under the circumstances, I think it would be best if you would reconsider your offer to Miss Beckwith." He was not sure what else to say. That Nicholas would turn to his ex-mistress so quickly was a shock.

The black-haired man tightened his grip on the woman at his side. "I have no intention of retracting any of my offers to Clarisse. I trust you will remember who is lord of Foxbridge Cloister."

Eliza bristled with anger. In the same icy tones her brother had used, she retorted, "And, Nicholas, I trust you will remember who is the lady of Foxbridge Cloister. Do you remember her? Her name is Rebecca North Wythe, and she is your wife. If you ever loved Rebecca at all, reconsider, please. Let Clarisse take Rebecca's place at your side at the ball tomorrow if you must, but don't let her take your wife's place in your bed tonight."

"I agree," added another voice. They turned to see Margaret Wythe standing in the minstrel's gallery. She gazed down at them. "Clarisse is most welcome to share Eliza's room tonight."

Nicholas's scowl increased, but when he looked at Clarisse, it was with a soft expression of apology. To the others, the gentle smile on his face translated into a promise that this night would be the last they would spend alone.

When Lady Margaret requested Clarisse meet her in her room to discuss plans for the party, the redhead ignored the cold stares of Nicholas's family as she kissed him lingeringly. She swayed out of the room as if she was already the mistress of Foxbridge Cloister.

"Nicholas," began Eliza, "please -- "

He glared at her and his mother. "I can never please you two, can I? You so detested Rebecca for being from America that you could never force yourself to be decent to her, could you, Mother? Now it is too late."

"Stop speaking of her as if she is dead!" ordered his heartbroken sister. "This isn't like you, Nicholas! I thought you love Rebecca."

"Were Rebecca and I given a chance to be in love before the nasty comments started? You made it quite clear from the beginning that you considered her unfit to be Lady Foxbridge. Now you act as if Clarisse is a stranger who has never entered Foxbridge Cloister. Can't I ever love a woman who you approve of?"

"Love?" said Lady Margaret with the unladylike sniff she usually reserved for Rebecca.

"Yes!" he shouted, so his voice rang through the hall. His eyes caught the motions of the staff listening outside the partially closed door. Within minutes, everyone in the house would learn of the loud disagreement. "I was entrapped into marrying Rebecca. You never guessed that, did you?" His eyes held his sister's astounded ones. "Oh, yes, Eliza, it's true. I was near death, and she saw her chance to obtain wealth. She convinced an army chaplain to marry us by explaining to him that it was my desire to have her as my heir in gratitude for her nursing."

Eliza shook her head in an emphatic denial. "Rebecca wouldn't do that! I can't imagine her telling a lie! Especially not to a man of the cloth. I have heard her with Reverend Middleton, and she doesn't use excuses to escape duties for the church, even if she doesn't want to do them. She would not lie to a chaplain! She is always so honest."

His eyebrows arched sardonically. "This one time she lied. She wanted my title and the wealth that I foolishly spoke of to her. The best way to guarantee herself a share of that was by marriage. When I went back after being released from the hulks, she did not ask for an annulment. I was the way to get what she wanted. Now she is gone, and I can get on with my life as it should have been."

His sister began to cry in harsh, heart-wrenching sobs. "I hate you, Nicholas Wythe! Rebecca is one of the nicest people I know, and she loves you with all her heart. I never thought I would say this to my own brother, but I hate you! Rebecca deserves far better than a uncaring wretch like you. Your name should be dragged through the dirt when the truth is known."

"Eliza -- "

"Don't try to explain. I can see the facts for myself! When she comes home, her reward for her bravery will be seeing her detestable husband with his sluttish mistress!" When he started to speak, she cried, "No, don't say it! I don't want to hear any more about your lust for Clarisse Beckwith!"

She whirled and raced out of the ballroom. Giving his future brother-in-law a wrathful glance, Curtis turned to follow. Nicholas looked up at the gallery when he heard the door slam as his mother left in anger.

He sighed as his shoulders drooped with the load he was carrying. It felt as massive as the world mythical Atlas bore on his back. His eyes swept the room. Tomorrow night, the chandeliers would be bright with fine, wax candles. Below them, the guests would be whirling to the music from the gallery. He could see the patterns of the minuets and quadrilles. Amid them would be Lord Foxbridge with one woman by his side and another on his mind. While everyone celebrated the betrothal of Lady Eliza Wythe and Curtis Langston, Esquire, he would be waiting simply for the contact that would start the bargaining for Rebecca's life and the loss of his. He wondered if he would get to see her before they killed him. He would insist on it, so he would know she was safe.

Slowly he walked across the empty floor. Alone, he no longer had to play the rÙle of the carefree widower bent on drowning his sorrows in the sweetness of an old mistress. It was a great risk he was taking with so many lives at stake, but it had been the only plan he could devise to throw Rebecca's highwayman off his stride. If her captor thought she was less important to him than Clarisse, he might release her and try for the woman he thought Lord Foxbridge loved. Here at Foxbridge Cloister, always with someone near, Clarisse should be safe. He refused to consider the fact Rebecca might be killed if the kidnapper decided she was no long important to him.

He looked up in surprise when the one of the double doors opened again. Quietly, his mother slipped in and closed it behind her. Crooking her finger, she urged him to follow her. He knew she was heading toward the priest's hole that was hidden at one side of the room. One of their ancestors had been a Catholic when it had been dangerous to profess that faith, so there was a hiding spot for the family priest.

It was cramped for two people in the small space, but they could whisper without being overheard. Once their eyes had adjusted to the dim light, Lady Margaret stared directly into her son's eyes. "Why are you lying, Nicholas?"

"Lying?" he equivocated. "About what?"

She cursed with a vehemence that surprised her son. For a moment, she smiled. "Didn't know that we ladies knew such phrases, did you? Now tell me the truth. Why are you acting as if Rebecca matters less to you than yesterday's weather? I know you don't truly want Clarisse. You adore Rebecca. You acted as if you were nearly mad when her carriage was overdue."

With a sigh, he said, "Yes, I love Rebecca. What I'm trying to do is find a way to convince her captor to release her. Whoever kidnapped her has direct access to information here or at Beckwith Grange. There is no other way he could have found out Eliza and Rebecca were driving out there alone yesterday."

"And you are using Clarisse as bait in this plot? As your new love, she should be the tool used to force you to comply? Does Clarisse know why you are so amorous today?"

He shook his head. It was wrong to be willing to trade another's life for Rebecca's, but he hoped it would not come to that. He had arranged for Clarisse's protection within these walls. He hoped to disconcert the highwayman so much, he would not know what to do next. That might buy some time to exact Rebecca's rescue.

Lady Margaret's eyebrows lifted in astonishment. "So you are going to play God to bring Rebecca home to Foxbridge Cloister?"

"I have no choice, Mother. If I do nothing as they wish me to do, they will kill Rebecca." Quickly he told her of the necklace and threat which had been waiting in his room this morning. "They will never release her. At least, this way, I'm doing something to try to bring the odds back into our favor."

"Very well. I will play along with you in this gamble that you are taking. I will keep an eye on Clarisse for you also, so she is not spirited away as Rebecca was. She will share my rooms tonight instead of Eliza's." She placed her bejeweled hand on his arm. "Good luck, son."

For a horrid minute, his mind took him back in time to the last time they had been searching for Rebecca, and he had been wished good fortune in finding her. That day she had nearly died in the mantrap. The snare she was caught in this time was even more dangerous. The metal jaws of this trap had settled firmly around her to hide her from sight more easily than the copse had done.

"I will need good fortune to best these criminals. Go ahead and do what you must for the ball. I have some plans to make to keep Clarisse as safe as I can without divulging my plot."

When the ballroom was empty except for him once more, he gazed at the banners of past battles. From some of them, the Lord Foxbridge of that era had not returned. He vowed that from this conflict, the present Lord Foxbridge would emerge victorious or not at all. Without Rebecca, there would be no life worth living for him. His sister and Curtis could have the Cloister, and the title, which had never been that important to him, would go to their son.

He crossed the room and closed the doors of the ballroom where in the hours to come, hidden by a mask, Rebecca's abductor would arrive to ask for the price of her life. Whatever it was, he would pay it.

Chapter Twenty-Three

A hand on Rebecca's shoulder brought her awake with a cry after the second night in her prison. She stared up at the covered face of her jailer and knew her nightmare had not ended with her escape from sleep. Another scream came from her lips as his fingers moved down along her skin bared by the ravaged neckline of her dress. While she had been asleep, the gown had gaped to show the skin normally covered modestly.

She tried to move away, but his other hand held her shoulder to the cot. With a chuckle, he ripped the embroidered front of her gown away from the bodice and placed it in his pocket. She did not have to ask what he intended to do with it. The material would be used to prove to Nicholas that she still lived.

When the masked man's hand slipped beneath the fine silk of her chemise, she raised her own hand toward his face. In only one way, could she force him to leave her alone. She must convince him that she wanted to try to remove the concealing cloth from his face. He must not be allowed to guess that she did not need to see his face any longer to discover the secret. A secret she had uncovered through his carelessness and overconfidence.

As always, he protected the features hidden under the mask. His hand lifted away from her to bat away her questing fingers. "You are slow to learn, aren't you, Rebecca? I have warned you over and over that it's your life you risk by grabbing for my mask!"

"You learn even more slowly!" she spat as she stood and straightened her tattered dress. She wrapped the strip of material she had ripped from her petticoats around her bodice like a shawl to keep his eyes from viewing her so eagerly. "I do not wish to be touched by you."

"You do not wish?" he repeated with an explosion of laughter that resonated along the tunnel. "You have become quite the aristocrat, Lady Foxbridge, from the little democrat you once were. What a hostess you would have been at the ball tonight! As regal as any Foxbridge Cloister has ever known. Of course, Lord Foxbridge has wasted no time in securing a replacement."

Rebecca's wan face turned to him. "Replacement? What do you mean?"

He swaggered over to her and put his arm around her waist. His other hand slipped around the nape of her neck, and he tipped her head up so he could gaze into her confused eyes. "Clarisse Beckwith will be at your husband's side tonight. Your husband had planned on her being at his side in your bed last night as well, but Lady Margaret vetoed that. It appears Lord Foxbridge has gotten over the shock of your disappearance swiftly. He's quite sure you are dead and is most interested in renewing his relationship with Clarisse. Did he tell you that they used to be lovers? Maybe they have been all along."

When he paused, waiting for an answer, she answered stiffly, "There are no secrets between my husband and me." Horror sank through her like a lead weight as she prayed her words were true. She could not understand how Nicholas could deny her so quickly.

Her captor's eyes twinkled in the light of the brand. When he spoke, the thick odor of whiskey bombarded her. "I admit he had me fooled, Rebecca, as much as you. I thought he truly loved you, but I may have been wrong. I may have obtained the wrong woman to bring Lord Foxbridge to heel. He says that he loves Clarisse and always has, despite the fact that he was trapped into marrying you and was too much of a gentleman to file for a divorce. I just don't understand why he did not simply leave you in America and marry Clarisse. No one would have ever known the difference. I guess he didn't want to be trapped by another woman."

"Trapped?" she asked, baffled. Disbelieving, she stared up into his eyes that had helped to reveal her captor's identity during the long hours she had had time to think in the wave-walled prison. If he was being honest, Nicholas must have sought out Clarisse to ease his sorrow. It was the strangest turn of events she could have imagined. Nicholas loved her. The warm sentiment in his eyes and in his kiss could not have been false.

He laughed. "He admitted it boldly, my dear Rebecca. How you convinced a chaplain to marry you so you could inherit his riches and fine title. Certainly you remember that!"

A smile crossed her lips. Instantly she understood what she should have realized from the beginning. Nicholas was trying to convince everyone that he had been forced into a loveless marriage in some plan he was effecting to try to gain her release. For some reason, he acted as if he did not really love her so her captor would release her and go after Clarisse to bend Nicholas to his will. She had to trust him to play out whatever plan he had formulated.

"He touting that publicly?" she asked in feigned outrage. Her actions must match his tale. Trying to imagine how such a woman would act, she snarled, "What else did he think I would do? He was an enemy, but he didn't let me know that until I had saved his life. I wanted something in return for betraying my country. He had money. He had power. He had a woman he wanted to return to. I decided that I would be the woman to share that money and power, and I would take away his chance for happiness with Clarisse."

Her captor's eyes filled with puzzlement. This was not the Rebecca who had seemed so devoted to her husband. He wondered which one was the real one. His eyes grew wide as she smiled flirtatiously at him.

"What's wrong, sir?" she asked in a tone she borrowed liberally from Clarisse. "Are you so upset you have been bested by Nicholas that you have no more threats left? We should not be enemies. While I have been here, I have thought long on it. I believe we want the same thing. We should be working together. She put her arms around his shoulders. "Together," she repeated in a breathy voice as she leaned her head against his chest.

His arms tightened around her to feel her slender body so close as he had longed to feel it for the many months she had been at Foxbridge Cloister. When he ran his hands along the back of her gown where few of the hooks remained in place, his fingers slipped inside the rips to caress her bare skin. Instead of pulling away, she murmured softly and moved seductively against him. In shock, he shoved her away. Rebecca Wythe was no different from Clarisse Beckwith. She just had an alternative way of getting what both women as well as he himself wanted.

Smoothing her tattered dress along her body, knowing his eyes followed the movement as her hands outlined her form, she moved toward him. Her eyes widened with disappointment. "Have you changed your mind? I thought you wanted me. I'm willing to be most cooperative in exchange for a share of what you intend to extort from Nicholas." In a vicious voice, she added, "I will be glad to see him suffer for refusing to make a settlement on me in America so I could marry the man I truly loved. For the last months, I have had to suffer in his bed so he could have the heir he wanted." Her laugh became glacier cold. "Let everyone wait. I made the decision I would make sure Nicholas Wythe has no heir until he sees fit to give me what I want."

"What is it you want, Rebecca?" he demanded as he tried to understand this sudden change.

"What do we all want, sir? Money, power, control over our inferiors. Are you interested in getting it with my help?"

He chortled with delight as he drew his gun. Seeing her face blanch, he laughed harder. "I don't trust you, Rebecca. I don't trust your husband either. It seems that both of you are chameleons. Which are the real ones? The devoted spouses or the ones suffering in the contrived marriage?" He raised the gun and held it directly in front of her face. Her sharp intake of breath echoed eerily along the tunnel. "It seems odd to me that, if you hated each other so much, you would go through that remarriage at Foxbridge Cloister." He smiled broadly at the emotions rippling across her face, knowing she could not see his expression of triumph. "You, my dear Lady Foxbridge, are not a very good liar. It is a shame, however, you did not consider a career on the stage. Behind the footlights, you would have been the scene stealer every time you walked on the boards."

"I'm not acting. I. . ." Her voice faded away as his thumb drew back on the hammer.

He chuckled. "Your game is done, my sweet. I know you love your husband dearly. I'm not so sure of him, so I think I will be bringing you some company tonight after my visit to Foxbridge Cloister."

Knowing she had overplayed her hand, she cried, "Stop this insanity before it goes any further."

"When I have you and Clarisse Beckwith here, Lord Foxbridge will have no choice but to heed my demands." He snickered. "Unless he has another mistress or two."

"Please, don't hurt Nicholas." As she saw the glitter of amusement in his eyes, she said in a near whisper, "You are right. I love him. I do not want him to die."

"What you want is of no importance to me, Lady Foxbridge," he stated as he replaced the pistol under his coat. "What I want is of utmost importance. I want you and the things you tried to pretend were your desires as well. I shall have both before the week is out." He grasped her and spun her back into his arms. "When I decide that the time is right, you will be mine, Rebecca. I will take your unwilling body until I tire of you." He ran his hands along her. "It won't be soon that I grow fatigued of your charms, my pretty, little lady."

"Let me go," she screamed. "I won't submit to you!"

His infuriating chuckle filled the cavern. "I know, Rebecca. That will make it all the more fun to force you to surrender. Farewell for now, my Lady Foxbridge."

She choked back a gasp when he put the same emphasis on her title as Nicholas did. How could he do this to her and Nicholas?

"I will see you this evening," he said with a laugh. "I and Miss Beckwith and your husband. . .if he lives long enough to reach here."

Helplessly she watched as he scurried across the plank and pulled it back to the far side. She had tried her last idea to escape him, and it had failed. While he walked away, she wondered how long she would be able to survive his tortures. Knowing who her captor was only made the whole situation more of a nightmare. If he discovered her knowledge of his identity, he would destroy her immediately.

How betrayed Nicholas would feel when he learned the truth!

Rebecca viewed her prison impotently. She had to escape before he could return with Clarisse. There was no choice. If she remained then, her fate was sealed. She would be that disgusting man's mistress to be used whenever he tired of his wife, but only until he grew bored with her. Then she would die.

She had to flee.

But how?

The plank was too far away. The thoughts of making a rope to try to snag it and bring it across the chasm was useless. She had no way to rip the thick blankets to braid them into a strong rope. Nor did she have time to waste on worthless projects. All she possessed were the heavy crate filled with only her captor knew what and the cot.

With a sudden smile, Rebecca moved to her bed. Tipping it over, she examined it. Yes, it was a folding cot like the military used. Perhaps she could get the legs to the proper position to lengthen it long enough.

She had to exert all her strength against the hinges which had rusted in the salt air. It would appear that her captor had not been the first to use this prison. Finally she had to stand with one foot on the inverted bed while she pushed with the other against the obstinate legs. She nearly cried with despair as she felt the metal crosspiece that connected the two straight legs begin to bend with her efforts. Then, abruptly, the legs were lying flat on the ground.

Rubbing her right leg which ached with the force she was having to expend, she moved to the other side. This set she managed to move with just her hands. She stood to measure the chasm with her eyes. Would the bed be long enough to fit across it? It would have to, because it was her final hope.

She shoved the bed frame to the edge. Then she returned to push the heavy crate forward. Sweat ran along her body as she strained to move it. It would not slide, so she tried lifting it end over end. A delighted smile brightened her face as she heard the crash of glass as she tilted it.

Releasing it quickly, the crate dropped onto its side. From it ran a dark fluid she did not have to be told was illicit brandy smuggled from France. It was difficult to be patient and wait until all the liquor had emptied from the broken bottles. When the golden river had slowed to a near stop, she pushed on the box again. So much lighter, she could move it with ease.

"All right. This is your last chance, Rebecca. Pray it works," she said aloud to the emptiness of her prison.

Once she had dropped all the other items in small cave over the side of the split in the floor, she turned to the task at hand. Carefully she balanced the heavy crate on the end of the bed farthest from the rim. Even more cautiously, she began to push the cot over the open space.

At first, it was not so difficult, but as the bed hung farther and farther out over the pit, she had more trouble holding it steady. The box helped as it acted as a counterbalance. When the legs hit the far side, she struggled to raise them over the rim. Only her determination to escape kept her from giving up what seemed to be hopeless. It took her nearly a dozen arm wrenching tries to lift the legs onto the opposite side. Inch by inch, she pushed the bed forward until it was perched precariously over the chasm.

Rebecca sat for a minute on the crate as she tried to summon up the courage to cross on that unsteady bridge. She unbuckled her shoes and tossed them into the hole. Her stockings followed. It did not take long to remove the remains of her dress and petticoats to throw them away as well. When she shivered in her underclothes, she gingerly put her foot on the canvas which filled the space between the wooden slats of the bed frame.

She nearly pulled her foot away, but, if she did not try soon, she never would. Even if she slipped and fell, that death was preferable to what she would face when her captor returned. Taking a deep breath, she raced across the shaky surface of her impromptu bridge.

Tears of joy rolled unstopped down her cheeks as she jumped to solid ground of the other side. She could not contain the victorious shout that rang off the walls of the cave. She was free!

With a laugh, she turned and pulled the legs of the bed sharply. Her motion jerked the case of broken glass to fall forward into the hole. Her feet shoved the bed frame in to crash to the bottom of the broken earth which would imprison her no longer.

She had no idea what time it was. Although she had been awakened by her captor, she had no idea if it was morning or night. It was some time before the ball. She had to get to Foxbridge Cloister before disaster struck again. Nicholas could not sacrifice himself when she was free.

Racing along the tunnel, she paid no attention to the sharp rocks cutting into her feet. She did not get far before she met rising water. A cry flew from her broken heart to her lips. She had beaten one prison wall, but she had another one to best. The water was high along the floor.

Could she swim out of the cave? She could not remember how far it was to the exit. Dipping her toe into the chilly water, she knew, that as before, she had no choice.

Rebecca waded out until the pulsating water reached her chest. At that point, she struck out, kicking her feet to propel her forward. Half the time, she had to fight the motion of the water, then it would aid her as the undertow sucked her the exit. Every few inches, she would pause and reach up to try to feel for the low entrance of the cave. If she ran into it in the dark, she could hurt herself badly.

All her precautions were well thought out, but she did not take into consideration the strength of the water trying to find its way through that narrow opening. The pull of the water going through that slit caught her in its power and forced her head underwater. Desperately, she fought her way to the surface. Her hands clawed at the slimy walls of the cave. Her chest ached with her need to breathe. Her scream of pain was simply bubbles of air lost among the foam of the waves as her head hit against the stone. All fight left her body which followed the water's flow.

*** *** ***

"Ready, my dear?" Nicholas held his hand out to Clarisse. He did not seem to notice the strangled expression on his sister's face as Clarisse put her gloved fingers in his. Tenderly, he lifted them to his lips as he stared into the possessive glitter of her green eyes. She considered herself inviolate as his future lady of Foxbridge Cloister. For a moment, he felt guilt at the sacrifice he might be asking this woman to make unknowingly. Then he knew there was no alternative.

He looked at the ones gathered in a room near the ballroom. Clarisse was an over-aged Juliet, pretending to be the sweet maiden she had ceased to be years ago. In her flowing white gown, Eliza was lovely as the Grecian beauty. It was a costume perfect for her slender form. By her, Curtis was a blonde colonial backwoodsman, dressed in buckskins. Although Nicholas wondered where he had obtained such an outfit, he did not question him. His mother wore a dress dating back a hundred years, which he knew came from the trunks in the attic.

His own outfit came from a far earlier time. Dressed as his Elizabethan ancestor, he thought it ironic that tonight it would appear that Sybill was the one betrayed by her spouse. Rebecca, who should have been in that rÙle, was gone, and it was Lord Foxbridge who had his reputed lover by his side. As he had told Rebecca, they had rewritten history. This way not the way they had intended it to be. When they had joked about being Sybill and her husband, they could not have guessed that this tragedy would invade their lives.

They walked in silence into the ballroom. As the guests came along the receiving line, Nicholas greeted them tersely. Questions of how the Wythes were doing or if there had been any news about Rebecca's whereabouts faded into silence as they saw the woman next to him. Even with her mask, no one could mistake the auburn hair Clarisse purposely had left unpowdered. A pall settled over the room, taking the lilt from the music played by the orchestra in the minstrel's gallery and dulling the gaiety of the conversation.

All eyes remained on the stone-chiseled face of Nicholas Wythe, who had spurned a mask this evening as host of the ball. He wanted to be sure that Rebecca's captor would be able to find him readily. There was no emotion showing on his features to tell his guests if he was hurting or simply relieved to have the embarrassment of his colonial wife gone from his life. It had not taken long for the story to circulate the shire that Rebecca had tricked her husband into a marriage he did not desire. Although there had been some disbelief that Lord Foxbridge would not want his lovely wife, it was understandable he would have preferred to have her as his paramour, not as the mother of his heirs.

His surprise companion was not so taciturn. Clarisse displayed her delight at being beside the man she had waited for. Nobody could miss the joy in her voice as she slipped her arm through Lord Foxbridge's and chatted lightly with the guests.

When the chords were struck to announce the opening dance of the ball, everyone watched as Lord Foxbridge led his substitute lady onto the floor. Many of those who had most loudly denounced Rebecca Wythe as a simple Yankee and her marriage to Lord Foxbridge a horrible mistake suddenly sympathized with the absent Lady Foxbridge.

For a long, uncomfortable minute, nobody moved to join the two in the center of the room. Then, her face still glistening with the tears she had not been able to halt since Rebecca's kidnapping, Eliza took Curtis's hand and walked out to stand with the other couple. Slowly, the floor filled for the first number.

As they danced the ever-popular minuet, Nicholas noticed his various partners treated him as if he were inflicted with a dread disease. It was obvious they did not want any more contact with him than necessary. His heartbroken sister refused to take his hand as they went through the pattern of the dance.

"Eliza!" he snapped. "Act as if you are enjoying yourself. This whole ball is necessary to satisfy Rebecca's kidnappers."

She gave him a withering stare. "Is that so? I do not remember any instructions from Rebecca's abductor that ordered you to treat Clarisse if she were your wife. I hope you two had a grand time this afternoon when you were alone together in the room you once shared with your real wife."

"It's not as you think, Eliza."

"Isn't it?"

Before he could answer her, she swirled away in the pattern of the dance to join Curtis. Once more, Clarisse faced him. Unlike the others, she smiled as she took his fingers in hers. When they came together in the dance, she pressed closer than respectable in an offer she was surprised he had not yet accepted. They had spent the afternoon together in that lovely room upstairs, but he had not done anything but talk to her. When she had made her desires obvious, he urged her to be patient, for the servants were constantly parading in and out of the room.

She gazed up at his face through the wide holes in her domino which was lace covered to enhance her large, green eyes. Yesterday Nicholas had seemed so eager to hold her close in his bed. Although he still acted enthralled with her, he had not attempted as much as a kiss when she had been dressing in Rebecca's room. Suspicions stirred in her mind. Nicholas told everyone that he had been forced into this unloving, unwanted marriage, but when she had checked the closet and dressers in the lady's room of the suite, they were empty. Sneaking into the main bedroom, she found Rebecca's gowns neatly hung next to his coats in the large dressing room. There was only one reason why their things would be together like this. They slept together each night.

Over and over she had tried to tell herself that he was doing as he must. Rebecca was his wife. If he wanted a legitimate heir, he had to beget one with her. Many men took their wives to their beds solely for that reason. Once she had conceived, Nicholas might have turned to his devoted Clarisse. It was just made simpler by this most fortunate abduction.

Nicholas tried to maintain a nonchalant expression as he spoke to his guests. It did not take him long to notice that silence surrounded him like an aura wherever he went.

His eyes narrowed as he saw his mother was absent. He signaled to one of the servants. "Collins, where is Lady Margaret?"

His fears were allayed when the man said, "She has gone up to her rooms for a fan she forgot, my lord. Do you wish me to get her?"

"No, no," he answered quickly. He sighed. For a moment, he had feared the kidnappers had thought to take her. The stress was beginning to wear on him as he fought to be something he was not.

Clarisse came over and put her arm securely through his. She moved so the lush fullness of her body caressed him. "Here you are, darling. It would seem almost like you are avoiding me."

"Avoid you, Clarisse? Never, sweet one," he responded automatically. He could not forget for a moment the rÙle he was to play if he was to gain Rebecca her freedom without bloodshed.

She gasped as he whirled her into his arms and, pushing aside her mask, kissed her as he had yesterday. All around them erupted sounds of shock and horror as the guests viewed the evidently undisturbed Lord Foxbridge holding his mistress while his wife faced death in some unknown location. Clarisse reveled in the dual pleasure of Nicholas's kiss and the guest's reaction. No one would doubt that Clarisse Beckwith was the one truly loved by Nicholas Wythe.

"Enough of that!" came an angry male voice.

With obvious reluctance, Nicholas released her. He did not let her leave his side as he put his arm very possessively around her slender waist. Turning he looked at the man who had spoken. "Enough of what, Curtis?" he asked quietly.

The slighter man sputtered at the lack of remorse on his host's face. He would never have guessed Nicholas felt so little for Rebecca. He had seen the two of them side by side since he had become a permanent guest at Foxbridge Cloister. They had seemed inseparable and very much in love. Like all the others, he had been fooled by Nicholas's superb acting. This woman was the one he had wanted all along, and he was taking advantage of this unfortunate incident to cement his relationship with Clarisse.

"Have you no sense of decency, Nicholas?"

The dark-haired man laughed, satanically. "None, my friend, it would seem. I have let myself be caught in a marriage with no love while the woman who waited patiently for me had to suffer. No decent person would have allowed that to continue. Now there is no reason for it to go on. Rebecca is gone. Clarisse is here."

"You can't be serious, Nicholas!" interjected a third voice.

He gazed at Richard Carter's enraged face. Their neighbor had shown his friendship to Rebecca from the first moment they met at the village fair. Coolly, he answered, "I am not used to being called a liar in my own house, Carter. Would you be willing to repeat that in the morning on the dueling green when we face each other over our bare swords or guns? I will be sure to check my weapon this time, so it's not jammed."

"No, no," he said hastily. Carter was a gentle, easy-going man who had no desire to meet his friend in a battle to the death. It hurt him to see the woman he wanted as his wife in Lord Foxbridge's arms, but he would not come between them. Clarisse's happiness was too important. More important than his own. He did not like seeing her used as Nicholas's mistress. "I didn't mean it like that. I just wondered if you had thought through what your actions mean."

"I know exactly what I am doing, and I did not think that Lord Foxbridge was required to explain his every action to those around him." For the first time since any of them had known him, he had assumed the pompous airs that his brother had been so fond of using to subdue those who displeased him. Looking at the woman who was staring triumphantly at those who had belittled her so often, he asked, "Would you care to dance, sweet one? I find I tire of this conversation."

"Of course, Nicholas." She placed her other hand over the one on his arm as they moved to the dance floor.

Behind them, Carter queried aloud, "What in hell is wrong with Nicholas? He has never acted like this before. You would think he was delighted Rebecca is gone."

Curtis replied, slowly, "There can be no doubt any longer that he never cared for her. I thought when I saw him with Clarisse yesterday, he was looking merely for a bit of diversion to forget his pain. It's more than that. He spent most of the afternoon locked away with her in his suite. I think we were fooled by his feigned devotion to Rebecca. Yes, he fooled me quite effectively." He glanced at the puzzled man by his side. Uneasily, he smiled. "Excuse me, Richard. I think Eliza is looking for me."

"Curtis?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think Rebecca is still alive?"

He shrugged and shook his head sorrowfully. "If she isn't dead, she's going to wish she was when she returns to find her husband has bedded Clarisse. Can you imagine anything worse than discovering the one you love has caroused while your life is in danger?"

With a sigh, Richard whispered, "No." His gaze settled on Clarisse who was laughing in Nicholas's arms. Tightly he growled, "I need something to drink."

"That sounds like the best suggestion tonight."

As the two men walked to where wine waited, neither could be unaware of the sense of foreboding hanging over the ballroom. Rebecca's life might depend on the man who brazenly was kissing his mistress. Nicholas's behavior was a portent for disaster for Foxbridge Cloister.

Chapter Twenty-Four

As the hours moved sluggishly toward midnight and no one contacted him, it became more and more difficult for Nicholas to maintain his calm, unfeeling image. He began to fear he had confused Rebecca's abductors so much with his sudden interest in Clarisse that they had decided not to continue with their plot. In that case, he was afraid they would have no choice but to slay their prisoner.

Exactly on schedule at midnight by the tolling of the grand clock at the far end of the ballroom, Nicholas signaled the orchestra conductor it was time for the betrothal announcement. He sighed, before he turned to the task. So far this night had gained him only the hatred of his friends and family. Nothing else.

When he had ordered champagne poured for all the guests, he raised his glass in a toast to the newly engaged couple. Eliza and Curtis stood on his right while Clarisse and his mother were on his left. He saw his glass tremble as he fought to control his amassing fears. Sternly he stopped it before anyone noticed he was not the happy, carefree cad he was portraying.

Loudly, he called, "Tonight, we have gathered at Foxbridge Cloister to congratulate my sister Eliza on the announcement of her betrothal to Curtis Langston. Let us drink, my friends, to their happiness. May they know only joy in their life together and never suffer the pain of losing the one they love."

Because he was looking directly at Clarisse as he spoke, no one doubted that he meant her temporary loss, not his wife's permanent one. Although everyone drank, it was without enthusiasm. Nicholas drained his glass, wishing it was possible to find a relief from his agony in the wine. He needed to be fully alert.

It was still early by the standards of this type of formal affair. Perhaps Rebecca's captor did not want to approach him until the guests were more intoxicated. Then he would be able to slip in and out of the house easier. With that in mind, Nicholas ordered more wine be served to their guests. He was willing to do anything to bring about the time when he could meet with the man who held his wife's life in his control.

Absently, he handed his wine glass to the maid holding a tray of half-emptied goblets. His eyes scanned the room hoping to discover which one was had dared to kidnap Rebecca. So few he could dismiss as not fitting the description Eliza had been able to give him.

What a limited description it was! A tall man with brown eyes. Too many could be the man hiding behind the mask.

"Thank you, my lord," came the sound of the young woman's voice. Startled, he turned to look into blue eyes framed by a mask like all the servants wore. They sparkled with merriment as she dipped in a brief curtsy. He could not mistake the love there or the accent which seemed so out of place amid the guests.

A weight disappeared from his shoulders as his heart beat with the first, honest feelings he had known in the past two days. When he started to speak, she shook her head in a quick warning. It took all of his strength not to reach out and pull the woman into his arms. He knew he could not give away her identity she obviously felt needed to remain a secret, so he merely nodded and watched as she crossed the room to the doorway to the kitchens. His eyes were glued to the gentle sway of the body he knew so well and had feared he would never feel close to him again.

Turning to Clarisse, he said, "Wait here, my dear, with Eliza." He wondered briefly where the future bridegroom had disappeared to, then recalled Curtis had said he had to run upstairs for a fresh shirt. During the congratulations, he had spilled champagne on his. In mock disgust, he added, "I have to tend to a bit of business. I don't know why these servants must be supervised every minute. Excuse me. I will be right back."

"Must you go?" she purred. Her fingers ran lightly over his satin doublet. "I had thought now that our duties as host and hostess were over, we could slip away for a bit of fun." Since he had made it clear to everyone that she was to be his, it was time to make that boast a reality.

Absently, he said only, "Later, Clarisse." He ignored her frown as he swept her fingers aside and walked away.

When he heard Eliza call out to him, he did not pause. He did not want to spark another confrontation with his sister. Enough had been said already that would have to be mended.

Faking a casual attitude he did not feel, he went to the same door that the maid had used. The anger of his guests made it easier to cross the room because no one stopped him to share a bit of conversation as would have been normal at a party.

Opening the portal that had been disguised to appear invisible to the dancers, he slipped through into the dim passageway. He did not need a light to see the joyous smile on the unmasked face of the serving wench. When she held out her arms, he drew her close. With all his hunger for her, he kissed her willing, eager lips.

"Rebecca," he whispered against her cheek. Her name contained all of his love for her. As much as he had longed for this moment, he could not believe it was not a dream come to haunt him with its sweet ending.

Holding her away, he checked her with his eyes to see that she appeared unharmed except for some bruises and a cut on her face. In the dark, he did not see the bandage on her forehead under her hair. He decided her captor had treated her well, unable to guess the mental torture his wife had had to endure.

"Rebecca, my love, how did you get here? Why are you dressed like this?"

She laughed softly. "I learned a few tricks from Captain Wythe. I thought it would be better to check what my husband had been doing while I was imprisoned. I hear you have been very busy entertaining Clarisse."

Tenderly he drew her back into his arms. When his mouth touched hers, they both knew the limitless joy that they could find with no one else. For that brief second, all thoughts of the highwayman and the threat he symbolized disappeared as they clung to the love which was the best bulwark against that insanity.

As he raised his lips, they turned up in a smile. "Did that feel like the kiss of a man who has been loving another woman?"

"It felt wonderful," she whispered. "I never thought I would feel you close again. I'm sorry I had to sneak about like this. I didn't want anyone else to know I was free, especially my ex-prisonmaster." Her smile faded. "I got back to Foxbridge Cloister nearly an hour ago."

"An hour ago? Why didn't you come to me immediately?"

She sighed. "I couldn't. When Greggy's father brought me back here, I was still unconscious. Imagine my surprise when I woke up to find myself in your mother's tender care. She was almost kind to me. As kind as I expect she will ever be. It seems she was worried about me."

Tilting her chin up, he looked into her eyes. "Would you explain all of this confusing story?"

"I escaped from his prison. While I was doing so, I knocked my head very badly. When I woke, I was here, and Lady Margaret told me that Greggy's father had discovered me washed up on the beach while he was fishing and brought me home. She knew that you should be the first to know, so she told no one. I agreed, and we worked out this disguise." When she saw him about to ask more questions, she said urgently, "Not now, Nicholas. I will explain later. Now you must take care of Clarisse."

"She is being taken care of, sweetheart. All the family is looking after her."

"All the family?" she repeated in fear. "No, you don't understand! He is going to kidnap Clarisse tonight. He's not sure which of us you truly love, so he plans to use both of us to bring you to him so he can kill you."

Nicholas caressed her cheek. "My dear wife, he won't dare to hurt you again. Once I unmask the blackguard, he will pay in full for this episode."

"Unmask? Don't you know who -- ?" Her astounded words were interrupted by a wave of screams and the unique, sharp sound of gunfire. "Oh, no! It's them!"

"Stay here, Rebecca!" he ordered as he ran to throw open the door. When she started to follow, he snapped, "Don't let them see you! If they know you have escaped and can send them to hang, they will become more desperate."

Reluctantly, she paused and watched as Nicholas opened the door to the ballroom. The noise of the ruckus in the refectory burst in upon them as sharply as the sound of the bullets fired into the ceiling had moments ago. He turned briefly and gave her a smile before slipping out to stand by the wall to evaluate the situation. Going to the door, she peered through the slit left open.

Chaos was already dissolving into order under the stern rule of the masked men who stood in the middle of the room. As Eliza had told them, there were five men dressed in dark colors which would blend well in the night. Hats covered their hair, and masks, not unlike the guests had worn to the masquerade, concealed their faces.

"Ah, Lord Foxbridge," called one of the men. Rebecca gasped as she saw another pressing a pistol to Clarisse's head as they had to her. Only she knew the terror the redhead was experiencing. She knew also that the leader of the gang of criminals was speaking.

Nicholas pushed aside the terrified people who stood between him and the men. He folded his arms across his chest as he stared coldly at the ones who had invaded his house.

When Clarisse called out his name, he paid no attention to her hysteria. Already he had seen that Brody and several of the other men who worked in the house were guarding Eliza and his mother. At that moment, no one else mattered to him.

"I trust you are the same fool who dared to stop my wife's carriage and spirit her away. You are bold, sir, to enter this house when you hold Lady Foxbridge against her will."

The man placed his gun under his dark coat and moved toward the unruffled Lord Foxbridge. Around them, the guests were beginning to wonder if Nicholas Wythe had anything but ice in his veins. He did not react as if this interruption were more than a simple inconvenience.

"Welcome, Lord Foxbridge," said the man who wore a domino over his face. "Once again you have arrived too late. We now have your mistress as well as your wife."

"Let her go. We are face-to-face. Let's settle this like men, instead of cravens who hide behind the skirts of a woman."

The onlookers did not have to see the man's face to know that he was enraged by the insult. The stiffness of his body showed the anger he was trying to control. "My lord, I promise you we will settle this as men. I hold your women primarily to insure your cooperation, although I admit, there have been some auxiliary benefits I have enjoyed by having Lady Foxbridge to myself." He laughed as he pulled an item from a pocket. Tossing it to Nicholas, he added, "I thought you might be interested in seeing this."

Nicholas unrolled the piece of cloth which he instantly recognized as the embroidered inset that had been in the bodice of Rebecca's gown when she had left for Beckwith Grange. His teeth clenched as he wondered what his wife had had to endure in captivity. Only the fact that he knew she would not have to face such again kept him calm. As he folded it again, he said, "You have made your point, sir. Release Clarisse. There's no need for her to face your rape, as well."

Clarisse screamed in undisguised terror. From the moment these brigands had stormed into the room and pressed a gun to her temple, she had known she was in the hands of the same man who had taken Rebecca. Until now, she had not considered what she would face past the horror of this attack.

Around the room, cries of fright echoed hers. The guests were aware that to join in the confrontation taking place in the middle of the floor was to invite their own deaths. No one was prepared to do that with the possible exception of Eliza, but a single glance from Nicholas quelled her attempts to evade her guardians. Richard Carter began to step forward, but he also was ordered sharply back. He acquiesced because to continue could cost Clarisse her life. He had to trust that Lord Foxbridge knew what he was doing.

Nicholas repeated, "Release Clarisse, sir. You do not need her. I will negotiate with you solely on the premise that Rebecca is alive."

"I don't need Miss Beckwith, Lord Foxbridge, but I will take her because it will make you more miserable to know that your beloved mistress is mine." He chuckled. "I doubt if Lady Foxbridge will be thrilled to see her rival when I take this one to where I am keeping your wife." His voice lost all suggestion of amusement. "If you want them back, be at the spot where you and Lord Royce dueled at sunrise tomorrow. Alone! Bring anyone with you, and your ladies are dead! You will receive your instructions then."

"Instructions?"

"I will explain no further, my lord. Just remember it is not you who controls the fate of your ladies." He withdrew his pistol once more. Unerringly, he pointed it in the direction of the two Wythe ladies. It must have been a signal to his men, for they moved toward the entrance.

"Nicholas!" screamed Clarisse once before her captor placed his hand over her mouth. She was pulled through the door and out of sight along the passageway.

Calmly, the leader warned, "Follow us, Lord Foxbridge, and they both die. Not easily and not quickly, I assure you. I will see you in a few hours. Until then, my lord, ladies and gentleman, I bid you a good evening."

His exit was as dramatic as his entrance. With a whirl of his cape, he raced through the door. No one moved to stop him, for to do so sealed Clarisse Beckwith's death warrant. Instead they turned to look at Nicholas who still stood in the center of the room holding the bit of material he had been given.

Lady Margaret shook off Brody's hand. The way she hurried across the room belied her years. "Son, I must speak to you!" she whispered. "It's about Rebecca!"

"Not now!"

She grasped his arm as he was about to turn away. Viciously she stated, "Yes, now, Nicholas. You must know the facts before you make a rash decision."

For the first time, he looked into her blue eyes. "I know the truth," he said. "Does anyone else?"

She shook her head. Calling to her daughter, she said, "Eliza, this ball is your responsibility. If you are to be married, you must learn how to handle crises. See to our guests."

"Mother, what -- "

"Do as you are told, child!" she admonished sternly. "Nicholas, see if you can be in my rooms as soon as possible."

He nodded. "I will reassure the staff, then I will be up to see you." Raising his voice, he called to the frozen conductor of the orchestra, "Play! My friends, please continue your festivities. I will be busy, so I bid you adieu." As quickly as the bandit had, the lord of Foxbridge Cloister pulled open a door and left the ballroom.

Without a word, he grasped Rebecca's hand. She had heard every word spoken and knew the danger they faced. It would not take the highwayman and his men long to discover their prize captive had found a way to escape her captivity.

She hurried with him up the back stairs to the suite she had left such a short time before. Only when he had closed the door, did he pull her into his arms and kiss her once more. Even his fears for Clarisse could not diminish his happiness at having his beloved wife in his embrace. The torment of imagining her in the hands of her erstwhile captor slowly were ebbing.

"My love," he whispered against the side of her soft face, "he gave me this."

She took the panel from her gown. "He wanted to hurt you more than he hurt me, Nicholas. He did not rape me."

She shivered as she recalled how she had feared he would do as he threatened each time he came to the cave. "What he did to me was nothing in comparison to what he will do to Clarisse when he discovers we have tricked him."

The doorknob turned noisily. Nicholas shoved her behind a chair where she crouched in fear. Both of them sighed with relief as Lady Margaret walked into the room.

She laughed shakily. "You two would do well to hide for a long time. What are you going to do, Nicholas? This is a turn of events you did not imagine."

"I'm going to get Clarisse away from them." He shrugged. "There's nothing else I can do. It's my fault she is in this trouble. I must help her."

Rebecca added quietly, "I will take you to where she is."

He grasped her shoulders and shook her gently. "You foolish woman! Do you think I will let you get involved in this dirty business again? Give me the directions to their hiding place, and I will go for her."

Angrily, she pushed his hands away. "I can't tell you. I can find the place, but I could never give you directions. She will be in a tidewater cave along the shore. I do not know the beach well enough to give you landmarks, but I can take you there. Do you think I want to go back? When I left there, nearly killing myself in the tidal waters, I did not expect that I would ever have to go back again."

Nicholas did not bother to argue. Rebecca had no desire to confront her enemy again. It was not her way to put her craving for retribution above everything else. If she said this was the only way she could get him to the highwayman's hiding place, it was the only way.

"Mother," he said, "can you get Rebecca's riding habit from our rooms without anyone seeing you? It is the darkest thing she owns. Also my black coat and breeches."

"I will need my boots, too!" she added, quickly. "The way isn't easy. Slippers would be treacherous on the wet rocks."

Although what they were attempting was insane, Lady Margaret knew there was no use in trying to talk them out of going. Only the release of Clarisse would satisfy her son and his wife. They would risk their lives for the woman who had hurt them.

Even as Lady Margaret hurried to the rooms down the hall, Rebecca was stripping off the servant's uniform. She reached to untie her petticoats, but felt other fingers on the ribbons. With a laugh, she leaned back against the form she would never be able to take for granted. "This is where this whole adventure started. I remember your less than helpful assistance with my petticoat ribbons last time we were together."

In a regretful voice, he whispered in her ear, "I wish we could continue with the same as we did then. Rebecca, I have been nearly wild with the longing to have you safe and warm with me."

Her petticoats fluttered to the ground like giant snowflakes. She did not notice as she closed her eyes and felt the welcome touch of Nicholas's hands stroking her barely clothed body. His mouth teased the skin of her neck as his fingers tantalized the tender warmth of her breasts through the thin silk of her chemise.

"I love you, Nicholas," she breathed with a sigh of uncontainable delight.

Bringing her to face him, he whispered, "I love you, too, my dearest Rebecca." His hand slipped beneath the back of her camisole to caress her bare skin as his mouth reacquainted itself with the sweet flavor of her rose-tinted lips. He felt her soft moan of rapture as his fingers swept along her slender curves.

So enrapt were they in their reunion that they did not hear the door reopen. Only the sound of a woman clearing her throat separated them.

"You two had better forget that if you are going to rescue Clarisse," said Lady Margaret with a touch of her normal acerbity. "Here are the things you wanted. Most of the guests have left. This is one ball at Foxbridge Cloister that won't be forgotten for years to come."

Nicholas laughed tightly as he stripped off his costume. "'Tis seldom that masks hide villains at a masked ball. I doubt if this will be emulated by other hosts."

Within minutes, they were ready to go. Promising to be careful, they went down the back stairs. Lady Margaret had agreed not to send for other help unless they were not back in three hours. As they carefully ran hand-in-hand to the stable, they did not notice a dark form watching them from the shadows. Nicholas rushed to saddle his horse and mounted. Taking Rebecca's hands, he pulled her to sit behind him.

"All set, sweetheart?" he whispered.

"As set as I can be."

"Just lead me to them, then stay out of the way. Here." He reached behind him and handed her a gun. "Hide it away. I don't want you to have to use it, but you may need it."

Mutely, she put it in the waistband of her skirt. Its hardness cut into her side, but she tried to ignore it, for it reminded her that, if she used it, it would mean that Nicholas could no longer defend her. If it came to that, he would be dead.

"Let's go and get this over with," she urged, quietly.

They rode into the night. As Rebecca clung to her husband, she did not think to look back to see if they were being pursued. She knew where their enemies would be and did not worry about anyone else. All her thoughts centered on rescuing the woman she detested and fleeing the cave at the end of the tunnel one more time.

Chapter Twenty-Five

When Rebecca directed him to the cave, Nicholas was startled to see how close to Foxbridge Cloister her captors had kept her. They were not a mile from the edges of the formal gardens which were fading into autumnal brown when she told him to stop. The cave was somewhere below their feet. When she had been imprisoned there, she saw enough from the doorway of the cavern to know approximately where she was.

Leaving the horse at the top of the cliff, they skulked to the path to the beach. Rebecca whispered to Nicholas to be cautious. He nodded with a tight smile. He was familiar with this stretch of shoreline from his youth. Carefully, they slid down the rock strewn area. In the moonlight, they could see little of the sand remained before the onslaught of the encroaching tide. Nicholas realized that it had not been sadism which had delayed the highwayman from appearing at Foxbridge Cloister so late. Rebecca's abductor had had to wit for low tide so he could incarcerate his new prize.

Nicholas shoved aside his reflections as he followed Rebecca along the strand to where a narrow cut in the cliff marked the entrance to the cave. The water was rising already along the floor of the adit. They would have to rescue Clarisse quickly, or they would all be imprisoned with their enemies in the cave. He gripped her hand as they waded through the pulsating water which drenched their clothes with salt spray. They could not be silent as the water splashed around their path, but the waves crashing outside were louder.

What worried him was that they had met no signs of resistance. If Clarisse had not been brought to the cave as the man had said, they would be caught again at the brigand's mercy as they negotiated for her life.

Stepping out of the water, Rebecca watched as Nicholas drew his pistol from under his coat. She reached for hers, but he shook his head and frowned. He did not want her to show it or use it unless it was their last chance. With a nod, he signaled her to lead the way.

She recalled his order that, at the first sign of trouble, she was to flatten herself against a wall. She walked slowly, for there was little light.

In front of them, a dull glow appeared. As it became brighter, they could make out two forms on the far side of the crevice. Rebecca froze as the sound of a woman's scream and the laugh she had grown to hate rolled along the tunnel.

Nicholas took her arm and halted her. Mutely, he pointed to the wall. She should wait, sheltered by the uneven surface. He took two steps farther so he was visible in the candlelight. With a shout, he called, "Let her go, dog, or you are dead!"

Clarisse shrieked, "Nicholas! Help me!"

The masked men spun to see his enemy on the opposite side of the bridge. Shock was evident in his voice. "Lord Foxbridge! How did you find me?"

A feminine laugh filled the cave as Rebecca peered from her hiding place. "He had an excellent guide! You were stupid as usual to tell everyone you were bringing Clarisse back here, Curtis!"

At the same time, Clarisse and Nicholas gasped, "Curtis?" Neither had guessed that Eliza's betrothed was the highwayman. Although Nicholas had known it must be someone in one of the houses, he had not suspected the man who professed to love his sister.

Langston ripped off his mask and tossed it into the crevice. His smile broadened as he regarded his enemy. "You are very bright, Rebecca. I didn't think you would be smart enough to figure out a way out of my little cage or that you would guess my identity."

"You're the stupid one!" she taunted. "When you pretend you are a impoverished highwayman, you shouldn't forget to wear your gloves all the time. Did you think I would forget your signet ring which scratched me the day we had our picnic?" She touched her cheek. "It cut into me the same way when you could not control your own rapacious nature."

Again he said, admiringly, "I'm afraid I underestimated the Yankee intellect. It seems that you are as wily as you are reputed to be."

The other man stated coldly, "Compliments to Rebecca won't help you now, Langston! Send Clarisse here, or you are dead. Don't doubt my marksmanship."

"I do not, my lord. I'm sure it is as sharp as Lady Foxbridge's mind." He grinned with boyish delight. "However, I don't think I will be doing as you ask, Nicholas. I suggest you drop your gun carefully, or -- " A scream obliterated his voice.

Nicholas whirled as he cried, "Rebecca!" In the dim light, he saw the bared weapons in the hands of the four men standing between him and the entrance of the cave. His eyes riveted on the gun placed against his wife's head. He turned to glare at Langston and the woman whose arm he still held.

Clarisse screamed, "Shoot him, Nicholas! Help me! Let them have Rebecca if they want her! You said you never loved her. Let them have her."

Langston laughed. "You're wrong, Miss Beckwith. Both of us were fooled by Lord Foxbridge's renewed ardor for you. He loves Lady Foxbridge, don't you, my lord? Enough so you would do anything to save her, even if it meant sacrificing this well-born harlot who lusts for your title as much as for you."

"Langston, if -- "

"Shut up!" he growled, infuriated that Wythe would question his superiority at this juncture. "You listen to me for once."

Nicholas nodded reluctantly. He could not risk Langston's rage simply because he did not want to listen to the fake highwayman's gloating. When he saw Clarisse's gasp of horror, he knew she had expected him to resist the order.

The smile returned to Langston's face as he continued, "I didn't believe Rebecca when she told me that the story of her tricking you into marriage was true, but I was unsure if your affection for Clarisse was faked or not. If I had known how easy it would be to bring you here on her trail, I would have done this days ago." In a more threatening tone, he added, "I have asked you once, Nicholas, to drop your gun into the crevice. If you force me to ask you again, it will be Lady Foxbridge who pays the price of my impatience."

"No, Nicholas!" cried Rebecca. "Don't do what he says! Kill him! They are going to kill us anyhow! Don't let him escape!"

Nicholas did not glance at her or hesitate as he tossed his gun into the wide hole separating him from Langston. The sound of its crashing journey to the bottom was loud in the silence. Quietly, he said, "It's me that you want, Langston. Let the ladies go."

"That might have been possible before, but I'm afraid it would be very foolish of me to free these two ladies who know my identity. There are a few things that must be settled between Lady Foxbridge and me before she dies." Langston leered at her. "A little unfinished business, right, Rebecca? You haven't forgotten what I told you I had planned for you, have you?" He smiled maliciously.

"No!" she screamed. She fought her captor until the click of a trigger sounded loudly in the cave.

Instantly Nicholas shouted, "Stop, Rebecca! Don't force them to kill you!"

"Listen to your husband, my lady," jeered Langston. "For once, he is speaking common sense. Now, my lord, I have a request for you." When Langston ordered him to cross the bridge, Nicholas did so with easy grace.

One of the no longer hooded men followed him to give their jailer extra protection. They recognized him as Jackson Edwards, Langston's friend who had joined them for the picnic. None of the men was willing to test the strength and wiles of Lord Foxbridge.

Clarisse stared at Edwards, remembering that she had brought him to Beckwith Grange and her bed. When he grinned knowingly at her, she snarled out a curse which brought laughter from his comrades. She flushed. When she had thought she had seduced him, he simply had been using her.

Drawing the gun he had been afraid to reveal before, Langston laughed victoriously. He shoved Clarisse into Nicholas's arms.

Quietly, he asked, "Are you unharmed, Clarisse?"

Daggers of hate glowed in her green eyes as she stated, "It is a little late for honesty, isn't it, Nicholas? You could have been more concerned with my welfare before you sucked me into this craziness."

"I can only say I'm sorry. I had hoped to win Rebecca's release, but I miscalculated. She was free already."

"Rebecca! It's always Rebecca!" She glared at the woman standing in the far edge of the light of the torches. "I hope you and your Rebecca burn in hell together, Nicholas Wythe!"

Langston had been enjoying the exchange, but, regretfully, he interrupted to say with false courtesy, "Excuse me, Miss Beckwith. You may be having fun venting your righteous rage on Lord Foxbridge, but I must halt it." His smile widened as he used his gun to emphasize his words. "Strip! Miss Beckwith, to your chemise. You, my lord, to your breeches. Stockings and shoes off as well."

"How dare you?" she cried. Her fury refocused on her captor. "I'm not going to undress to satisfy a half-witted voyeur like you, sir!"

"Now!" he ordered through clenched teeth. "Do so, or die! After all, it's not as if Lord Foxbridge hasn't seen you so before." He chortled with malicious humor. "Maybe you can convince him to be your lover one last time tonight."

Slipping his arms from his dark riding coat, Nicholas said, softly, "Do as he says, Clarisse." It would be dangerous to retort to Langston's taunts. They must not make him so angry that he would order his underling to pull the trigger on the gun at Rebecca's head.

She swore loudly. "I won't! I don't care what they do to you or to your Yankee camp follower bride. Let me go, Curtis," she pleaded. "I won't interfere with your plans nor will I tell anyone what I have seen. You don't want me. It is the Wythes you want." With a sneer, she added, "You are welcome to them. I would be glad to help you strangle both."

Grasping her arms, Nicholas shook her sharply. He had to force her to see that, no matter how much she hated him for putting her in the midst of this, the Wythes were her allies, not her enemies. Although she did not realize it, she was the first Langston would kill if the situation became unmanageable. He had not yet gotten what he wanted from the lord and lady of Foxbridge Cloister.

"You damned fool," he said sternly. "Langston can't let you go. You would own him forever, for you could turn him over to the constable to hang at any time."

"I wouldn't!"

Nicholas's ebony eyes glowed with fury. He would not let her selfishness destroy them. "Do what he says! You aren't stupid normally! Don't be stupid now!"

Fearfully, she looked up into the tight face of the man she had longed to have for her own. He was right. If she did not do as she was told, she would be murdered. When she looked past Nicholas to their jailer, she knew she would be face complete debasing before she died. For the first time in her life, she had to accept that her pretty face and full curves were not going to bend a man to her will. Neither Nicholas nor Langston would allow her to manipulate them one against the other to gain her freedom. With a sob, she reached for the hooks of her ruined costume. Her fingers trembled violently.

"Let me help," offered Nicholas, softly, as he saw her struggling with the many small fasteners. He had undressed to his dark breeches as had been ordered.

His kindness completed the destruction of her composure. She burst into tears and clung to him as he undid the dress. Although she had dreamed of him doing exactly that, she had never expected the dream to darken to this nightmare.

With her face against his bare chest, she could not see that, as he helped her remove her clothes, his gaze remained on Rebecca. The gun pointed unerringly at her temple. He wondered why she was not being treated the same as them. A flash of horror erupted through him. Langston had something planned for her far worse than the death they faced.

Langston watched with pleasure as they obey his orders. He kicked the pile of discarded clothes into the gap in the tunnel floor. "Very good. Now you have no means of escaping my little cage. I will leave you here alone to enjoy yourselves as you wish. As I said before, you, my dear Clarisse, shall have the night to convince Lord Foxbridge that he wants you again. You need have no worry of chaperones. I'm afraid it won't be comfortable, for Lady Foxbridge destroyed the comforts I offered her. I surmise the cot she used is at the bottom of the chasm."

He signaled to his crony. Together they crossed the plank and started to pull it away to maroon the prisoners.

Nicholas leapt forward. He was not quick enough to halt them. With a curse, he gripped the board as it hung part way over the chasm. The well-honed muscles of his back stood out against his skin as he fought to bring it back toward him. In the first seconds, as he surprised them with his attempt, he pulled it toward him.

The two men on the other side battled him in a deadly tug of war. Rebecca watched in wide-eyed fear. She was afraid to make a sound to break her husband's concentration and send him hurtling into the pit.

Nicholas strained to hold the board, but his sweat-encased hands slipped on its rough surface. The muscles along his bare body tightened with the effort. When he saw small hands grasp hold also, he grinned with renewed determination. Clarisse had joined him to effect their escape.

It was useless, for Langston called for help. All but the one who held Rebecca swarmed to him. With a mighty jerk, they pulled the plank to their side.

Nicholas caught Clarisse before she could topple over the edge. Together they dropped to the floor. As he gasped for breath, he put his arm around the sobbing Clarisse. She buried her face against his bare chest. They huddled in defeat on the damp floor.

Across the impassible chasm, tears rolled down Rebecca's cheeks. Her husband had tried to save them, and it hurt her to see him fail. At a laugh, her eyes raised to her captor's. He grinned a snaggle-toothed smile as his hand ran enticingly along her body. She screamed.

Langston turned at the sound. "Keep your hands off her, Dobbs! If you can't wait, you won't get your opportunity to enjoy the widowed Lady Foxbridge."

Her face blanched at the dual threat. She had not thought that Langston would turn her over to his men to be ravaged. Then she realized it was be the punishment he had devised to make her pay for escaping his prison and causing him to look like a fool before his men.

"Please," she begged, "don't do this to us." It was no time for pride. If he wanted them to debase themselves before him, they had other options. "I have told you I will do whatever you wish if you don't hurt Nicholas."

He laughed and sauntered over to where the chastised man had tightened his grip painfully on her. Waving aside the gun, he put his fingers under her chin and tilted her face up to look into his eyes. "My sweet, naÔve Rebecca, you have no idea how infuriated it made me to discover that you had fled from my little cage."

"Langston!" demanded Nicholas. He was on his feet again. His fists were clenched impotently at his side. "Leave Rebecca with us."

"No, no, my lord. Lady Foxbridge will be helping me prepare for your demise."

"You will never have Rebecca."

He laughed in response. "I shall and my men shall and the hangman as well. When it is learned that Lady Foxbridge murdered you and your mistress in a fit of jealous spite, she will meet her end quite nicely in a hangman's noose."

"I will them the truth!" cried Rebecca. Her voice trembled as she fought her fear. "You will hang! Not me!"

"Who would believe a traitorous Yankee determined to destroy the man who played her false from the beginning by taking her away from her family and the man she loved? After the scene portrayed by Nicholas and his so-willing Clarisse tonight, nobody will suspect that you didn't discover them dressed as they are now together in bed."

Clarisse shrieked, "Curtis, reconsider! Marry Eliza, then get rid of her, too. You have made it clear on more than one occasion that you are interested in me. Marry me. That will protect your secret for a wife cannot testify against her husband. You will have the Cloister and a wife who brings you more wealth."

He did not even pause to consider it. "Thank you, but I am not interested in you or any of your most tempting offers. Believe it or not, I am quite fond of young Eliza. She will be the perfect next lady of Foxbridge Cloister when her husband assumes the duties of its lord." His eyes caught Nicholas's, and he grinned superiorly. "In addition, I want the present Lord Foxbridge to spend his time in hell knowing that his sweet, little sister is mine to use as I please."

Rebecca snarled, "Do you think Eliza will want you when she learns you murdered her brother? The jury may not believe me, but Eliza will."

Langston grasped her and pulled her tight to him. "Are you expecting that you will be returning to Foxbridge Cloister immediately, my dear? No, no. I am going to keep you for myself here for a while. Then my men will be able to enjoy you. Only when we are finished with you will we release you to the authorities."

"No," she whispered. "Curtis, don't do this. Let me stay with my husband this one last night before you destroy us all."

"I don't think it would be a good idea to leave the resourceful Rebecca unattended. It shall be much more fun to take you with me while I set the stage for your husband's so timely death, my lady."

"Keep your filthy hands off my wife, Langston!"

He smiled broadly at Nicholas's shout and, twisting Rebecca to face him, forced her mouth under his. Her hands clawed at him, but he refused to release her. When his hand crept along her side to encircle her breast, her scream, muted by his lips, was resonated through the cavern. Looking at Nicholas, he laughed. "I intend to put far more than my hands on your Rebecca, my lord. I intend to have her and your sister and your Cloister. I have worked long for this."

"Arrange?" whispered Rebecca.

He grinned victoriously at her, but spoke to his enemy. "Your brother Brad was simple, for his life as a rouÈ garnered him enough enemies who wanted him dead. No one suspected there had been no duel. I wonder if he knew what would happen when I continued to ply him with drinks to make him so drunk, I could kill him readily. Your bereaved mother never did ask whom it was that Brad supposedly fought. It saved me having to devise some lies that might have been revealed as untrue."

Rebecca watched her husband as the unbelievable story unfolded. Nicholas's face became hard with the cold fury which masked the much hotter rage beneath. Trying to pull away from Langston, she cursed at him when he tightened his grip on her arms. Again he simply laughed at her.

Langston continued to smile as he admitted, ""You, my lord, were much more difficult. You see, when I picked Eliza to bring me the wealth I wanted, I thought she would have only one brother to deal with. It wasn't until I came to the Cloister for the funeral of my dear friend Lord Foxbridge, that I learned you possibly were still alive. My prayers for your demise were to no avail. How was I to know that you would survive the prison hulks and come back to England with a wife?"

She gasped. "The duel! You fixed the gun to jam!" She closed her eyes in agony as she recalled how blithely she had given him the weapon. Thinking he was their friend, she had not questioned his report. She should have realized that he could not have fired the gun behind the stable without her hearing it by Nicholas's bedside.

"Royce owed me a favor that I decided to collect on painlessly. He knew there was no danger to him." Langston clutched Rebecca's face between his fingers. Squeezing her cheeks until she gasped in pain, he glared at her shocked face. "You saved Nicholas that day by being there to aid him as soon as he fell. Otherwise, he would have been returned to Foxbridge Cloister as a corpse." He smiled. "I didn't want to kill you then, Rebecca, for I have been very anxious to enjoy what you offer."

"I won't -- "

"But you will, my dear."

"Kill her, Langston, and you get nothing," Nicholas shouted.

Langston scowled. "I get everything."

"You get nothing." He laughed. "You must know that Foxbridge Cloister is not entailed if you killed Brad in order to obtain the estate by marrying my sister."

"I know that."

"Did you know as well that I have remade my will?"

Rebecca swallowed her groan as his fingers bit into her arm. "Remade your will?"

"To leave, upon my death, all of Foxbridge Cloister to a pretty lass named Rebecca Wythe." He laughed at Langston's astonishment. "And when she dies, it will go to her brother in America, not my sister, for Hart North is her closest living male relative."

"You're lying!"

"Am I?" He folded his arms across his chest. "Do you dare risk that all your villainy has been for naught?"

Langston snarled a curse at Rebecca.

She laughed as her husband had. "You are a fool, Curtis Langston!"

"Rebecca -- " Nicholas's shout vanished into pain as Langston swung his arm back and struck her so sharply she fell to the hard floor.

Through the thick heat of her pain, she heard Nicholas's raised voice. She huddled in agony, unable to interpret his words. She groaned as a boot against her side rolled her onto her back. In horror, she gazed up at the blurred face of Curtis Langston and watched helplessly as it came closer to her.

"Nicholas!" she moaned as she felt her sister-in-law's fiancÈ's fingers on the buttons of her riding coat. There was no one to aide her. Her fists struck out blindly, but hit him. Her heel kicked him sharply in the shin.

Swearing vehemently, Langston pulled her roughly to her feet. He faced his enemy who paced like a caged cat along the edge of the crevice while Clarisse watched in horror. Loudly, he ordered the plank pushed back into place. Holding his gun to Rebecca's head, he ordered Nicholas away from it.

When he shoved Rebecca toward the makeshift bridge, he said, "My lord, I don't know if you are lying or being honest for the first time in days. Until I am sure, I return your lady to you."

She glanced at him, frightened by his sudden change of heart. That he was going to let her stay here with Nicholas seemed absurd. Then she realized he could not resist having both she and Nicholas killed before he found out if the will had truly been changed. Hearing her husband calling for her to hurry, she knew he feared Langston would relent and rape her immediately. Dampening her lips, she stared at the narrow board. Only desperation had forced her across it before. She was unsure if she could. If she drew the pistol --

"Rebecca, now!" shouted Nicholas as she heard a click directly behind her ear. The cold point of a pistol barrel pricked her skin.

Taking a deep breath, she fearfully stepped on the plank to cross to the prison she had escaped so recently. She concentrated on each step as she slid her feet toward the other side. She did not want to freeze in the center as she had the other time she crossed. Hearing a cruel chuckle, she looked over her shoulder to see Langston place his foot on the board and put a bounce into it.

"No!" she screamed as it moved wildly beneath her. Her hands rose as she tried to balance herself on the gyrating board. Dear God! Why hadn't she seen the truth? Langston would do anything to force Nicholas to rewrite his will again. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Nicholas rush forward, but he was ordered back as the gun in Langston's hand aimed directly at her. In terror, she cried, "Help me!"

Laughter filled the cave, as the board was set in motion once more. It rocked her from her feet. She shrieked as she slipped. She grasped the plank to keep her from falling to the bottom of the cleft surface.

Nicholas moved without thinking of the threat of the loaded weapons. Shouting a quick order to Clarisse to stand on the board on their side, he inched across it on his hands and knees to where Rebecca hung by her fingertips. He did not pause to see that his enemy had put two of his men on the other end of the board to keep it from slipping.

"Let go of the edge, sweetheart," he whispered. "I have your wrists. You won't fall."

Her eyes were squeezed closed. "I can't let go." As her voice rose hysterically, she gasped, "I'm trying, but my fingers won't let go."

"I have you, sweetheart. I won't let you fall. Trust me, Rebecca."

Slowly, her eyes opened. Staring at the love in his, she forced her fingers to release their convulsive grip. She moaned as she slipped downward, but Nicholas did not lose her. With care, slowly, gritting his teeth, he drew her back to the board. She swallowed her gasp of pain as her body rubbed painfully on the edge as he brought her up to sit beside him. He leaned her face on his bare chest as he bent his head over hers while he tried to regain his steady breathing. As she clutched him, unable to believe she was alive, she heard him whisper in her ear.

"Do you still have the gun I gave you? Don't nod. Just squeeze my arm if you have it." He hid his smile in her disheveled hair as her fingers contracted lightly on his forearm. "Good. I have my knife, as well. Faint, Rebecca."

"What?" she whispered into his sweaty skin.

"Faint, my love. When I put you on the floor, take out your gun and shoot whoever is closest. I can kill at least one more of them."

She did not reply. Their enemies numbered five. Nicholas must hope to terrify the others into flight.

Following his orders, she fell limp against him. It was nearly impossible to stay motionless as he rose. Her fear of the long fall to the bottom of the chasm urged her to grasp him, but she forced her arms and legs to drop around him.

"The other way, Wythe!" came the order in Langston's voice.

"She has fainted. Let me put her down before I drop her. Perhaps that might not be such a bad idea. It would save Rebecca from your fantasized lusts, and you will have nothing to force to me to make Eliza my heir."

"All right, bring her here. One false move, and you are dead, as well as Clarisse. "

With a step toward him, Nicholas said in a grim tone, "I understand completely."

Her eyes opened slightly as he lowered her to the ground. When his body shielded her momentarily from the sight of the others, she reached into her skirt for the hidden weapon. Langston had not guessed it was fear of this gun being discovered that had caused her to scream when his animal dared to stroke her.

"Can someone get some water for her forehead?" called Nicholas in a falsely distressed voice. "She's got quite a bruise."

Foolishly, Langston ordered one of his men to get a bucketful from the ocean water pulsating higher into the cave. "Let me look at her, Wythe!"

Nicholas kept his body between the man and Rebecca until the very last moment. Langston bent over her and pushed aside her hair to search for a wound. The only one had been bandaged already.

"Don't touch me ever again!" she hissed. With a smile more vengeful than his, she pressed the long barrel of her pistol to the tip of his nose. "If you don't want what little brains you have separated from your skull, I suggest you order all your men to the other side of chasm. First, tell them to give Nicholas their weapons. Don't forget the one on his way out. Call him back."

"You will pay for this," he snarled as he reached for the weapon. He froze when her thumb settled on the hammer.

"Will I? I think I have already. It's your turn!" she taunted. "Do as I said!"

Not daring to move, he shouted to his men. Stupefied by the sudden change, they obeyed. Clarisse did not hesitate as she crossed the chasm after jeering at her onetime captors.

"Now, you, Langston!" Rebecca ordered.

Slowly he rose. She scrambled to her feet while Nicholas aimed one of his commandeered weapons straight at their enemy. Her husband looked down at her smiling face and winked. When she handed him her gun, he took it and placed the other on the ground near his feet. The others he had tossed into the pit, not wanting to chance them being used against him again.

He smiled as he pointed Rebecca's pistol at Langston. "Rebecca asked you to go over to your little cage, as you are so fond of calling it."

"Yes, do go, Curtis," seconded Clarisse. As he stepped onto the board, he paused as she continued, "I plan to come to see you hang. Perhaps Rebecca will help me host a soirÈe for when you are done swinging."

Rebecca gasped, shocked, "Clarisse!"

"Why not?" she demanded. "He tried to kill us all so he could marry poor Eliza only to gain control of Foxbridge Cloister."

"No! That can't be true!"

They turned to see the ghostly pale face of Eliza Wythe.

In that moment of surprise, Langston jumped forward in a flying leap. He tackled Nicholas, sending him crashing to the rock. The gun went skidding across the floor to drop into the crevice. The second pistol vanished beneath the struggling men.

Rebecca kicked the board into the chasm before the others could cross. She turned to see how she could help her husband. She screamed as she saw the bare blade in Langston's hand. It was the same one that had cut her.

She ran to Eliza pulling Clarisse with her as Nicholas kicked his way out from under the other man. The three women watched as the men grappled too close to the edge of the precipice. As the men circled each other, weighing the weaknesses and strengths of the other, she noticed Nicholas had his shorter knife in his hand.

So intensely she was watching the fight, she did not see Eliza rush forward to grasp the lone gun. The young woman scooped it up and balanced it easily in her hand.

"Stop!" she cried. "Stop, both of you, or I will shoot!"

Instantly the two men stared at her from several arm-lengths apart. Nobody spoke as they stared at the tear-covered face of the betrayed woman. No one could guess what Eliza was thinking. They wondered if she would shoot her brother or her lover.

"Is what they are saying true, Curtis? Were you the highwayman who hurt Rebecca? Were you going to kill Nicholas and Clarisse as well? I followed them here tonight, because I wanted to help capture Sims's murderer. Was that you, Curtis?" When he hesitated, she pulled back on the hammer. "Tell me the truth."

He grinned charmingly at her. "Eliza, you know I love you. I wanted only the best for you."

"No," she said softly, as tears flowed along her cheeks, "you don't love me, Curtis. You never did! You only used me. You hurt my family and friends. I loved you. I trusted you." She drew the hammer back farther. "You killed one of my brothers, and you would have murdered Nicholas and Rebecca, too."

Rebecca whispered, "No, Eliza, don't do this!" Eliza would be haunted all her life if she killed Langston.

Glancing at her, Eliza slowly lowered the gun. Tears bubbled out of her eyes. She started to turn toward Rebecca, but shrieked as Langston leapt toward Nicholas with a knife held high.

"No!" Eliza cried. She raised the gun. "You won't kill Nicholas, too!"

As she fired, the men on the other side of the chasm fell to the floor in fear. Langston clutched his chest where a deep red stain was expanding in the center of his coat. For a second, he wobbled on the edge of the cliff. Then, with a scream that would echo through all their nightmares, he fell backward.

As she sobbed, the weapon fell from Eliza's fingers to the stone floor. Rebecca rushed to enfold her in her arms. Into her wet hair, she murmured over and over that it was all right, that they were all safe, that there was nothing else she could have done.

Nicholas peered once over the edge of the wide crack in the floor. Turning he picked up the gun Eliza had used and threw it into the crevice. He wrapped his arms around his wife and sister. Feeling other eyes on him, he asked, "How are you doing, Clarisse?"

Wryly, she smiled. Knowing there was no hope of love between them, perhaps it was time to be the friends they had been too many years ago. "I have done much better and much worse. Let's go home."

Triumphant laughter filled his eyes as he swung his sobbing sister into his arms. Over his shoulder, he called, "Gentleman, enjoy your last night as free men. I will arrange for the authorities to pick you up at low tide in the morning." Lastly, he turned to Rebecca. "Shall we go home, sweetheart?"

"To our home?" she teased, reminding him of the time when she had refused to accept that she was his wife. It was not easy to joke, but she wanted to banish the wicked darkness Curtis Langston had brought into their lives.

"Most definitely to our home, my darling Rebecca!"

Epilogue

Rebecca walked into her husband's study. With a tired smile, she sank down onto a padded settee. She watched as he finished the letter he was writing. Melting wax, he affixed the seal of Foxbridge Cloister at the bottom.

When he was done, Nicholas asked, "How is Eliza?"

"She's better. The shock is beginning to wear off a little. Once it does, she should be able to mourn much more naturally. It isn't easy to kill the man you love." She shuddered. The thought of facing the man who sat at the desk and having to choose between his life and her family's was too horrible to consider.

He rose and sat next to her. Taking her hands, he brought them to his lips. "I will never betray you, my love. You know you needn't worry about that."

"I don't, Nicholas." She grinned impishly, as she said, "Now that Clarisse has announced her plans to marry Richard Carter, I don't have to worry about you inviting her to take my place again."

"You will never let me forget that, will you?" He laughed, his dark eyes sparkling. "It might have worked, if I hadn't had such a resourceful wife who managed her own escape."

He drew her close as he placed his lips over hers. His arms tightened around her. He would never be able to forget how near he had come more than once to losing this lovely, loving lady. The endless horror of those two days when he had known she was in the hands of a sadist would remain in the corners of his heart until the time he closed his eyes in eternal sleep.

"I love you, Nicholas," she whispered.

"And I love you." He leaned her back against the seat cushion so he could feel all of her beneath him.

She reached up to push an errant strand of hair back toward his queue. "We should do something for Eliza. A change of scenery or some sort of excitement that would take her mind off what has happened. She needs a chance to start over again without the cruelly curious glances of people who know she shot Curtis Langston."

They all needed a different type of excitement than had been going on since before the masquerade ball when more had been revealed beneath the masks than the identities of the revelers. The Wythes needed a chance to laugh again. Even if things went back to the way they had been before the tragedy, Rebecca would have preferred it. Lady Margaret seemed to accept her, but it was not worth what it had cost to gain that acceptance.

The investigation into the crimes had been brief. The evidence was self-explanatory. With the story of the highwayman spread throughout the shire and the witnesses to the kidnapping of Clarisse Beckwith, there was very little need for further investigation. Langston's cohorts had been duly tried and duly hanged with the efficiency of a vengeful public.

A few changes had been made to the truth so not to cause more injury to the innocent. Both Lady Margaret Wythe and Lord Foxbridge had testified under oath that Clarisse Beckwith had been informed of Nicholas's plan to delude the highwayman. Without that slight perjury, Clarisse might not have been able to accept Richard's proposal. Instead of being shamed, she had basked in the reflected glory.

In the two months since the abduction, Eliza had remained secluded. The local gentry had left already for the winter season in London, but the Wythes stayed at Foxbridge Cloister. To take Eliza to the familiar spots where she had been courted by her heartless lover would have been too pitiless. Rebecca kept the nosy and inconsiderate away from her heartbroken sister-in-law, but the time had come to help Eliza put her life back together again.

Rebecca had made sure that the letter from the solicitors was destroyed before anyone but Nicholas could read it. Doyle had learned that Curtis Langston was the most current alias for a onetime actor who had been the lover of more lonely women than he could determine. In his rÙle of Eliza's suitor, he had aspired to his greatest part of all: becoming the owner of Foxbridge Cloister. In a way, that news did not surprise her. Langston had watched the others and reacted as if reading a script. He had been so many different persons to each one he met, that he would have had to be a consummate actor to assume all those identities.

When she had shown Nicholas the letter from London, she had had to explain her reasons for her unease. It was not difficult, for they knew that she had been correct in her intuition. Knowing that she had been right was no consolation for the pain they had suffered simply because she had not been at Foxbridge Cloister to receive her letter when it arrived the day after her abduction.

Nicholas looked down into her eyes which were nearly violet with her horror as she recalled those hours of torture. Softly he mused, "I have been thinking of taking her away, too. How about a trip? You, me, Eliza, and Mother, if she wants to go."

"Where?"

He smiled secretively. "I was considering a sea voyage. It is so peaceful at sea. Unless, of course, you are traveling with a woman who refuses to admit she loves you."

"Enough of that aggravating teasing, Nicholas!" she reprimanded with a laugh. "If you want to know the truth, I didn't fall in love you on the Neptune's Prize."

"And when did you fall in love with me, my stubborn wife?"

"I don't know exactly. Now it seems like I have always loved you. I know I thought you were so kind and handsome when you were hiding in our barn. I was worried that I loved you the day I had the accident in the copse. By the time of the church fair, I could not doubt that I adored your obstinate, thick-headed British ways." She laughed. "Maybe it was when you had patience with all my mistakes I made when I was learning to ride and spent more time on the ground than on Blossom's back. I knew if you wanted me then, you must be someone very special."

"That was before you heard from Hart."

She smiled as she combed her fingers through his hair. When his lips touched the curve of her throat, she whispered, "Of course, it was. I was just trying to fight my love the rest of the time. Sometimes it is fun to lose, my love, as I lost my heart to you." She put her hands on his cheeks and drew his face back so she could look into his eyes. "You haven't told me where we are going."

"How about those colonies that have the audacity to call themselves the United States of America? I have been thinking it's about time to visit my in-laws and introduce myself in a little bit less sensational manner." He kissed her cheek. In a more serious voice, he asked, "How would you like to go home for a visit, my love?"

"That would be lovely, but. . ." Softly, as she pulled his mouth over hers, she said, "I am home, Nicholas. Wherever you are, that is where I am at home." The rest of her reply was lost in the soft murmur of love of his lips against her skin.

-- The End --