In this night of mist and thunder, he pulled the draperies closed until the bed was surrounded in silk. Onlythen did he speak again, his voice husky and low."You knew I would come.""Yes," she whispered in an assent, or perhaps a confession.

"And you want me here."

How could she not? But instead of answering, she placed her hand against his cheek, her thumb brushing the edge of his smile.

Last night had been the first time they lay on a bed and loved. But their bower beneath a tree had been as magical and their trysting place along the river had been special and beautiful. She suspected that this night would be as rare and remarkable, and then wondered if it was wise to love him again. The question was fleeting and unanswerable, because he kissed her again and every thought vanished.

"Tell me what you want," he said, the question allowing no evasion."Everything." She could tell that her answer surprised him."That covers a dozen or so sins, Jeanne," he said, smiling.The word amused her. "I've been punished for more than a dozen sins, Douglas. What's a few more?"He reached out with one finger, traced her lower lip. "What shall I do first, then?""Kiss me again," she softly said. "I've grown accustomed to your kisses.""And then?""Begin with a kiss.""A small enough request," he said, acquiescing. Long moments later she pulled back."I want you to know me so well that I feel a part of you." She placed her hand on the curve of his face, her palm lightly cupping his jaw. Slowly her fingers moved to his neck and across to his shoulder.

She could feel the muscles bunching there where he supported himself. Unlike the night before he was fully dressed. Only his coat was gone, but he was still attired in his fine lawn shirt and trousers. Even his boots, she noted with a smile.

His look was difficult to decipher, almost as if he willed himself not to reveal any emotion at this minute.

But his eyes glittered and there was a flush high on his cheekbones. The sight of Douglas, aroused, struck an answering chord deep inside her.

"I want you to be so close that you can't tell if it's my breath or yours." She placed her hand flat againsthis chest, feeling his heart beat strongly beneath her palm. "Or my heart beating or yours. My pleasure oryours."

She began undressing him, her fingers fumbling on the buttons. He smiled at her fevered attempts, not understanding that her desire was fueled by desperation. She had to feel in order to cease thinking, or her thoughts would overwhelm her.

Perhaps she'd be the instrument of her own downfall, confessing everything rather than bear the suspense.

"Are you trying to seduce me, Jeanne?" he asked, one corner of his mouth tilting up in a smile."Do you know that I was once punished for not being a virgin?" Startled, she stared up at him. She hadn't intended to say that.

He didn't respond, only covered her hands with his.

"As a woman grows, she enters into evil, taking into her body the strength of men until they areweakened and puny and easily led into sin."Douglas drew back, frowning at her. "Who said that?""A nun I used to know," she said, wishing that the shadows were all-encompassing. Instead, the lone candle flickered on the bedside table, illuminating the sudden watchful look in his eyes. "Sister Marie-Therese would say that every night before my punishment. She stored the whip on the altar, a constant reminder that the God of her faith was a fierce deity. I used to try to prepare myself but I was always surprised by how much it hurt."

"Should you be quoting a nun at this moment?" he asked, his voice carefully expressionless.

"I can't imagine a better time," she said, savoring the exquisite irony of this moment. She began to smile,realizing that it was the truth. "She was a sour-faced nun who hated everything about me.""She wouldn't be pleased to see you now," he said, beginning to smile as well."No," Jeanne answered, "she wouldn't.""Then kiss me, Jeanne," he said. "And all sour-faced nuns be damned."When he touched her in the faint light she opened her arms, welcoming him into her heart with no more resistance than a sigh.

She felt tears come to the corners of her eyes when he kissed her neck and murmured something against

her skin. No matter what had happened between them, whatever history they carried, they would always be hungry for each other.

But would that be enough?

He was suddenly naked and in a few swift moves her nightgown was tossed to the floor.

He sat up and drew her to him, his breathing more controlled than hers. Gently, he pulled her on to him so that she sat half on, half off his thighs, his erection brushing her intimate folds. She wanted him inside of her, but he wouldn't move farther, only remained just out of reach.

Her fingers began to tremble as well as the muscles in her abdomen. As if he were opium and she desperately needed the drug. Laying her cheek against his shoulder, she breathed deeply, exhaling against his neck.

"Soon, Jeanne, but not now."

He teased her with words, and with softly stroking fingers. She bit her lip and kissed his throat, feeling the heat rise both inside her body and on his skin. Reaching out one finger, she traced a circular path around and then down the length of his erection. Once, as a girl, she'd held him cradled between her palms and stroked him to fulfillment, absolutely amazed and delighted at his response to her touch.

"No," he said now, the word uttered from between clenched teeth. "You're not supposed to do that."

"I'm not?"

Their whispers were heated, their words soft and intimate, no one else to hear them in the cocoon of the bed. It might have been another world they created, silk-shielded and shadowed. Here they might be anyone other than who they were, and here they might love in unfettered pleasure.

"Stop me if you can," she said, teasing.

"You know I cannot. Besides, I would be a fool to do so."

She didn't know how long they tormented each other, but when he raised a finger and touched her breast, circling the nipple slowly, she placed a soft kiss against his throat and then another against his ear. He'd always liked it when she nibbled on his lobe and bit enough that he turned his head and kissed her once again.

That was all they allowed themselves-soft, gentle teasing touches, and chaste kisses-until she thought she might go mad with it.

Minutes passed, and then it seemed as though hours had transpired. Her breath grew more rapid, her blood felt hot, her skin fevered.

"Please," she said, whispering against his ear. "Please."

Suddenly the pillow was beneath her buttocks and he was lifting her higher for his mouth.

Her body arched without thought as pleasure swept over her, so fiercely that she bit her lip rather than cry out.

As she crested, he was inside her, fevered and impatient and wondrous.

"Forgive me," he said, an apology for his need. The sudden imploration was an unwelcome interruption. Her arms wrapped around his neck.

"Forgive me," she whispered, an echo of his plea. The words became a refrain, as the past entwined with the present. He inhaled her plea in a kiss and sent it catapulting somewhere where nonsense words and soft-voiced entreaties disappear.

"Forgive me," she murmured later.

He kissed her once more, not understanding, and she, coward that she was, sought pleasure and ignored the chance for revelation.

Chapter 16.

T he next morning, Jeanne was awakened by a knock on the door. Glancing to the side of the bed, she realized she was alone.

Standing, she donned her wrapper before opening the door. The woman facing her was close to her age, with pale blond hair arranged in plaits on the top of her head. Her dress was dark blue, with white collar and cuffs.

"Good morning, miss," she said, smiling brightly at Jeanne. "I've just come to tell you that your chamber' s been readied."

"You're the housekeeper," Jeanne said, only to receive a laugh in response.

"Oh, no, miss," the other woman said, her blue eyes kind. "I'm Betty, Miss Margaret's nurse. Not that she truly needs a nurse, being the great grown girl that she is." She smiled at Jeanne. "That's what she's forever telling me."

She took a few steps away from the door and pointed to a room down the hall. "I've moved my things. One of the maids and I have tidied it up right enough for you. I'd be pleased to help you move your belongings."

"I can't take your room," Jeanne protested.

"Oh, but it's really for the governess," Betty said cheerfully. "I'm already settled on the third floor." She bent closer, as if afraid that someone else might overhear. "In truth, miss, it's a little less formal up there. Not that I don't think the world of Mr. Douglas and Miss Margaret, but I'm looking forward to the change."

"Give me a moment," Jeanne said, "and I'll join you."

Jeanne donned her most severe and governess like attire, a dark blue dress not unlike Betty's, ornamented with a white neckline and matching piping on the edge of the cuffs. She, who had been coached on how to direct retainers all her life, now looked every inch the upper-class servant.

She put her hair up in a style similar to Betty's. Perhaps the severe braid was more of an effort to modify her nature than her curls.

Betty led the way down the hall, with Jeanne following. The room was larger than she expected, with two tall windows facing east. On the west wall was a large four-poster bed hung with beige linen drapes. Along one wall was a heavily carved wardrobe and bureau, while a fireplace occupied the third wall. Underfoot was a lovely oval carpet in shades of gold and beige.

"That door leads to Miss Margaret's room," Betty said. "You can brighten it up yourself, miss. If you need any help moving your things, just give me a call." She pointed to the bell pull beside the fireplace. "It rings in the kitchen, but Cook can find me right enough."

"I'm sure I'll do fine," Jeanne said. "Unfortunately, what belongings I have can be easily put in a valise."

Betty's smile dimmed somewhat. "I know what you mean, Miss. The same thing happened to me once. But you'll find that you've come to a place you can easily call home." She hesitated for a moment. "

Would you like a tray in the room, miss? Or would you care to take breakfast with the staff?"

Jeanne glanced down the hall. Douglas was gone; it was time for her to begin being a governess. Howshe behaved from this moment forward would dictate the tone of her stay at Douglas's home."I'd like to take breakfast with the staff," she said. "Give me a few moments and I'll join you downstairs.

Betty nodded.

Jeanne packed her valise with what few belongings she had. At the door she looked back at the room

she'd occupied for only two nights.

Did the servants know that Douglas had spent the previous night with her? They probably did. Little of

import happened in a house, even as large as this one, without the staff knowing. But, like all well-trained employees, they would probably not reveal how they personally felt.

In her new chamber she placed her valise in the tall armoire. After breakfast she would unpack. Now she

surveyed herself in the mirror, smoothed her hair back at the temples. With some trepidation Jeanne

walked down the hall and slowly descended the stairs.

Lassiter greeted her as she rounded the last curve. The elderly majordomo nodded slightly. No doubt the gesture was meant to be a bow but was modified somewhat for both his age and her new position as governess.

"Good morning, miss," he said, his voice sounding rusty and unused.

"Good morning, Lassiter," she responded. She hesitated, her hand still on the banister, as she consideredwhether or not she should ask about Douglas's whereabouts."Mr. MacRae asked me to give you his compliments, miss, but he was called away."She nodded, hiding the fact that the news was surprising."I see. Will he be gone long?""I'm sure I don't know." There was that unctuous half bow again. She had to commend Lassiter; he was adept at conveying exactly what he thought while seeming to avoid even a hint of insolence.

"Thank you," she said, straightening her shoulders. "Could you tell me where I can find Betty?" sheasked.For a moment she didn't think he was going to answer her.Sighing inwardly, she drew herself up and frowned down at him. She might wish to forget that she was the Comte du Marchand's daughter, but the role of two-thirds of her lifetime was one she could easily

and quickly assume. "Well, Lassiter?" she asked.He wiggled one of his white, bushy eyebrows at her. She stifled her smile as she realized it was Lassiter'sversion of surprise.

"This way, miss," he said. Bowing once more, he began to shuffle down the corridor. She followed himto a large, airy room in the rear of the house."Miss," he said, almost as if announcing her. He stepped aside as she entered, and then simply melted from sight.

Lassiter was superb at disappearing.

The kitchen was a large open room with high ceilings and windows located in two walls. Sunlight filtered through white pots of herbs sitting on a series of shelves across the windows. The effect was almost like a conservatory, with the sun creating leafy patterns on the green walls. A large rectangular table stretched the length of the room and was currently occupied by several people who were enjoying what looked to be a luxurious breakfast.

A florid-faced woman standing at the stove turned as she entered the room, her warm smile greeting her. Jeanne returned the expression as Betty stood and made room for her at the table.