The earl suddenly appeared at his right "May I have the honor, Your Grace?"

Alec's hand tightened on hers. "I'll dance with my wife, Downe. Find someone else." With a knowing smile the earl moved on, choosing a partner and spinning her onto the dance floor, looking as if he cared not a fig for what anyone in the room thought.

Alec watched the couple intently, speculation in his dark blue eyes, and with a fleeting wistfulness, she wondered if perhaps he might have, given a minute longer, whisked her out onto the dance floor, public opinion be damned. But now it mattered not, because others had joined the first dancing couple. Finally Alec grasped her waist and with no words, only a nod of his head, he spun her onto the dance floor.

The sweet music swelled just as before. As if the fates needed to prove life's recurring ironies, the orchestra played the same Viennese waltz the earl had played that night at Belmore House. And as before, she and Alec moved as one, sweeping across the room with movements so fluid and light that she barely felt the floor beneath her. Candlelight rained in glittering light-drops downward from the dome of the ballroom, thousands of wee flickers that bathed the dancers and the other guests in the starry luster of the moment. Her gaze was drawn upward, driven by the overwhelming compulsion to see if the glimmer was as startlingly brilliant as it felt.

If only her curious eyes had gotten that far. Once they met her husband's they were held prisoner. The impact of his look fanned memories that flashed like wind-ruffled book pages through her mind, memories of the last time they had danced just so, and the passion, the kiss. The same thoughts must have flooded his mind too, for the moment suddenly existed again as naturally as if they lived it every day, every minute.

How odd that the world could melt away so easily, with a look, the touch of a hand, the sweet kiss of a lover's breath upon one's cheek. Bewitching. The rich sound of music wafted through and around them like colorful garlands on a Maypole. And the tension grew with the notes, that incredible magical presence that seemed to burn like a flame fanned between them with the engulfing and overpowering strength of something more than mere magic, something that no one else in the world could ever know, live, or cherish. And she knew with certainty she would never experience this passionate force with another. This was theirs alone. This wonderful bewitching.

He pressed his hand against her back, and she moved inch by small inch closer. Each time they turned, each step they took, brought them together. Her skirts brushed his legs, swished and swirled and floated between them like mist. Their steps were flawless, their gazes locked, the motions little more than elegant foreplay. The emeralds on her gloved wrist caught the brilliant light, but their sparkle was dim compared to his look, open and needful for one brief instant in time.

They were so close that their bodies grazed each other scandalously, and his fingers tightened on her waist and hand. He feels it as strongly as I, she realized. But he fought the magnetic pull, fought it as the sea fought the moon tide.

Kiss me.... Her mind called out to him over and over, just as it had before. His gaze drifted to her mouth, reveled in it, but he wouldn't move closer, wouldn't close the space between them and say, "The world and propriety be damned."

Then the music ceased and they stopped, suddenly aware that they were observed by a thousand curious eyes. Alec immediately stiffened, but before they could move, let alone speak, supper was announced to the chiming of a group of royal glass bells, and they were swept up with the noisy crowd, a heavy silence between them because neither one was in control, and they both knew it With a sense of impending doom, Alec watched the steward refill his wife's wineglass. She sat talking to the prince, waving her animated hands to emphasize her words -on which Prinny appeared to be hanging. The prince had insisted they attend the theater with his party tomorrow night. Alec mentally groaned at the thought. He had hoped to leave for Belmore Park first thing in the morning so he could sequester Joy safely in the country.

Her joyful laugh caught his attention, and he turned back, watching. She was a success. He should be proud. Uneasy, but proud. And pleased that they had pulled this off. So why did he feel as if the world around him danced to a different tune? He felt out of place and alone. The feeling of isolation was not comforting. It annoyed him. He had always sought solitude, preferred it to the noisy life of the English aristocracy, but now he found it unsettling. Why did he wish for something else? He sipped his own wine and asked himself what it was he sought.

As if in answer he felt the need to look at his wife. At that exact moment her eyes met his and he stopped breathing, caught off guard by the innocent hunger in those eyes, and knowing that his own mirrored a hunger that held no innocence, but instead a passionate intensity, a need to get inside this woman so deeply that the urge to couple was lost in an all-encompassing urge to touch some rare fire in her. Only her. It was intoxicating, drugging, this overpowering thing that burned so bright inside him he actually doubted his ability to live with it and remain sane.

At the thought he laughed to himself. His actions on the dance floor, the struggle to control himself in front of the entire ton-that was proof that he was no longer sane, hadn't had a rational thought since he married her. He wondered if a part of this insanity resulted from his dealings with all women lately.

His gaze scanned the room. Juliet was here; he had caught a glimpse of her blond head earlier. Odd that he'd felt little anger when he spotted her. For reputation's sake he would have to speak to her publicly, to squelch the rumors about their sudden marriages. Not that he was doing it for her sake. He couldn't have cared less about Lady Juliet Spencer, but he knew it would make things easier on Scottish if there was no speculation about their impromptu marriage.

He justified that bit of sensitivity by reminding himself that his own reputation was at stake too.

And so it was an hour later, while his wife danced on the arm of one of his cronies, that Alec found himself threading his way past the bloody lemon trees and onto the terrace, to which Lady Juliet had just escaped. He stood outside silently, watching her as she looked out over the icy gardens below, leaning against a stone balustrade and fanning herself in spite of the fact that it was freezing outside.

She turned as surely as if he had spoken. "Alec."

He gave her a curt nod. "Juliet."

The look she gave him was sad, which surprised him. "Why the sadness? Odd, for a bride. I expected to see love glowing from your lovely face, my dear." The scorn came naturally to his voice.

She looked down. "I suppose I deserve a worse cut than that for the way I handled things. I don't blameyou for hating me, Alec. But I did what I thought best for both of us."

"I don't hate you."She laughed rather cynically. "No, I suppose in order for you to hate me, you would have to have lovedme. And you didn't."

"No, I didn't.""Thank you for not lying about that.""I never lied to you, Juliet. I thought we understood each other. I was wrong.""He loves me," she whispered."I would have never guessed a romantic soul lay beneath your cool beauty." He shrugged and joined her at the balustrade.They stood there in a kind of awkward kinship. He glanced at her, noticing for the first time that her eyeswere blue. Just blue. No mischievous twinkling of green. Nothing more than ordinary blue. He leaned over the railing, resting his elbows atop it, and he watched the icicles drip. A moment later he set hispride aside and looked up at her. "Perhaps it was for the best."She searched his face. "You married," she said, sounding as if she felt betrayed."Yes."Her smile was sad and a little wistful. "I saw her."When he didn't respond, she went on, "I saw both of you waltzing.""Yes, I suppose everyone saw us.""She loves you."He turned back to her, leaning against the balustrade in a pose of indifference he was far from feeling. "It doesn't matter.""I think it does."Something tightened inside him as if she had just seen him naked. He watched her silently, not knowing quite how to respond."You see, I know what it's like to love someone.""Ah, the exciting captain."She smiled and shook her head. "No, Alec. You see, I said he loves me, not that I love him. I loved you, but you could never love me back, and I couldn't bear to spend my life with only half a heart. All thosethings I said were just a way to lash out at you." She laughed. It was sincere laughter with no malice, butit held a hint of sadness and self-derision. "Although it's true that you can be pompous," she told him witha genuine smile, "I honestly think I was angry that you couldn't love me."

He stood straight at her words. After taking a moment to absorb what she'd said he commented, "How is your marriage to the captain any different? If only one partner loves, isn't it still a marriage of... What did you call it? Ah, yes, half a heart?"

"Yes."

Her face confirmed the truth of her confession, but it was strange that he felt nothing for her-no anger, no humiliation, no pity, really nothing but a certain camaraderie that came from learning to know each other on a different plane. "Then I suppose we're both settled into marriages with half a heart."

She smiled then, a smile of friendship. "No, Alec, I don't think so. You see, I saw you with your wife." She placed her arm through his. "Come along. Escort me inside. Let's give those loose tongues something to wag about." They moved toward the door and just before they stepped inside, she paused and looked up at him. "You are hardheaded, pompous, arrogant, and handsome as the devil, Alec, but your marriage is whole."

He looked at her in stunned silence.

She stepped through the doorway and delivered her parting shot, "I just wonder how long it will take you to realize it"

It took Joy only a few minutes to realize that Alec was nowhere in the room. She searched the dance floor, and threaded her way through the crowd until she stood outside the main throng. She saw the dancers gliding across the floor, watched the jewels sparkle, and found herself swaying to the wonderful music. The ball was better than she had dreamed. She had met the prince, dined with him, and except for those wee sneezes, everything had gone smoothly. She so hoped that Alec was proud of her. A feeling of success ran through her when she remembered that the prince had even asked them to the theater.

Yes, everything was wonderful, but somehow it wasn't as thrilling, as exciting, when Alec wasn't there at her side. She wanted to dance with him, one more time before they left.

She wanted to feel him holding her and twirling her, his eyes assuring her that they would finish at home what they had started on the dance floor.

The thought made her smile and she scanned the room again.

"Why, my dear!" Lady Agnes's voice came scraping out of nowhere.

Joy turned. Apparently the woman still hadn't accepted her title, and for the second time in the last few minutes she wished Alec were here. Lady Eugenia and Mrs. Timmons stood like extensions behind her.

"You look lost, standing here all alone. Where is that handsome duke of yours?" Her gaze roved over the room. "Do you see him, girls?" The gossips shook their heads in unison. She turned back to Joy and patted her arm. "You know, my dear, I thought I saw him step out on the terrace. Let's go see, shall we?" She tucked her arm in Joy's and guided her toward the wall of doors.

The crowd shifted and a group of men stepped between them only to part soon after and give Joy an unobstructed view of the terrace doors. A lovely blond woman dressed like a frost princess stepped inside, her taunting laughter ringing down to where they stood.

"Oh, there he is, my dear. See there?" Lady Agnes nodded toward the terrace. "He's with Lady Juliet. How interesting."

She could feel Lady Agnes's penetrating stare as Alec followed in the woman's wake. A smile came to Joy's lips when her gaze lit on him. She glanced at the woman with him and commented, "Lady Juliet is lovely." She turned to Lady Agnes. "Is she someone special?"

The gossips' eyes grew round and twinkled in anticipation. Then they tittered. Lady Agnes raised a hand to her chest dramatically. "Why, didn't you know, my dear?" Her voice suddenly filled with exaggerated sweetness. "She and His Grace were to be married."

Joy whipped her head back around, suddenly aware of Alec and Lady Juliet as a couple. They were a perfect match, her golden blond hair and his black and silver, their bearing, the instinctive lift of their chins, their noble breeding. She stared at the striking couple. They were as regal and well matched as possible, and in reaction, her stomach sank and landed somewhere in the now black depths where her hopes and dreams had once lain.

Lady Agnes continued, "She cried off and married someone else... the very day before you were married."

There before her eyes was the fairy-tale ending, real and standing across the room for the world to see.

Everything around her seemed to fade into a bitter mist. She felt a sharp and painful realization about her marriage -one that even she, with all her hopes and dreams and wishes, couldn't make go away. Even her witchcraft was useless. She could never win Alec's heart because it was a prize already won by another. Her hopes along with her heart died a slow and withering death.

Appropriately a chill wind swept around Carlton House, bending trees and bushes and suddenly rattling the terrace doors. The skies rumbled as if pained, and a second later it began to rain.

The Heartache.

Nothing in love; now does he feel his title. Macbeth, William Shakespeare.

Chapter 23.

Joy sat in the window seat of the rear drawing room and watched the rain sprinkle rings in the dark puddles on the flagstones below. The rain had continued on and off since the night before, the night that had begun with excitement and wonder and ended in emptiness. 'Twas all she could do not to break into sobs once she'd learned the truth. Only her pride had kept her from falling apart at the ball in front of all of English society.

Alec had seemed equally pensive. Alec, Joy thought. Even the thought of his name could bring back a jab of heartache. Juliet's Alec. Something vital deep inside her twisted so tightly she felt the room spin. She took another breath.

From the moment he parted from Lady Juliet he'd worn a troubled air. She was sure she could name the trouble: his wife wasn't Lady Juliet, his love, but instead a Scottish witch who made his life chaotic. His mood had only served to drive home the painful realization she cradled where her hope used to be-he loved someone else. His heart was not untouched; it belonged to Lady Juliet, who didn't want it any more than Alec wanted Joy's heart. She'd been caught up in wishful foolish dreams.

Oh, God... She couldn't even fall in love right.

She wiped the tears from her eyes once again, amazed she had any left, and tried to summon some Scots pride. Sitting here blubbering wouldn't change what was. She took a deep breath that quivered traitorously in her tight chest. Her gaze drifted to the trees in the walled garden below. Winter had turned the birch trees as skimpy as her pride. The rain had stopped, but the sky still hung gray. With the rain had come the warmth of approaching spring, and the snow and ice had been washed away when the skies cried with her.

Standing in the back corner near a small hawthorn bush where ivy twined with dormant honeysuckle up a stone wall was a proud English elm. She pressed her tear-blotched cheek to the glass and looked up at the sky. The heavy rain clouds had moved on. As surely as if it had called her name, she looked back at the tree. She needed a tree now, needed to feel the warmth of nature cradling her, soothing and healing her.

She plucked a paisley shawl off a coat stand, wrapped it around her, and went out through the French doors, descending the stone steps and sidestepping the deeper rain puddles. A minute later she stood in front of the great tree.

Elms had character, even if they were English. Their trunks were mottled, as if wrinkled with the knowledge and wisdom of age and time. Even the bark was gray. But instead of reminding her of age and knowledge and wisdom, it brought to mind her husband's silver-streaked hair.

She placed a hand on the rough bark. "I'm Joyous, and I need your strength, your life, because some of mine's died. Please help me."

Slowly she slid her hands around the thick trunk and pressed her cheek and chest against it, feeling the bark cut into her softness but needing desperately to be very close to it. She shut her eyes and let nature take over.

Alec sat in his study and stared at the letter opener he had just used to slit open the royal reminder. As if he could forget his obligation to spend another night under the scrutiny of society. He intended to return to the country tomorrow, royal command or not. The servants were already making ready. Tonight was the last trial. What an appropriate choice of words. Brought to mind witch trials, something he was trying to avoid.

He twirled the opener in his fingers, aware of the mesmerizing effect of the lamplight catching the brass blade. Married to a witch, and no one knew it. He wondered if Juliet would have changed her romantic ideas about his marriage had she known the truth. At first he told himself that she thought thus only because she was a woman, and naturally driven by emotion. But his behavior gave the lie to that excuse. Still, he was disturbed by her perception of his marriage. A love match, she'd implied.

He doubted if any Belmore marriage had ever been a love match. His parents' certainly wasn't. His father had made that clear at the same time he'd made clear that the Belmores were above that sort of drivel and that no son of his, and certainly not the heir, would let his life be mucked up by such foolishness. Then he'd taken Alec's tutor aside and made certain that all future history lessons would revolve around the stupidity and dire outcome of love matches. He was to study the fallen kingdoms, lost wars, and vain politics that were the direct result of affairs of the heart.

Alec had learned that love led only to destruction. But he had also learned, and learned quickly, that the only way to win his father's approval was to think like him, live like him, act like him. The lesson soon became a way of life.

Odd that he'd only recently learned his pride, too, could produce disastrous results. Without much more thought Alec realized he had done the one thing he'd so proudly warned Downe of: he had let emotion rule his actions. His hurried marriage was a direct result of wounded pride. He had married in haste because he was worried about what people might think. That was quite a weakness for the duke of Belmore to admit to; it rated right up there with hiding his wife.

He turned the letter opener again, still mentally justifying his actions and trying to ease his guilt. His wife was a witch, something he had nothing to do with. He wondered if divine retribution was involved, if being wed to a witch was his punishment for using her. He had known when she gave him that first wide-eyed worshipful look that her heart was his to do with as he pleased. And in those circumstances he had chosen to marry her, for his own convenience, knowing full well that she wouldn't turn him down. It was a way to salvage his pride.

But his awareness of his actions was something he intended to carry to his grave. He didn't want Joy to know he'd been so foolish as to give in to a weakness like wounded pride. Some part of him liked the way she adored him, took pride in fact that he could fill her dreams. He didn't want her scorn. He wanted her respect, perhaps even more than he wanted respect from the ton.

For the first time in his life his name and title, his role in life and society, had nothing to do with how someone felt about him. She called him her Alec-not her duke, her husband, or anything else. Just her Alec. His dukedom was not the driving force between them. His wealth and bloodline and title didn't matter, and oddly enough neither did her heritage or her witchcraft. They were bound by something deep within, uncontrolled, something he couldn't name, but knew existed. And it scared the bloody hell out of him.

"Belly to belly. Back to back. This is the way I cook the rack...."

Joy stood in the doorway of the kitchen watching Hungan John spit a side of lamb. He set the spit into place, then wound the jack and went back to the counter, singing in his deep voice a nonsensical two-quarter song, his long braid swaying behind him. The two kitchen maids had taken up the beat and one pounded her fist rhythmically into a mound of bread dough while the other chopped onions in the same two-quarter time.

Hungan John finished the song, then took a deep drink from a bottle and started anew. "I work all day on a drop of rum! Dah, dah, dah, dah, dah-dah, dah, dum!" He lifted the bottle, but stopped mid-motion, suddenly spotting her. "You Grace." Ignoring the maids' startled gasps, he made a gallant grinning bow, his teeth sparkling like the ring in his ear.

"Please," Joy said, raising her hand. "Don't let me interrupt your work. I was a wee bit hungry."

"No wonder. You Grace ate nothing this day." His black eyes gave her a shrewd, knowing look. He walked over to a table in the corner and pulled out a chair. "You Grace sit here. Hungan John fix you up good."

She sat, and he began to clear off a work surface, grabbing the bottle. He eyed the inch of rum at the bottom, drank it down, and plucked up the cork, and rammed it into the bottle neck, then hooked the bottle to a chain on his wide belt. He caught her look and winked, giving the bottle a pat. "Best bottle. Strong cork."

He laughed and laughed as if that were the best of jests. She watched him move around the kitchen, singing out orders to the maids, who responded rhythmically. A few minutes later there was enough food to feed the whole household sitting on the table.

"Just a wee slice of bread and butter would have been sufficient."

"You Grace keep eating like the hummingbird, will soon look like the hummingbird. You miss breakfast, you miss tea. You won't have supper till late tonight." He set a glass of milk on the table. "Here, drink this."

She sipped, and her eyes opened wide. "This isn't milk."

He nodded. "It be coconut milk with pineapple and rum. Magic." He winked at her. "Drink up."

The concoction was truly delicious. She drank the first glass and two more while she ate. An hour later she wasn't sure if it was the strength of that old elm tree or the food in her stomach that made her almost float upstairs, humming a catchy little tune, another magical rum drink in her hand. Suddenly things didn't seem quite so bleak.

Polly dressed her in a lovely gown of midnight blue silk trimmed with pearls and glass beads, and she wore slippers of blue with glass heels. Tonight there was no required hoop as in the court dress. She felt light-headed as she waltzed around the room before Polly's delighted eyes. She had just donned her white gloves when a footman knocked to say the carriage and His Grace were waiting below. Polly quickly fastened the set of sapphires and pearls that Alec had sent up earlier, then left to fetch her reticule.

Joy stared at her reflection. Yes, once again she looked like a duchess. She raised her glass and finished off her fourth coconut fruit drink. She could easily have had another, but there was little time left. She licked the sweet foam off her upper lip and looked at herself again, her hand touching the cold jeweled necklace.

She assumed Alec had sent them as an order for her to wear them. A wee part of her rebelled at that and if it weren't for the prince she would have refused to wear the jewels. There had been no note, and no husband to fasten them on her and end the task with a passionate kiss, as he had the night before. She turned away from the mirror and the memories, and the room spun. She gripped the back of a chair and took a couple of deep breaths. The room stopped.

My, my, my, she thought. Maybe I overdid the tree hugging. She shook her head, then frowned for a dizzy moment. Mean old Alec wormed his way back into her scattered thoughts.

She looked into the mirror and didn't like the face that stared back. She looked gloomy. She found her Scots pride, and stuck up her chin, staring down her nose at her reflection. Better, she thought. Much better. Now, having spent so much time thinking about her situation, she decided it was time for action. No more nice witch. All she'd gotten for being nice was a broken heart.

Alec had asked her to marry him. She hadn't forced him. In fact, she had tried very hard to say no, but he wouldn't let her. He had wanted to marry her. Of that she was certain. But why? That was what had her thinking, and she intended to find out why before this night was over. That was her goal.

Juliet might have his heart, but Joy was his wife-a wife who knew her husband had used her. It had been a painful thing to accept, and she had gone through all the stages of mourning-the tears, the hurt, the shame that made her ache.

But now she felt angry, because Alec had done her such an injustice. A good part of her wanted to pelt him with snowballs again-two or three hundred to start with.

One of the few things that set fire to her anger was injustice-like the poor post laddies at the coaching inn being forced to breathe smoke, like pitiful old Forbes being thrown out after years of faithful service, and like the poor clumsy Letitia Hornsby being subjected to an obnoxious man's public ridicule. Joy was now in the same predicament. And for the first time in a long time she was angry in her own behalf. Good and angry.

The Belmore carriage edged along behind the crush of conveyances in front of the Royal Opera House at Covent Garden. Alec watched his wife with thoughtful eyes. She was quiet, unusually so. Last night after dinner she had told him with gleeful anticipation that she had never been to the theater, so he'd expected her to have her face pressed to glass, trying to see the many lanterns that lit the gardens, or squirming with anxiety and asking him every two minutes if they were there yet. Instead she sat stiffly, her hand occasionally gripping the armrest. This cool woman across from him was the perfect duchess, but she was not Scottish.

"Are you feeling unwell?" he asked.

She turned to face him, blinked twice, and nodded, only to take a deep breath and turn back. Her face held no animation, just a comely flush. He'd asked her something. She had barely answered, just a clipped yes or no. She reminded him of all the Englishwomen he had known, and he didn't like it.

The carriage stopped and a footman opened the door. Alec stepped out and turned to help her down. She wouldn't meet his eyes. She just placed her hand in his, allowed him to assist her, then snatched her hand back so abruptly that she wobbled and almost fell. She made a big to-do over shaking out her skirt and never once looked at him.

His curiosity was piqued. He gripped her elbow and guided her inside. He'd seen a flash of anger in her eyes only twice-once when he confronted her about what she did to Beau Brummell, and again just a second ago. He moved to where the wide staircase to the private boxes was roped off and three royal footmen and two others stood guard. On sight a footman released the rope, handed him a printed program, and led them up the stairs.

Twice she almost fell, and only Alec's arm had stopped her. When he started to question her she had stuck her chin up regally and continued on as if nothing had happened. At the top landing he paused and pointed out Rossi's statue of Shakespeare atop a pedestal of rare yellow marble. She gave it a cursory glance and walked on. A few minutes later they greeted the prince and were seated at the front of the box-in the seats of honor at the prince's right hand.

Silently they settled in. After a moment she finally deigned to look at him and asked, "What play are we seeing?"

He hadn't even thought to ask or to look, so he glanced at the program and felt all the blood drain from his face. He stared at the title in disbelief.

The word Macbeth stared back at him.