She squirmed in the seat, casting covert glances his way. She wanted to ask him something. Finally she found her voice. "What do you see when you look out the window?"

He looked outside. "Fog and dirty snow."

"Is that all?"

"That's all there is."

Her voice held a tinge of sadness that made him want to look away. "The fog is like the mist at home.The Scots say that a thick mist is just a wee bit of heaven drifting down to earth." She looked outsideagain and a few minutes later quietly asked, "Do you suppose there's enough snow for us to take a sleighride?"

Annoyed by all the talk of sleighs and bells and gingerbread-things he knew little of-he gave her the

answer he assumed she sought. "Perhaps in the park."But she continued to wait, her face expectant. He looked away, casting a covetous glance at a primeteam of bays. Horses fit for a prince.

"What did you just see that so pleased you?"He turned, startled that she could read his expression. He waited, then answered, "Horses.""Oh."Even Alec could hear the disappointment in her voice. He had little time to ponder that. After a few sharp turns and a shout from Jem the carriage ground to a halt in back of his tall and elegant town house."Oh, my goodness!" Her hands flew to her mouth."God Almighty, don't sneeze!""I wasn't going to," she said, her palms now flat and, like her nose, pressed against the glass. She tilted her head back and looked upward."This is Belmore House." Alec stepped down from the carriage and turned back.She gave him one of her awestruck stares.How in the name of God could he turn her loose among the ton? He didn't know who needed more protection-her or them.He shook his head resignedly and took her hand. "Come along, Scottish. You have more servants tomeet."

Chapter 18.

"What the devil do you mean, there aren't any servants?" Joy blanched at the sound of her husband's icy voice in the next room. She had been abandoned in the salon and had spent the last few minutes tilting her head this way and that, trying to decipher the scene in the high painted ceiling above her. A man with a lyre and a wispy maiden frolicked in a forest amid a cluster of wood nymphs. The Pan-like creatures immediately brought to mind Mrs. Watley, all six uppityfeet of her, in a dead faint."Most of the help went home to the country for the Christmas holiday, Your Grace. The weather has delayed their return.""Then find some more."Snapped from a vision of goat horns, an impish face, and a man-sized woman hitting the floor, Joy heard the servant nervously clear his throat. "We tried, Your Grace, but none are available.""This is London, Carstairs. There have to be servants available. Contact all the agencies.""I did so. There's no one available. They've all been hired out, Your Grace. Too many people stuck in town because of the bad weather. I tried, but-""Who's missing?" Alec's curt voice filtered through the fireplace grate.Joy stepped closer and heard Carstairs rattle off a list of names.Alec swore again. She blanched. He'd need a whole armful of heavenly forgiveness for that word. Chair legs squealed across a wooden floor, then she heard the echoing sound of him pacing in the next room- thud, thud, thud, turn. "So we are, with no butler, no cook, seven... no, eight missing footmen, and approximately five absent maids." She could picture him, eyes hard, head bent in thought, hands clasped behind his back, his long-legged strides eating up the floor. Her experience had taught her that he always started a sentence on a turn.

"And the stable master," added Carstairs."Jem's here, he can fill that position." He must have turned, she thought."Henson and the others can fill in," Alec continued, "but the cook . ..""Two of the maids can prepare plain meals, and I heard there's to be a hiring fair tomorrow. Normally I wouldn't hire from a fair, but in this case I suppose we have no other choice."Joy grinned and her eyes brightened. A fair! What fun. She had never been to a fair."Fine. Do what you must, but I want this house adequately staffed by tomorrow night.""Yes, Your Grace."

A door closed and a moment later the sliding mahogany pocket doors rumbled open and Alec strode into the salon. Wordlessly he walked past her, and she heard the clink of fine crystal behind her.

While he poured his drink she looked into the next room and saw another salon, larger than this one and done in darker tones of deep claret and rich hunter green. The strong, warm scent of tobacco and sandalwood drifted from that room. It smelled of Alec, she thought, catching a glimpse of a hunting scene above a small nook where a carved card table and heavy leather chairs formed an intimate playing circle. "What room is that?"

"The gentlemen's saloon."

She tried to see if the ceiling was painted, but the wall that encased the doors blocked what must have been another three-story room. After a tense silence during which the only sound was the splash of pouring liquor, she said, "I couldn't help overhearing."

Alec looked up at her, still scowling. "Bloody weather." He leaned against a small gilded cart. He glanced down at his glass, then up at her. "Would you like something? A glass of sherry?"

She shook her head. After the last time she didn't think she wanted to drink any amber-colored liquids. She toyed with a pale blue glass figurine atop the marble chimneypiece for a thoughtful moment. "Alec?"

"Hmm?"

"Who were you speaking to?" She set the figurine down, crossed to a stiff-backed chair, and traced the carved wood that edged it.

"Carstairs, my secretary."

"Oh." She strolled over to a sofa, picked up a tapestry pillow, and fiddled with the gold fringe while she leaned against the carved arm. "What do you do when you're in London?"

He seemed surprised by that question. "The Belmore dukes have always had a seat at government. I sit in the House of Lords."

"What else?"

"Attend balls, go to my club, ride in the park-the usual things done by English peers." He glanced up and must have read her face because he added, "It might sound frivolous, Scottish, but most of England's laws are formulated and decided not in Parliament, but at social events." He took a drink. "Why?"

"I was just wondering." She fondled the pillow, then asked the dreaded question: "When do I meet the prince?"

He set the glass down and took an envelope from his coat. "This was awaiting us."

"What is it?"

"An invitation to the prince regent's ball. Seems he's decided to celebrate some monumental occasion- probably the birth of a new litter of hunting hounds." He dropped the envelope on the table between them, and she picked it up and sat down.

The ball was to be held in two weeks. A wee smile tickled her lips. A ball! A prince's ball. "You seem upset. Don't you like balls?"Alec glanced up at her. "I didn't plan to stay in London that long.""Oh." She stared at the invitation in her hands, then asked, "What does a duchess do when in London?""She doesn't cast spells."Frowning, Joy set the invitation down. "You keep saying you expect me to behave as the duchess of Belmore should. How can I behave as such if I have no idea what is expected of me?"

He sighed. It had a defeated sound. "I'll have to teach you." He took another drink, then said somethingabout frozen hell and training witches."I'm sure there's someone else who can show me what I need to know," she said in a cold tone."I said I'd do it."Pride made her sit erect. She folded her hands in her lap and lifted her chin a notch higher than normal.

"What are my duties?"

He took another sip of brandy and said, "Planning balls, dinners, and other social affairs. Basically youwill be a hostess.""Is that what most duchesses do?""Yes. Some ladies hire the servants and oversee them."Aha, she thought. There might be a way to see a fair and a ball all in one trip. Her face lit up like the lanterns at Vauxhall. Now, Joyous, she told herself, you need to work this just right....

"The Belmore women have done both," he continued. "I understand my grandmother was quite a tyrantwith the help.""Who runs this household?""The butler did"-he paused again-"does .. . will... oh, hell, whenever he returns.""Would you like me to take care of the servant problem?"His eyes narrowed. "How? You have no experience."She gave him a weak smile and snapped her fingers."God Almighty, no witchcraft!" He took a drink, then added, "And whatever you do, don't sneeze some up."

She'd known he would react that way. On to her next ploy. "Well, since using my powers isn't an option"-he grumbled something-"how about the fair?"His head shot up, his eyes suspicious. "What about it?""Can I go?"

"No.""But I'd like to hire the servants. 'Tis a duchess's duty.""No.""You just said it was.""Yes, I did. Yes, it is, and no, you cannot go to a hiring fair.""You said I should attend to my duties.""Not this time.""But-""No.""You don't believe I can do it.""No.""You keep saying no."He lifted his glass in a gesture that said, "You're right.""You're not even listening to me." She was quiet for a minute of thought. "How am I supposed to learn to carry out my duties if you won't give me any?""No.""Aha! I caught you! That was the wrong answer. It wasn't a yes-or-no question.""No, it wasn't, but no matter what you ask, the answer is still no.""I thought you were a just man. You haven't given me a reason.""I have my reasons.""But it's a fair.""This is not the kind of fair you think it is.""Then why do they call it a fair?"His eyes narrowed in frustration. "Someday I'll take you to a fair, but not this one." He stood and poured another drink."You could take me to this one.""I have business to take care of tomorrow, and you are not ready to be on your own in London.""I could take Henson."

"No."

"And Polly."

"No."

"And Carstairs."

He just leveled a glare at her.

She sighed. Englishmen were hardheaded. She drummed her fingers on the sofa arm and looked around the room. After the silence had stretched on for too long, she glanced at Alec. He broodingly stared into his glass. She had tried repeatedly to get him to respond to her. She wanted to unlock her husband. Since he'd walked in and caught sight of the broom and churn and roses, he had been harder than ever. It was as if the ice around him had thickened.

But she was not going to give up. She intended to melt him, magic or no. She was not a quitter, and Alec needed her, he was just too hardheaded to admit it. Little did he know that he had declared war the minute he said he would not make love to her. She intended to find a way to reach him, and so far, their lovemaking had been the only time he'd let his guard down. She would keep chipping away at him until she won. She stood up, intending to plan her strategy. "I'll go up to my room."

"The rooms are not yet ready. I told Polly and Roberts we'd wait in here." He glanced up at her. "Are you hungry?"

She shook her head and sat back down. They'd eaten a large meal at the coaching house where she'd tried to fix the chimney. She rested a small chin on one hand and relived that misadventure. So much smoke. She shook her head.

"We have no cook and no butler," he said, "so it's just as well you're not hungry, I suppose."

"You could always cook," she suggested with a smile.

He scowled at her.

Still no sense of humor. She sat there idly twisting the pillow fringe and looking at the green and gold room. The pale green sofa and chairs formed a circle atop a deep green Aubusson carpet that matched the malachite bordering the dark wood floors and trimming the hearth and mantel. The room was more formal than the salon at Belmore Park, more fragile and stiff. Sitting on the sofa was akin to sitting on a block of Aberdeen granite. She cast a quick glance at Alec. He didn't look any more comfortable than she felt, but she wondered if it was from the hard furniture or the awkward silence in the oppressive room.

She craned her neck and squinted at the ceiling.

"Orpheus and Eurydice," Alec said in an offhand manner.

"Hmm?"

"The scene on the ceiling." He stared at it, too. "Remind me not to look back."

"Hmm? Look back at what?"

"Nothing."

She searched for something to say to fill the awkward silence. "You mentioned your grandmother. Whatwas she like?""I never knew her, only of her. She died before I was born.""And your mother?""What about her?""What was she like?"He seemed surprised by the question, then stared into his glass before answering, "Regal, efficient, beautiful-the perfect duchess."

His mother was the perfect duchess. Everything Joy was not. She bit her lip and tried to summon somepride. It was somewhere near her toes.When she glanced up again he watched her over the rim of his glass. She was reminded of their distant dinner at Belmore Park. He was staring at her mouth. His eyes grew uncomfortably dark and

penetrating. A moment later he looked away.He wanted to kiss her, she realized and closed her eyes in thanks. The power between them was stillthere. She could feel it; she could see it in his eyes. It's my move, she thought. This is my chance. Shestood up and slowly walked toward him. "Would you like another drink?"

He raised his tense face to hers and was silent."Your glass is empty." She pointed to it. "I'll refill it."He looked at it, but before he could answer she plucked it from his hand and sauntered over to the brandy cart, refilled it, and sauntered back. She held out the glass. Look at me, Alec. He took the glass without a glance.So stubborn. This called for drastic measures. She reached up and quickly pulled the anchor pins fromher hair.

"Oh, my goodness!" Her hair tumbled down, and she heard his soft intake of breath. She looked at him.He held the glass halfway to his lips, his motion frozen. "I've lost my hairpins. Do you see them?""No." He took a deep drink.

She shook out her hair so it floated behind her. "They must be here somewhere."He stared at the wall, taking deep slow breaths, and she bit back a small triumphant smile, then knelt onthe floor in front of him and crawled around searching, making sure her hair swished over his bent knee."They couldn't have just disappeared." She sat back on her heels and flung her hair back.

His knuckles were white.She reached up to touch her hair and watched his gaze follow her hand. He raised the glass to his lips.Don't fight it, my love, she pleaded silently. Please, please, kiss me. She watched the battle being waged between his obstinate will and the hot pleasure that burned between them. He closed his eyes, and she held her breath, thinking she'd lost again.

He set the drink down.

"Do you suppose the pins are in your chair?" She reached over and started to put her hand down the side of the chair, giving her head a shake so her hair fell over his hand.

He grabbed her wrist.

She smiled.

He didn't.

Witchcraft should be so intense, she thought. She could feel the physical pull of this man as if an iron chain bound their hearts together. So powerful it was that she wondered for a brief instant if she had started something that even the strongest witchcraft couldn't handle.

He rose, never letting go of her wrist. Kneeling before him, she raised her face and looked up at him. His other hand moved toward her face and traced her cheekbone, then her jaw. She felt as if he could see inside her, see her heart open and needing, see the love she felt for him, her quaking knees, her pounding heart, and see her fear-the weak part of her that was afraid he'd never love her.

He paused to touch the mole above her lip, then ran his fingertip along the seam of her mouth. Her lips parted. His finger slipped inside and touched her tongue. His eyes grew dark and hotter. They touched -hard male finger to soft and damp female mouth. They were two feet apart, Joy kneeling, Alec standing. Their breathing increased; they exhaled slowly. This force, this magical gift that existed between them, was everything.

Her body was damp, her blood flowing thick. Her heart drummed along to its own excited beat. The tip of his finger tasted salty, like the air off the wild Scottish sea. She was home.

He drew his fingertip back, turned away and dipped it into the brandy, then brought it back, letting the droplets fall like honey onto her lips. "You are a witch," he said, then pulled her to her feet, and his mouth closed in, his tongue stroking out for a quick taste of her brandied lips. He groaned a deep growl of defeat into her mouth and drove his tongue inside, filling it thickly.

Her arms curled around his neck, and she pressed her body against him, needing his touch. She could taste the bitterness of the brandy, but it was sweetened by the flavor of Alec. Her Alec.

She breathed in his scent. His hand closed over a breast, and he grumbled another groan of male pleasure into her mouth, a deep primal sound that she could feel clear down to the heart of her womanhood.

He whispered something against her lips, then flicked open the front buttons on her gown, one by one by one. His hand dipped into her bodice and cupped her, his warm rough palm rubbing circles against the tip of her breast. She pearled in response, then threaded her fingers through his hair and moved down to touch his ear and trace the hard length of his strong neck. It was damp. She could feel the abrasive stubble of his beard, feel the hard lines of his jaw, the warmth of his skin-everything that proved he was real, that he was male.

Her hand slid downward and stopped over his heart, then she was lost in the thrusting rhythm of his deep kiss. His hand left her breast, the other hand left the back of her head and he gripped her bottom andlifted her up off the floor and against him. He rocked his hips slowly."Now," he said. "Here. Now."

She nodded against his neck.He walked her back against the closed doors and pinned her there with his hips. His hands slid to thebacks of the thighs, and he placed her knees on either side of his rocking hips. His hand slid down thefabric of her skirt and then up underneath.

She moaned when his warm hands slid over her stockings and touched the bare skin of her thighs. The

dress rose with his hands, with the tender touch and stroke of them.His hips moved and she slipped down the door. He raised his hips, sliding her back up. "Tighten yourlegs around me."

She pressed her knees against his hips and his fingers found the heart of her and plied their magic. He

touched her, stroked her, played with the core of her until her body seeped tears of response.His hand left her to open his trousers. A moment later she felt his power, his strength, the thick fullness ofhim sliding into her as smoothly as if they were and always had been one.

She gave a ragged cry."Hush." His voice was hoarse, his head bent, his breathing labored.Her eyes drifted closed, and she savored their joining, knowing this was the ultimate gift between man and woman. His lips moved across her face like light summer rain. Slowly he circled his hips and rocked,filling her, then pulling back.

"Too slow," she murmured against his lips."Never too slow, Scottish. You'll see. It's never too slow." His tongue stroked her ear, and he inhaled.Chills ran down her neck and over her arms and breasts.

She pulled at his shirt, opening it, wanting to feel his chest against hers.

He thrust deep, and she tightened her knees, gripping him. She pushed his shirt aside. He thrust again,agonizingly slow and deep. Their chests touched.It was his turn to groan.His hands slid higher and rubbed and gripped her bare bottom, then stroked her from the point where they joined backward, touching every bit of her private flesh with the tip of one male finger. Every timehe moved into her he plied that stroke so privately that her need unfolded, spiraled, slowly with eachpenetration, with the stroke of that finger, and now the thick hair on his chest played havoc with herbreasts, teasing and tickling and making her pucker with life.

His hands gripped her bottom tighter and he moved in hard slow circles that pressed her nether lips eventighter around him. He groaned into her mouth, something private, earthy, and male.And stopped moving.

"No! Don't stop... please."