She only shook her head. "You wouldn't understand."

She heard the rustle of fabric as he sat up on the edge of the bed and wrapped the blanket around his waist. "It wouldn't have anything to do with loyalty, would it? Some sort of patriotic sentiment you still feel toward France? I know your family came from there."

She frowned as she pushed her arms into the sleeves of her nightgown and tied the drawstring at the neck. "I don't know what you mean."

Caleb shrugged. Bare-chested, he tucked the top of the blanket in to hold it up and started walking toward her. In the moonlight, she noticed a fine tension in the muscles across his shoulders.

"I've heard rumors," he said. "There are people who say you and your aunt hold certain loyalties toward the French. It would certainly be understandable if you were willing to sacrifice yourself in order to collect information that might be helpful-"

"If you are saying what I think you are, that is completely insane. I was born in this country-so was my aunt. We both love England. This is our home. Every time we read in the papers how many of our men have died, how many have suffered at Napoleon's hands, we are heartsick. As for any loyalty I might feel toward the French-for God's sake, Caleb, a number of my family died by the guillotine. England gave us refuge. How can you possibly doubt our loyalty?"

Caleb said nothing for several long moments, but his eyes ran over her, taking in her defiant stance, the way her small hands fisted, the flush of color in her cheeks, and the tension slowly ebbed from his shoulders. He stood in front of her, barefoot and bare-chested and so handsome it made an ache rise in her throat.

"Why then?" he said softly.

Lee glanced away, unable to hold his penetrating gaze a moment more. "Because it's what Aunt Gabby wants. Because I owe her and I can't repay her in any other way. Because she loves the life she lives and through me she can continue to live it. Because I don't want to return her years of kindness by making her believe I feel disdain in any way for the life she has chosen."

Caleb said nothing. He stood so close she could see the dark centers of his eyes, read the turbulence there. Then his big hands framed her face and he bent his head and very softly kissed her.

"Don't go yet," he said. "There are hours before dawn. I'll make sure you're back in the house before anyone wakes up and finds you missing."

She knew she should go. Every moment she spent with Caleb put her in peril. Love. It was the greatest danger a woman could face. Mary had suffered for it. Her mother had suffered for years and died with a broken heart that had never mended.

Lee looked up at Caleb, knowing the risk, knowing part of her heart already belonged to him. Willing to accept the risk, even if it meant losing an even bigger portion during the short time they had together.

Caleb took her hand and carried it to his lips. She didn't resist when he lifted her up and carried her across the room, back to his narrow bed.

11.

Mounted on the big bay gelding named Duke, Caleb rode toward the village of Parkwood. It was early afternoon, the first chance he'd had to get away. The village wasn't far. As he approached from the south, he could see roofs and chimneys in the distance. He passed a wagonload of hay and the driver waved a greeting. A pot-seller's wagon rumbled along ahead of him, its cargo clanging and clattering as the vehicle dipped and swayed behind the donkey struggling to pull its heavy load. Caleb barely noticed.

He was on his way to the house on the opposite side of town that belonged to Cyrus Swift, the silversmith who carried messages for him to London. The one he needed delivered today concerned Vermillion.

Since he had awakened her from a deep sleep snuggled beside him, Caleb hadn't been able to stop thinking about her. Over and over, he replayed the night they had shared, which was nothing at all as he had imagined and one he would never forget. As he reined the horse off the road onto the lane leading to the silversmith's house, one thing was clear: Vermillion hadn't been selling her body to gain information.

Until last night, she had been a virgin.

Several different emotions filtered through him at the thought, none of which he completely understood. His desire for her hadn't lessened as he had believed it would. Instead, every time he recalled her small body sweetly gloving his shaft, he got hard all over again. He wanted her even more than he had before, and thoughts of her upcoming birthday, knowing she planned to give herself to another man, sat like a crushing weight on his chest.

He wasn't sure what he meant to do, but letting another man touch her, make love to her as he had done was something he refused to let happen. He had to do something to change the tide of events about to be set in motion and Caleb believed he might have found a way.

Riding into the yard of the silversmith's whitewashed, thatched-roof house, he swung down from the bay. The place looked a little forlorn with its window boxes untended and weeds growing up between the bricks in the walkway leading to the entrance. He banged on the wooden door, considering his plan, praying his instincts were right about Lee Durant and knowing how much he had to lose if he were wrong.

Knowing how much England had to lose.

"Captain Tanner! Please, come in." Cyrus Swift was a slight man with fine bones and refined features. His hair was as silver as the craft he had perfected and his smile was genuine and always exceedingly warm. "Its good to see you. Could I offer you a glass of cider or perhaps some elderberry wine?"

Caleb shook his head. "No, thank you, sir. I can't stay long. I said I had an errand in the village but they'll expect my immediate return."

Swift nodded, though Caleb could see he would have liked the company. "Come then." Swift motioned him into the parlor, a room that had once been cozy and well-cared for, with bright floral slipcovers on the sofas and ruffled curtains at the windows. But Mrs. Swift had passed on last year and the signs of a bachelor household had begun to surface.

A stack of old newspapers sat in a haphazard pile on a piecrust table near the hearth. The curtains drooped and the rugs could have used a good beating. A Swift-made silver tea service sat on a tea cart near the door, but the pieces were tarnished.

"There's pen and ink on the desk. I believe you know the way."

"Yes, sir." Caleb had been to the house on several occasions to send or retrieve a message.

Following Cyrus farther into the parlor, he went over to the small oak writing desk along the wall, drew out a piece of foolscap, and plucked the quill pen out of its silver holder. He scratched out a note requesting a meeting with Colonel Cox as soon it could be arranged, then signed it, Respectfully, Captain Caleb Tanner.

"I shall see it delivered today," Swift promised.

"If it's at all possible, I'd like you to wait for a reply."

He nodded. "As you wish."

"Thank you, Mr. Swift. Your help in this has been invaluable."

"It is the very least I can do, Captain Tanner. I lost my eldest son, James-God rest his soul-ten years ago in the Netherlands Campaign. My youngest boy is a corporal in the 95th Infantry. I have no wish to lose him, as well."

"No, sir. With the help of people like you he'll have a far greater chance of staying safe."

Swift walked Caleb to the door. "I'll leave the reply in the usual spot in the barn, Captain."

"Thank you again for your help, Mr. Swift." And then he was gone.

Caleb had no idea what Colonel Cox would say when he heard the idea Caleb had come up with, but the army needed someone inside the house, someone close to the occupants, someone they could trust. Caleb prayed the colonel would see the merit in his plan.

Laughter echoed through the house. Servants hurried about beneath the weight of heavily laden silver trays. Food and drink sat on linen-draped tables and champagne flowed like water. The guests were all enjoying themselves but to Vermillion, the house party seemed endless.

In a gown of emerald silk, daringly low-cut and embroidered in fine gold thread across the bodice, she wandered from room to room, smiling and nodding and pretending an interest in the various conversations around her. In truth, all she could think of was Caleb and that she had gone to him last night and the two of them had made love.

She wasn't an innocent anymore. She had given herself to a man and not one of those she had vowed to choose as a lover, but Caleb Tanner, Parklands' head groom.

Her pulse leaped just thinking about it. She remembered the way he looked standing there naked, his hard body bathed in a shaft of moonlight streaming in through the window of his tiny room. She could see the wide bands of muscle across his chest and the sinews in his legs, remember the power and strength of him, pressing her down into the mattress.

Warm color rose in her cheeks as she thought of her response to his ardent lovemaking, like some wild creature freed at last from its bonds by the skill of his hands.

More disturbed than she wanted to be, Lee left the drawing room, escaping into the library for a moment's respite from the crowd, closing the tall, ornate doors behind her. She was sitting in the window seat, staring out at the garden when she heard a sound across the room.

"Vermillion?" The familiar voice drew her attention to the doorway. "What on earth are you doing in here by yourself? Everyone is looking for you." Her friend, Elizabeth Sorenson, stood framed in the opening.

"It's all right, Elizabeth. I just needed a moment alone. I'll return to the party in a moment."

Elizabeth surprised her by closing the tall doors behind her, the sound echoing into the quiet as the countess began to walk toward her.

"What is it, Lee?" she asked. "You haven't seemed yourself lately. Your aunt has been worried and so have I." With her short, curly black hair, slender build and long legs, Elizabeth's timeless beauty was marred only by the worry on her face.

Lee forced herself to smile. "Why in heaven's name would you be worried, Beth? I am perfectly fine."

"I realize your birthday is very near," Elizabeth said gently. "You've promised to choose a lover, but perhaps you are simply not ready."

Not ready? She wondered what the countess would say if she knew Lee had already chosen a lover, that even now she yearned for him, that she wanted him to make love to her again.

"It has to happen sooner or later," Lee said. "You know as well as I, marriage lies nowhere in my future. I said that I would choose and so I shall."

Elizabeth's frown only deepened. "There is certainly no rush. Aside from the fact you could start to live your life on your own terms, there is no real urgency. Gabriella knows how independent you are. She thought you would appreciate the chance to truly become your own person, but perhaps it would be better if-"

"If what, Beth?" She got up from the window seat and walked toward her friend. "Perhaps it would be better if I waded through another dozen men? If I attended another hundred of my aunt's tedious parties? In the end, the result would be the same."

"But surely-"

"I appreciate your concern, Beth, I truly do, but my aunt is right. It is time I made a life for myself and that is what I am going to do." She managed to muster a smile. "And it is also time I joined Aunt Gabriella and the rest of her guests."

"They are your guests, too, Lee. They are your friends as well as your aunt's."

"Are they?" She lifted her gaze to Elizabeth's lovely face. "Aside from you and a handful of others, most of them are people I scarcely know. They are here to be charmed by La Belle. As for Vermillion, she is merely a curiosity. They are fascinated by the mysterious persona my aunt has created. They have no desire to know the woman inside, the woman behind the mask she wears." Turning away, she started once more for the door.

"Dearest, wait-"

But Lee kept walking, out of the library and down the hall. She meant to return to the others-she truly did-but as she spotted Colonel Wingate striding down the hall in her direction, saw Andrew Mondale walking toward her the opposite way, she turned instead and hurried up the stairs.

"Vermillion, my beauty-where are you going?" Mondale's voice floated up behind her. "Come down and join the party."

Vermillion turned and smiled. "Shortly, Andrew, I promise." And she would, she told herself, in just a little while. Reaching the safety of her room, she closed the door and leaned against it. Her chest felt as if a boulder pressed upon it and her stomach felt queasy.

For the first time, she realized exactly how much trouble she had brought upon herself. "Oh, dear God-what am I going to do?" Tears burned her eyes. She had to go back downstairs, had to continue her charade-for her aunt and perhaps, as Aunt Gabby believed, for herself But after making love with Caleb, she was no longer certain she could continue in the role she so desperately needed to play.

Turning away from the door, she walked over to her rosewood dresser, poured water from the porcelain pitcher into the basin, and washed the rouge and rice powder from her cheeks. She wiped away the color on her lips and rang for Jeannie, who appeared in her bedchamber a few minutes later.

"Mon Dieu! What are you doing?"

"Help me get out of this, will you? I'm having trouble with the buttons."

Jeannie looked at her aghast, stunned by her freshly washed face and half-undressed appearance. "You cannot possibly mean to disrobe. The party... it is not yet midnight!"

"I don't care what time it is." She tried to reach the buttons at the back of the gown, determined now, desperate to escape. "I have to get out of here."

"Dieu du Ciel-you 'ave gone completely mad." But the slender woman stepped in and took charge, quickly dispatching the buttons and helping her slide out of the emerald silk gown. As soon as Lee was free of her garments, she went over to her armoire and pulled open the bottom drawer. A pair of men's breeches and a white linen shirt, carefully folded, lay on top. In minutes she was dressed and dragging on her riding boots.

"I cannot believe this," Jeannie grumbled as Lee pulled the pins from her hair and shook her head, unseating the heavy red curls. She quickly brushed them out, then clipped the curly mass back on the sides with little mother-of-pearl inlaid combs.

"Look at you. What if someone sees you? "

"No one is going to see me. I'm going down the back stairs." She turned, caught her friend's hand. "I need this, Jeannie. I have to get out of this place-just for a little while."

Her friend looked into her face. Whatever she saw made her eyes go wide. "Nom de Dieu! It is the man you spoke of. You 'ave given yourself to 'im!"

Lee glanced away, embarrassment only one of the dozen emotions she felt. "It doesn't matter. Nothing can change what's going to happen the night of my birthday."

"Oh, cherie, if I had believed making love with this man would make you so unhappy, I would 'ave begged you not to do it."

"I'll be all right, Jeannie. Women make love to men every day-no one knows that better than we do. I just need a little time to straighten things out in my head. The party will go on most of the night. I'll be back before it's over."

Jeannie said nothing and Lee turned away. Pausing at the bedchamber door, she checked to be certain no one was about, then hurried down the hall to the servants' stairs. Making her way out a little-used door leading into the garden, she raced off toward the stables.

The night was warm and clear, the moon shining down and lighting her way. Caleb would likely be in the stable and part of her desperately wanted to see him. Another, saner part never wanted to see him again.

A soft wind blew through the branches of the trees as she followed the path to the big stone building that housed Parklands' valuable Thoroughbreds. The lanterns had all been snuffed out, the grooms retired for the night.

Moving quietly, she disappeared into the darkness inside the barn and made her way along the row of stalls. Spotting Grand Coeur's gray head watching her over the top of stall, she grabbed a bridle off the rack and moved in the horse's direction. Coeur made a soft, nickering sound as she slipped the bridle over his ears and led him from his box.

The open fields beckoned. No one had seen her leave the house or discovered her in the stable. Not quite sure whether she was disappointed or relieved that Caleb hadn't appeared, she urged the horse out of the barn and into the pasture. As soon as they had traveled a safe distance away, she nudged Grand Coeur into a gallop.

In need of an outing as much as she, the stallion stretched out beneath her and together they raced off toward the freedom of the open fields.

Beneath a waning moon, Caleb rode the big bay gelding back toward Parklands. He was returning from a trip to the village. The reply Cyrus Swift had received from Colonel Cox rested in his saddlebags.

Caleb shifted on the flat leather saddle, thinking of the words scrolled on the note. Before dawn on the morrow, he had been ordered to collect his belongings, leave Parklands, and return to London. Jacob Boswell would be resuming his job as trainer and groom. Caleb was instructed to say nothing of his departure to anyone-including and especially not Vermillion or Gabriella Durant.

It wasn't the answer he had expected. He wasn't sure why Cox had ordered his immediate return, but he still held hope the colonel would at least consider his plan. Caleb's message had only made very brief mention of what he had in mind. Tomorrow in London he would fill in the missing details.

It was clear and warm, a soft breeze ruffling through his hair as he rode at an easy gallop back to collect his things. He tried not to think of that same breeze drifting through his window last night, cooling his heated skin as he made love to Vermillion, but thoughts of her haunted him. She was there in his mind when he crested the top of a hill and spotted a rider on the grassy slope below.

Caleb pulled rein, drawing the bay to a halt in the shadow of a wide-spreading yew tree. Below him, first running hard, then slowing to a leisurely gallop, Grand Coeur's dappled coat glistened like silver in the moonlight.

He recognized the petite, confident rider.

Caleb felt an instant leap of his pulse. Last night he had taken her innocence. He had made love to her three times in the small room he occupied in the stable and would have had her again if they had awakened in time. Just thinking about her made him hard, made him want to ride off the hill and drag her down from her horse, made him want to strip away her clothes, haul her down on the grass, and bury himself inside her.

He watched her from his place on the knoll, wondering where she might be heading, suspicious for a time, worried that he had been wrong about her. But it soon became apparent she had no destination, that her meandering course led mostly in circles and her moonlight ride was nothing more than that.

He thought about the hours he had spent with her last night and the fact that she had been a virgin. There was no denying the truth, no way to pretend the blood on her lovely pale thighs hadn't been a result of what he had taken from her.

Perhaps it wouldn't have happened if he had known the truth.

Or perhaps he was lying to himself and the desire to have her would have been so strong he would have taken her just the same.

As he watched her turn the gray and ride into a copse of trees, Caleb nudged Duke into a gallop and rode off down the hill. As soon as she saw him, she drew rein, pulling Grand Coeur to a halt beneath the overhanging branches of a tree.

"Caleb! What... what are you doing out here?"

He shrugged, hoping to appear nonchalant, feeling not the least that way. "The same as you." He swung down from the bay and looped the reins around the trunk of the tree. "I couldn't sleep. I thought maybe a ride would help."