Crystal Passion

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Crystal Passion By

Jo Goodman Contents Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14

SALEM'S KISS "Oh, stop there!" Ashley exclaimed. "If I drink as much as that I shall be all undone. I have no head for spirits." She smiled at Salem knowingly, sipping from her glass of wine. "But you suspected as much, didn't you? I do believe you are trying to get me foxed." Salem hopped off the flour barrel and knelt at Ashley's feet, relieving her of the wine glass. There-was a faint upward curve to his mouth, but his eyes were serious. "Believe me, my love, the last thing I want is for you to be foxed. What we share now and what we will share later is for remembering. And I want no part of it dulled by drink." Ashley could only stare at the familiar darkening of Salem's heavily lashed eyes. When he was this close she didn't need wine to dull her good sense: his presence did that, while honing her every desire to a fine edge. Her small hands rested on either side of his neck, and she could feel the warm throb of his pulse. When she spoke her voice was barely above a whisper. "I don't think it's quite fair that you should make me want you so much." Her face dropped nearer his own so that his breath caressed her mouth. "Do you really mind?" he asked. "No, I don't suppose that I do. Kiss me." His mouth lovingly captured hers, tasting the hint of wine that lingered there. He sipped at her lips until he felt her tongue tease the edge of his teeth. With a small groan he pushed himself upright, pulling Ashley with him. Her empty plate and silverware clattered to the floor between them, but the noise made no impact. Salem's hands swept down Ashley's slim back in a light caress, urging her closer to him…

Books by Jo Goodman THE CAPTAIN'S LADY (previously published as PASSION'S BRIDE) CRYSTAL PASSION SEASWEPT ABANDON VELVET NIGHT

VIOLET FIRE SCARLET LIES TEMPTING TORMENT MIDNIGHT PRINCESS PASSION'S SWEET REVENGE SWEET FIRE WILD SWEET ECSTASY ROGUE'S MISTRESS FOREVER IN MY HEART ALWAYS IN MY DREAMS ONLY IN MY ARMS MY STEADFAST HEART MY RECKLESS HEART WITH ALL MY HEART Published by Zebra Books

ZEBRA BOOKS are published by Kensington Publishing Corp. 850 Third Avenue New York, NY 10022 Copyright © 1985 by Joanne Dobrzanski First Printing: August, 1985 Printed in the United States of America

For friends of John Sutton

Dear Reader, It's a pleasure to be able to reintroduce the McClellans to readers who may have missed this family the first time around. First published in 1985, Crystal Passion follows the adventures of Salem McClellan and Ashley Lynne at the onset of the Revolutionary War. As so often is the case when I'm writing, a secondary character presents himself (or herself) as someone intriguing enough to follow into another book. Seaswept Abandon is that book and it is scheduled for reissue in October, 2000. The lives and fortunes of the McClellans are closely connected to events from the beginning of the Revolution through the framing of the Constitution. It is my hope you will find the McClellans as spirited as the times in which they lived. Happy Reading! Jo

Chapter 1

Ashley Caroline Lynne tried not to think of the tightness in her throat or the disquiet in her stomach as she approached Linfield House. She told herself the interview with His Grace, Nigel Gordon Lynne, Seventh Duke of Linfield, was an inevitable unpleasantly, nothing more. Indeed, this morning she had even succeeded in forgetting the matter entirely by taking her stallion on a bruising and reckless ride through Linfield's thick woods. There, on the shadowed paths and across broad water jumps, the duke's intrigues had seemed very far away.

But it proved only a temporary reprieve. When she let Kingdom slow his gait, guiding him toward the creek that neatly cut the property, the troubling thoughts returned. She lay on the mossy bank near the dam she had built as a child and idly pitched stones into the water. She could have remained there all day, the morning sun in her face and the cool earth at her back, but the realization that she was childishly trying to avoid the confrontation with her guardian put an end to her simple pleasures. Faintly embarrassed, and feeling much younger than her nineteen years, she brushed off the carefully patched skirt of her riding habit and returned to Kingdom. "You mustn't be so sad about future prospects," she told him, mounting. "It will all be made right You'll see. If I am to leave Linfield for my Season, I shall ask to take you along. Even if he says I must marry, I shall ask for you." Ashley's voice, normally soft and lilting, quavered at the last, and the edge of fear which framed her words brought a rush of tears to her eyes while Kingdom pranced restlessly beneath her. Like the child she no longer was, but longed to be, she knuckled her dark silky lashes to stop the flow. "Home, King," she said, patting his neck and giving him a watery smile. "For a while longer, Linfield's still our home." She had not known when she went riding this morning that she would come all undone at its end. She thought she had accepted her fate rather philosophically. She hadn't vented her outrage at His Grace when he first suggested she could not expect to remain at Linfield forever. How like him to tell her she would have to go, without making any effort to prepare her for a life outside the protection of her country home. She wanted someone to congratulate her for not throwing the Sevres vase at the smug, faintly sneering countenance that was Nigel Lynne, Duke of linfield. She wanted someone to reward her for being the perfect poor relation, the bastard child who expected nothing and accepted with humble gratitude whatever was negligently tossed her way. Of course, there was no one to applaud her performance, her perfect steely control in the face of each adversity. There was no one to understand that it was a performance; no one to appreciate the cost to her courage when she offered resignation rather than rebellion. Now, as she crossed the wide lawn from the stables to the house, Ashley wondered what Nigel would have thought had he seen her earlier. Would he have even recognized his obedient ward as the same girl who flew across the far pasture, defying gravity with every jump on Kingdom's back? Had he suspected she was capable of such spirited abandon he would have sought to crush it. Ashley did not understand his motive, but she had accepted it since childhood. A brief, oddly mysterious smile lighted her face. The courage she nurtured and guarded so carefully would serve her well. She was only left to wonder if this was the day it would be revealed and tested. Lifting her head a notch, Ashley brushed damp tendrils of ebony hair away from her cheeks and neck, and breathed deeply, her decision made. As was her habit, she ignored Linfield's imposing columned entrance in favor of the unobtrusive kitchen entry. She knew the servants did not appreciate her presence because she was a by-blow, but generally their suffering expressions came more out of a pretense of proper form than out of any real annoyance at her. "About time you came in, Miss Ashley," Mrs. Timms said gruffly, without looking up from her work at the breadboard. "His Grace has asked for you twice this morning. He's waiting for you in his study." Ashley felt her insides lurch at the cook's message. How like Nigel to change the time of the interview to make her feel at a disadvantage. She paused in answering, waiting until she could speak evenly. "But I haven't had breakfast yet." "That's neither here nor there."

Ashley flushed slightly that Mrs. Timms would reprimand her in front of the two helpers who were listening avidly while pretending to scrub a kettle. As with all the duke's staff, Ashley had never imagined that any affection existed between her and the cook, but neither was she used to the older woman's curtness. "I should at least change my clothes. There are grass stains on my skirt." Mrs. Timms glanced over Ashley's outfit, raising an eyebrow at the shiny patches on the black velvet jacket and the worn condition of the skirt. Her boots were scuffed and her stockings soiled. "It's not as if you have something better to wear. His Grace won't like the delay. You best be on your way." Mrs. Timms shook her head and turned away from Ashley's inquiring frown. The girl hid it, but she had been crying. Her fair complexion was just a bit too pale, her wide green eyes a shade too dark, and her mouth, with its slightly swollen lower lip where she had worried it with her teeth, was a trifle trembly. The cook steeled herself not to be taken in by Ashley's vulnerability. It was a sure thing the duke wouldn't be. Belatedly Ashley realized Mrs. Timms was upset on her behalf. It didn't surprise Ashley that the cook would know something concerning her before she knew it herself. The staff grapevine was nothing if not fruitful. "Something's wrong, isn't it?" Ashley's statement momentarily disconcerted Mrs. Timms, and she looked up from her work, her blue eyes sad and faintly misty. She opened her mouth to speak, then snapped it shut. "Her Ladyship is here," she said quickly and went back to her kneading. Ashley felt some of her resolve fading. "When?" "This morning, while you were riding." "Is she with Nigel now?" "Yes. Like I said, you're to go up right away." "You know what this is about, don't you?" Mrs. Timms kneaded the floured dough with a rough vengeance. "It's not for me to say." "No, I suppose it isn't," Ashley said softly as she walked through the kitchen in the manner of someone going to the gallows. She was almost at the door when a voice, filled with regret this time, made her turn. "I know it's not my place, Miss Ashley, and there's never been any love lost between us, but I just wanted you to know that I can't like what they're doing to you." Ashley knew better than to ask who "they" were, but she wished someone would tell her what it was they were planning. Gravely, she replied, "Thank you, Mrs. Timms. I'll remember that." Outside the study Ashley pulled at the sleeves of her jacket, attempting to make them reach her wrists. She straightened her white blouse and tucked it neatly into the waistband of her skirt, then sighed in disgust when she saw how her breasts strained against the thin material. Deciding to sacrifice neatness for modesty, she tugged at the blouse, loosening it enough to allow her some room. Hastily she brushed off her skirt again, smoothed her hair, and having no place to put the leaf she found there, held it in a tight fist when she entered what she had always thought of as Nigel's lair. Ashley's eyes immediately strayed to the painting hanging above the mantle. For a moment she ignored both her guardian and his mistress in favor of the warm familiarity of the portrait of Nigel's sister. Anne Lynne's secretive smile and fair beauty always beckoned Ashley, a welcoming touch in contrast to the

stark, even severe, appointments of the study. Ashley always thought she would like to have known her guardian's animated twin, but Nigel was reluctant to discuss Anne. "Let her lie in peace," he would say, rebuffing Ashley's curiosity until some later time, when Anne Lynne's bright amber eyes drew Ashley's interest again. Ashley dropped her gaze to find Nigel studying her, a thoughtful frown on his finely molded face. The duke's considering appraisal brought Ashley's small chin a notch forward while her knuckles whitened as she thought of the inevitable row. "Why, she's come for fisticuffs, Nigel," Davinia Grant drawled lightly from the divan, which, at her request, had been positioned for warmth near the marble fireplace. Her pale blue eyes assessed Ashley's attire, and her expression was scornful when she met the young woman's guarded eyes. "And that habit is a disgrace. Nigel, I do believe the chit's been up to something. Look, her skirt is stained. Rolling in the grass, were you? With whom?" Ashley was used to Davinia Grant's criticism and ridicule, but her opinion was of no consequence. Davinia was always up to the latest fashion, and her hair was inevitably arranged high on her head, adorned with ribbons or jewels as the mood took her. Looking at Lady Grant now, leaning negligently against the divan, chosen, Ashley was sure, because its fabric would not clash with the peacock blue of her gown, Ashley felt repulsed by the other woman's calculated, casual manner. Ashley often wondered if Davinia imagined herself to be graceful in such a ridiculous pose. It was true that Davinia had her admirers and a large circle of friends, but Ashley felt she lacked real wit or substance. Certainly she paled in comparison to the portrait she lounged beneath, though Ashley admitted there were undeniable similarities between the two women. Nigel's sister and his mistress had equally fair complexions, light eyes and fine-boned features. When Davinia's hair was not greased and powdered, it revealed the same corn silk highlights as Anne's. But where Anne Lynne's smile hinted that she enjoyed life's pleasures, Davinia's mouth said she squandered them. Ashley found it easy to ignore Davinia, finding nothing attractive about the dissolute, pouting mouth, and she gave her full attention to her guardian. Nigel Lynne was quite the antithesis of his feminine companion. He was a powerfully built man very much in his prime. His very social lifestyle, which included drinking and gambling in amounts that would have dulled other men, had not exacted any visible toll on the Duke of Linfield. His dark brown eyes were clearly as keen as they ever had been, his gaze just as knowing. His nose and chin Ashley found a trifle sharp, his mouth just the tiniest bit thin, but the overall effect of his slightly gaunt face was flattering, making him appear to have been cut from a particularly fine piece of marble. Nigel was as unyielding as that slab of stone, and when he turned his intimidating glance in Ashley's direction, she felt as if she had been slapped. "You wanted to see me, Your Grace?" she said, wishing above everything that the slight trembling in her voice would not be noticed. "Have a seat, child; it's exceedingly tiring having to look up at you." Ashley knew Nigel was playing with her. He could have stood and towered over her, but for now it pleased him to order her, to impose his will over her own. She did as she was told, pretending she didn't notice Davinia Grant's smug smile while suffering Nigel's premeditated silence with admirable calm. "Do you understand why I've asked to speak to you this morning, Ashley?" She nodded. "I believe it has to do with my future. You've decided I must marry." In her hand the dry leaf was ground into dust. "I have been giving the matter of your marriage a great deal of thought since I last talked to you. I am

happy to say there has been an offer, and I have accepted in your behalf." Ashley blinked, stunned. This morning she had prepared herself to hear that she was going to be married off, but never had she suspected Nigel would have promised her hand without consulting her. Giddily she imagined herself saying earnestly, "I am sensible of the honor you do me, Your Grace, in planning my marriage. But I must tell you that I simply cannot marry someone of your choosing. By coming up to snuff in your eyes, he can only be sadly lacking in mine." She knew the folly of daring to utter that sentiment, so she held her tongue until she could think clearly. "But—who? I mean, there has been no one. I've met no suitors at Linfield. I thought I would have a Season." "She does go on," Davinia commented to no one in particular as she fingered the ivory lace edging the low bodice of her gown. She thrust her full lower lip forward when the duke's attention was not drawn toward the creamy expanse of her bosom. Not for the first time she considered it was a good thing Nigel was finally ridding himself of his ward. To Davinia's way of thinking the chit had been nothing but a constant source of irritation. She honestly couldn't fathom why Nigel had taken an interest in the foundling brat in the first place. "I don't recall saying anything about a London Season," Nigel answered truthfully. "No. It's just that I assumed—" "That is hardly my problem." "Of course not. But I had hoped to meet this man before an offer was accepted." Nigel smiled then, that insincere grin Ashley so hated. She knew what was coming before she heard his mocking voice. "But you already have met him, m'dear. In this house, as a matter of fact. Surely you haven't forgotten last month's romp, have you?" Agitated and more than a little frightened Ashley nearly leaped from her chair. "You can't mean—" She could not finish; the words merely died in her throat. "I told you she wouldn't like it, Nigel," Davinia said lazily, reaching for the cup of chocolate sitting on a nearby table. She sipped it delicately. "Delicious," she pronounced, staring over the cup's rim at Ashley's drawn face. "Really, m'dear. You refine on this too much. Lord Bosworth is exactly the right man for you. Nigel was perfectly correct to accept his offer." "But he's old enough to be my grandfather." "Really, Ashley, given the murky origins of your birth, it doesn't become you to speculate." Nigel gave Davinia a quelling glance, and Ashley, even in her fury, could appreciate the woman's shrinking response. To his ward he said, "Davinia's right about one thing: You are making too much of this. Geoffrey Bosworth has made the offer, and I intend that you shall marry him. There's no need for theatrics." Ashley folded her hands in her lap and stared at them, calming herself. Quietly she said, "Have you forgotten the man almost raped me?" Davinia tittered. "She's blushing, Nigel." Ashley's head shot up and her green eyes darkened as they narrowed on Davinia's face. "Say what you're thinking," Davinia responded. "And I'll take great pleasure in boxing your ears." Ashley

held her tongue, not because of the older woman's threat, but because she thought the ensuing battle would have afforded Nigel too much amusement. "That's better. At least you've been taught your place. Nigel hasn't completely neglected your education. As to the matter of your near rape, m'dear, it was never in the cards. Do explain it to the girl, Nigel. I find myself quite out of patience with her." "It's as Davinia says, Ashley, you weren't in any danger." "You can't know. You weren't there," she protested, visibly shuddering. She recalled Lord Bosworth's gnarled and liver-spotted hands on her shoulders, his sour breath at her ear and at her throat. His mouth was slack and there was a drop of spittle at the corner of his wet lips. He had come into her room, thinking it his own, and in his drunken state Ashley had not been able to make him understand his mistake. He had whipped the covers off her bed and crawled in beside her. The bacchanalian revelry downstairs kept Ashley's screams from being heard by the duke or his friends, and it was Stephens, Linfield's head of staff, who finally responded. Stephens had merely guided the drunken lord from Ashley's chamber, bid her to lock her door, and reported the incident to the duke. Until this interview, there had been no mention of what had happened that evening. Nigel had not inquired if she was unharmed, and no one had been sent to comfort her while she scrubbed herself clean of Bosworth's foul scent or mended her torn nightgown. "I couldn't make him see it was a mistake to be in my room." With her head bent momentarily, she missed the conspiratorial exchange between Nigel and Davinia. "He was so terribly strong, for all that he was drunk." Nigel sighed wearily. "I believe I asked that there be no theatrics. There was never any question that you would be harmed. Bosworth was clearly foxed and even sober he is no threat to your maidenly virtues. The man's quite impotent." He tossed off this fact casually, as if it could be of no real importance. "How could you know such a thing?" she managed to gasp, appalled. Thoroughly bewildered by Nigel's motives at wishing her to marry a man she could never learn to love, nor feel the least desire for, she came out of her chair. "Now you've done it," Davinia told Nigel. "Mentioned drama and the chit's going to enact every scene in front of us. Have you no imagination, child? Bosworth's mistress says the old coot has done nothing but fondle and grope for years. Keeps Harriet quite up to her throat in lovely baubles for the pleasure of it, too. Now he's taken a fancy to your, dare I say—nubile charms—and wants to make it a legal liaison. Count yourself fortunate, m'dear. Not many men would put aside the fact that you were born on the wrong side of the blanket and want to marry you. It's one thing to be a by-blow, quite another to not even know whose bastard you are." "Shut up, Davinia," Nigel said, not unkindly. "Ashley, you will be seated." The duke's soft hypnotic voice reached Ashley, and she found herself going through the motions of sitting almost in a trance. Gravely she faced Nigel, her trembling hands folded on her lap. "Please, Your Grace, tell me that you don't mean to marry me off to Lord Bosworth." "But that's precisely what I intend." "I couldn't possibly marry him." "Why?" Ashley was aware of a terrible silence as Nigel and Davinia waited for her answer, and she responded

quietly, hoping she could avoid angering her guardian beyond all reason. "I hold him in disgust. I could never marry such a man. It would not be a marriage as I have ever envisioned it." Ashley's eyes lowered to her lap to hide the sheen of tears from the duke. "Please. You can't expect me to marry him. What would it serve?" Nigel rose from his chair and made a pretense of poking at the fire. "Once you consider it I believe you will find it serves all of us quite well. Your illegitimacy does cause some distress among the peerage. Oh, everyone knows you are a Lynne, else I wouldn't have taken you in when the servants found you wailing on the kitchen stoop. Your birthmark proves you're a Lynne." "What birthmark?" Davinia asked, frowning. Here was something she didn't know, and it disturbed her that Nigel had not shared this small bit. She had been his mistress, confidant, and ally for nearly eight years, even before her husband had been given a military post in the Colonies. She thought she knew everything about the duke and his peculiar young ward, and it piqued her to be left in the dark. Her mind's eye revealed every detail of Nigel's smoothly muscled body, searching for a birthmark, yet she could envision none. Perhaps a thorough exploration was in order once they were alone. The thought caused her to flush and her nipples to harden. No man had ever been able to excite her as easily as the Duke of Linfield. She glanced at Nigel to see if he had noticed the direction of her thoughts and hid her agitation when she saw he had not. Too often of late she noted his attention was directed on Ashley. Davinia wished she could name what she saw in Nigel's eyes when he looked at his ward. At times Davinia thought she surprised a glance that could only be described as devouring. Yet, there were those moments when his dark gaze settled on Ashley that he seemed to be repulsed by her very presence. Inconsistencies marked much of Nigel's dealings with the chit, Davinia thought. As a child he had had no time for her when she invaded his study, looking for writing paper or a book, but he wouldn't consider Davinia's suggestion that she be sent to boarding school. Instead he had hired a series of governesses and tutors, and when the last one was gone some four years ago, he simply allowed Ashley to study on her own. He laughed at Davinia's warning that Ashley was becoming a bluestocking and he would never see her married. Still, for all that he kept Ashley around, he took little notice of her. He could afford to dress her like a princess, yet he rarely spent a farthing on her clothes. Ashley's present wardrobe was nearly three years old. It was as if Nigel refused to believe the chit was growing up. But she was. Davinia noticed, even if she made no mention of it. None of the inconsistencies had ever concerned her until she saw Ashley as a possible rival for the duke's affection. At first it seemed absurd that Nigel might actually feel something for the bastard brat that had been underfoot for years, but the more Davinia considered it, the more eager she was to have Ashley away from Linfield House altogether. As Davinia approached thirty, she refused to be compared to an innocent miss and be found wanting. "What birthmark?" she repeated petulantly. "It doesn't concern you, Davinia. Ashley knows what I mean." "You know I do," Ashley replied tightly. "And I'm certain you can appreciate that, although you are a Lynne, you are still someone's peccadillo," he said patronizingly. "You can't expect to be afforded all the courtesies of someone of legitimate birth, Bosworth's offer is a good one. It will bring you a measure of status that you could not enjoy, even as my ward. It will relieve Davinia of all her petty jealousies." He smiled pleasantly at his mistress, otherwise ignoring her startled gasp. "And as for me, Bosworth's promised to give over a prime piece of blood, thoroughbred stock, for my stud farm. I do want that animal, Ashley. I've been after Bosworth for nearly a year for the bay. It's fortunate that he thinks you're worth it."

"I cannot," she said faintly. "You cannot want me to marry that old man so you can have some—some damned animal." Nigel lifted the poker, idly examining its heated tip. It seemed an action without purpose, but Ashley knew differently, and she could not help recoiling in her chair, protecting her left side almost instinctively. Nigel's smile was taunting. "I think you should consider your word choices more carefully, Ashley. Your marriage to Bosworth is exactly what I want. And precisely what I shall have." Ashley could only shake her head. A tear slipped from one eye and fell to her folded hands. "Now it's the waterworks," Davinia said, maintaining a tone of complete boredom. "Perhaps the girl fears Bosworth may actually succeed in consummating the marriage. I shouldn't fret about it. Harriet swears he can't manage the thing." Ashley was mortified. She could only continue to stare at her lap and hope lightning would strike her. "It will be a marriage of convenience, Ashley," the duke clarified for her. She found the temerity to respond. "Your convenience. What am I to have? A marriage with neither mutual regard nor love. What of my needs, Your Grace?" "And what needs do you have? Are you saying it is his impotence that offends you? Do you crave carnal knowledge of the old sot?" Ashley bit her lip at the duke's crudity. "You know I do not. But I have a desire to be more to my future husband than the object of his drunken fondling." His Grace nearly rolled his eyes in disgust. "Spare me your schoolgirl rhetoric, Ashley. It is my understanding one does not miss what one has not experienced. My mind is quite made up. You knew you would have to marry one day. You can't have expected me to care for you forever. You are making far more of this than is wise." "Am I truly?" she cried boldly. "Are you so anxious to be rid of me that you can completely ignore my feelings in this matter? Why have you done this so suddenly and given me no choice in the matter? I refuse to participate in this sham of a marriage. If you force the alliance I will have it annulled. Bosworth will not thank you for the public ridicule he will endure." Ashley's hands trembled, and her voice shook with the force of her anger. She had never dared to speak so bluntly to her guardian before, and he would not thank her that she had done it in front of his mistress. Yet pride drove her on. "You are as spiteful as I have always thought you to be and selfish of your own pleasure. Do you know that every day I give thanks I am only the poor relation? The thought that I could be your bastard fills me with loathing." There was a tense silence. Even Davinia knew enough to be quiet, though she sat a little straighter, alert to the drama unfolding. "You forget yourself," the duke responded softly. Ashley's unnatural stillness told him she was hearing the care fully couched fury. "You will apologize." Ashley felt the silence close about her as the duke awaited her reply. "No. I cannot. I spoke the truth." Nigel stepped in front of Ashley and gripped her chin, forcing her to look up at him. "For now I find this show of resistance intriguing, but be warned that I grow bored easily. You should have no trouble understanding why you'll be confined to your room until you decide in favor of the marriage." "No. Please, don't do that." Ashley could not help but show her horror. "Please don't lock me in. I'm not

a child to be punished in that manner." Nigel released her chin, smiling, as if her small show of fear had been his goal. "I have been giving some thought to the question of annulment. Perhaps it would be better for all parties concerned if the matter was disposed of before your marriage to Bosworth. He really has no use for a virgin bride." He smiled maliciously at his ward, and Ashley prepared herself for the duke's manner of revenge, knowing she was powerless and hating it. "I promise you, Ashley, before you wed Bosworth you'll have an opportunity to experience something more than drunken fondling, as you so aptly described it. I swear to you the first male guest at Linfield who is willing to have you, shall have you." Nigel noted Ashley's pale face with perverse delight. "Think about it every morning when you would normally be taking your ride on Kingdom. Think about the fact that it is you who will be next ridden." Ashley's hands flew to her mouth to stifle her gasp. She stared at Nigel and saw in his implacable gaze that he would not be moved. She would be a prisoner in her home until she agreed to the marriage, and all the while he would be arranging her rape. She fled the room for the questionable sanctuary of her own, closing her mind to Davinia Grant's satisfied, nearly maniacal, laughter.

Chapter 2

"It's hard to credit," Nigel said thoughtfully, watching Davinia tuck into her breakfast with obvious pleasure. "Who would have thought the chit would hold out on me?" Davinia didn't let conversation spoil her enjoyment of the tasty spread Mrs. Timms had prepared. She savored her sampling of eggs and kidneys before she responded. "You're not used to being thwarted, Nigel, that's your problem. You thought locking the girl in her room would be just the thing to bring her up to scratch. It's been two weeks and not only has Ashley refused your proposal, she's gone on a hunger strike. I admit I'm not all that pleased about the prospect of her starving herself to death. What are you going to do?" "I will not allow her to ruin my plans, you can be certain of that." "Oh, no. Never say you are going to force feed her again. Really, Nigel, that was so—so messy. And she only tossed it all after we left the room." Davinia pushed her plate away and made a face. "I think I've ruined my appetite. Do we have to discuss this now?" "It has to be settled." He buttered a hot scone and savored his first bite. "I want Ashley to understand she is subject to my will." "Why is that so important to you?" Davinia asked earnestly. Nigel sighed, his normally shrewd glance softened indulgently as he looked at his lover. "Because it is. Once I have set a course I will not be turned. I don't believe Ashley has thought out her future. Bosworth is an old man. It's likely she'll be a widow before long. She's free to return to Linfield after that." He paused, his eyes softening. "Where she belongs." The faraway look in the duke's eyes disturbed Davinia. It seemed he had no intention of removing Ashley from his life permanently. Seeking reassurance, Davinia placed her hand on the duke's forearm. The delicate white lace of her sleeve brushed the deep maroon of Nigel Lynne's velvet coat. "Until you have need of her again."

Nigel leaned back in his chair. It was a casual movement, but it had the effect of releasing his arm from Davinia's hold. He ignored the look of hurt that crossed her pale face. "Something like that." One eyebrow lifted in amused speculation. "Jealous, m'dear?" Davinia stiffened slightly, then smiled charmingly. She did not want to reveal the extent of Nigel's hold over her. "Of Ashley? You mistake my feelings. I find the chit nothing more than a nuisance. I am surprised you tolerate her." "I have my reasons." "Mmmm. I wonder—are you Ashley's father?" Nigel's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You are overstepping. Davinia." Davinia did not want to accept closing the subject. She sensed a mystery, and she wanted Nigel to reveal the matter as a measure of his trust. Of course, she admitted to herself, Nigel was right to be reticent. Davinia also wanted to have something to hold over the duke. "I don't believe that. We've known each other for years now. Isn't it time you share something of yourself with me?" "Oh, Davinia, in so many ways you're more naive than Ashley. I find that I will have to deny you to protect you from yourself. You may know what I want you to know. Eight years in my bed does not make you privy to my every thought." A shiver ran through Davinia at her lover's stern pronouncement. "You're not afraid of me, are you?" "No, of course not," Davinia lied quickly. "That's unfortunate. I suppose in time it will come to you, as it will to Ashley. I will have my way." "I never thought otherwise," Davinia drawled lightly, attempting to gain her composure. "Good. And you can prove it to me by taking a trip into London." "Certainly." "And bringing back the lover I threatened Ashley with. I grow weary of waiting. When she understands how serious I am, I believe she will have a change of heart. Naturally you understand the man cannot be an acquaintance, nor anyone who is likely to spread rumors. You will have to assess his character carefully." "I know exactly the sort of man you require. A Colonial ought to be just the thing." "A Yankee?" Nigel's wheat-colored brows raised. The smile he gave Davinia was one of genuine enjoyment. "It's too perfect! I salute you! Yes, a Colonial is exactly what we need. He'll leave England after he's had the chit, and that will be the end of it. And if he should get other notions—well, there are ways, and what is one Colonial more or less?" "Precisely my thought." "Good. Then you'll leave immediately?" "Do you suppose I might have another scone first?"

Nigel laughed. "Have a dozen! You have pleased me greatly." And while Davinia basked under his praise, the duke began to look forward to his next confrontation with Ashley. "Of course I mean it," Nigel heard himself tell his ward some hours later. He stood to one side of Ashley's Tudor oak four-poster, where she lay in near darkness, having drawn the blue and white crewelwork curtains. The open throat of her filmy lawn nightgown unwittingly displayed the clearly defined bones of her shoulders and the fragile stem of her neck. Seeing Nigel's look of disgust at the evidence of her hunger strike, she defiantly refused to pull the thick comforter around her throat. "Davinia left this morning and she won't be back until she's found your lover. Although, looking at you now, it's difficult to say whether even a Yankee will go through with it. I don't know that the voyage here is sufficient deprivation to make anyone want to bed a bundle of bones." Ashley weakly turned her head away from Nigel's sneering gaze. She found she did not have the strength to argue, even if it would have accomplished anything. She closed her eyes against the sight of the food Nigel had brought to tempt her. She could not close her nose to the fragrant aroma of shepherd's pie. She knew the duke had asked Mrs. Timms to prepare whatever she knew was Ashley's favorite in order to persuade her to eat again. Ashley could have saved Nigel the trouble. It was too late for that type of persuasion now. She had denied herself food for so long that even the thought of food nauseated her. "You have what you came for," she whispered tiredly. "Please leave." "I want your consent." "You will not have that. Ever." "You'd rather die?" "Yes," she said with surprising vehemence. "I don't know why it surprises me. Your mother expressed much the same sentiment at one time." Ashley instantly tried to sit up but the motion made her dizzy. She lay her head against the snowy coverlet of her pillow, ebony hair framing the pale, sharply etched features of her face. For a moment there was a spark of interest in the green eyes that had dulled so noticeably over the last two weeks. There were so many things she wanted to know, but she could only bring herself to ask, "And what did you do?" "I killed her, of course." "Wait—" But Nigel was already leaving the room, content that he had crushed the light in those emerald eyes. This time when Ashley struggled to sit up she was successful. But where was she going? she wondered. She knew she wanted to chase after Nigel and demand that he explain what he meant. Had he really known her mother? At the moment that seemed more important to Ashley than his parting shot about killing her. She did not doubt that Nigel was capable of doing such a deed, yet he was also capable of any lie that would serve his purpose. Ashley acknowledged, in this case, he had achieved it. She had to know what he knew about her parents. And if it meant eating to regain her strength so she could hound him for the answers, she would do it. Beyond that, she thought, her heart sinking, she would need the strength to fight off the Yankee.

Sitting in Pooley's Tavern, only a hard stone's throw from where his cargo was being brought ashore, Capt. Salem McClellan had reason to wonder if this was his last taste of hearty English ale on treacherous English soil. Shrugging philosophically he savored the brew's heady taste. When there was ale like this, why fuss about tea? In his opinion, Parliament had once again acted foolishly, this time by taxing the wrong beverage. Of course there were any number of outraged Bostonians who thought differently. He lifted his mug in a toasting gesture, drank deeply, then motioned a barmaid for a refill. "Will you be wan tin' anything to eat, yer lordship?" the maid asked, showing a row of crooked teeth as she attempted to charm the tavern's most handsome patron. Erin Brownlee didn't often see men of Salem's stature frequenting the Pooley. He was a right handsome devil, she thought. Noticed it the minute he came into the room, his broad shoulders nearly filling the doorway. He was the kind of man a woman would trade her warming pan for. Hell, he'd probably light a fire in the damn bed. He didn't have a pretty face, she noted, as he gave her his order in a husky tone that made her want to sigh. His features were too rough to be merely pretty. His face possessed a special strength one did not see in most faces. To reinforce the point in her own mind she glanced quickly around the tavern, seeing several handsome faces. She dismissed them because they lacked the measure of character she saw in Salem McClellan. Give her the man at her side, with his lightly tanned skin pulled taut over high cheekbones and a chin that seemed to thrust daringly forward. His eyes were silver, and they seemed to be strangely alert even when they were shaded by thick, ebony lashes. It didn't bear thinking, what she would do for those lashes. She sighed audibly when she caught sight of the deep dimple that appeared on the right side of his mouth, then blushed to the roots of her carroty hair as she realized she had been staring so longingly. Jest like Oi was some virgin wench who ain't never even seen a man before, she thought disgustedly. "Will there be anythin' else, yer lordship?" she asked. No sense in tryin' ta charm this'un. 'E ain't for the loikes of ye, Erin, megirl. 'E'll be wantin' a fancy piece, and from th' cut of 'is clothes, 'e'll be gettin' one, too. "Nothing, thank you, except that you not call me your lordship and you have an ale at my expense." "Thank you, guvn'r. I'll have it when things slow a bit." Salem almost laughed when she walked away, muttering epithets about Yankees not being quite right in the head. He didn't know if it was because he had offered her a drink or because he eschewed the title. Erin was back in a few minutes to refill his mug. "Ya need anything before yer meal's ready, jest holler fer Erin." "As a matter of fact, Erin, there is something," Salem said as the maid began to turn away. "I plan to be in London for some weeks before all my business is transacted. I was wondering if you might have heard of the Duke of linfield. I'm in need of an introduction. Perhaps you've knowledge of the clubs he might frequent?" "Sure, and Oi know th' king 'imself," Erin snapped, disappointed that what she hoped was an invitation for an evening's toss was an inquiry for information. Sorely tried, she flounced away. Salem couldn't really blame her; he had asked her very badly, and he really hadn't expected her to be of much help. The trouble was, he didn't know how to go about meeting the duke. Although Salem had been bringing a great portion of his family's tobacco harvest to London for ten years now, he had never had any contact with anyone in the British nobility. That didn't include the peers sent by Parliament to govern his native Virginia. Salem was quite familiar with those men and wished differently. Here, in London, he was a Yankee merchant, and that made him well received for his money but poorly treated for his position. It did not matter that in Virginia the McClellans were highly respected for their

enterprising spirit and solid values. Here he was a Colonial, someone a trifle crackbrained because he didn't aspire to a title, someone who was not even accorded the same privileges of his fellow Englishmen. Salem agreed with some of the Colony's more vocal statesmen, men like Franklin, Henry, Lee, and his friend Jefferson who believed the time for reconciliation with England had past. Salem's work for the rebellious Sons of Liberty was a source of pride. At thirty he could hardly bemoan the fact he didn't know any nobility; lacking the acquaintance hadn't hurt him so far. Salem leaned back in his chair, his thoughtful revery disturbed by the raucous voices of several other patrons. His mouth curled in disgust at their vulgar wordplay. He glanced briefly at the four members of the party, wondering what brought them to the riverfront tavern. Salem had no respect for the thrill seekers among the nobility who enjoyed slumming. The two men were macaronies, dressed with flair rather than comfort in mind. Neither of them looked as if they had ever done anything more strenuous than lifting an ale to their lips. Their female companions were attractive in a cold sort of way. The redhead was flirting boldly with her attendant while the blonde seemed more interested in her surroundings, particularly the Pooley's clientele. She happened to look in his direction at that moment and caught his eye. Salem politely returned her smile and managed to control his grimace as she excused herself and started for his table. "Pardon me, but I thought I heard you ask the serving girl about the Duke of Linfield. I wondered if I might be of assistance?" Salem viewed the woman over the rim of his mug. He was not one given to making immediate assessments, but there was no mistaking this woman's interest. Damn, he thought, even the tavern maid didn't look at him that hungrily! He realized he might have been attracted to her if they had met in another setting. But he knew this woman didn't belong here, and her bold overture made him wary. He felt no need to extend himself beyond the superficial niceties, unaware his indifference piqued her interest. "Do you know the duke?" Salem asked. "I do. His Grace is a dear friend of mine as well as my husband's." She waited expectantly, and Salem realized she was desirous of an invitation to sit down. Salem issued one less than graciously. "Salem McClellan," he said when Davinia was seated. "I'm interested in making the duke's acquaintance." He motioned Erin to bring some wine for his companion and ignored her bitter smile when she saw the two of them together. So that's the way of it, her lifted eyebrows seemed to say. Found 'imself a fancy piece already. Well, 'e's picked nothin' but trouble with this one. Davinia did not appear to notice the maid's disgust, having interest only in Salem. "Affairs of business? Perhaps politics?" "Surely, that would be my concern. I can say I am acting in my father's stead." Also for my brother, he could have added. It was Gareth who handled the majority of the transactions dealing with the McClellan stud farm. Horseflesh was his younger sibling's interest. But for reasons his father would not detail, Robert McClellan considered Salem the one with the best chance of spotting the thoroughbred filly the duke was rumored to have in his stables. "I hope you have no expectation of securing a loan from His Grace." Too certain of herself by half, Salem thought. "That can't be of any consequence to you. Do you know the duke well enough to tell me where I might meet him?" Davinia shrugged negligently while Erin served Salem his joint of beef and boiled potatoes. Repulsive tavern fare, she noted. The Yankee seemed to enjoy it though, which only proved how coarse the

Colonies had become. She shuddered just remembering her husband had once expected her to go with him to that miserable land. Still, Salem's questionable epicurean tastes were not at issue here; his taste in women was. Davinia could envy Ashley's good fortune to be bedded by the virile man seated across the table. "No, it's not my affair," she said, sensing she must be careful not to push Salem McClellan. She was thoughtful, her narrow and delicate fingers tapping against the edge of the table as she made her decision. "I can supply the introduction. As it would happen I am leaving for Linfield later today. I would be honored if you would accompany me." Her smile was coy. "You would be doing me a service. One never knows what one may encounter on the roads these days." "What of your husband? Won't he object to my escort?" "Charles has been in the Colonies for several years now. We go our own way. He would be pleased I had such a protector." Her pale blue eyes slid over Salem's handsome face and could find nothing that was not to her liking. He was a most agreeable man; the rough edges made him all the more desirable. A pity Ashley would not appreciate him. Salem nearly rolled his eyes at Davinia's brazen manner. He was almost certain she was the duke's mistress. Wasn't one man enough for her? "I wouldn't want to impose. I have business with him after all." "What is one guest, more or less? I'll send a groom on ahead to let Nigel know." "I have some work to complete first," Salem said. "Fine. Where shall I send a carriage round?" "The docks. Ask for the McClellan merchant, the Caroline. Anyone can direct you." "Then I'll look forward to seeing you. Shall we say five?" Salem nodded. He avoided Davinia's attempt to brush past him as she left the table, pretending renewed interest in his meal. After she and her companions left the tavern, he pushed his plate away and called for another ale. His forbidding expression as he drank did not invite company; the disgusted half smile on his face reflected his inner dilemma. Damn, I should have told Father to send Gareth or just forget this matter. Now I think I've just accepted a well-bred whore's invitation to pleasure her. How am I supposed to proceed from here? He was not pleased to be repeating the question some hours later as he rode beside Davinia's carriage on a cinnamon-colored gelding. The purchase of the fine piece of horseflesh was not as impulsive as Salem allowed Davinia to believe. Salem's second in command, James Shannon, suggested the purchase once he was informed of his captain's plan to travel. "Sure, and you don't want to be at an Englishman's mercy. An Englishwoman's either. Scurvy breed, the lot of them." "And what exactly would you be?" Salem had asked his cagey friend. "Irish. Don't you be forgettin' it either." James had raised a meaty fist threateningly and glared darkly at Salem from beneath wildly bushy brows. "I'll be expectin' to hear from you in a sennight. If y'er not back by then I'll be sendin' someone after you. And take care to remember yer da didn't send you over here to be pleasured. I don't like the sound of this lady you met. She's most likely the duke's mistress and not a very faithful one at that. It'd be a shame if you returned with the pox." Then Shannon had run, laughing boisterously, for the safety of the hold as Salem threatened his life in three languages, including Latin. Salem's brows drew together as he anticipated meeting Nigel Lynne and the problem of persuading the duke to sell a certain thoroughbred filly. His father had his mind set on a new line of breeding stock.

Salem knew horses, but he was not the authority; his brother and father were. But Robert McClellan had told him how to identify the horse: a small L-shaped brand on the left side of her chest supposedly marked the duke's treasured animal. Salem had remarked that Nigel Lynne seemed a singularly possessive man. "I've heard he destroys what he cannot keep," Robert replied, a distant look in his dark green eyes. Beyond that he would say nothing, and his son, though he wondered at the look and the words, honored his father's privacy. He wished now he had asked more questions. Davinia Grant's approaching him was still a puzzle. She said it was the mention of the duke that brought her to the captain's table, yet Salem sensed Davinia's interest before that. The duke's name provided an excuse for the introduction and perhaps peaked Davinia's curiosity, but Salem considered their confrontation inevitable. He was certain she had her own reasons for desiring his company. Salem realized he would have to proceed warily with the duke and his mistress. He was not really concerned that he might somehow end up their dupe, but it was imperative to him that he did not fail his father. Robert McClellan had never specifically asked his sons for anything. That he had made the request at all clued Salem to its importance. He glanced over at the carriage which was making surprisingly good time on the rutted road. He could just make out Davinia's delicate profile through the window as she was jounced about even in the well-sprung conveyance. He wondered if she still pouted because he chose to ride in the open. Davinia was, in fact, pouting a little, her face taking on a sullen expression the duke would have erased with a light slap. She was also more than a little troubled, wondering at this late moment if she had done the right thing by inviting Captain McClellan to Linfield. McClellan was exactly the sort of man Nigel would have chosen, but the captain's own interests in the duke could present a problem. Davinia had still not decided if she should relate the conversation with Salem in the tavern. Lately she felt unsure of her hold on Nigel's affections. She wanted to avoid anything that would antagonize him. Though she felt attracted to the Yankee captain, and many other men during the years she had been Nigel's mistress, she had never once seriously considered severing her ties with the duke. She knew she would do anything to prevent him from ending their liaison. Captain McClellan's presence at Linfield's gates was proof of that. Salem's first view of Linfield House was colored by the blue-grey light of dusk. Twilight shaded the ancestral home of the duke, making it appear fortresslike and lending it a faintly mysterious air. Riding toward the house, Salem noted the grounds were meticulously cared for. The box hedge lining the semicircular drive leading to Linfield's main entrance had been so painstakingly trimmed it resembled a choker of square-cut emeralds. The house itself looked to have been built over a period of many years, reflecting the influence of changing architectural design and the personal tastes of a number of Linfield's owners. The south wing was topped by a crenelated tower and was oddly out of balance with the ornately sculpted dome on the north tower. The windows, other than permitting light to enter, had little in common. Some were framed with elaborate iron scrolling while others were bordered by cathedral-like white arches. The lack of any unifying design led Salem to consider the person who had introduced ivy to Linfield's grey stone walls to be the most inspired of all the planners. There was a light mist rising from the garden pond as cool evening air brushed the warmer water. Salem would have liked to explore the estate, as his father requested, and determine the extent of the duke's wealth, but he advised himself to be patient. There would be opportunity later to look into the stud farm, the tenant holdings, and the crop production. He had one week to investigate all of that and the thoroughbred. Mustn't forget the blasted horse. Salem's musings were interrupted by a movement that drew his attention to the upper floors at Linfield. He lifted his head to stare at one of the arched windows situated at the near corner of the house. The

flutter of something white that drew his attention did not repeat itself while he looked, and after a few moments, he acknowledged that it probably would not It never occurred to him that he might have imagined the movement. His long training to become the captain of the Caroline had taught him better use of his eyes than to fancy something that did not exist. Oh, God! Ashley gasped mournfully as she fell away from the window to make herself invisible in the dark interior of her room. Had he seen her? She could only hope he had not. She wanted to do nothing to call attention to herself. No good would come of it; she knew it without knowing why. She sank onto her bed, wishing she had exercised more control over her curious nature, but ever since Nigel had triumphantly entered her room a few hours ago with the news of the Yankee's arrival in the evening, Ashley had been alternately repelled and intrigued by the thought of catching a glimpse of him before he entered Linfield House. She had stationed herself carefully to one side of the thickly padded window bench, giving her a clear view of Linfield's drive at an angle that left her unable to be seen. She had waited patiently, picking at the remains of the supper the duke had brought her. She had been eating regular meals since Nigel's announcement four days earlier, and though her skin still appeared almost translucent, pulled taut as it was over her delicate bones, she knew that her mirror's reflection of her vulnerability was in part a lie, for she felt a good portion of her strength had already returned. She thought she was ready to confront Nigel and Davinia and anything they planned for her, yet her first glimpse of the Yankee sent a shiver of despair through Ashley that made her clutch at the quilting beneath her. He was bigger than she imagined a Colonial would be. Thinking they had all descended from thieves and weak men who could not prosper in their own homeland, Ashley had conceived a picture of a man of no physical consequence. This was not the picture of the man who confronted her now. Even given the distance separating her from the Yankee she could see his shoulders were broad beneath his black cape, and where the cape parted, she saw that his hard thighs seemed to strain at the confines of his buff britches while he controlled the horse with practiced ease. She found herself admiring the Yankee's seat until she remembered her guardian's crude words about being ridden. Suddenly, even looking at the Yankee seemed obscene. She closed her eyes, trying not to imagine what sort of devil's face was hidden by the stiff tricorn hat. She risked another look at the grounds. At the same moment the Yankee was looking at the garden pond, and Ashley grew bolder as his attention was directed at something beside the house's face. She leaned past the drape to face the window more fully, and the sleeve of her nightgown snagged on the window's latch. She yanked on her sleeve to release it, horrified to see her small movement had caught the Yankee's eye. Her mind did not register the features of Captain McClellan. She did not see the thoughtful twist of his full mouth, or the puzzled lift of one dark brow. She could never have seen the reflective gaze of his silver eyes beneath a sweep of thick lashes. What did register in Ashley's mind was the hint of bronze in Salem's darkly tanned skin. To her there was only one explanation for skin so unfashionably dark. It was just as she had suspected all along. The Colonials were descendants of thieves, weaklings, or, as in this case, savages. She turned her face into her pillow to cover her moan of absolute distress. She had never been able to imagine this. That Nigel would force her to marry Lord Bosworth was not as frightening, nor as contemptible, in her own mind as forcing her to bed with a Colonial savage. The thought of being left alone with the Yankee, for any length of time, was making her ill.

Ashley's perspective of the Colonies was skewed by the stories she had heard from the servants and her own tutor's less than accurate renderings of Colonial life. In light of the fact that Mrs. Timms's second cousin had been murdered by Indians at the frontier, and Mr. Lampley had taught her there were few books and even less learning, she believed the Colonies were settled with barbarians. She never doubted the duke when he had once pronounced the Colonies to be little more than a jail for wastrels and murderers. The Atlantic Ocean, he had stated, was more confining than the walls of debtor's prison. Ashley had always believed it to be true. Until today. Today she had learned the Atlantic was no barrier to a savage with a ship. Salem and Davinia, after being relieved of the coach and horses by the grooms, were met at the main door by Stephens. The butler did not like Davinia Grant, but not by so much as a flicker in his black eyes did he reveal his own thoughts. Similarly he had conveyed to his staff that giving voice in any manner to personal opinions concerning the duke's affairs would be dealt with harshly. This meant nothing less than dismissal and no character reference, making the prospect of finding a similar position highly unlikely. For her part, Davinia gave little thought one way or the other to Stephens. The manservant was simply one of the more functional pieces of furniture at Linfield House. "Ah, Stephens," she said, slipping out of her warmly lined pelisse. "His Grace is expecting us. We will be staying at Linfield for a sennight. I'm certain the captain wants to freshen before dining. Have someone take him up." Stephens did not acknowledge Davinia's statement but simply turned to Salem, taking his cape and tricorn. "His Grace has already informed me of your arrival, and your room has been made ready. Nancy will show you to your chamber. Your valet has your bags?" Salem grinned, refusing to be embarrassed. "I don't have a valet. My mother taught me to take care of myself." "Very good, sir," Stephens said while giving the maid at his elbow an almost imperceptible nudge to mind her tendency to giggle. The girl bit her lip nervously but continued to stare wide-eyed at the Colonial captain. "Nancy, show the captain to his room. I'll see that someone delivers his bags." "This way, your lordship," Nancy said, beckoning to the grand staircase on Salem's left. She seemed to bob and curtsy with every movement. "His Grace asked that you have chambers in the west wing. Some of the loveliest rooms in the house are there." As they climbed the polished stairs Nancy never completely turned her back on Salem. "I'm sure they are," Salem replied, somewhat bemused by the maid's skittish air. He looked over his shoulder at Davinia and Stephens, but Davinia had the butler's attention, and neither of them appeared to notice anything amiss. When they reached the second landing and had turned into the main corridor, he interrupted one of her wary, over-the-shoulder glances by quietly asking her what he had done to make her afraid. Huge rounded eyes regarded him solemnly from beneath a slightly askew mobcap. "I've never met anyone from the Colonies before." "Ah, and you've heard stories that we eat children for breakfast," he offered as a joke, his lips curving in a boyish half smile. "At teatime, your lordship." Salem's smile vanished as he stared at the maid in astonishment. "You're serious!" His brusque tone startled young Nancy, and she hurried down the hallway, wishing Jimmy were with her with the captain's bags. Salem followed at a slower pace, shaking his head thoughtfully, blind to the skillfully scrolled

woodwork on either side of him or the elaborately framed works of art displayed along the walls. Neither was he interested in the sway of Nancy's skirt or her covert glances. He was seriously wondering how many others believed in some version of the maid's tale. It appeared Colonials were regarded as ogres, something to frighten naughty English children with at bedtime. Salem came out of his reverie as Nancy stopped abruptly and opened the door to his chamber. "This will be your room," she said quickly, controlling the quaver in her voice admirably. It was all right to giggle at the Yankee when there were others around, but alone, he seemed impossibly large and not at all the sort of man one laughed at without regretting it later. At the moment his silver eyes were boring holes right through her. "I'll be leaving you, then. Jimmy will be around with your things. If you need something you can ring for it Someone downstairs will answer. Dinner will be in two hours. Will there be anything now, your lordship?" "Not a bloody lordship," Salem muttered, mostly to himself. To Nancy, as he brushed past her to enter his chamber, he said, "I would like a bath. Can that be manned?" "Right away," she said brightly, obviously glad to be given an excuse to be off to another part of the house. Salem could hear the swish of her skirts as she nearly ran for sanctuary. When she was out of hearing he allowed himself the privilege of giving vent to his annoyance by slamming the door. From what he could see at first glance the suite of rooms was more than ample for his needs. The bed chamber itself would have been sufficient. The addition of the small study to his left and the dressing room to his right made him suspicious again of Davinia Grant's interest in him. A fire in the grate was taking the chill off the room and Salem walked over to it to warm his hands. Looking around he noted the fine workmanship of all the furnishings, from the highboy and fourposter to the writing desk and its accompanying chair that appeared too delicate to support more than a thimble's weight. His room and what he had seen of the house and grounds reminded Salem that the duke was indeed prospering. But at whose expense? Salem did not know what prompted this thought, but he did not dismiss it lightly. If there was an answer, he vowed to have it at the end of his week at Linfield House. Later, after Salem had enjoyed that special luxury peculiar to a hot bath, he dressed for dinner. He invariably chose his clothes without any conscious thought of their affect, yet his own confident manner seemed to give a more stylish line to his black satin coat and additional flair to his neckcloth. The touch of lace at his wrists emphasized the lean masculine strength of his hands. The cut of his breeches and required white hose hinted of the power of his muscular legs. His refusal to wear a wig, even on formal occasions, identified him as one not swayed by the dictates of others. His thick, nearly black hair was tied neatly at his nape. Quite unintentionally Salem McClellan was a man whose character and stature flattered his tailor's best efforts. Salem's thoughts ran in a similar direction when he was escorted to the dining room, and Davinia introduced him to Nigel Lynne. Surrounded by the classic good taste of Hepplewhite table and chairs, a crystal and brass candelabrum, and an extensive collection of jade figurines, the Duke of Linfield was not in the least overwhelmed by his possessions. Indeed, the room was secondary to the duke's commanding presence. Nigel Lynne was not what Salem had imagined, though he was careful not to betray his surprise. Within an instant of meeting the duke Salem recognized a certain watchfulness, a calculating gravity in the duke's dark eyes that revealed crafty strength. Salem was unafraid to meet the assessing stare. If the Duke of Linfield ever proved to be an adversary, then Salem was prepared to face pitiless determination.

Nigel offered wine. "You know, I recognized your name immediately," he said, pouring a glass for the captain and refilling his own. "I can't think how Davinia didn't know the surname. Of course, she does not pay much attention to the business of managing the estate." Salem was barely able to hide his surprise. He tasted his wine to cover any lapse in his carefully neutral expression. "I wasn't aware the McClellan name would mean anything to you," he said. "Now you're being modest. I admit I'm not aware of much that goes on in the Colonies, but horses have always been my passion. I know the McClellans have perhaps the largest stud farm in the Americas. It has also come to my attention that McClellans have twice taken home breeding mares I ordered my man to bid on. Had I been at the auction personally, I wouldn't have allowed that to happen." Salem's smile was noncommittal. "My brother Gareth does all our bidding." The duke laughed appreciatively at his guest's careful reply. "Come. Let's be seated at the table. Stephens is motioning dinner is ready. We can take up cudgels over the meal." Conversation lapsed momentarily as the first of several courses was brought to the room. Stephens's presence as he either served the steaming soup or removed the remains of succulent game hen and baby peas was so unobtrusive that he went without notice for the entire meal. For him it was the highest of accolades. "Have you come to London for horseflesh this voyage?" Nigel asked. His eyes icily pierced Davinia when she audibly sighed her regret that the conversation was turning to horses again. Salem wondered at the relationship between the duke and his mistress. The affection that Nigel harbored was clearly not without its limits. "That and tobacco," Salem said. "Tobacco? Your family's interests are more varied than I thought." "It was the tobacco crop that enabled my father to begin the stud." "Your father? That would be Robert McClellan?" "Yes. Are you acquainted with him?" Nigel shook his head. "Only by reputation, I'm sorry to say. If he is going to attend a sale in the future I should like to meet him." "That wouldn't be possible. My father hasn't set foot in England for quite some time and I don't think he has any intention of it." "Really?" Davinia interrupted, her head tilting back the exact number of degrees necessary to express disdain. "And what has your father against civilization?" "Nothing as far as I know," Salem said politely. "Perhaps it is only your peculiar notion of civility that my father has little tolerance for." Davinia drew herself up and looked as if she might strike Salem for his insolence. The duke's keen eyes settled on Salem sharply. "Tell me, captain, is there some malady that keeps your father from making the voyage?" Salem sensed the duke cared very much about his reply, yet he had no reason to answer less than

honestly. "Not an illness exactly. It's an old injury. My father stopped a pistol ball with his leg and the risk of removing it was too great. As a result he has an unsteady gait that makes travel by ship uncomfortable, to say nothing of the dampness which would plague him." "I'm sorry to hear that," Nigel offered sincerely. "How long has it been since he's been to London then?" Salem paused, his glass of wine suspended in midair as he thought. "I was about ten when he made his last voyage. That's also when he was involved in the shooting accident. That was nearly twenty years ago." He lifted the wine to his lips. Over the crystal rim Salem saw the duke stiffen, then recover so quickly he nearly believed he had imagined the response. "In the ten years before I took over as captain of the Caroline our ship was commanded by men outside the family. My father is very involved in all aspects of managing our plantation, but I know he regrets not being able to sail. The stud has given him a new interest in recent years. There's a need in the Colonies for hackney breeds, larger draft horses, and naturally an interest in the development of a line of thoroughbreds.'' Salem purposely turned the topic back to horses in order to see if the duke would sense the gambit. Had the duke's pique really been caught by the mention of Robert McClellan's accident? Salem continued to enjoy his meal, assiduously avoiding a change in his expression. "Sensible of your father to develop other amusements," Davinia said in bored tones, making it difficult for Salem to offer his bland smile. Admonishment came from the duke. "Managing a stud is not an amusement, Davinia." To Salem he said, "But it is good that your father's found appeal in other things. Perhaps he always had a secret desire to raise prime cattle. I would have thought that particular fancy would have been hard to realize in the Colonies." Salem's grey eyes were shaded by his heavy lashes, giving no hint that he was vaguely troubled to have his suspicions confirmed. Nigel Lynne was most definitely concerned with Robert McClellan. Salem had the strong impression that the duke was trying to place Robert McClellan in his memory, as if Salem's father completed a picture. Not since he had first taken command of the Caroline and ridden her through the worst storm of his memory had he felt so dangerously close to foundering. In his mind he could see his father's distant expression as he spoke of the duke. His father's tight-lipped caution gave Salem no clue as to how to proceed. "I believe my father's interest in breeding horses began when he was very young," Salem explained, opting for the truth. "He grew up on a stud farm and took care of the animals from the time he was small." "Ed en ton Manor," the duke breathed solemnly. "Yes. That's correct." Salem could not miss the dramatic change in the duke's demeanor. There was a terrible complacency about him suddenly that was more Davinia's manner. Without knowing how he had done it, Salem had allowed Nigel Lynne to complete the picture, while he, Salem, had little more than a frame. "I believe that's the name of the estate. Do you know of it?" Nigel made an admirable effort to control his smug smile. He was less successful controlling the racing of his heart. He thought of Ashley locked in her room, her initial defiance soon to be paid back in full. Everything was suddenly so perfect he tossed a bone to his guest. "Edenton is now part of this estate. Has been since the earl died. I'm surprised your father didn't tell you." "Perhaps he didn't know." "Perhaps. I vaguely recall your father now. He left Edenton when I was still a pup. Couldn't have been more than five. His family's holding burned, didn't it?"

"Yes. His parents were both killed in the fire. He set out for the Colonies when the estate manager refused him the position of responsibility with the horses his father held." "The manager was acting on orders of the earl, of course." Salem nodded. "How did you know?" Nigel shrugged. "It stands to reason. Estate managers do not act on their own whims." But nobility does, Salem wanted to say, and held back. "It all turned out for the best." "Yes, didn't it." There was a hint of bitterness in the duke's tone that made his statement less than sincere. It made Salem wary. Bitter men were vengeful men he reasoned, and he wanted to avoid being the target of the duke's revenge, if it wasn't too late already. "Yes, it did," Salem emphasized. "He managed to do very well for himself in the Colonies." He did not mention his mother's wealth, confident as his mother was, that Robert McClellan would have done the same with or without her dowry. "You mentioned thoroughbreds earlier. I take it your father is interested in the breed." "Very much so. That's why I'm here after all. I understand you have some animals sired by Eclipse. My father and brother are most definitely interested." Davinia sniffed, indignant that she had been used in some way. How dare the Colonial sound so mysterious in the tavern when all he was after was an introduction to the duke's cattle. Upstart! "Why don't you show him around tomorrow then, Nigel? Surely we can explore a more pleasant after-dinner conversation?" "Of course," Salem said pleasantly. "Shall we go to the drawing room?" Nigel suggested. "Davinia, perhaps you'll play the spinet for us?" "Delighted," Davinia said, anxious to recapture the duke's attention. She could not like the way Nigel seemed to hang on the Colonial's every word. Davinia played brilliantly, and Salem enjoyed the entertainment while he drank his port. Under normal circumstances the music would have had his full attention, but Salem was still troubled by things his father had left unsaid. His mind wandered and for some reason he recalled the white fluttering at the window as he had approached Linfield. A surrendering flag perhaps? A damsel in distress? A ghost? The idea caught his fancy and he smiled. "My playing amuses you, captain?" Davinia said a trifle indignantly. Barbarian! "Not at all. You play with both technical skill and emotion. I'm sure you know the extent of your talent." Somewhat mollified Davinia started a new piece. She adjusted her opinion of the captain a bit. "But something amused you, captain," Nigel said lowly. "It's nothing really. I was thinking about your magnificent home and its history. Do you have ghosts by any chance?"

"Of course" He laughed. "And in what room is the haunting now?" "An end room on the second floor with an eastern exposure." The duke's expression revealed nothing, but it struck Salem that Davinia's playing had faltered for an instant. "That was most likely my great-grandfather who swore that section of the house would never be completed in his lifetime. It wasn't. He died while inspecting the builder's progress." Salem grinned in appreciation, never believing the duke's story for a minute. "Most likely. Have you other apparitions?" Salem and Nigel explored ghostly tales with Davinia's music a pleasant background. As the evening came to a comfortable close Salem suspected he had been wrong about Davinia's initial interest in him. Clearly Davinia was in Nigel's thrall. Away from the duke she seemed to have an independent mind, but Salem had seen for himself how she subjugated herself to her lover's will. Still, there was time enough for circumstances to change, Salem reminded himself later as he prepared for bed. Though a number of thoughts could have plagued his sleep that night, Salem had a gift for putting them aside to draw on nature's healing rest. In another bedchamber the duke was coldly angry and letting Ashley feel the bitter shards of his temper. "He saw you!" There was a vicious twist to Nigel's mouth that Ashley had never seen before. "What were you doing at the window?" "I wanted to see what manner of man the Colonial was," Ashley whispered, thoroughly daunted by her guardian's clipped ferocity. She was sitting at the head of her bed, pillows bunched around her, and the heavy comforter was pulled to her throat and gripped in white-knuckled fists. Her face was flushed, and she blinked repeatedly, trying to gather her wits after being jerked from a deep slumber. Her ebony hair, braided for sleep, had fallen across her neck and, combined with her stricken expression, gave her every appearance of someone bound tor the hangman. "Speak up!" "I said, I wanted to see what manner of man the Colonial was." "I don't believe you. You were signaling him for some reason. Did you think he would help you?" That anyone brought to the duke's home would help her never occurred to Ashley. "No. I told you, I merely wanted to see him." "And were you satisfied? Is he everything you expected? Did you immediately crawl between your covers and imagine yourself alone with your first lover?" Ashley could not answer. She shook her head. "Where is that stiff spine of yours now? What has happened to all your defiant airs? Seeing the captain has taken the wind from your sails, hasn't it, miss?" "Please, Nigel," she begged in hushed tones. "You ask too many questions. I can't think." "I don't intend that you should, you stupid chit! You have no decision in anything that is going to happen. I say you shall bed the Yankee! I say that you shall marry Bosworth! I say when and where these things

shall take place! I will not have you complicating my affairs any longer. Am I understood?" "Yes." Ashley's head tilted to one side as her ears caught the harsh sound of scraping metal. All through Nigel's tirade she had been aware of his hands behind his back. She had assumed he took the stance to maintain control, to stop himself from laying hands on her. Now she wasn't so certain. "What have you got behind your back?" A muscle twitched in the duke's lean jaw. His eyes were peculiarly bright as he brought his hands to his sides. In the left there was nothing. In the right he held iron shackles. "A poignant reminder of Linfield's darker history don't you think? I believe it was my grandfather who had some dealings in the slave trade to the Americas." He raised his hand so the iron rings swayed in front of him and studied them dispassionately. "Crude, to be sure. But effective, I think. I chose these fetters because of their size. I suppose they must have been intended for a child. That's rather sad. Though you are so like a child sometimes, Ashley, that I grow weary of it. I did warn you I would have my way, didn't I?" He glanced at his ward, smiling slightly when he saw the simple swing of the shackles had completely absorbed her attention. "You mustn't be so afraid, m'dear. I don't intend that you'll wear the bracelets forever, you know. This measure is only necessary until I decide you and the captain should meet." He lowered the shackles and took a step toward the fourposter. "Give me your wrist, Ashley." The duke had supposed too much by Ashley's silence. She was terrified, to be sure, but she was never going to meekly submit to being chained to her bed. Nigel's step forward shocked her into action. "Stop there! I'll scream!" Nigel seemed more disappointed than angry. "Foolish chit. And who is going to hear you? The staff? If they did it wouldn't mean anything to them. I told them you were ill. They know better than to question or interfere." He took another step. "Give me your wrist." In response Ashley threw a pillow at the duke and lunged for the far side of her bed. Nigel was momentarily startled by her violence but schooled his features quickly. Lifting one brow in marked disdain, he observed the posture of her body, each slender limb poised for escape. "The door to your chamber is locked, Ashley. I have the key. There is nowhere for you to go. I will not fight you. I am prepared to remain here until you drop with exhaustion and then do what I must. Never think you can hope to outlast me." Ashley sobbed, shutting her eyes as the depth of the duke's cruelty struck her like a physical blow. Nigel was bent on nothing less than her complete submission. He was not going to allow her to retain even a measure of pride by fighting him. Ashley experienced a sweeping sense of humiliation as she considered the duke's words and knew him to be correct. Even if she could remain awake longer than he and perhaps steal the key—then what? There was nowhere for her to flee. At every turn the duke bested her, and he did it with the enduring patience of a seasoned hunter. Weary of it all, Ashley's slim shoulders momentarily sagged. "I won't let you do this to me. I am not an animal to be fettered in a stall." Her deep green eyes implored him. "Why are you doing all of this? What have I done?" "I owe you no explanation. It is enough that I wish things as they are." "Has it something to do with my mother?" Ashley persisted. "Is this how you treated her? Do I remind you of her?" "Do not press me further. Now give me your wrist." "No." Her reply was grave. "You'll have to stay awake longer than I to get it."

"As you wish." Those three words ended all conversation. Nigel seated himself in a winged chair which framed one side of the bedchamber's hearth. The shackles rested on his knee. The keys were placed on the cherrywood table at his side. He seemed very comfortable. Ashley sat on the floor, bracing herself against the sideboard of her bed. She reached for neither her bedjacket nor her comforter, hoping the slight chill would keep her awake. Somewhere in one of the adjoining rooms she heard the faint striking of the hour. She heard midnight, then one, two. She counted the chimes at four. She came fully awake, realizing she had missed the third hour of the morning. It was too late then. Her room was empty. Nigel had kindly stoked the fire. In the light it offered Ashley could see both keys on the cherrywood table exactly as the duke had left them. She knew he had done it purposely to taunt her. She could imagine his smile as he left the room, thinking of her despair when she woke and saw freedom in her sight but beyond her reach. Ashley levered her head enough to see the shackle that held one wrist securely to a bedpost. The torn lace cuff of her sleeve bordered a portion of the metal ring, making it seem heavier, coarser in contrast. She cried out, yanking at the shackle, but only succeeded in scraping her wrist against the rough metal. Undaunted and numb with humiliation Ashley struggled with her bonds as crimson droplets dotted her lace cuff. It was only when the ring was made slippery with her own blood and she could still not release her wrist that she stopped. Struck by the savage ugliness of Nigel's treatment she turned so that her face was hidden against her shackled arm and wept softly into the curve of her elbow.

Chapter 3

Salem stroked the filly's blood bay shoulder. "You're a beauty, all right. But you're not what I'm looking for." As if sensing rejection the horse tossed her head and moved away from Salem's stroking. "Sensitive, aren't you?" To soften the blow he tossed some extra oats into her mix. Where was the horse he was supposed to find here? None of the cattle matched the description his father had given him. After the initial tour the duke had invited Salem to inspect the stables at his leisure. He already had three days at Linfield to do just that. And nothing had come of it. Oh, there was a great black stallion Salem had his eye on and the duke indicated he might sell, but that prime animal was no thoroughbred filly. Had his father's fancy been caught by rumors that were at least six weeks old when he heard them? If the horse existed it may very well have been sold. Salem was tempted to inquire directly, but something held him back. If a simple query could have answered everything, then Salem felt certain his father would have sent Gareth. Since he had not, he must have thought this was a transaction only his eldest could complete. In an attempt to fathom his father's reasoning, Salem considered the differences between himself and Gareth. His brother didn't share Salem's love of sailing. To him it was transportation, pure and simple— no reason for excitement. Salem could have said the same of horses. Gareth was a canny trader, value for value. Gareth leaned toward transactions where, if he lost, he would lose little. Salem, calculating as carefully as his brother, would always risk more. Was that it? He wondered about it as Kingdom was brought to him by one of the grooms. Deep in thought he took the reins and led the stallion outside, only partially aware of the horse's recalcitrant

manner. Idly he patted Kingdom's chest, beginning to think aloud. "That's why Gareth's married, fellow. He took a careful look at Darlene, reasoned he couldn't do much better, and snatched her up before she realized she could." Grinning, his dimple deepened. "And I'm still the wandering rogue, willing to risk old age alone rather than set up house with any less than my true love. My brother's happily settled with his lovely filly, and the only woman in my life right now is the Caroline. Doesn't seem quite fair, does it, King?" Kingdom wasn't particularly interested in conversation. When Salem threw his leg over the horse's back and mounted, the stallion reared, unused to any riders save his mistress, who had neglected him for some weeks, and one of the young grooms. Salem lost his seat and while flying through the air he remembered another difference between himself and Gareth: His brother would have found a way to preserve his dignity while airborne. "Dignity be damned, Kingdom," he said, brushing himself off and refusing to glance at the stable entrance where he knew the grooms were laying bets. "You and I are going to discuss bruising riders." "Where is the captain now?" Davinia asked petulantly. "Talking with the tenants, no doubt. Have you noticed that he is extraordinarily interested in your estate management?" "I've noticed a great deal about Salem McClellan, including his curiosity." Nigel did not look up from the work on his desk as he answered but continued to attend to his correspondence. "I don't find his interest as offensive as you seem to. Are you afraid he may sail off with my lands in his pockets?" "Hardly. But you have permitted him an astonishing amount of freedom to poke his nose in your affairs." "Perhaps I have allowed it in order to satisfy my own curiosity." "What curiosity? I didn't know you were—really, Nigel, must you continue to work while I am talking to you? Can't you do that some other time?" Smiling patiently Nigel put down his quill and slid the foolscap to one side. "Feeling neglected again, are we?" Any other time Davinia would have responded to the duke's teasing with good humor, but she was feeling increasingly uneasy about Salem McClellan's presence at Linfield—especially since Nigel had made no effort to follow through with his plans for Ashley. Davinia wondered if he still intended to go through with it. Jealousy combined with a certain wariness more accurately described Davinia's present state of agitation. She fingered the ruffle of one sleeve nervously. "Don't be patronizing, Nigel. I think since I brought the captain here in the first place, with a certain strategy on mind, you might tell what has happened since the first night at dinner to alter your plans." "My plans haven't altered in any significant way. I still intend that Captain McClellan have Ashley. I wouldn't have gone to the trouble of chaining her to her bed if I had planned anything else. Indeed, since meeting Salem, I want their union more than ever." "But why is that?" Nigel left his place at the Queen Anne desk to stand behind Davinia. He rested his hands on her shoulders and squeezed lightly. "Trust me for now. I'm afraid I can't tell you the answer. Just believe that in choosing the captain for Ashley you have exceeded all my expectations." Davinia lifted one hand and placed it over the duke's. "Then Ashley will still marry Bosworth?"

"Of course. Never say you thought otherwise." She tried to shrug it off as unimportant. "I wasn't certain. The way you've catered to Salem, I thought—" "Hardly compares to the way I've catered to you. Or have you forgotten last night so easily?" Davinia smiled. "No, I haven't forgotten." Her hand left Nigel's and searched behind her chair to stroke the duke's velvet-covered thigh. "Perhaps we could retire to your chambers for an hour or so and I could show you how much I remember." Nigel sighed, reluctantly pulling away from Davinia, and returned to his desk. "Would that we could. However, I expect our guest to return from his ride at any moment, and I would hate to think that in my absence he may turn to exploring this house on his own." "He's been out riding then?" "For most of the afternoon. I believe's he's taken Kingdom. I may sell the stallion to him." "But that's Ashley's mount." The duke's pale brows knitted. "Kingdom is my animal. I permit Ashley to ride him. I decide if he's to be sold." "She's not going to like it." The thought actually pleased Davinia. "She doesn't have anything to say about it." "Tell me something, Nigel," she asked, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from her teal blue satin gown. "Why is it that you've kept Ashley all these years?" The duke pretended astonishment. "What? You're questioning my generous spirit?" "I know you." "Naughty." "You hate her, yet you've kept her with you all these years. Why?" "As a reminder, m'dear. As a reminder." "Of what?" Nigel became very still, his face seemed carved of granite. Then a muscle in his cheek throbbed, a sign that he was, after all, flesh and blood. "Of the importance of taking charge of a situation from beginning to end," he replied softly, enigmatically, talking more to himself than to his companion. "Of never leaving things to chance." "Then she's served you well, hasn't she?" Davinia said in a lighter tone, anxious to erase the pained look that had come to her lover's eyes. "Your strategies, political or personal, are minutely detailed. You employ the cleverest people to carry out your schemes. You never leave anything to chance." Nigel smiled, willing to be humored. "That's correct. And keeping that in mind, I intend this night to be my ward's introduction into womanhood." "Why tonight?"

"Because the captain is going to be called away on business tomorrow. The man he left in charge of the Caroline will have had an accident. Two broken legs, I believe. You see, Davinia, I also grow weary of the captain's company, but rather than complain, I am doing something about it." "And will I be able to assist?" "I would not have it any other way." Following dinner and a lively political discussion which had bored Davinia to distraction, Salem joined the duke in his study for a glass of port while his mistress pleaded fatigue and begged off. "I understand you took Kingdom out today," Nigel said idly, rolling his glass between his palms. He was sitting opposite Salem near the fireplace, giving every appearance of complete relaxation with his feet propped on a stool in front of him. His head rested against one wing of the chair and his eyes were closed. "Are you still interested in the stallion?" Salem grinned ruefully. "You're being kind, Your Grace, by avoiding all you probably heard. Kingdom proved to be quite a handful. Tell me, is he ridden often? He objected most strenuously to my trying to do so." "He is used to a lighter seat. I rarely ride him myself. He can be a belligerent cuss." "An understatement. Still, I enjoyed myself once he learned I intended to ride him, regardless of the blow to my dignity. I'm very much interested in him. Are you prepared to sell?" Nigel nodded and named his price. Salem did not even blink at the duke's terms. He had been prepared to pay nearly twice what was asked for the stallion and quadruple the amount for the filly. He could only wonder why the duke was being so generous. "Agreed." "Fine. I'll have the papers drawn up for you before you leave." He lifted his eyes a shade and observed his guest quietly contemplating his wine. "Is your drink satisfactory? Perhaps you'd care for something a little stronger? Scotch whiskey?" "No, this is fine." There was a hint of something in the port he could not identify. "French?" "Yes. Wine is what the Frogs do best. Even a wine original to Portugal, the French take it and make it peculiarly their own." "It's different, a little less sweet than I am used to. Not bitter exactly. Tangy." "Exactly," the duke answered calmly, then changed the subject. "Were you able to see those parts of the estate you missed on your first tour?" "Yes. As I said, in the end King proved cooperative and took me where I wanted to go. I even went over to Edenton. Pity the house is unoccupied. It's magnificent." "I keep a small staff there, and of course the lands are farmed. Sentimental, I suppose, but I can't bring myself to sell the manor. I admired the earl." "I also looked for the place where my father grew up. I couldn't find any evidence of the fire." The duke shrugged. "It was over thirty years ago. New tenant residences have been built since then on

that site. Some more wine?" Salem held out his glass as Nigel leaned forward to top it off. "I know I should have realized it, yet I wanted it otherwise. A tie with my father's past." He yawned. "Pardon me. Battling with Kingdom must have worn me out more than I realized. I find myself very tired." Salem's lashes hovered at half-mast, shading eyes that had lost their normally sharp silver definition and softened to something like pewter. "When I gave King the lead he took me to a little clearing near the creek," he went on, his voice soft with the pleasant reminiscence. "Quite picturesque. Do you know it? I had a feeling it was visited with some frequency. There's a small dam there that allows for some swimming." "I know the place. My sister and I played there as children. The dam is a new addition. Probably some of the crofters' children." "Probably." He yawned again. "Sorry. I'll have to pass on that game of piquet we discussed earlier. I'm going to have an early night." He finished his port, stood, and set his glass on the mantle. Nigel's carefully remote expression hid his interest in the captain's weary state. "That's quite all right. Perhaps you'd like to take a glass of wine with you to your chamber. Takes the edge off your exhaustion and makes certain you sleep comfortably." "I think I will. I'm feeling equal parts restless and tired, if that makes any sense." "Indeed it does." He gave Salem the decanter of wine and escorted him to the bottom of the staircase. "Goodnight then." He turned away as Salem mounted the stairs. When the captain paused and looked over his shoulder briefly, he missed the look of utter complacency that softened the duke's sharp features. "Restless hardly describes what I'm feeling," Salem muttered to himself as he stripped off his shirt, preparing for bed. "Randy is more like it." He stretched out on the bed, naked, and tried not to think about the serving wench at the Pooley who so obviously wanted a night's toss. "Oh, Erin, m'dear, where are you when you're needed?" Groaning in a near parody of frustration, Salem turned on his side and, supporting himself on an elbow, poured another glass of wine from the decanter now resting on the nightstand. He sipped his drink thoughtfully, wondering about Nancy, the skittish maid with the gently swaying skirts who had escorted him to his room. "Just put that one out of your mind. She wouldn't have you as a gift. Afraid you might have her as a meal." The smile he gave his glass was decidedly lopsided and a little rueful. "A tasty morsel, I'll wager. Watch it," he told himself as he felt his muscles tighten. His skin already seemed warm, and he wouldn't have been surprised to know his face was slightly flushed. His flesh seemed to tingle. "You've had enough." He put his glass down. "Next you'll be thinking Davinia's sidelong glances are appealing." That thought very definitely laid some of Salem's more randy notions to rest. He blew out the lamp at his side and slid beneath the covers. The room, dark now save for the warming fire in the hearth, blanketed Salem in a comforting silence and lulled him easily into sleep. His mind, released from the brakes the captain consciously applied, wandered freely along the unexplored and still unsatisfied erotic paths he had laid. Naturally she was a blonde. Salem preferred hair the color and texture of corn silk. His fingers sifted through the gold and silver strands and playfully unwrapped the smoothly woven braid. Beneath his hands her hair was as delicate as light itself, sunbeams and moonbeams tangibly trapped for his enjoyment. His hands wound in her hair, and his palms cradled her head while the pads of his thumbs caressed the softness of her temples. Salem liked fair women whose skin had been kissed by nature's kindness. The woman with him now was no exception. Her cheeks held a hint of rose, and her flesh was warm, velvety, and pliant. Her lips, neatly

curved and faintly pouting, were the color of red berries, and their dewy moistness invited a man to taste them. Salem's mouth nibbled at hers, drawing out the flavor and texture peculiar to her. His tongue savored the sweet recesses of her parted mouth, slipped along the edge of her teeth, and warmly battled to arouse a like response. Shifting, his mouth grazed the curve of her chin and swept past the hollow of her cheek. His lips tickled the sensitive arch of her cheekbone as he lightly brushed against her on his way to kissing her closed eyelids. It didn't matter that her eyes were closed. Salem had a fondness for blue eyes and her eyes would be the blue of twilight. As they signaled her arousal, they would darken until they were merely a narrow ring of color. Of course there were other signs of arousal, and Salem's hands released her hair to search for them. His palms drifted along the smooth arch of her throat and felt her pulse throb warmly against his skin. Her shoulders made a restless, impatient movement beneath his hands as if begging him to cease his patient exploration and trespass lower, where her taut breasts offered some of the proof he sought. His hands cupped the swollen fullness of her, and his thumbs brushed lightly against her nipples, exciting them so she actually seemed to pull away from the pleasure he gave her, as if it were greater than she could bear. Wanting to show her this was not so, Salem brought his mouth to her breast, spiraling light kisses on her tender flesh until he reached the hardened tip. His lips closed around it, and his tongue caressed it, making it wet and eliciting a husky murmur from the woman in his arms. Her voice moved him with its throaty plea and, wanting to please her, he gave his attention to her other breast. Her hands were on his taut shoulders, and he could feel her fingers pressing into his flesh. Her arms were tense as if she wanted to brace herself against him and her own pleasure. Salem's hands were more relaxed, gently outlining the tapered lines of her waist, the flair of her hips, and the firm curves of her thighs. He brushed the backs of her knees, causing her to twist beneath him, making him feel the sensual fullness of her. Against the strength and masculinity of his own body, this woman felt exquisitely feminine. He wanted her. He wanted to press himself into her and end his aching frustration in her yielding softness. He wanted all of her against him, returning sensual delight with her hands and mouth, giving him back a measure of the enjoyment he was giving her. He thought of her body, lithe and supple, accessible to his desires, and he nearly groaned with wanting her. His knee separated her thighs, and he considered how it would be after he had loved her, lost in a tangle of arms and legs, momentarily sated yet thinking ahead to the next act of loving. She would be gentle and fierce by turns. Salem liked women who were unafraid to show their passion. The woman of his dreams knew when to be tender, when to be hungry. And she was definitely hungry now. Salem felt her teeth at his shoulder. They tugged at his skin, worrying it, nipping at it, biting down hard and not letting go. "Ouch! What did you do that for?" Salem growled, rubbing his tender flesh. The voice that answered was not as he remembered. There was no overtones of husky passion. This voice was plainly terrified. "Let me go! Please, just let me go!" Salem was now moved in ways that he had not been previously. He rolled away from the woman in his bed as if she had the plague. By the time he had lighted the bedside lamp and his eyes had adjusted, the woman was no longer even in the bed. Salem scanned the room and found the object of his search cowering in a corner near the door, visibly shaking beneath the sheet she had managed to drag along and wrap around her. She was nothing like the voluptuary of his dreams. He could almost find something amusing about the

trick his randy desires had played on him. She appeared to be more nearly child than woman, more angles than curves. Far from being the blonde of his fantasy, this woman-child had hair as dark as his own. It fell about her small oval face and slender shoulders, not in the tangled and tempting disarray he had imagined but in jet waves that made her look slightly wild and untamed. Her complexion was even more pale than her terror or the current fashion could account for. The eyes that warily watched him from beneath a thick fringe of ebony lashes were startling green, clear like the facets of an emerald, certainly as bright. Fear made her breath come in short gasps that seemed disproportionately low in the stillness of the room. It tore at Salem to see this girl face him with all the courage of a frightened deer. She strove to make herself quiet, attempting to disappear into the background as if she hoped to make him believe he had imagined her presence. It would not be that easy, for Salem had the marks of her teeth in his shoulder to remind him of her feral nature when cornered. He rubbed the shoulder absently, his smile contrite, as he considered her more savage side. What a delusion he had been under, imagining those small teeth were acting in a fiercely passionate manner! He recalled the tension in her arms and the way she had seemed to move when he had touched her. It was apparent to him now that she had been struggling against his attentions, not begging him to have her. Even though he thought he owed her an apology for misinterpreting her presence in his bed, she clearly owed him an explanation for the same. "Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you, no matter what you've heard to the contrary," he voiced with some disgust. "I suppose Nancy and the other serving girls put you up to this." When she shook her head, her expression more puzzled than wary, Salem expanded on his theme. "Go to bed with the Colonial and see what it's like? Especially for your first time. You are a virgin, aren't you? I won't believe all that terror is for merely being in the same room with me. Some of it must be fear of parting with your maidenhead. You can stop shaking, girl. You're still intact and can remain so until you draw your last breath as far as I'm concerned." His voice softened when he saw a flush creep from her naked throat to the ebony roots of her hair. The touch of color erased her pallor and revealed to Salem the beauty she could be under more sane circumstances. "I apologize for that last remark. My own frustrations need not be taken out quite so crudely. I promise you though, you're quite safe from me. Now why don't you come away from that door and tell me how you came to my room?" He sighed when she remained hunkered down, pulling the sheet even more tightly about her, and continued to stare at him with equal parts fascination and trepidation. He began to feel like the barbarous satyr he was purported to be. He looked down at himself and knew a moment's dismay. "I don't suppose my present state of undress is doing much to convince you of my sincerity." He grinned, sweeping a blanket over himself. His head jerked in the direction of the door as he identified a nervous giggle. "That was it, was it? Now suppose you tell me what is going on. I admit to a certain fondness for feminine company but not young misses who want to cut their teeth on me." His unwitting play on words brought a tremulous smile to Ashley's mouth. She straightened slightly and to show her mettle she responded in her haughtiest manner. "I had no intention of cutting my teeth on you either figuratively or literally, m'lord. I had no wish to be in your bed but you wouldn't release me." "Then by all means, take yourself off as soon as you explain your presence in the first place." "Do not mistake me for a child, m'lord. I'm well aware that the duke bartered me away to you for the night." Salem shook his head as if to clear it. "One of us is addled. Perhaps I'm still dreaming." He blinked purposefully. "Or perhaps it's the wine that has most definitely dulled my senses." Ashley's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "You had wine this evening?"

"Yes. But I was hardly foxed." "No, but perhaps you noticed a special taste to the port you were served? Is that what you drank?" She pointed to the decanter on the nightstand. When Salem nodded Ashley ventured to his bedside, took the bottle, then retreated to the door. She had no idea that, in spite of being hampered by the bedsheet, she accomplished the task with a certain dignity and grace that fascinated the captain, forcing him to revise his opinion. Although lacking a guiding female influence in her life, Ashley was a startling feminine young woman. It was nothing she purposely cultivated, for she was unaware of the grace of her movements or the subtle manner in which she accented her speech with expressive, smoothly executed gestures which would have been blatantly seductive had she been anything less than an innocent. His unwilling companion was, as she said, no child, and her demeanor, once she composed herself, was certainly not that of a servant. He watched her touch the rim of the decanter with one slender finger then taste the wine on her fingertip. She seemed to suck the finger thoughtfully then brought out her tongue to capture a drop on her delicately curved lips. Salem remembered the taste of that mouth. He would never believe his dream had played him false there. He nearly groaned as her guileless eyes turned on him, seeming to hold no knowledge of the provocation in her action. She was as naive as he first thought. "I apologize for mistaking your part in this affair, sir," Ashley said. "It seems you were duped." Salem frowned, not liking the idea. "What are you talking about?" "There is a sleeping potion in this wine. I know because I was also given some. I tried to fight the effects, but it came to naught. I was brought here against my will." Salem refrained from telling her there was something more than a sleeping potion in the bottle she held so tightly. He began to understand the restlessness that had seized him upon drinking so much of the stuff. "And you say the duke did this to you?" "He did not give me the wine to drink. He had Davinia do it for him while he was with you." "Who are you?" Ashley did not answer immediately, taking first an opportunity to appraise the captain and his character. He was not the uncivilized savage she had thought he would be, and excusing him those minutes in his bed when she had been accosted and fondled beyond bearing, Ashley surmised he was a gentleman. He was not without a certain sense of humor, and it appeared he was capable of laughing at his own foibles. That alone made Salem rise in Ashley's estimation. He was larger and stronger than she had expected from her first glimpse of him, yet even when she had been beneath him, he had often been tender. She could forgive him much for the gentleness he had shown her. Once he was aware she did not desire him, he had released her immediately and had spoken in tones that showed he could temper his frustration and curiosity with a modicum of kindness. Ashley wondered if she could truly trust this Colonial captain. Everything about him seemed alien to her. His eyes were too silver, bright and piercing in a face that appeared too deeply tanned, but the face itself was not unhandsome. The captain had the distinct, balanced features she associated with Nigel, but without the sharp stamp of cruelty. This man would be hard, determined, certainly arrogant as the situation demanded, but she thought he would maintain reason. He would laugh at men like her guardian, who bid for power, and ask only that he be left alone to go about his labors. It was this last thought that

brought Ashley up short, making her fear for the captain and at the same time decide in favor of trusting him. She had to make him aware of the danger the Duke of Linfield presented him. "I am Ashley Lynne," she told him. Salem's dark eyebrows arched in surprise. "Not the duke's daughter?" Ashley flushed deeply. "No. Nothing like that. At least I don't think so. I'm just a poor relation." "Illegitimate?" Salem asked bluntly. She glared at him for a moment, looking away when she realized she was hardly in a position to intimidate him. "You needn't puff it up," she said mockingly. "I am a bastard relation of the duke's. I have no idea who my parents are, and know of no one who does. I have been under Nigel's guardianship since I was a babe, but I hardly think I am his daughter. I'd refuse the dubious honor anyway." Salem's smile applauded her show of spirit. "Well said, Miss Lynne. Do you know who I am?" "I know your name and that you're a Yankee merchant. I was told precious else." "The way you were staring at me earlier made me think my parentage was in doubt. I assure you, I was not spawned by the devil, no matter what you hear to the contrary." "I wasn't thinking anything of the sort," she said with some disdain. "And it's unkind of you to try to read my thoughts." "Pardon me, but I've never encountered a situation quite like this before. I'm afraid my Colonial manners leave something to be desired." "Now you're making fun of me. And I wasn't of you. I don't know what to make of this situation either. But I know enough not to laugh at it The duke has shown me repeatedly the folly of that particular action." Salem was not deaf to the very real distress in Ashley's voice. He was also aware that her voice could carry to the ears of any interested person in the hall. If there were reasons to be cautious, then they had to begin now. "Come closer, girl. There's no need to shout." He pointed to a chair situated near his bedside. "You can sit there. And where's your nightgown? You can't keep clutching that bedsheet You're positioning of it is precarious at best." Startled by his last statement, Ashley halted in her progress to the chair and looked down at her bloodless fists gripping the sheet. The sheet had slipped at some point, and the upper curves of Ashley's breasts were presented more fully because of her tight grip below. When she tried to make an adjustment the sheet nearly parted completely, eliciting a chagrined chuckle from the captain and a rosy blush from Ashley. She stamped a small foot, which almost proved to be her undoing as her heel caught in the folds and yanked the sheet even further downward. There were tears of embarrassment in the green eyes that finally faced Salem and he experienced regret that he had not been more kind. "I don't seem to have a gown, sir," Ashley told him diffidently, her voice strained to maintain control. She sat down and made certain she was modestly covered. "I don't think I was given one when I was brought to your chamber." She's so young, so terribly vulnerable, Salem thought, aching for her as she struggled for poise and proud

of her when she found it. He promised himself he would be more considerate of her tender feelings. "Perhaps you should tell me why you were brought here," he said patiently. "I don't seem to be very clear on what is going on." Ashley nodded hesitantly, the motion bringing forward a sweep of dark hair that hid one side of her face as she spoke. "First you must understand that you are the real innocent in Nigel's tasteless drama. If Davinia hadn't brought you back from London, it would have been someone else. The duke is determined to make me fall in with his plans." She bit her lip, uncertain how to continue. The tale seemed even more sordid in the telling. "And what are the duke's plans?" "He wants to me to wed." "And you don't want to marry." "It's not that precisely. He's chosen a husband not of my liking." Salem sighed. He could pity the girl for having a marriage arranged for her, but it was hardly without precedent. It seemed a necessary evil for the female offspring of tided wealthy families. Ashley Lynne's illegitimacy was probably another reason the duke was pressing for the marriage. It was a stigma that considerably shortened the list of suitors. "It's unfortunate you have so little choice in your future, but since there seems to be no love lost between you and your guardian, you may very well be better off away from Linfield House." Ashley hadn't expected any sympathy so she wasn't disappointed in the captain's pragmatic approach to her problems. "I had already resigned myself to that very thing. But Nigel wants me to marry Bosworth. His lordship is easily eighty and—" "Eighty?" Salem whispered harshly. "That's absurd!" "I know, but Bosworth wants me very badly. He's offered Nigel one of his finest horses for me. I can't allow myself to be bartered in such a disgraceful manner." "You've already told this to the duke?" Salem said with a scowl. "Yes. I told him I would not marry Bosworth, and he responded crudely, saying I objected to missing the carnal aspects of marriage. Davinia says his lordship is unable to consummate the marriage, you see. I thought of annulment, of course, but Nigel became incensed that I would make him part of such a scandal." Salem permitted himself a narrow smile at Ashley's prim accents. "Naturally. So you defied him and he threatened you." Even on short acquaintance it was not difficult to determine the bent of the duke's mind. "Exactly. Nigel promised that I should have the next visitor at Linfield." "He wanted a stranger to make love to you?" he clarified gruffly. "Since I have no desire to—fornicate with a stranger, I believe the correct term is 'rape.' " Salem heard the nearly imperceptible pauses in Ashley's speech and knew it cost her dearly to speak plainly. "So I was neatly maneuvered into being your attacker." "Yes. I know at first Nigel had been willing to settle for any guest at Linfield to exact my punishment.

Then, when I defied him further, he became impatient and sent Davinia to entice someone to the house. I don't know how you were brought here, but tonight's play was the reason." "I had my own reasons for being here, Miss Lynne," Salem said thoughtfully. "It seems, however, that we have thwarted your guardian's plans for you." Ashley's shrug was philosophical. "For tonight, perhaps. But it is inevitable that Nigel will have his way. He always does." "You really believe that, don't you?" he said, appalled at the apparent ease with which she was ready to surrender her future. "Yes. That is why you must leave Linfield immediately. If you remain, the duke will find some way to bring you around to his thinking. I doubt that he will find it difficult to persuade you. After all, you really saw nothing wrong with Nigel's arranging a marriage for me. He has only to convince you there is nothing wrong with the groom being a Methuselah." Salem shifted uncomfortably and knew the movement was prompted by guilt. He had been matter-of-fact about an arranged marriage, had never considered that, for the woman, it was not unlike being sold at auction. "You're only partially right, Miss Lynne. The duke would have a very hard time making me part of his plan, now that I know what it is." "It is foolish to underestimate him," Ashley said earnestly. "It will cost you. You may avoid raping me, but if Nigel discovers you deliberately thwarted him, he will find a way to exact his revenge. You must leave as soon as possible." "And what about you? What happens to you?" "I go on as I always have." "Then you'll marry Bosworth?" "In the end I doubt I shall have any other choice. I tried to starve myself, but Nigel tidily managed an end to that." She ignored the captain's harsh intake of breath. "I suspect I lack the courage to attempt it again. I shall have to hope that Nigel will eventually decide I have been punished enough and find some other way to ensure that I won't annul the marriage. I wish that you would not concern yourself with me. I have found ways to take care of myself for all of my nineteen years and I mean to continue." Salem's expression was scornful. "I can hardly believe that. I have two little sisters better able to see to themselves. Your attempt to waste away to nothing was not without some success. You are far too thin and look years younger man your age. You are not strong enough to fend for yourself." She huffed a trifle haughtily. "I took care of you this evening. Those are my teethmarks in your shoulder." Her bold words brought back those moments in the captain's bed, and Ashley could not quite meet his eyes. "Hardly," Salem assured her tersely. "These little marks and your puny attempts to free yourself meant nothing. I could have had you if I had wanted you. And if the duke finds someone else for you—which he most probably will—then you are unlikely to escape a second time." "Are you deliberately being cruel?" Ashley asked, her voice brittle. She blinked but could not hide the wet sheen in her eyes when she faced Salem again. "I am familiar with precious little beyond Linfield, yet you seem to think I have a place to escape to. I tell you, there is nothing, no one. Do you think I haven't considered leaving? What would that serve? I would most likely find myself in the kind of place I'm not

supposed to know about, giving my virginity to someone even more insensitive than you!" She caught her breath on a sob and continued, finding in Salem the perfect target for her long-repressed anger. "And how dare you laugh at me! I succeeded in discouraging you from raping me, and it is of no consequence that you didn't want me. You stupid Colonial savage! Think that I wish you to want me? I'd sooner scratch out my eyes than see you or any of your ilk look at me with desire!" Tears blinded her now, and she knuckled them away, furious with herself for this particular weakness. "And don't speak to me of your sisters. It doesn't matter if they could handle the unwanted advances of a Hercules. They have someone to look out for them. I have to look out for myself!" Her lips trembled but she held her head up as she finished chastising the captain. "It is unfair of you to criticize me." Stunned for a moment by the bitter force of her outrage, Salem was slow to throw on his robe and move to Ashley's side. Her bravado dissolved immediately, and she sobbed jerkily into the curve of her arm. He reached out to touch her. When she did not flinch from his hand on her bare shoulder, or the gentle stroke he gave her dark hair, he tossed caution aside and lifted her into his lap. At first he thought it odd that she could revile him so heatedly, hating his presence, then cling to him so tightly, finding comfort in his casual embrace. But on second thought, as he brought her head to the satin collar of his dressing gown, he realized her actions were a true measure of her complete aloneness. She had so few choices she was willing to accept solace from the man who caused her distress. Belatedly he understood her relationship with her guardian was much the same. She could honestly despise the duke for his shabby treatment of her, but she was right to assume she would not be much better off on her own without funds. Salem wondered what he could offer that would make a difference to her life. He thought of calling the duke out but dismissed it as a poor solution. What, after all, would it gain either of them? Idly he stroked the trembling girl in his arms. He supposed there was little chance of persuading her to leave with him. It seemed unlikely the duke would allow her to go freely as long as he had use of her. "If you agreed to marry me I could take you away from here, possibly with your guardian's sanction." The words were out even as Salem was considering them. Once stated, the idea seemed to have more merit. His embrace tightened around Ashley, and he thought with some detachment that if she added a little flesh to her frame, she would not be an uncomfortable handful. Her breasts had not seemed to suffer from her hunger strike, for they felt remarkably full and warm against Salem's chest. He already admired her spirited self-defense, and he could not deny that he was intrigued by her almost reckless resolve. She had risked much by simply warning him of her guardian's purpose. Yet had anyone ever needed him as much as this young woman? Gently Salem took Ashley by the chin and forced her head upward. The expression that met his was bewildered, even a little shocked, but Salem saw that it did nothing to detract from the delicate beauty of Ashley's face. Crying had flushed her complexion rather than blotched it. Her eyes, slightly swollen in a way that made them look even larger, were edged with darkly spiked lashes that added a hint of mystery as she lowered them to avoid Salem's narrow gaze. Supremely unaware of her appearance at the moment or the affect it was having on the captain, Ashley reached for a corner of her sheet and indelicately blew her nose. Salem would have faced walking the plank rather than admit to anyone it was precisely at that moment he fell in love with Ashley Lynne. He could hardly believe it, but he knew it was so. Knew it for certain by the way everything inside him gave a curious lurch and, instead of settling, fluttered about with no regard for his well-being. He was so staggered by his realization that Ashley's setdown had little impact. "I cannot credit anyone could be so lacking in sensibilities," she said heatedly. "Therefore, it must please

you to tease me. First you point out what a simpleton I am, that I cannot manage my own affairs, and that you do not want me. Then you propose marriage! It would be another marriage like the one I will have with Bosworth. Better the devil I do know!" Had Ashley not been more concerned with keeping herself covered as she began to remove herself from Salem's lap, she would have noticed his preoccupied manner. When his fingers tightened about her waist and restrained her from leaving she snapped at him. "Odious man! Take your hands off me." "Shhh!" "What?" Distracted by the captain's swift urgency, she was immediately still. But she could not discern any reason for the sudden tension that lined his face. "What are you doing?" He did not reply, and Ashley saw that his attention was only vaguely on her. His head was tilted to one side as if he had heard something. "What is it?" "Trust me." That was all the warning Ashley had before Salem's mouth crushed hers. Too startled to struggle, Ashley merely held herself rigid, allowing his lips to tug at hers, his tongue to outline and moisten the edge of her mouth. When Salem's tongue sought more intimacy, Ashley pulled back sharply. She thought she caught a hint of pain in the silvery eyes that briefly caressed her face before she was harshly forced closer, and her mouth was again subject to the bruising pressure of Salem's mouth. Her fingers sought purchase at his shoulders but grasped only the slippery folds of his robe. Her attempts to push him away were in vain. Frustrated, she began to kick at his legs, an action that was hampered by her sheet. Still, it had some effect, for she heard Salem grunt as he released her mouth. Then she was being lifted awkwardly from the chair. Instantly she was aware his destination was the bed, and she went wild in his arms, flailing at him with her arms and legs, begging him to let her go with a voice that was patently terrified. "Stop it! You're just like I thought you were! A savage! A barbarian from the Colonies! Put me down, damnit! Let me go!" She was unaware that her sheet had slipped to the floor until Salem dropped her on the bed. The sudden rush of cool air about her brought her up short. She scrambled to cover herself while Salem slipped out of his robe and blew out the lamp. The room's return to near darkness gave Ashley the courage to glance in the captain's direction. She had no idea the firelight was adequate for Salem to see the wariness and hurt in her expression before he lifted the covers long enough to slip in beside her. Ashley had no chance to see the grieved cast of his face as he did so. "No, you said you didn't want me!" she reminded him, a frightened sob forcing itself past the tightness in her throat. She struggled blindly as Salem's hands came down on her shoulders, pressing her down to the mattress. "Please let me go. You don't have to do this. I'll tell Nigel you had your way with me." She shifted her head to one side just in time to avoid Salem's mouth on her own. His lips brushed against her cheek. She gasped when she felt his tongue trace the curve of her ear. "That's vile!" She gritted her teeth. "You're vile. Let me up! I trusted you! Do you hear me? I trusted you!" "Trust me now," he whispered lowly. His mouth searched for hers and, finding it, covered it completely. Ashley wasn't sure she heard him correctly, and then it didn't seem to matter as he moved, his tension-filled body sliding along hers, fitting itself to the contours of her own. She rebelled with a violence that surprised them both, bucking and kicking, eliciting a number of pained curses from Salem that might have pleased her had she been able to pause to enjoy her small victories. It was apparent to her that she would get no quarter from the captain, and in her own manner she cursed him for it.

"You great Yankee bastard! I hate you! Your mother is a bloody harlot, and your father is a whoremonger!" She was pleased when that gave him sufficient pause so she could squirm from beneath him. Almost immediately she was hauled against his chest, her breasts very nearly crushed by the pressure one of his arms exerted at her back. "What a surprising worldly vocabulary you possess for a chit who says she knows naught of life beyond Linfield!" he responded tightly. "I have an urge to discover what other things you know. I believe you have been playing me false." Ashley sobbed. "I haven't! Oh, please believe me! I haven't played you false! Why won't you listen?" Her breath seemed forced from her lungs as Salem's hands stroked upward from her waist and came to rest at the underside of her breasts. She knew what he was going to do by the harsh whisper of his breath as it moved along her naked throat and shoulders. Her attempt to thrust away merely seemed to give him what he wanted. Tears of mortification slipped past her tightly closed eyes and fell into the black hair fanning her temples as his hot mouth closed over one of her breasts. "Please don't do this to me," she whispered brokenly. "I can't bear it when you touch me like that." For a pause it seemed to Ashley that he was going to stop forcing his attentions on her, and she knew a moment's elation. Then despair clouded all her senses when Salem resumed, using the rough texture of his tongue to flick the nipple of her other breast. His hands cradled her buttocks and brought her roughly in contact with his thighs. She was too inexperienced to realize Salem was unaroused; she was too dulled by his change toward her to understand what he was trying to tell her by the action. "Damn you! Fight me! Don't give in to me now!" he said softly, his voice taut. His words carried no further than Ashley's ears. But fight had drained out of her. She felt his hands slide to the backs of her naked thighs. When Ashley had first found herself in the captain's heated embrace, she had been under the influence of the wine to make her less repelled by his fondling. Now she felt herself surrendering in a different manner. She was withdrawing into herself, chanting a litany she thought she had forgotten in order to escape the violation of her body. Ashley remained quiet in Salem's arms. She was unmoved, neither repulsed nor responsive to his palms which were warmly caressing the curves of her thighs or his mouth, which rained kisses on her throat and the fragile line of her collarbone. When he touched her breasts again, she neither recoiled nor reacted sensitively to the tender manipulations of his hands. "Ashley! For God's sake, don't surrender yet!" Salem pleaded softly with her. "Not yet!" Maddened, Salem shook her by the shoulders. "I will have you," he shouted, his voice carrying to every part of the room and beyond. Preparing to make her sit up a moment, his hands slid down her arms and grasped her wrists fiercely. He did not know what he had done to bring Ashley out of her trance, but her response was everything he had been hoping for. She screamed as soon as his hand closed over her wrist, still tender from where she had bruised and scraped it against her shackle. Her voice was sharp with pain. "Let me go! You're hurting me!" He let go of one of her wrists—the wrong one. "Oh my God! Are you trying to kill me? Oh, pleeeese! Some mercy! You're hurting me!" She pounded his shoulder with her free arm and never realized Salem allowed her the attack, doing nothing to shake off the blows. Ashley's tormented pleas nearly covered the sound of receding footsteps in the hallway, but Salem, alert to precisely this sound, heard them as loudly as if it were a full regiment in retreat. When the footsteps faded completely he released Ashley's wrist but did not let her escape him.

Instead he rearranged the blankets so that she was effectively covered in a cloth cocoon. Separated from Ashley by a barrier of linen and wool, Salem swung a leg over both of hers, putting an end to her struggling. He propped himself on one elbow, waiting for his breathing and hers to quiet. Calmly he said, "I am going to light the lamp again. I want to see what is wrong with your arm. Please, don't try to move away. I really didn't want to hurt you, no matter what you think." He managed to light the lamp, all the while keeping a wary eye on his captive. Ashley was certain she would wake from this nightmare at any moment. It seemed to her the Yankee captain changed personalities as easily as he changed clothes. She flinched from him as he reached for her wounded wrist. "I won't hurt you," he said gently. "Let me see your hand and then I'll explain what happened." Almost against her will Ashley felt herself responding to the soft sincerity of Salem's voice. She raised her wrist for his inspection. He looked at the chaffed and raw flesh covering bones which seemed impossibly delicate. A muscle twitched in his tight jaw. "What happened?" Ashley was afraid again. Salem McClellan looked like a man who could do murder. Mutely she shook her head. " 'Sbloodl I don't mean to frighten you, and yet I manage it with an ease that almost makes me believe I am all the things you say." His eyes pleaded with her. "Tell me how you came by this." "Before your arrival I was locked in my room," she said haltingly. "Nigel said that you saw me at my window the day you came. I was chained to my bed that same evening. Nigel saw solely to my needs. Davinia didn't come in my room after that except tonight, to give me the wine." "How you must hate all of us—Nigel, Davinia—me. We've caused you so much pain." Ashley said nothing although she was curious about the tone of sad resignation she heard as Salem spoke. She knew part of what he said was true, but she could not have defined what she felt at that moment for the captain if her life had depended upon it. When he was gentle with her, as he was now, soothing her with his voice, she wanted to open to him. Yet there were those moments, not long past, that she was nearly demented with fear of being hurt by him. She no longer knew what she thought about anything. Salem sighed, his eyes apologetic as he observed her bewildered and rather woeful expression. "Poor Ashley, its all been a bit much, hasn't it?" She nodded. "I don't recall giving you leave to address me by my first name," she said, trying to right her world by leaning on the familiar and proper. "So formal?" Salem grinned, running his forefinger down the length of her nose. "After what we've just been through, isn't it a little ridiculous?" "No." "Very well, Miss Lynne. But I won't object if you call me Salem." His smile was a little rueful when she shook her head. He brushed away a few strands of hair from the side of her slightly damp cheek. With all of his being he regretted having made her cry. "Somehow I didn't think you would. Perhaps I should set

about clearing those cobwebs in your brain and explain what just took place." "Please. But I could listen just as well in another part of the room." "And risk having your guardian pounce on us again? No, thank you. You will remain where I can reach you if I need to." "Nigel? The duke was here?" "In the hallway. Or perhaps it was Davinia. Or even a servant doing the duke's bidding. But someone was out there, listening for all he was worth to what was going on in my bedchamber." "Why didn't you tell me?" "Because I didn't know your mettle as an actress. I didn't know if you could convincingly portray the violated innocent." Ashley frowned, searching Salem's face for some hint that he was lying to her. She could find none. "Then that is why you did what you did? To make the person in the hall believe what had been planned had been accomplished?" Salem nodded, his lashes shading his eyes momentarily as he remembered. "You must believe that I did not enjoy what I did to you." There was any number of ways Ashley could have taken the captain's last statement She chose to believe he meant that he had no enjoyment of treating her so cruelly. "Then I am sorry I spoke to you as I did. It was a regrettable lapse, but I did not know what else to do." "There is no need for an apology. You did exactly as I hoped, and I took no offense. Your performance was all that it should have been." "It was no performance." "For that I apologize. I asked you to trust me, but you did not take my meaning. I tried to show you while we were in bed that you did not have to fear me. I was concerned more with convincing our eavesdropper of our intent, although I understand how you thought otherwise." "Then for you it was all an act?" "Yes, I told you you were safe with me. I would not go back on my word without giving you some warning." He did not tell her he planned to pursue his plans to get her away from Linfield, or that a warning would be issued directly upon obtaining her freedom. "I see," she said thoughtfully, softly. His smile was spontaneous and completely endearing as his deeply carved dimple appeared to tease Ashley's senses. "I doubt that you do, sweetings. I sincerely doubt that you do. Now why don't you try to get some sleep? Morning is soon enough for us to reconsider your predicament." "I couldn't sleep until you promise me you'll leave Linfield soon," she said earnestly. She tried to sit up, but the blankets around her forbade the movement. "When my business is complete, I'll leave." She relaxed, thinking this agreement was better than nothing. "What sort of business brought you here?"

"My father asked me to evaluate the duke's stud. My family breeds horses in the Colonies in addition to raising tobacco. I am supposed to purchase some cattle for our farm." "Nigel has some very fine animals, and he can command a high price for them. Have you found any that interest you?" "There's a magnificent stallion the duke has agreed to sell me. He's promised to draw up the papers tomorrow." "A stallion?" Ashley asked slowly, filled with a sense of foreboding. "Yes. I was told his name is Kingdom. He's really a beautiful animal, though a bit highstrung. At least he didn't like me on his back. Ashley—what's wrong?" Salem stroked her pale face with the back of his hand. He didn't like the way her eyes had lost their brilliance. "What have I said? Is it the stallion? Is Kingdom yours?" Ashley shook her head and spoke with a voice that was dulled by Nigel's further betrayal. "No. Kingdom isn't mine." Nothing is, she added mentally, and when I forget Nigel is careful to remind me. "I think I would like to sleep now. Perhaps I should return to my own room?" "No. Stay here," Salem commanded quickly. Her manner concerned him greatly. He didn't want her to be alone with her own disturbed thoughts. He put aside his intention to ask her about the thoroughbred that had first brought him to Linfield. He would have to save his questions for later. Ashley very obviously needed to rest. "I can't sleep here." "Yes, you can. I'll make a bundling blanket. It will all be very proper after a fashion." "A bundling blanket?" "Like this." He rolled one of the quilts lengthwise and placed it between himself and Ashley. "Now don't raise your eyebrows at me, m'dear. It's a popular custom at home between sweethearts. "He didn't tell her both parties were supposed to be dressed. "We're not sweethearts," she pointed out reasonably. "I was counting on you to be too fatigued to quibble." She turned on her side, facing him, and smiled faintly. Her lids nearly covered her eyes. "I think I am too fatigued. Perhaps later we can have it out." "I'll look forward to it, Miss Lynne." Salem heard Ashley murmur something, whether protest or agreement he couldn't tell, and he thought it didn't really matter in the end. She was here, nearly in his arms, and breathing with the calm, even cadence of easy sleep. Salem had no trouble following suit. He jerked awake sometime later, uncertain of what had roused him from his deep slumber. He focused his attention in the direction of the hallway but heard nothing to make him suspicious. The lamp had not burned itself out so he knew he had not been sleeping long. Finding nothing amiss in the room, Salem's gaze eventually settled on Ashley. The blanket barrier he had erected still lay between them, undisturbed. It was all that remained so. Ashley was sleeping quietly, but it was obvious from the disarray surrounding her it had not always been her state. Evidence of her distress existed in the tangle of covers at her hips where one undeniably

feminine leg lay completely bare. Salem realized he had not actually witnessed much of Ashley's beauty, although his hands knew most of her intimately. And now, with the light finally in his favor, he found he could not look away. His eyes slid along the delicate curves where he longed to place his hands, his mouth. Turned on her side as she was, her waist seemed to dip impossibly low, making it more narrow than Salem ever recalled seeing or spanning with his palms. Her arms, one curved under her breasts, the other under her head, looked too frail to have fought him so fiercely, yet Salem knew he would be bruised in the morning from the battle she had given him. It was on Ashley's breasts that Salem's stare narrowed. It was not their alabaster fullness tipped in coral that held his attention; nor the intriguing web of fragile pale blue veins that could be seen beneath her nearly translucent skin. What riveted Salem was the puckered scar on the outer curve of her left breast. He leaned closer to see it, pushing aside the blanket. The scar was about the size of any small coin and faintly grey against the whiteness of her flesh. There was a definite shape outlined on its face, but Salem had to squint in order to make it out, then blink to make certain he had seen what he thought he had. After a minute of close scrutiny he could not doubt his eyes. Ashley Lynne had been branded sometime in her life. Branded with an L. It seemed so obvious Salem wondered how he had not thought of it earlier. The young woman at his side was certainly the thoroughbred filly his father had asked him to seek. Salem pulled the covers up around Ashley's shoulders. His palm rested there for a pause, as if to reassure himself she existed. "I don't understand it, sweet," he whispered to her solemnly. "But it seems I was meant from the beginning to get you out of here. I'll think of something. If not tomorrow, then the next day. But I promise you, I'll see you free of the duke." Salem extinguished the lamp and found sleep this time around very elusive.

Chapter 4

When Ashley woke it only took her a few moments to understand that her situation had once again been altered. For one thing she was in her own chamber, in her own bed, neatly clothed in her nightgown, and covered by her familiar white and blue comforter. The captain was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Nigel stood at the window, facing Linfield's gardens and looking over his estate with a proprietary air. He was dressed to go riding and looked particularly pleased with himself as he slapped his leg absently with the quirt he carried. He smiled when the sun's light briefly broke through the early morning fog, casting its warmth over him. One might think he commanded it so, Ashley thought bitterly. "Ah, you're awake," Nigel said, turning on her and carefully studying her as if she were an unfamiliar species. "You appear well rested in spite of your ordeal. You don't look differently. I had heard a young woman blossomed from the encounter with her first lover. That doesn't seem to have happened in your case. Regrettable, really. Do you feel differently?" His dark eyes narrowed, and the quirt slapped his thigh a little more loudly when Ashley did not answer promptly enough to suit him. "Don't go all missish

on me, m'dear. I do know that everything went as I desired yesterday evening. I congratulate you on your fight. The outcome, however, was never in doubt." "How can you be so sure?" Ashley asked, pretending ignorance. Nigel shrugged. "It was to be expected, but I made certain of it by positioning myself in the corridor. And of course the blood spotting the sheets and your person would also indicate the deed had been done." "Blood?" Ashley's hand went to her throat in a protective gesture. "What blood?" "Virgin's blood, m'dear. Or didn't the captain explain that to you? No matter. I expect he was afraid of releasing that viper's tongue of yours. Really, Ashley. Harlot? Whoremonger? Where do you come by these expressions?" Ashley wasn't listening anymore, stricken by the thought that Salem McClellan may have raped her while she slept. She didn't want to believe it, but as Nigel said, the evidence indicated otherwise. "Ashley, what's wrong? I thought you would be glad it's all behind you now. The thought of your blood seems to disturb you," Nigel said consideringly, his fair head tilting to one side. "I can't credit it. Would you have preferred I call in my physician to examine you? I was prepared to take that measure if there hadn't been such accommodating testament of your lost innocence." "No, I wouldn't have preferred it," she choked out. "Would you please leave me alone now." "How's this? Aren't you curious about the whereabouts of the captain?" Ashley thought Nigel seemed disappointed she had not put forth the question herself. In truth, her only interest in Salem was whether he would confirm or deny that he had violated her. Had he somehow tricked her guardian to save her a humiliating examination, or had he decided there was nothing for it but to take her unawares? "Where is Captain McClellan?" she asked, determined to humor Nigel. "He left a few hours ago, on Kingdom's back, I might add." Yes, she thought dully, you would add that. "If he left on such short notice it must have suited you." Nigel seated himself at Ashley's windowbench, idly fingering the quirt and appearing very satisfied by her observation. "I had not thought you understood me so well, m'dear. Of course it suited me to have him depart. There was an accident involving one of his men. Someone came for the captain first thing this morning to tell him about it. He had to go immediately. You're not saddened by it, are you?" "How can you think it?" The only thing that saddened Ashley was Salem probably did not suspect Nigel's guiding hand in his departure. For emphasis she added, "I have no desire to see him again." "And that's as it should be. Captain McClellan hastened to assure me likewise. Said you were a handful but a delightful night's toss all the same. He confided that you had told him an outrageous story about being a relation of mine, but he didn't believe it. Seems the captain has convinced himself you are one of the serving wenches, sent to him on a dare and then of a mind to back out of it." "Convenient for you, isn't it, that he didn't see fit to believe me?" "I wonder," Nigel said thoughtfully. He stood up and walked to Ashley's bedside. She strove to remain calm when he casually ran the braided leather of the quirt along the length of her arm. "You see, I was

never concerned that you might be believed, not once I learned that your lover would be Salem McClellan." "Why should it make any difference? What is to prevent the captain from telling someone what you forced on me?" "His own integrity, m'girl. McClellan won't shred your rep by telling tales. Besides, for his own sake, it would prove most unwise." "Unwise? How?" "Because I have proof the liaison was incestuous," the duke said calmly, studying his ward's reaction. It was all that he could have wished, and he felt a thrill at his own duplicity with this particular disclosure. "You're lying! That would mean the captain is a relative." "I'll forget I heard the first part," Nigel said magnanimously, flicking his quirt against Ashley's shoulder. "The captain is not just a relative. The captain, my dear, is your brother." He smiled faintly and turned toward the door. "No! You can't leave now!" Ashley reached out to pull the duke back, but he was already too far from the bed. "What do you mean he is my brother? How can that be? You are lying to me again!" At the door Nigel faced her briefly, his pale brows lifting in mockery. "If you are certain, then let it rest. If you wish to know more, then I will have your word you will marry Bosworth." He left then, having no desire to listen to the rather surprising collection of curses Ashley heaped on his head. Ashley idly picked at her needlepoint sampler. She had no real interest in the pattern of rosebuds and only worked on it when Nigel was home, keeping herself occupied while in his presence to avoid conversation. It had been two months since Salem McClellan's visit, and the duke had found much to occupy him in London during that time. Ashley enjoyed his absence from Linfield because it also meant Davinia's visits were less often. She found herself near sick to her stomach each time news reached her one or the other was returning. She showed no concern at His Grace's business in London, but her insides twisted when she wondered at it. It had occurred to her frequently that his new interests could have much to do with Salem, although she prayed Salem had already sailed for the Colonies. There were a few days after the captain left when Ashley cautioned herself against foolish hopes that he would somehow see her free of her present tangle. When a week passed and nothing came of it, she determined he had only said the things he did to ease her fears while they were together. She could not chastise him for that. Of her own innocence, or lack of it, she knew nothing. The only thing changed since that morning was she no longer wanted to know the truth of it. She had borne so much, but she did not know if she could bear the knowledge she had been raped by her own brother. She glanced across the room where the duke was enjoying a game of piquet with Davinia, who had arrived with her entourage of servants in time for a late supper. She wondered if Nigel had told Davinia that Salem was her brother. Ashley did not really doubt Nigel's assertion, knowing it was exactly the sort of thing he would use to bring her to heel. Yet she had still not asked for proof and didn't know if she could bring herself to do so at the price her guardian wished to extort. Nigel had not exerted further pressure and this puzzled Ashley. She could not help but wonder what new game he was playing.

Ashley jabbed at the sampler again, pricking her finger. Before she could stop it, a drop of blood fell to the starched white ruffle at her elbow. While reaching for her lace-edged handkerchief another droplet spoiled her square cut bodice, its deep red color turning black against the forest green of her dress. Ashley wrapped her finger and rubbed ineffectually at the stain on her bodice. The sight of the blood saddened as well as sickened her, serving as a too painful memory of something she wished to put behind her. She decided in favor of retiring to her chamber, thinking the sooner she could get out of her dress, the better. Just as she put her sampler aside and made to rise, the import of Davinia's quiet conversation with the duke reached her. She sat back in her chair as if she had been pushed. "I couldn't quite believe it when I heard of it," Davinia said, fanning herself indolently with her cards. "I would have never expected it of the man. But then, who can say what these Colonials will be about next." "The point?" "Oh, excuse me. I thought you would have heard during one of your stays in town. I considered it might even be your doing, since I certainly rarely saw you. I'm talking about that fellow who was here a while back. You know, Salem McClellan. He's been in Newgate for nearly eight weeks. For smuggling of all things. I just found out myself. Everyone was laughing at the authorities for being outwitted by McClellan's Yankee crew. Seems the ship and contents were impounded, and they stole it all back. Set sail for the Colonies, leaving their captain in Newgate to await his trial." She played her final card, snapping it on the table. "I believe that's mine, Nigel. Careless play you made there. You should watch the cards." She gathered them and began shuffling, eyeing the duke's implacable expression. "And you didn't have anything to do with the captain's problems, you say?" "I don't believe I did say. Deal." "That's just as well, then. I don't think I want to know. Your scheming is too complicated; can't say that I ever understand what is going on. I thought Ashley would be married by now." She shrugged, picking up her cards. "I suppose things are as you intend them to be. I trust you know what you are doing." "You are exactly right. My plans are coming together nicely. When is the captain's trial?" "I haven't heard. Word is there have been problems because McClellan wants a barrister of his own choosing. Salem asked for his brother to defend him." "The horse buyer is a barrister?" For the first time Nigel's posture indicated genuine interest in Davinia's topic. He leaned forward a little in his chair, his shoulders pulling taut the brocade fabric of his stylish powder-blue coat. "I asked the same question myself." She smiled, snapping another card to the table. "I understand there's another brother. Are all these Yankees prolific breeders, I wonder." She looked sidelong at Ashley. Nigel ignored Davinia's thrust at his ward. "And will this brother be permitted to act as the captain's counsel?" "It isn't likely. Oh, the brother has all the right credentials, but no one seems keen on the notion of having a Yank in court. Play your hand, Nigel. Oh dear, I thought that card was out." "You should watch what you're doing," the duke mocked, taking the trick. "Then even if this second McClellan arrives, there is little he will be able to do." "No. The captain is assured to hang—or rot in Newgate. Pity." Nigel's attention was directed toward Ashley at Davinia's last statement. He had never forgotten her

presence in the room. He knew the exact moment she had become interested in their discussion. Now he saw the thought of the captain's death, either by a quick jerk of the noose or by less merciful means in London's notoriously overcrowded and poorly managed prison, had caused her to look alarmingly pale. The healthy color she had gradually gained in the past two months had completely drained from her face. He watched her rise from her chair in a single graceful motion, smoothing the folds of her gown over her abdomen. With complete detachment he speculated on the odds of his ward being enceinte. Ashley swayed slightly on her feet, feeling faint with the knowledge of her guardian's treachery. She determined not to expend any breath on making accusations, for Nigel would only deny the charges. But she knew Salem's imprisonment was the result of the duke's influence. And for just that reason she knew there were no bargains she could make that would free the captain. She must take Nigel's most recent offer and see what would come of it. Easy, she cautioned herself, before she spoke. Don't rush your fences, and it all may right itself in the end. "Your Grace, I wish to speak to you of a matter we discussed some time ago in my chamber. May we do so in private?" "What's this? Nigel, you're not going to exclude me, are you?" "I'm afraid I'll have to this time. Don't take offense, m'dear. It's just for a few moments." Davinia threw down her cards and took her leave in an ill-mannered flurry. "I think you've hurt her feelings, Ashley," the duke said in mock sadness. "No matter, it was a wise decision on your part to exclude Davinia before you blurted out the terms I suggested to you. I have told her none of it." "I won't ask you why you have chosen to keep Salem's identity secret from Lady Grant. I'm certain you have your reasons. I have decided I wish to see this proof you said existed about the captain." "Not until you marry Bosworth." "That was not the agreement, and you know it," she said with a touch of heat. "Pray, remind me." Ashley almost stamped her foot at the duke's insolent manner. "You said I could see proof that Captain McClellan is my brother in return for my word that I would marry Lord Bosworth." Far from being angry the duke treated Ashley to a rare smile. He had no idea the number of times she had craved exactly that particular salute of genuine pleasure from him. Now he bestowed it upon her for reasons she could not tolerate. "It appears you have some wits about you, Ashley, to catch me out fairly. I can scarcely believe it after the way you've moped about these last weeks. You're not enceinte, are you?" Ashley flushed to the roots of her dark hair, but her gaze did not waver. She made no reply. "I suspect I'll find out sooner or later. It's not precisely the sort of thing you can hide." "Your answer, Nigel. Are you going to honor your bargain? Will you show me proof?" "And I have your word? You'll marry, then?" "Yes." She choked. "Yes. You have my word."

"Set a date." "Later. It was not part of our agreement." He laughed. "Very well. Come to my desk. You shall have the proof you seek." Ashley followed Nigel to his desk where he kept all his important papers. He extracted a key from a pocket on the inside of his waistcoat and used it in conjunction with a hidden spring to release a secret drawer. Ashley had, as a child, known of the existence of the drawer, had even tried to open it, but never met with success and abandoned the notion of exploring its contents years ago. She sighed her regret that she had not been more resourceful as Nigel took out a yellowed envelope and handed it to her. She examined the envelope and saw it was addressed to the Duke of Linfield. She looked questioningly at Nigel. He seemed to know what was in her mind for he answered, "Not I, my father. This letter dates back to before you were born." She nodded, her fingers trembling. She hesitated. Now that the opportunity presented itself to discover the identity of her parents she was almost afraid to seize it. Carefully she took out the contents of the envelope and found two pages of writing paper. Unfolding the papers, she saw that, although the ink had faded, the letter had been penned by a skilled hand. Without really being aware of her motions, Ashley sat at Nigel's desk, smoothing the letter on its surface, and began to read. When she finished some minutes later she calmly returned the pages to the envelope and looked at the duke expectantly. "Is there more? This is hardly proof." She kept her voice even and maintained her poise. Not for anything would she have him see how badly she was shaken. Nigel's faint frown was his only indication of surprise. "What do you require?" "Your sister wrote this letter." "So?" "She says only in here that she is going to have a baby and wants her father's forgiveness before she leaves for the Colonies." "And she names the father. Robert McClellan. That is also the captain's father. I have it from his own mouth. I am not mistaken in this. As children Anne and I knew McClellan. He grew up in a crofter's cottage on the Edenton estate. He assisted his father in the breeding of the earl's horses. What else have you need of knowing?" "Did you murder her?" Ashley's head reeled from the duke's brisk slap to her cheek. She fought the urge to bring her hand to her face and blinked back the tears that stung her eyes. "You insolent baggage! How dare you speak to me that way!" Though inwardly she felt a numbness spreading through her, Ashley held her own. "You told me once I was like my mother. You said you killed her. Now you would have me believe Anne was my mother. That gives me the right to question you." Nigel made no immediate reply. He took the time to pour himself a glass of wine then walked to the fireplace and leaned casually against the mantle, looking for all the world as if he had never lost his temper only a few minutes before. He studied Ashley's quiet demeanor before he drank, wondering if he

had underestimated her as an adversary. The thought that she was somehow laughing at him was intolerable. He spoke carefully. "I had forgotten I told you that. It served me at the time for you to believe it. You were determined to waste away. I brought you to your senses quickly enough with that parting shot." "I thought it may have been your intention at the time. Your change of story would be more believable if you could tell me what happened to Anne." "As far as I know she ran off with Robert McClellan after giving birth and abandoning you at Linfield. I should add she was never married to Salem's father, for he already had a wife. Anne was always gullible. He no doubt spun a tale that caught her fancy and that was that. Father, far from forgiving her, spread the tale of her death by drowning, and died shortly thereafter of his grief. He chose his course out of pride and found he could not live with his decision." As Nigel expounded on his story, Ashley grew visibly agitated. At its end she stood and braced her arms on the desktop. "Have you had no contact with your sister all these years?" she cried feelingly. "None. Please, Ashley, I was only just admiring your calm. There is no need for dramatics. Anne and I were never close. She was disowned by my father, and I respected his wishes, no matter his motive. I have never desired to know what became of her. I did go so far as to erect the marker in the family plot to preserve her memory." "How did you come to take me in? If you had so little feeling for Anne, why raise her daughter?" "Surely you are not taking me to task for doing my duty by you? I raised you as befits your station in life. I could hardly recognize you as my illegitimate niece. As a relation of no real account you were treated admirably." "As your niece I was treated, am treated, shabbily." "Don't be tiring. You are the bastard child of a woman who ceased to exist in her father's eyes. I have never thought of you as my niece, and it is my fondest wish you never regard me as your uncle." Ashley bit back an uncomplimentary retort. "I have only one question. The mark on my person, the one you told me long ago branded me as a bastard, who put it there? Was it you?" Nigel looked patently horrified. "My dear girl, that is hardly the sort of thing I would do to an infant. That was the doing of either Anne or her Colonial lover. It was the head of the key to a marriage trunk I had commissioned for Anne that made the mark. I imagine it was done so there would be no mistaking your identity." "But why was I abandoned? Why didn't they take me with them?" "I can't answer that. Perhaps they didn't think you could survive the voyage. Or Anne may have wanted you to have the advantages of being raised at Linfield, rather than in the Colonial wilderness. Robert may have thought he could handle a mistress but not the complications of her brat. Who can say what the truth is?" Ashley sank back in her chair and stared blindly at her folded hands. She was afraid to speak, lest she break down in front of Nigel. She realized she still had no tangible evidence that she was Anne's daughter. Even the mark on her chest was no certain proof of her identity. Yet she no longer questioned the duke's story. Her brand, coupled with Anne's touching plea to her prideful father, illuminated her past in a way she had never dreamed. She could find no cause for joy.

"He's my half brother," she said without emotion. To have it brought home to her made her feel something less than human. She felt unclean. "What? Speak up." "I said Salem is really my half brother." "Yes, if you want to split hairs." Ashley's slender fingers massaged her temples. She longed to retire to her chamber and release her hair from the confines of the pins that held it tightly to her scalp. "I'd like to take my leave now, Your Grace, if I may." Nigel tossed back his drink, satisfied the fight had finally left Ashley. She would no longer oppose him in any matter. "You'll set a date." She nodded, standing. "I'll tell you in the morning. I'll need some time to prepare for a wedding. I can't imagine you wanting to hurry or hide this affair." "No. I'll give the announcement to the London paper. This shall be a proper wedding." "Yes," she said tiredly. "Somehow I expected you would say that." Ashley had always been aware that proceeding too quickly with her plans would arouse the duke's suspicions. One full week after agreeing to Nigel's arranged marriage, she was on her way to London to be fitted for her bridal clothes. To serve as her abigail she had Amelia, unaffectionately known as Arnie, whose unpleasant manner merely covered a heart of stone. Arnie had served Linfield house for years in various capacities, but her most frequent duty of late had been to make certain Ashley's clothes saw her through another year. Far from being pleased that Ashley had been given permission to purchase a new wardrobe, Arnie had complained bitterly about having to make the trip to London. The city was crowded with beggars and thieves in her opinion and no place to send an old lady and a girl. Ashley paid little attention to her companion's morose and pained expressions. She had taken few trips beyond Linfield, and only one other to London and was still astonished at the expanse of lands existing outside her own world. She breathed deeply, not minding the dust churned up by the horses and the carriage. Every delicious scent of the verdant rolling hills and the patchwork fields seemed impossibly fresh, although Ashley was willing to concede it might be her own taste of freedom that made it so. Ashley fully intended to savor her good fortune once she reached London and she was prepared to eliminate all opposition to her plans. Even Arnie would not stand in her way. The older woman, for all her pious and self-righteous talk, had a weakness for the duke's special sherry. Two choice bottles of the stuff rested in the bottom of Ashley's valise. Sitting back, Ashley slipped off her unadorned white bonnet and leaned her head against the well-padded seat. She appreciated the duke's thoughtfulness in permitting her to take his coach rather than rely on a public conveyance. As Ashley considered it, the duke had proved most cooperative once she had set the date for her wedding. He had dispatched a servant to London that same afternoon to put the announcement in the paper and worked on the guest list with Davinia. He had barely raised an eyebrow when Ashley approached him several days later, mentioning she had no suitable dress for the wedding. Nigel studied the dress she had on, well-cared for, but sadly ill-fitting and not of the current fashion.

Pronouncing her entire wardrobe singularly depressing, he offered to send her to a London modiste. It was all that Ashley could have hoped for, and she had lowered her thick lashes, afraid Nigel would see the relief in her clear green eyes. The duke arranged credit for his ward at some of London's exclusive shops. Ashley was permitted a complete trousseau, including linens and jewelry, and told to stay at Nigel's townhouse until he could join her late in the week. At that time he would examine the jewelry she had chosen as well as the designs of the gowns that were being sewn for her. As soon as the carriage neared town she sat up again, dismissing thoughts of Nigel's apparent largesse, and pressed her face against the window. While Amelia complained about the foul odors emanating from the offal and garbage on the streets and pressed a scented handkerchief to her angular nose, Ashley only had eyes for the activity around her. Ashley's coach crossed the Thames on the relatively new Westminster Bridge and passed the gothic stateliness of the Abbey. To her delight her driver took her along the tree-lined avenue known as The Mall, past St. James's Palace, the official royal residence, and eventually down Bond Street where fashionable modistes and tailors kept their shops. Everywhere there were people. The men and the women Ashley saw were dressed stylishly in materials of every conceivable color and fabric. She wondered that no two people were dressed the same, yet all were of a similar stamp. Jackets trimmed in gold braid, brocade waistcoats, and pantaloons with white hose were the order of the day for bewigged men who congregated in the popular coffee houses. Two women alighting from a carriage had their hair greased, dusted, twisted, and piled on their heads. Ashley touched her own hair, sadly aware that her thick ebony tresses lacked any sort of style. Longingly she looked after the women as they entered a dress shop, then selfconsciously dropped her hand to her lap. Embarrassed at her lapse into vanity, she spoke to cover her uneasiness. "Nothing is precisely as I remember it. London hardly seems to be the corrupt city you would have me believe." Arnie sniffed. "The West End is not where you're likely to find the lowlife I was talking about." "Then where?" "That ain't your concern. His Grace don't want you all over town." Now Ashley huffed. "You're just saying that because you've made the whole thing up. The kind of people and places you complained about don't exist." "Watch your tongue, miss!" Amelia wagged a spindly finger at Ashley. "I'll show you what's in my imagination and what ain't Mebbe it is time you saw how the rest of the world lives. You've been walking the halls of Linfield as if you're the only one with problems. If you have a mind to see all of London, then that's what we'll do. But don't go all sad-faced on me when you don't like what you see." Ashley turned away, pretending interest in the residential squares of Mayfair, while hiding her pleasure at provoking her abigail's anger. It seemed she would see more of London than Nigel thought wise after all. The duke's townhouse was one of many bordering the parklike loveliness of Angel Square. When the carriage stopped Ashley thought it was just as she remembered. Angular and imposing, it didn't look so different from the three-story houses flush against it. There was a subtle difference in the shade of bricks that kept the row of homes separate in her eyes, and Nigel had had a small porch front with Doric columns erected over his entranceway that helped distinguish it from the others. How like the duke, she thought, to establish a difference.

For the first three days of her visit Ashley was an enthusiastic admirer of all the West End had to offer. She coaxed the noticeably less agreeable abigail into two milliner shops, four modiste shops, three jewelry establishments, and the wig maker's. She pretended interest in ribbons and bows, bonnets and ruffles. She praised the modiste's designs whether she saw them outfitted on a doll or in a sketchbook. She nodded politely about the latest Paris fashions of which she knew nothing. She allowed herself to be measured, pinned, and poked so that she might have exactly the right trousseau. Everywhere she went she was treated by the merchants with a deference she had never before experienced. No one suggested there was anything lacking in her fashion taste. If she asked for the crimson ribbon to adorn a particular bonnet, it was agreed that red was the perfect accent to her dark hair. If she refused a design because it was too heavily bordered with ruffles and lace, the modiste assured her she had made the correct decision. There was nothing to be gained by hiding the delicacy of her frame in a series of furbelows. Ashley assumed the willingness to please her stemmed from the letter of credit she had been afforded by the duke. She did not suspect this was only partially true. She was also respected by servants and tradesmen because of the respect she gave them. On the fourth day of her London trip she cajoled Arnie into showing her all of London. It was all arranged so quickly that Amelia did not have ample energy to insert her tiresome objections. She would never have thought her exhausted state had been planned as carefully as any campaign. Ashley sat forward in the carriage, her face nearly pressed to the glass, eagerly viewing the part of the great city she had heard about but never seen. Amelia, encouraged to eat and drink from the food and sherry Ashley had thoughtfully provided, added some commentary as they went along the Strand and later Fleet Street, where the news supplied by the patrons of the numerous coffeehouses had given rise to London's newspaper center. Ashley admired St. Mary-le-Bow on Cheapside, a masterpiece of architecture by the designer of St. Paul's Cathedral, London's largest church. After passing London Bridge and the crenelated faces of the Tower, Ashley was lost in her own thoughts. It seemed impossible that she would ever be able to make her way in the city on her own. It was simply too crowded and too vast for her to comprehend. There were people everywhere, moving with energetic purpose, even if it was only to beg a few pence from some wealthy merchant on his way to Lloyd's. When she came out of her reverie Ashley was not surprised to see that Amelia's general weariness from the heavy food, the sherry, and the soporific effects of the swaying carriage, had the abigail snoring less than gently. Ashley directed the driver to take her along the river. She had a mind to see the traffic along the Thames. Long accustomed to the peculiar notions of quality, Bodnar did as he was told. He did have some second thoughts about Ashley's safety when she asked him to stop along the wharf because she wanted to walk a bit. "It ain't right," he muttered, hopping down from his perch. He secured the horses and watched Ashley's progress along the street Once assured that she was not going to be accosted, protected as she was by some characteristic that marked her a well-bred lady, Bodnar disappeared into a pub for a quick tip of the wrist. When he returned, Ashley was not at the carriage, and the driver only felt a modicum of relief to see her being escorted in his direction by two men whose manner of dress indicated they were Yankee seamen. She looked absurdly small between the two men: Her head did not quite reach their shoulders; but it was clear she had said something to charm them, for they smiled generously.

"Miss Ashley, are you all right?" "I'm fine," she replied, lifting the hem of her indigo blue gown to make it easier to enter the coach. She was assisted at each elbow by a Colonial. "These gentlemen aided me and I was in no peril." The seamen turned on Ashley's driver. "She's a complete infant and has no business being out on her own, man," the brawnier of the two said gruffly. Ashley felt a moment's shame as her driver flushed under the Yankee's blunt words. "Pay no attention to him, Bodnar, you were doing as I instructed. He is only out of sorts because I told him he spoke the King's English with a regrettable accent." Bodnar nodded, wondering how Miss Lynne had met these two men but too in awe of them to inquire. Their smiles, when directed at him, were decidedly threatening. With agility and alacrity Bodnar climbed onto his box and drove away, nearly unseating Ashley as she waved to the two men grinning in the wake of her lovely smile. Ashley's smile faded as she considered the seriousness of her position. She did not want anyone to know she had been at the wharf today. She suspected she could rely on Bodnar's sense of self-preservation not to give her away. She hoped he would not risk a reprimand by blurting out the details of her afternoon tour. Amelia, sleeping ever so soundly in an odd contortion of limbs, was none the wiser, and Ashley prayed she would remain so. Ashley slid open the panel that allowed her to talk to her driver. "Bodnar, I know it's an imposition, but I've heard so much about Newgate. Would you take me there?" "No, miss," he said politely but firmly. "You've been slummin' enough for one day. Nothing good could come of going by the prison." "I suppose you're right," she sighed. "Very well. Take me home. I'll see if I can't rouse Arnie for some amusement. " Salem examined the pitiful few coins in his palm. He weighed his choices carefully. Should he squander half of what he had for a clean layer of straw and perhaps another blanket, or should he use only a third on a bit of meat to go with his daily ration of bread and watery soup? He tried to make a fist around the money in his hand, but the lack of strength in his arm made him realize his coins could best be put to use to purchase some medicines to clean the festering wound near his wrist and enough water and soap to rid his body of the stench he found almost unbearable. How the hell did anyone without money survive their experience in Newgate, he wondered, pocketing his precious coins. He decided they probably did not, which is why he had paid heavily in the beginning of his confinement for a small cell that he would have to share with no one. Salem leaned back against the damp stone wall, plumping the moldy straw beneath him. How ironic if his bid to assist Ashley ultimately cost him his life. Salem sighed heavily, estimating it had been four hours since he had last thought of Ashley Lynne. That established a record of sorts, for even in sleep he had found it difficult to stop her from invading his thoughts. He imagined her in all manner of guises: the naked nymph in his bed; the vulnerable woman-child cowering in the corner of his room; the bride of Lord Bosworth. He groaned, not wanting to torture himself with thoughts that she may already be married. As she had often repeated, what choice did she have? Any hopes she may have pinned on him had already disappointed her, he thought The smuggling charge

and subsequent imprisonment had dashed all his hopes for freeing Ashley of the duke's influence. He didn't trust any of the barristers he had met to free him. He needed his brother and some of the luck that had deserted him so quickly of late. He closed his eyes, imagining the Caroline gliding through the Atlantic waters, pushed to her limits by an outraged Irishman in leg splints and an angry crew. James Shannon would be hard-pressed to keep the entire McClellan family from descending on Newgate once they heard the news. His father would take the news stoically and pace in private. His mother would accept the situation calmly for the sake of the girls and weep when she was alone. Noah would want to hear the story several times over, to make certain he understood precisely what had happened and subsequently how to act. Gareth would listen as Noah had and want to fight; there was no risk too great when family was threatened. The girls, Rahab and Leah, would demand to know why everyone was simply standing around when what they obviously needed to do was journey to London and take Newgate apart, stone by stone. Salem absently stroked the swollen discolored area around the wound on his arm. Ashley was like neither of his sisters in personality though physically she resembled them in different ways. He could see her dark green eyes, so like his father's and Rahab's, staring at him alternately in fear, concern, trust, and sadness. He remembered her small and delicate stature, similar to Leah, braced against him, fighting him fiercely when she thought herself threatened. He had thought, even hoped, that time and circumstances would dull what he had felt so suddenly for her that night at Linfield. Instead his vision of her had crystallized into something clear, sharp, and fine, and left him aching and longing. Thoughts of her finely formed body pressed intimately against him served not to relieve Salem's misery but rather frustrate him all the more. And of late the memories were even worse because Salem could have sworn he heard Ashley's soft voice in the corridor beyond his cell. He did not bother to open his eyes when he heard the guard's key in the lock of the door. "Just put it anywhere," he said wearily, supposing it was supper. He did not immediately remember that he had eaten several hours earlier. "Get ta yer feet in th' presence of a laidy, you Yankee scum." The guard's rough voice shattered Salem's meandering thoughts, and he opened his eyes, only to have to shield them with his forearm against the bright lantern light. "On yer feet, man!" This order was accompanied by a less than gentle nudge to Salem's outstretched legs. "No! Please don't hurt him," Ashley pleaded with Salem's keeper, significantly patting the burgeoning shape beneath her dark cloak and drab gown. The guard, a family man with eight children, turned sympathetic eyes on the young woman at his side. His head shook sadly from side to side as he contemplated her gently rounded stomach. "Y'er too good fer 'im, ma'am. Me wife is expectin' our ninth any day now, an' Oi couldn't live wi' meself if Oi deserted 'er. It ain't right, 'im plannin' ta leave ya behind. Jest as well, Oi say, that 'e got tagged fer smugglin'. Mayhap you'll be able ta get some 'elp fer you an' the babe." He turned on the captain, ignoring his prisoner's obvious bewilderment "Ye best be kind to yer laidy, cap'n. Oi won't be far an' she knows to call me if she takes a disloike to yer manner. Oi believe ya should be 'anged fer tryin' ta desert this little flower, wot wi' 'er 'aving yer babe and all." He faced Ashley again. "By yer leave, ma'am. Remember, ye can't stay long. No one must know y'er 'ere this late at noight." Thoughtfully he left the lantern behind. Ashley, who had been holding a lightly scented handkerchief to her nose, put it aside and tried not to be

noticeably ill at the odors. She dropped back the hood of her black pelisse to expose more of her face and the inky cap of her hair. When she spoke it was in a husky whisper. "It is I. Miss Lynne. Do you remember me, Captain McClellan?" Salem would have laughed at her question if she had not been so earnest. Had she honestly thought he could have forgotten her? God, she looked lovely. He wished he dared to touch the petal smoothness of her face. He rose slowly to his feet, an action made clumsy because he could not use his left arm to push himself up. He was careful to keep his distance, having noted with some agony that Ashley was keenly aware of the stench in this hovel. "Of course I remember you, Miss Lynne. What in God's name are you doing here?" "I thought I might be able to assist you." Salem shook his head. "Bear with me a moment. I can't credit any of this. Your presence in my cell is beyond anything I have dreamed thus far, so it must be true. Or I am near death. Which is it?" "I assure you, I am here. Though I hadn't considered it would take so much valuable time to convince you." "It's very late," he said, aware of the crier announcing the hour. "You shouldn't be here." Ashley nearly wept at Salem's concern for her when he was the one so obviously in need of care. She estimated his weight had dropped nearly two stone. His soiled clothes hung loosely on him, and his skin had a jaundiced cast to it. His eyes had lost their edge of alertness, appearing more pewter than silver. His dark hair hung limply where the strands escaped the ribbon at his nape. She noticed he held his left arm at an odd angle and just managed to stifle a gasp when she glimpsed the festering wound. "Please, captain," she said gently. "I have come to get you out." Salem's laugh was bitter. "Now I know I am dreaming." His eyes fastened on her abdomen. "Strange, I don't recall ever thinking of you carrying my child before." "I am not carrying your child," she protested, smoothing the folds of her dress over her rounded middle. Salem's despairing groan made her realize he suspected another man of the deed. "Captain! I am not carrying any man's child. Has prison so addled your brain that you can't understand what I'm saying?" She took a few steps toward him, her eyes sad as Salem seemed to shrink closer to the wall. Gently she took his right hand and brought it to her middle. She could not help but notice his clammy skin. "Here. Touch me here. Can you feel it? That's not a child." Salem felt the hard bulge and could make out a foreign shape beneath the layers of gown and petticoats. He withdrew his hand quickly. "You shouldn't touch me," he cautioned her. "I'm filthy and infested." "I expected as much. You're also in need of something for your arm. How were you injured?" He shrugged. "It doesn't matter now. What have you got in that bundle?" "It's a pistol. I took it from Nigel's bedchamber at his townhouse." "A pistol. Have you lost your mind?" "Not at all." Ashley turned her back on him and raised her skirt She unwrapped the pistol, handed it to him over her shoulder, and refastened the rolled blanket at her waist. Satisfied no one would be able to tell the difference, she turned to find Salem examining the weapon.

"You might have injured yourself, carrying this." "I don't see how unless I fell on it It's not loaded." "Miss Lynne." Salem sighed impatiently. "I hardly know what to make of this situation. You say that you are going to help me out of here, yet if an unloaded piece is your idea of assistance, I think I'd better take my chances in Newgate." "I'm sorry, captain," she said while her voice said otherwise. "I didn't know how to prime the thing. And as far as taking your chances in jail, you have no chances here. The duke will see to it." "The duke? I think you credit him with too much influence." Ashley's face became set, and her eyes flashed as she lost her patience. "We can discuss this at another time," she whispered harshly. "Are you prepared to do something about getting yourself out of here? We are dangerously short of time." Salem remained against the wall, looking at the pistol and wondering what good it could possibly do him. "Your plans. I must know how you intend to accomplish this thing." Ashley gritted her teeth. "I have paid generously for the temporary use of a cab and horseflesh. We will drive the hack to the river, leave it some distance from where I have reserved a room for the night. You will be able to bathe and rest a few hours, but we must leave before morning. There is a ship bound for the Colonies, and I have made arrangements for passage." Salem was quite astonished at her initiative although he had the grace not to show it. "I compliment you, Miss Lynne. You do know how to manage for yourself. However, I seem to be unclear on how it is we are to get out of the jail. Did I miss something?" Ashley flushed and dropped her eyes. Quietly she admitted, "I rather hoped you would become inspired by the pistol and think of something. I'm sorry I could not load the thing but no one else need know. Perhaps we should simply bluff our way out?" She glanced at him hopefully. Salem felt as if his heart was being squeezed by her childlike trust and courage. He wanted to protect her. Instead, she was offering her protection. He gave her a small smile which had the effect of making his eyes brighten. "As it happens, I have indeed become inspired. But this is all very dangerous. Why are you doing this for me?" "Please," she begged him. "Not now. I can explain it later. The danger means nothing to me." She flinched at his hard gaze. "I don't mean that I'm not frightened. I told you I'm not very brave about dying. But this is important to me in ways you can't understand. Please. I'm helping you for both of us." "Don't cry now," Salem said, moved by the bright sincerity in her eyes. "I can't think straight when you cry, and I know I shall live to regret I ever told you that. If I live, that is. Here, take the pistol. Aim it at me as if you mean to do me harm. I want you to be angry. Can you do that?" She nodded. "Good. Now we shall see the outcome of a moment's inspiration." He took a breath, steeling himself. "Guards! Quick! I have need of you! Are you noodled, girl? Don't point that thing at me! Guards! This chit means to cheat the hangman! You'll pay for letting her in here if she does me harm! Put that pistol down, wench!" Ashley was so startled by Salem's thunderous command that she nearly forgot what she was supposed to do. Her back to the commotion in the corridor and her ears deaf to the uproar in the adjoining cells, Ashley smiled bravely at Salem while she tried to steady her hands around the weapon. When she heard the cell door being opened, she made herself heard above the deep-throated voices of the surprised

keykeepers. "Stay back! I mean to make this rogue pay for what he's done to me! I'm nut waiting for justice to be served." She stepped slightly to one side so they could see the pistol she held. There was a moment of stunned silence as the guards took in the situation. Their prisoner was pressed against the mildewed stones as if he hoped to blend into his background. There was no trace of his usual cockiness. Instead he was looking extremely wary of the young woman whose grip was less than sure on her pistol. Both guards laughed heartily at Salem's obvious fear and Ashley's fierceness. The father of eight, soon to be nine, spoke after he caught his breath. "Can't say tha' Oi blame ya, miss. 'E deserves no less than a ball through 'is chest. Wot do you say, 'any, should we let 'er finish off the bloke?" Harry, who had had to rub the sleep from his eyes upon entering the cell, appeared to give his friend's suggestion serious consideration. "Oi'm of two minds about it, Ned. The cap'n don't 'ave much funds left, so we ain't likely ta get richer on 'is residency. And as ya said, Ned, 'e surely deserves wot the lady intends after the way 'e treated the little flower. 'Owever," he said, raising his voice a notch as Ashley firmed her grip on the weapon. "Oi ain't in any mood ta bury the Yank and then toss the little flower in 'is cell fer murder. It wouldn't be right, it wouldn't. Not wi' 'er bloomin', an' all." "Ya 'ave a point," Ned said, shaking his head from side to side in reluctant agreement. "Sorry, miss, but 'arry's right. We'd 'ave ta lock ya up if ya sent the cap'n ta 'is reward. An' this ain't no place fer you ta 'ave yer babe." Ned began to approach Ashley carefully. "Now, how about 'andin' over the pistol? It's far too heavy fer yer fair 'ands anyway." Ashley spun on the guards. "Stay away! I don't care what happens to me, do you hear! I don't care as long as I know he's paid for it! He told me he loved me! He said he would take me with him. He lied to me!" Ned was stopped by the tears misting Ashley's eyes. "Now don't start cryin', miss. Oi can't stand ta see a lady cry—even me own missus." Ned's rapt attention on Ashley caused him to fail to see Salem move. Harry's warning came a second too late. Even Ashley was startled when Salem's weak arm came around her throat while the other took the pistol from her hands and poked it in her side. "Now gentlemen," Salem said easily, smiling at both men. "It would seem the tables have turned. Remember, I have nothing to lose by hurting this wench. For all her sad airs and high manner, she's no more quality than you or me. But she does have some important friends who would hold you responsible if anything happened to her." He looked expectantly at the guards to see if he was understood. "Steady yerself, man," Harry said. "There's no need ta 'urt anyone." "Exactly what I thought. Now, if both of you would be so kind as to step into that corner over there. That's right And toss me your keys. Toss them!" His command was sharp, and his grip appeared to tighten on Ashley when the guards hesitated. Neither Harry nor Ned suspected Ashley's slight body was giving the captain much needed support. Two key rings clattered to the cold stone floor. Salem directed Ashley to pick them up. "We're going to leave now. And if you make any move to shout for help, I'll open every cell door between here and safety. Think about trying to explain a mass escape before you call for your compatriots." He started toward the door, pretending to pull Ashley with him. It was difficult to manage because she wanted to drag him out.

When the solid door was locked behind him he slid open the small portal and looked in on his prisoners. "And give a care for the wench's safety. Her guardian, the Duke of Linfield, will have your guts for garters if she's harmed." He gave the portal a satisfactory slam when he saw their shocked expressions. "The duke is well known in the most surprising circles," he said to Ashley, pushing her along the corridor with the point of his pistol. "Those poor souls certainly feared him." "Do be quiet!" Ashley hissed, glancing over her shoulder. "And must you prod me with that thing?" Salem shrugged. "It's for effect." The effect was not lost on the other occupants of Newgate. The confrontation with the guards in Salem's cell had been loud enough to alert the prisoners to what was happening. It did not take long for word to spread to every block of cells, although an observer would have been hard-pressed to say how the communication was accomplished. The locked rooms that Salem passed remained curiously quiet, and for the life of him Salem didn't know if it was because the occupants feared the Duke of Linfield or simply wanted someone to escape from the oppressive walls of the prison. He steadied himself against the eerie, and somehow expectant silence, and helped Ashley find the key that unlocked a shabbily repaired side door which swung open onto a narrow side street. Salem's first breath of air outside of the prison almost knocked him to his knees. He was beyond noticing it was tainted with a peculiar mixture of odors, and fish and sewage seemed to be chief among them. He was only relieved to find the cloying musty smell of his confinement had disappeared. Ashley steadied him on his feet "Come. The hack is around the corner. We must hurry." An eruption of noise from inside the walls indicated the alarm had been sounded. To protect Ashley from blame if he should be apprehended, Salem continued to hold her as if she were his captive. But when mounting the driver's box, it was Ashley who had to summon her strength to assist the captain. "Let me have the reins," Salem gritted as a guard came running onto the street and shouted for others to follow. Ashley held the leather ribbons stubbornly. "No one will know I'm driving." The captain's curse was lost on her as the hack's nag, made skittish by the suddenness of the shouts and shots behind them, chose to escape the confusion with no encouragement from Ashley. The carriage jolted, throwing both riders backward, and then was off, managing a suprising speed in the close quarters of the street. "Bad-mannered beast," Ashley muttered, asserting herself to direct the animal where she wanted it to go. "You'll get us lost, and then where will we be?" Salem found it easier to look over his shoulder to see how many men were giving chase than to face forward and confront the obstacles that Ashley was narrowly skirting. He counted three brilliantly lit torches some distance behind them before the hack tipped dangerously to one side to negotiate a sharp turn. "Watch where you're going!" he muttered, righting himself and trying to ignore the throbbing in his infected arm. "On second thought, do you know where you're going?" If it had not been so dark, Salem would have seen Ashley's guilty flush. "London is different at night, you understand. And I've never really been here before. Bodnar wouldn't bring me so I tried to memorize everything when the hackman drove me. And then the nag—well, how could I know she would go off in

the wrong direction?" She guided the hack around another harrowing corner and somehow missed colliding with two young men stepping out of a tavern with a lady of questionable reputation. "Did that woman have paint on her face? No, of course she didn't It must be the poor light. D'you see why this is difficult. I could hardly light the flambeaux and make ourselves a target, could I? And the streets seem to look alike. I hadn't considered that we would be in such a hurry or that every house would look like every other. If only someone would have put up a Greek column or something. Though I don't suppose anyone can afford that sort of thing here, and it's really ill-mannered of me to even mention it. But how am I supposed to find my way when it's all the same? There—d'you see? I think we've passed that empty flower cart before." "That's because we have," Salem said, his head spinning. "And if you don't let me have the reins, I'm afraid we're in danger of you driving us directly back to Newgate." "Just direct me toward the wharf. You can't drive and you know it." "Then take the next left. And for heaven's sake—" The hack was around the corner. "Slow down," he finished when he righted himself again. "Where did you learn to drive like this?" Ashley reined in the nag, slowing the pace considerably. There was no need to bring attention to their progress now that they were some distance from the prison. She suspected the horse could not manage much longer, and she shied from the thought that she may have already pushed the animal too hard. "Riding was my one amusement at Linfield." Moonlight captured the cheeky grin she offered the captain. "Lucky for us that it was. Admit that I'm a good driver." "Torture couldn't wring that admission from me," he said with feeling. "How is it I never noticed what an impudent minx you are?" "I imagine it is because I'm not really impudent at all. I'm just very, very frightened, and I want to keep myself from crying." "An admirable goal. Although when we're safe, I don't care if you flood London with your tears. I may even shed a few myself." "You're afraid?" "To my very bones, Miss Lynne." He touched the fair skin of Ashley's smooth cheek with the back of his hand, then dropped his hand into his lap. "Take another left. We're almost there. Do you recognize your surroundings yet?" She nodded. She could identify some of the same rough-bricked structures she had seen earlier on her tour with Arnie and Bodnar. She saw the battered sign of the Candlewyke Tavern hanging precariously by one rusty chain over the head of a recently evicted patron. At the corner of a tobacco warehouse there was a man investigating what lay beneath the skirt of his giggling companion. The woman had her back pressed to the building and seemed to be encouraging the exploration—if her delighted laughter was anything to go by. Ashley could hear her husky voice ring out when the man apparently strayed beyond the limits of what she would allow. "Oooh, luv. An' that's a fine idea, bu' it's goin' ta cost ya more than ya got just ta sniff it." Ashley glanced questioningly at Salem. "Don't ask. Just keep your eyes in front of you. We're not safe yet This area will be searched soon enough."

Ashley wasn't concerned by Salem's statement. It didn't seem possible that anyone could find them among the activity and crowds. "This is where I am to leave the hack," she told him, halting in front of the deserted business entrance to a counting house. Salem leaped down and secured the nag, then helped Ashley alight. "We have a little piece to go before we can rest," she said, lending him support. Salem had no choice but to follow. "You realize you have a great deal of explaining to do?" "I didn't suppose you could accept your freedom at face value. But explanations still have to wait." She stopped abruptly and, like an animal in the wild, her head tilted in the direction of an unknown danger. "Did you hear that?" "Indeed I did. And this is no time to stop. Those shouts are drawing nearer. We've got to get away from the hack. Can you run?" "I can. Can you?" "I'm going to find out Let's go!" Ashley lifted her skirts and matched the captain's pace. The hastily secured pins in her hair loosened and dropped unnoticed to the street. Dark curls flew freely around her flushed face, and her breasts heaved as she gasped for air. Her breath misted in front of her as it made contact with the cool night. She slowed when she sensed Salem faltering beside her. She was certain under normal conditions she could never hope to stay close to him, but weakened as he was, he was finding it difficult to stay on his feet. She paid little attention to the people who sometimes blocked their path or the voices that yelled obscenities after them. She concentrated on her progress, afraid to wonder which of the gaunt, sinister faces around her was likely to betray their direction to the officials. "It's not much farther," she said to encourage Salem. She received only a labored grunt in reply. "This way." She turned into an alley strewn with objects she was glad she could not identify in the darkness. Something furry brushed against her leg, and she brought her hand to her mouth to stifle her scream. She stumbled over a drunk sleeping in the waste thrown out of windows above them, and Salem reached to help her. Unfortunately her hand closed over his festering wound and he nearly fainted with the shock of the intense pain. "Oh my God, I'm sorry," she said. "Please, don't stop now. That's the place there. The Wandering Minstrel. You can just make out the sign." Salem clutched his arm and managed to look up. Beads of sweat clouded his vision, and he wiped them away. Indeed, not twenty yards from where he stood was the Wandering Minstrel himself. It could be assumed that he had seen better days. Although he retained his human shape, he had lost his dignity. The proprietor, rather than replace the life-size wooden minstrel when it had fallen once upon a time, had simply hung the slightly bent fellow up—this time by the neck. He swung grotesquely above the door to the tavern. "Cheery," Salem said blandly, raising one eyebrow. "I chose it because I knew I would remember it later," Ashley said tartly. Even so, she eyed the minstrel

warily as she passed beneath him to enter the tavern. "Oh, dear," she murmured, her wide eyes taking in her surroundings. "An understatement." The Wandering Minstrel was crowded. It was smoky. It smelled of sweat, spilled spirits, and vomit. It was noisy. Those patrons who could still talk were shouting for more drink, laying bets, topping outrageous tales; those who had their allotment for the evening were snoring loudly. Salem helped Ashley step over one drunk on their way to the bar. He could feel the length of the pistol against his flat belly where he had tucked it in his breeches. Looking around at the hard faces, some scarred by pox, others by knives, he knew there were few men present who would quaver at the sight of his weapon if he suddenly pointed it between their eyes. Ashley, he saw, was doing her best not to show her fear, but she sidled closer to him for protection. Upon reaching the bar, the proprietor subjected both of them to his myopic squint and smiled hugely, baring more spaces than teeth. "Can't say that I really thought you'd make it, miss. Thought you must have been pulling my leg when you was here before." He dried his hands on a greasy towel jammed in the waistband of his breeches. For a moment Salem thought he was going to offer Ashley a handshake. Instead the man reached across the counter and put the back of his hand on Salem's forehead. "This bloke ain't got the plague, has he? He don't look good." "No, he's just very tired," Ashley said hurriedly. "Please, could you take us to our room. You promised everything would be ready." "Right this way. Your bags came earlier. Just like you said they would." He didn't add he had gone through them to see what manner of money she still had available. One couldn't be too careful when dealing with quality. He didn't like to think the chit might try to cheat him. He led them up a back narrow staircase to the very last room along a dark hallway. The room's sole light came from a miserable fire in the grate, and Ashley was just as glad she couldn't see how filthy the room was. She doubted the double bed's linen had been changed in a fortnight, and dust was probably thick on the nightstand. The room's odor was hardly better than Salem's cell, and she suspected there was a chamber pot somewhere in the room in need of emptying. Still, it was a refuge. "It's fine," she said. "What about a bath? You agreed to provide one." "I'll send up one of the serving wenches to take care of that." He ignored Salem as the captain slipped past him and lay on the bed. "If everything is to your liking, I'll leave you now." He shifted uneasily on his feet. Ashley was more concerned with Salem's exhaustion than she was with the owner's dawdling play for more money. She spoke to him with just the right amount of asperity. "I've paid you the agreed upon price. My friends downstairs would not want to know you suddenly find it insufficient." "Of course, miss. Right you are." He backed out of the room, gingerly shutting the door behind him. Ashley was immediately at Salem's side, placing a cool hand on his brow. His eyes were closed, and his lashes were damp from his own sweat. "You're terribly warm." She slipped off her cape, tossed it aside, and found her handkerchief. She wiped his face carefully with the softly scented linen and lace. "How's that?" "Better. That smells so fresh. It seems forever since I was around something so clean. There's no need to

nurse me, Miss Lynne. I'm not sick, just tired, as you said." She smiled faintly. The captain made no attempt to halt her ministrations. "I'm sorry about this. I hadn't thought it would be such an ordeal." Now Salem smiled. "I shudder to think what you imagined. It's not every day a slip of a girl springs someone from Newgate. Did I hear you tell the owner you had friends in the taproom?" "Yes. One of them tried to pinch me, but I think that was only to get my attention, just to let me know they were here. They're not really friends to be precise. I only met them by accident when I was trying to secure passage to the Colonies. They're Yankees, like you, you see. So I thought I could trust them." She pretended not to hear Salem's exasperated groan. "I told them what I wanted to do, and they agreed to help me." "You need a keeper." "That's what they said." "My respect for them grows by leaps and bounds. You speak of 'them' and 'they.' How many friends are there?" "Only two. But they're very big. I suppose they come from savage stock also." There was a knock at the door, and Ashley moved from the bed to help the serving girl with the tub. "What do you mean 'also'?" "Just a moment." She addressed the servant. "What's the meaning of this? This water has been used." "Only twice, mum." The girl dipped a small curtsy. "An' I brought a kettle filled wi' fresh that you can 'eat 'ere. An' a bit o' soap, too." She handed Ashley a small chunk of yellow soap and retrieved the kettle which she set up in the hearth. "Macky says ta tell ya th' kitchen is closed, but 'e'll find something fer ya if ya don't mind cold." "A cold meal will be fine. And something to drink. Tea, I think." The girl simply gaped at her. "Tea? Oi don't know about that." "Then anything you can find as long as it isn't that swill you serve those men downstairs." When the girl was gone Ashley returned to Salem and answered his question as if there had been no interruption. "I mean that so many of you Colonials have a savage somewhere in the family tree. Or a thief—or a wastrel. I supposed it must have been the savage in your blood that made you so big and brown." Salem shook his head in disbelief. "I don't know where you came by these notions. No, I don't want to know. It seems you're not alone in your peculiar' view of Colonials. But let me tell you now, I get my size from my mother's father and my coloring from the sun. You can see I'm hardly as dark as I was when I first met you. There's not a thief in my family unless you count the time Noah, Gareth, and I stole Tildy's cherry cobbler from the pie safe. The closest I ever came to being a wastrel was the time I spent in Newgate, and you, m'dear, saved me from that life of idleness." Ashley turned up her nose, pretending offense. "I never said I thought you were a thief or a wastrel. Only that there must be savages in your lineage." She left the bedside to check the kettle. "The water's hot."

Using her skirt as a mitt to protect her hands from burning, Ashley lifted the kettle from the hearth and poured some into Salem's bath water. Salem smiled to himself as he undressed, seeing how Ashley kept her back to him until he slipped into the water. Ashley picked up his soiled and infested clothes and tossed them into the fire before she handed him the soap. "Why did you burn my clothes? What am I supposed to wear now?" "Oh. Well, they weren't any too clean for one thing, and I didn't think you'd want to wear them after washing yourself." After searching the chamber, looking under the bed and inside a poorly constructed wardrobe, she found what she wanted in the cupboard base of the nightstand. "Ugh. I thought this might be the culprit," she said, blanching as she removed a chamber pot. She opened the room's only window and flung out the smelly contents. "As for what you're to wear, why, I brought some things for you. They're Nigel's, of course. I hope that doesn't offend you. After what he's done I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want to wear his things, though I don't know what you'll do for clothes then. You and Nigel are of a size, you know." "I don't think I can afford to be too principled about accepting the duke's castoffs," Salem said wryly, vigorously soaping his hair. "Would you like me to scrub your back?" Ashley asked. After all, he was her brother. Taking Salem's inarticulate murmur for assent, Ashley knelt beside the tub, rolled up her sleeves, and took the soap and washrag from his outstretched hand. "Lean forward a bit. That's good." She squeezed water over his shoulders and spread the lather. "Now that feels good. Miss Lynne, I think it's time for some explanations." Ashley sighed regretfully. "I suppose that under the circumstances you could call me Ashley." "That's all very well, Ashley, but it's no good trying to change the subject or soften me up. I would like to know how you've managed this. Enough prevarication." "I haven't prevaricated," she said huffily, scrubbing a little harder than was strictly necessary. "There simply hasn't been time. And you do tend to quibble about every point." She sighed, resigned. "Everything just fell into place once I agreed to marry Lord Bosworth." Salem jerked away and tried to twist around to see Ashley. "Oh God! Don't tell me you've already married him." "Turn around. The wedding is planned for the sixteenth of next month." She felt Salem relax. "It seemed best to agree to marry him when I discovered you were in Newgate. It was the only way I might have a chance of reaching you. This is very important, Captain McClellan—" "Salem—under the circumstances." "Salem," she repeated without demur. "It was the duke who arranged your stay in Newgate." "Somehow it doesn't surprise me. Did he admit it?" "Not exactly, but I know it was Nigel. Here, take the rag. Your back is done."

"Thank you." Ashley waved negligently, smoothing her dress, and sat down in the broken rocker. "Nigel allowed me a London trip to purchase my trousseau as well as a letter of credit. I practiced a little thrift and was able to acquire several unexceptional pieces of jewelry." Thoughtfully she began ticking off points on her fingers. "It cost me a pair of diamond earbobs to get in to see you at Newgate. Our room, such as it is, cost me a rather pretty brooch. It had the tiniest sapphire and emerald chips in the shape of a flower. I don't think that was too much, do you?" Salem felt his head spinning again. "No. I'm sure it was tasteful. Macky will look lovely wearing it." "Macky? Oh, you mean the owner. You're teasing me, Salem!" She yawned hugely, too tired to lift her hand to cover her mouth. "I'm not usually so thick-witted. You must think me very dull." "I think you're delightful. Now, finish your story. You had just parted with a brooch." She ticked off another finger. "The hackman came very dear. I had to pay for the ride to the prison and the hack itself. I asked him to bring two valises that I'd filled with Nigel's clothes here, so that cost more. And he was fearful of damages, and so I gave him something extra for that. Then there were the fares he would lose while I was using the hack. All in all I gave the man two rings, one a plain gold band, the other an emerald." "I'd say you were more than generous." "I suspected he was rooking me, but there was nothing for it. He was nice enough to pick me up when I flagged him in Mayfair. Two other cabbies just passed me by. I think they suspected I was running away and didn't want to get involved." "The duke's townhouse is in Mayfair? How did you manage to leave undetected, and where is the duke?" "Nigel is still at Linfield although he is due here in two days. Leaving the house wasn't difficult. I doubt that anyone's missed me yet. My abigail fell asleep early this evening. I believe she found the second bottle of sherry I brought." Salem's brows lifted and he was shaking his head again. Ashley studiously avoided catching his eye. "As usual, I retired to my room after supper. I left the house by the backstairs, though I was prepared to use the lattice." "You sound disappointed it wasn't necessary," Salem said. "I was a little," Ashley admitted. "Though it would have been a shame to trample the vines." "And then you flagged the hackman and managed to persuade him to part with his vehicle." Salem shook his head, his face tight with anger. "You really do need a keeper. He could have robbed you, turned you in, failed to bring your bags here, or hurt you." "I was afraid this was how you would react, but you can see there is no need. The hackman proved most accommodating." Ashley got up from the rocker to answer the scratching at the door. "As were Macky, Harry, and Ned." "Don't forget your two friends downstairs." "Brady and Harris." She opened the door and took the tray from the serving wench while the girl dropped fresh linens on the bed and backed out the door, her eyes never leaving Salem's naked shoulders.

"She certainly felt free to ogle you." Ashley set the tray on the nightstand then tossed Salem a towel. He caught it just before it hit the water. "If I didn't know better I would say you were jealous." "Well, I'm not. She can stare at you all she wants." "Turn your back now unless you want to ogle," Salem said as he stepped out of the tub, briskly dried himself, and availed himself of the nightshirt Ashley left on the bed. "It's all right now. You can turn around. Would you like some of this roast beef? It looks edible." Ashley refused, returning to the rocker. She tried not to notice Salem's bare legs dangling over the side of the bed. He didn't offer her tea but simply poured her a cup and took it to her. "Perhaps this will revive your spirits." "My spirits don't need reviving." "I'm not going to argue the point." He settled back on the bed with the tray on his lap. "You appear to have everything well in hand, including the assistance of a cross section of the local populace. What time do we leave for America?" Ashley studied her hands. "The ship sails at daybreak." "And your friends below?" "Brady and Harris? They'll be on the ship. I told you I met them securing passage." "What did that cost you?" "It's not important." "You're very fractious of a sudden. I think it's time you were in bed." He set the tray to one side. "Here, I'll make another bundling blanket, and we can share the bed as we did before. Do you have a nightdress?" "Yes." Her voice was small as she wondered about the blanket's effectiveness. "I'll move over and turn my back." He slid across the bed, fixing the blanket after he was settled. Ashley rifled the valises, retrieved her badly wrinkled nightgown, and changed as quickly as she could, considering her fingers were made clumsy by the thought that Salem would turn around any moment. When she finally slid into bed she was out of breath. Salem chuckled, turning on his side to face her. She really was lovely, he thought, with her face flushed and her hair fairly crackling about her shoulders from the fierce brushing she had given it. He wanted to fall asleep with her in his bed for the remainder of his life. "Never say you feared for your modesty." "Very well. I won't say it. Now let me examine your arm." Salem saw by the set of Ashley's face there was nothing for it but to let her look at his wound. He pushed himself upright and permitted Ashley to roll up the sleeve of his nightshirt. "This is much worse than you allowed," she said. "It's festering badly and it feels hot. I hope there is someone on the voyage who can care for this." She reached beneath the blankets and began ripping the hem of her gown.

"What in heaven's name are you doing now?" "I am improvising a bandage." She pulled out a strip of material and began winding it around his wrist and forearm. "It must throb dreadfully." "It's not so bad." "Liar." Her small smile took the sting from her words. "You never told me how you came by this. Was it when you were taken to the jail?" "It's not important" He relented upon seeing the fleeting look of hurt in Ashley's eves. "The wound became infected in Newgate, but I injured myself at Linfield." "Linfield? But how?" Salem shifted uneasily, withdrawing his arm from Ashley's lap. "Surely you were aware of the blood on the bedsheets when you awoke? I thought evidence of your loss would help you be more convincing to your guardian." "Then you were never intimate with me," she said slowly, quietly. "Miss Lynne, you may have failed to notice that I am hardly overcome by your questionable beauty. Even if you were the sort of woman who caused men to lose their heads, I assure you I am not the sort of man to make love to you while you sleep off the effects of drugged port. Credit me with some sense, even if you have none yourself. I cut my arm in an attempt to provide you with virgin's blood, but the razor slipped when you kicked me in your sleep. It wouldn't have amounted to much except that once I was in Newgate it refused to heal properly." Ashley felt as if she were bleeding under the sharp lash of his tongue. Wounded, she pulled the covers about her and lay her head against the small, lumpy pillow. "I'm sorry," she said, her eyes closed. She willed herself not to cry. "I suppose I wasn't thinking clearly. It's just that Nigel put so many doubts in my mind. If only you had told me what you were going to do." "I tried to wake you. I couldn't. You were exhausted." "I'm sorry." She felt Salem's strong hand on her shoulder. A moment later he was tenderly stroking the length of her arm. "No. I'm sorry. You've done so much for me, and I've repaid you with vile lies. The truth is I find you have an affect on me that is quite unsettling." He would have said more but Ashley moved away, alarmed by his words. "Damnit, Ashley, can't you understand that I have no interest in taking you against your will? There is no reason for all this skittishness." "I fear it is you who do not understand." "How is that?" "I am your sister." Salem blinked. His throat was dry. "You jest," he ground out. Ashley met Salem's silver eyes squarely "No, not in this. Anne Lynne is my mother and Robert McClellan is my father." She breathed deeply, bracing herself. "You are my half brother."

Chapter 5

"Half brother? You're lying!" Salem winced as his sudden movement put pressure on his injured arm. "Have a care for yourself," she said lowly, staying well beneath the covers. "Where did you learn such nonsense? No. Don't tell me. I can guess the duke filled your head with the sordid idea. Well, I'm telling you that he lied. We are not related!" "How do you know? You know nothing of what Nigel said." A muscle twitched in Salem's cheek as he strove to calm himself. He had no wish to frighten Ashley any further than he already had. He observed her striking green eyes, edged with thick lashes, and recalled he had once likened them to his father's eyes. The thought nearly jolted him out of the bed. And her coloring, so nearly his own… "I'll listen," he said quietly. "I promise I'll listen to everything you have to say." Ashley blinked in surprise. "Please, then, lie down. I doubt that I shall be able to speak with you hovering over me." "You're a curious mixture, Ashley," Salem said, making himself comfortable on his side of the bundling blanket. "You cower from me one moment and give orders in the next. I cannot like you being afraid of me, but neither do I enjoy being ordered about." "I shall endeavor to strike a balance of indifference." "And how could I have forgotten your impudence?" Ashley chose not to respond to this query. "May I begin to explain what Nigel told me?" "Yes. The whole of it." Ashley started haltingly but her voice gathered conviction as she related the contents of the letter Nigel had saved for so many years. When she finished it was clear that Salem was unconvinced. "Ashley, I doubt that you actually know any of the truth. There is much in what you've told me that doesn't ring true." "I saw the letter," she repeated dully. "I questioned Nigel about it, searching for the lie, yet I could find none. Do you think I want to believe my parents abandoned me? I find no cause to rejoice in being the daughter of an adulterer and a whore, or the niece of Nigel Lynne. I am illegitimate and I bear a bastard's mark to prove it. It is little wonder that with such a heritage I nearly succumbed to an incestuous intimacy." Salem spoke sharply. Only his throbbing arm kept him from shaking her. "Ashley! Stop it! You are speaking nonsense, and I want to hear no more of it I don't believe you have thought this through clearly, else you would know the duke is lying to you." "I am sure this is a shock for you. Sometimes I forget when I speak of my father, that he is also your father. I realize you would want to defend him, but don't let it blind you to the reality."

"I begin to understand why you fear the duke. He has the power to make you see things, not as they are, but as he wishes them to be. Nigel has blinded you to reality, Ashley, not me. You have my word for it now, and later you shall have my father's. The duke is lying to you." "You could make me believe," she said quietly, "if it weren't for the letter." "A forgery of some sort?" "Not unless Nigel had reason to forge it nearly twenty years ago. I know it was that old. And I believe the words were Anne's. The sentiment was too poignant to have been falsified." "How tenaciously you cling," Salem said, frowning. "Is there nothing I can do to convince you you are the victim of your guardian's sordid imagination?" She shook her head, her eyes forlorn. "You have no proof to the contrary. Why would Nigel concoct such a wild tale?" "To hurt you. To keep you bound to his side, under his thumb. To make you think less of yourself than you already do. Why does Nigel do anything? To answer that question you must crawl into his mind and think as he does. There is purpose in his every action, and his purpose is power. You mentioned earlier the mark you bear. Yes, I've seen it so there is no need to go all rnissish on me. You said it signified your illegitimacy. I'll wager it was the duke who told you such rubbish." "Nigel did tell me, but all bastards are marked in some way." Salem's dark brows drew together over his fiercely bright eyes. "My God, how you defend him. You, who were so anxious to tell me what sort of man he was! Don't you understand? Bastards aren't branded. However you came by that mark, it wasn't because it was your due. Nigel told you that so you would be reminded of your origins whenever you saw it. It was a way of thwarting you, of keeping you from opposing him." Ashley bit her lips and hugged herself beneath the covers. "Please, don't raise your voice so. I can't think when you talk to me like that." Salem adjusted his position so that his good arm was free to reach across the rolled blanket and stroke Ashley's hair. "I'm sorry. I seem to be as much a bully as Nigel is. But I never thought I would have to convince you of your guardian's hypocrisy. How could you believe such a tapestry of lies?" Ashley was comforted by Salem's easing stroking. She could feel herself calming beneath the caress that was caring but not demanding. His lingers massaged the back of her slim neck and the light pulse at her temple. "Nigel said I must have been branded by Anne or Robert." She could feel Salem's hand tighten on her nape for the smallest of seconds. "He says it was done to ensure that I would be raised at Linfield. He recognized the brand as having been made by the head of a key." "A key." Salem had been so shocked to see the brand on the curve of her breast that he hadn't thought about what had produced it. He wished he could tell her it was the brand that had led him to Linfield, but he held his tongue. Ashley would certainly see it as proof that Robert McClellan was indeed her father. Salem had known a moment of doubt when he saw his father's eyes in Ashley's own, but it had only been a moment. He was convinced it was merely a coincidence, although he could hardly hope Ashley would believe that. Salem did not need to hear his father refute the duke's story to know it was a lie; knowing it was the duke's story told all. "Nigel had a special marriage chest commissioned for Anne. It was the key to the chest that made the

mark. That was how Nigel recognized it immediately and knew I was Anne's child." "My father is incapable of doing what you say," Salem said with gritty conviction. Ashley reached out to touch Salem's shoulder and swallowed her hurt when he shrugged her away. "Salem," she said earnestly. "I can understand your desire to protect your father, but don't you see that while you protect him you are denying me my birthright? Why are you so bent on rejecting the notion that Robert McClellan is my father also?" Salem threw aside the bundling and with no regard for his injury grasped Ashley's face in his palms. One thumb traced the full lower lip of her slightly parted mouth. "Don't close your eyes, damnit! Look at me! Is your vision of the world so narrow that you can't see beyond your own needs? Do you think I would begrudge you a place in my father's affection if you were his daughter? I would not! But rather I would not see your hopes raised for something that cannot be. He may come to love you as a daughter, but not because of a true blood tie. Robert McClellan is not your father." Ashley could not have raised her eyes now against the passion in Salem's own, even if he had commanded it. She saw in his darkening eyes something more than his anger and conviction. She saw the answer to why he did not wish her to be Robert's daughter. In some small way she must have betrayed her understanding because when Salem next spoke, it was in response to her expression. "That's right, look at me as if I've sinned just for thinking of you in less than a brotherly fashion. Do you know that I thought of you and little else while I was locked in that hellhole? And never once did I think of you as my sister. When you appeared in my cell I was convinced I had died. You were all that is fresh and lovely, and I wanted to cry because I dared not reach out for you, dared not touch you. You are not my father's daughter because that would make everything I feel for you ugly and obscene and I will not have it!" With no warning his mouth unerringly fastened on Ashley's, grinding against her soft lips as if to punish them for tempting him. There was nothing gentle about Salem's immediate possession; he only wanted to taste her, to touch the tender recesses of her mouth, and if he had to be cruel to reach for a response, he did not care any longer. He wanted to return the hurt she had been quick to deliver to him, measure for measure. He took from her selfishly, never aware she gave nothing in return. She made no move to struggle as his tongue swept across her teeth and his hands forced a gasp that allowed him entry. When his mouth left hers, his lips were hard along the arc of her cheek. He drew back only after he had kissed her eyelids, tasting the salty wetness there. "Damnit. Don't cry," he said tightly. Ashley opened her eyes and stared into the misty silver of Salem's eyes. Gently, in a tender parody of his earlier action, she reached up to put her small hands on either side of his face. "I'm not crying, Salem." It took a moment for him to understand what she was saying, that the tears were his own. "Oh, God! Ashley!" His head dropped to her breast and she cradled him to her, glad he could not see she ached for him. There seemed to be nothing she could say that would ease his torment. She allowed the silence to settle around them, and when his even breathing indicated he had fallen asleep, she spoke to him as she never would have had he been awake. "Salem, if only wishing could make it so, for I wish I was not your sister." Salem felt as if he had no sooner closed his eyes than he was being prodded awake. Admittedly, the hand prodding him was gentle and the voice at his ear was soft, but the interruption of his pleasant dream

could not be greeted enthusiastically. He smiled, his single dimple slashing one side of his face when he heard a sound he recognized as one slender foot being stamped heartily against the floor. "Oh, this is too bad of you not to get up! You will miss the ship and then what we'll do I have no idea. Please, Salem. You must rouse yourself. You can sleep away the entire voyage, beginning in an hour, if you wish." "Do you always go on so?" he asked, his face serene, eyes still closed. "It makes me weary just to listen to you." "Then I promise to be quiet once you have assured me you are going to get up." "You are a callous wench, Ashley Lynne," Salem said stretching. The effort gave him a few moments of pain. "Your arm is worse, isn't it? Don't bother to answer, I can see that it is. Let me wash it and put on a fresh bandage." She gave Salem no time to argue but began examining his arm immediately. Intent upon her ministrations, she did not notice Salem was closely examining her. Salem occupied himself thinking of a reason that would give him an excuse to pull the ribbon from Ashley's hair and let it fall freely about her shoulders. He searched his mind for a way that he might kiss the deepening frown from her forehead or ease the tightness around her mouth. He could not think of any method that would cause her to shed her tightly fitting, tastefully modest, and very dull gown. He allowed himself to imagine a future that would permit him to buy her every sort of flattering garment, from thickly lined sable pelisses and elegant satin evening dresses to small kid slippers and the most delicate and flimsy of nightclothes. He knew Ashley would have been horrified if she could know where his mind was wandering, yet Salem sensed with his very soul she was not his sister, and he refused to torture himself with the thought. He only promised himself that she would not be privy to the direction of his thoughts until she met his family. They would set her to rights in time to welcome her into their hearts. "I never meant to cause you any pain, Ashley," he told her as she began wrapping his arm again. "Last night was a mistake." But not for the reasons you may think, he thought silently. She never looked at Salem. "I know you didn't mean to hurt me. I had time to adjust to the idea. You had none. It's understandable that you would react as you did." She finished wrapping his arm in silence. "There. But you must be careful of it. It is badly infected." "I know. I can smell the putrid thing, and it feels as if it's being used for a pincushion." "And you let me clean it as if it were no concern to you!" Now when Ashley looked at him, Salem found himself avoiding her sharp gaze. "I was—thinking of other things." "Well, someday you must teach me that trick. I cannot tolerate even a twinge of pain." Salem grinned and flicked her nose as he would Rahab or Leah. "I doubt that my methods would work for you, m'dear. Now, are you going to hover about, or am I permitted to get out of bed?" Ashley pretended offense and flounced to the rocker where she sat with her back to the captain while he washed, shaved, and dressed. He commented on her foresight to have managed a razor as well as the excess of clothes she had confiscated for his use. "What of your own things?" he asked, standing in front of Ashley for her approval. The clothes she had

chosen for Salem pleased him greatly, and though he could have wished they were a trifle larger, he could not really fault their fit. The buff britches held him more snugly than he was used to, but the crisp linen shirt, void of ruffles and only lightly embroidered with white thread at the neck and cuffs, could have been tailored for him. "You'll do," she said, well pleased herself. She stood, slipping on her pelisse, and edged past Salem so that she could stand in front of the window. Mist from the river created a smoky mantle so that even the nearest building was barely visible. "I never thought I would say that I love this thick fog, but as protection I begin to see it has its advantages. Shall we go?" She turned to face Salem, smiling brightly, and saw that not only had he no intention of moving, he was watching her narrowly. Her smile vanished beneath his intense stare, and she rubbed the palms of her suddenly clammy hands on her dress. "Is something wrong?" she asked, wondering if he noticed her voice was not quite steady. "I asked you about your own things," he said carefully. "Those valises contain nothing beyond a nightgown and a few personal items of your own. Where are your clothes?" "I—I didn't—I didn't think I could spare the room." "God! You must think me the veriest fool! You brought no clothes because you have no intention of coming with me, do you?" He shook her shoulders. "Do you? You plan on returning to that poor excuse for a guardian, don't you?" "Salem, have a care for your arm." "My arm be damned! Think how I got that wound, Ashley, when you sneak back to your townhouse in Mayfair! Will you care that I may lose it when you are tucked in your bed, dreaming of your beloved Bosworth! That's what waits for you. A veritable Methuselah and the enraged Duke of Linfield. Have you thought what Nigel will do to you when he finds you have helped me escape?" "Please, Salem, you are hurting me." His grip relaxed on her shoulders but he did not release her. "I am not afraid of Nigel. He still has some use for me, so it will not be so bad." Exasperated, frustrated, Salem pulled Ashley into the circle of his strong embrace. Her head rested against his shoulder while his chin rubbed tenderly against the crown of her head. "Oh, my dear, you have the unrelenting courage of a fool! Don't take offense," he warned softly as she tried to struggle out of his arms. "Listen to me. I can't help but be touched that you would do so much for me—" "But you are my brother." "Sssh! I won't argue that point now. I cannot allow you to return to the duke. If he doesn't kill you for this escapade of yours, he'll find ways to hurt or humiliate you that would break your spirit. It would be worse than dying, and I cannot live with myself knowing what would be happening to you. You must come with me. I would never have left Newgate knowing you intended to do this." She tipped her head back to look at him. "I know I am not so foolish as you think." "Then you'll come to Virginia with me?" Ashley pushed against Salem's chest and after a deliberating pause he released her. She took a step backward and turned slightly from him, hugging her arms beneath her breasts. "Can you understand the thought of facing my father or meeting my mother is more terrifying than confronting Nigel?" "Don't you owe it to yourself to discover if Nigel has lied to you? Come with me. Talk to my father and

judge for yourself from both sides of the story. I cannot believe Anne came to the Colonies, but if she did I'll help you find her. Please, Ashley. No matter what the future holds you won't be alone as you are now." She could feel herself being moved by the persuasive timbre of his voice. There was so much of which she was uncertain, so much to risk. A little more than two months ago she had been sobbing at the thought of an arranged marriage and leaving Linfield; now she was contemplating a change that left her breathless. "I have no more jewelry," she said finally. "What would I use for my passage?" Salem released a breath he had not realized he was holding. "What did you barter away for my transport?" "A tiara. Do you think we might convince the ship's captain to take me along for the price of it?" "Yes, sweet. You and Macky and Ned and 'any and the serving wench if she has an urge to go." He moved forward and ruffled the ebony curls secured below her scarlet ribbon. That was a brotherly tease, wasn't it? Of course neither Leah nor Rahab would have looked so alarmed by it. His face softened. "Poor Ashley. So much to learn." He turned his back on her sweetly puzzled face and picked up one of the valises. "Can you carry the other? Good. Then I think we should be out of here." The Wandering Minstrel was quiet, though not deserted, when Ashley and Salem descended the narrow stairs. Ashley counted six bodies in various states of repose on the wooden benches and table tops, many with a tankard of ale in easy reach. None of them looked particularly innocent in sleep, and Ashley was comforted knowing Salem walked only a half pace behind her. At the bar Macky lifted his head long enough to salute his two patrons as they passed but couldn't summon his strength to watch them safely make their way out of his taproom. Outside a heavy cloak of fog obscured even the miserably hanging minstrel. The damp cool air had no regard for Ashley's cape, penetrating it with ease and sliding along her skin, raising gooseflesh in its wake. Ashley wished that she had thought to bring a heavy outer coat for Salem. "Would you like my pelisse?" she asked as he urged her down the alley. "You are hardly in any condition to be wandering about without a coat." "And you are kindness itself, but I assure you I'll be fine." He made no mention that it took severe control on his part to be able to speak without his teeth chattering. He felt flushed and chilled by turns and knew it was his arm, rather than the weather, affecting him. "Will you know the ship when you see it?" he asked as they reached the wharf. "I didn't anticipate so much activity on the docks this early in the morning. It is a vessel called the Oleander." They made their way along the wharf while cargomasters called out their orders, and sailors scrambled to load the bulky wares. The noise and the sudden movements in front of them as drays were pushed from warehouse to waiting ships confused Ashley. "What if we can't find her?" she asked plaintively. "We will," Salem answered with more assurance than he felt. "How can you see anything? How do these people know what they are about?" "They've been doing this sort of work most of their lives. They can do it in their sleep. What's a little river mist to them?" Salem stopped suddenly, reaching out for Ashley as she would have walked away.

Without an explanation he pulled her into the darkened doorway of a closed shop. His hand came over her mouth and he whispered in her ear "Quiet. There's a patrol coming this way." Ashley had sense enough not to ask how he knew. In this she trusted Salem implicitly. When he removed his hand she took his valise and her own and placed them behind her, then put her arms about his waist in what appeared to be a loving embrace. Falling in with her idea, Salem bent his head and buried his race in the fragrant softness of her hair. "There are three men, sweet," he told her in hushed tones. "Don't take this amiss, but I am going to lift your skirt a bit." Ashley stiffened but did not oppose Salem when he tugged at her pelisse and gown. The light material of her undergarments proved no protection against the cool clamminess of his hand on her thigh. She shivered and the circle of his arms tightened. "Forgive me, Ashley." He sighed against her forehead. "I seem to do naught but compromise you." But Ashley's concern was not for herself. "You're so flushed. I pray you can make it to the ship." He placed a kiss on the top of her head. "I can make it as long as you don't desert me. Promise you'll stay with me." "Of course I promise." "Thank you." Ribald conjecture from the patrol marked their passing. Salem dropped Ashley's skirt. "We can be on our way. For a moment I thought they would stop to ask us questions." Ashley nodded. She had pretended not to hear the patrol call out to someone on the wharf, asking for information about an escaped felon. That the man had no answers did not ease Ashley's fear. "Yes, let us be out of here quickly." Against a protest from Salem she took both valises and stepped out of the doorway, giving him no choice but to follow. They walked for nearly ten minutes before Salem spied the ship. "The Oleander, did you say? There she is." He considered it a stroke of luck that he had seen the faded name against the side of the ship. The vessel itself appeared to be eminently seaworthy though perhaps not as sleek as his own. Caroline. Three masts held the great expanse of sails, and Salem found himself anxious for the moment when they would trap the full northeast trade winds that would send him home. "She's a fine ship, Ashley," he said, eyeing the stout two-decker that was meant to carry large cargoes. He counted the gun ports. "And well able to take care of herself. You chose wisely." "Wisdom had nothing to do with it, and well you know it, Salem McClellan. I picked the Oleander because Brady and Harris told me to." Salem led her up the gangplank, smiling. "Was that before or after they announced you needed a keeper?" "Before." It was not Ashley who answered but a gruff voice from the deck. "I'm Jack Brady." He extended his hand toward Salem. "I saw you last evening at the Minstrel. I admit to some surprise that the miss's plan succeeded." Salem shook the proffered hand and assessed Jack Brady's weather-lined face. Brady seemed a man who was accustomed to hardship but was essentially kind. He held himself stiffly, as if ready for trouble,

but his eyes, when they glanced toward Ashley, were as soft as chocolate. He probably had a tender spot for orphaned kittens and street urchins, Salem thought. "No more surprised than I was." "It is hardly gratifying to be talked about in such a manner," Ashley said sharply, dropping the valises to the deck. "Mr. Brady, could you direct us to the captain so that I might arrange passage for myself?" "Forgive me, miss," Brady said, winking at Salem as Ashley bent her head to brush a bit of mud from her pelisse. "I'll take you to his cabin. He's been expecting you. There's already been a patrol around this morning asking questions and wanting to see our passenger list and manifest." He took their bags and motioned them to follow. "We've already seen them," Ashley and Salem said nearly simultaneously. "Then you'll understand why the cap'n is anxious to set sail." The captain's quarters were situated on the main deck, and Brady's knock was answered immediately. Ashley and Salem were ushered into the spartan room and greeted cordially, if somewhat coolly by the captain of the Oleander, Eli Holland. "A pleasure to see you again, miss," he said, rising from the straight-backed chair at his desk. He nodded to Salem. "And you, sir." Salem introduced himself. "Yes. Your name has already been bandied about this morning. It is generally believed you took the young lady hostage." "You can see that is not the case." Eli Holland shrugged his narrow shoulders and massaged the back of his neck where greying strands of hair met his collar. "It's of no importance to me. I have an arrangement with the lady and no special fondness for English officials asking questions aboard my ship. But your presence makes it imperative that we leave immediately." "I want her to go with me." The captain's white eyebrows lifted high. "The lady said only that the passage was for a friend." "I had hoped the worth of the tiara would permit her to change her mind about accompanying me." "I don't think you understand. It's one thing for me to transport you here back to the Colonies. The way I figure it, you had no business being in Newgate in the first place. But it's another thing entirely to take a relative of the Duke of Linfield. That's who the men on patrol said she is. I don't pretend to understand all that's going on, but if it's true, taking the lady to the Colonies is worth a bit more than a damned crown." "Then name your price, Holland, because I intend that she shall come." "A bold statement coming from a man who is swaying on his feet." His eyes narrowed thoughtfully on Salem's colorless face while Ashley moved closer to him to offer support. "You're not one of Robert McClellan's brood, are you? You have the look of Robert about you." "I am his eldest son. Do you know my father?" "I've done some business with him over the years. Can't think why your name didn't get my attention right off."

"My family doesn't always call me Salem," he supplied uneasily, ignoring Ashley's interested and somewhat puzzled gaze. He put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed gently. Eli Holland snapped his fingers. "That's right. Now I remember. Family name, isn't it? Can't say that I blame you for not using it Who'd want to—" "I'm sure we can discuss this another time, Captain Holland," Salem interrupted. "Does she get transport to the Colonies or not?" "Certainly. There's a prime bay your father has that I've had my eye on." "Done." Salem concluded the shrewd deal. "Now may we go to our rooms?" "That's a bit of a problem. I don't make it a practice to carry many passengers. Too much trouble by half. I've only one space left." Salem spoke quickly before Ashley could voice her disagreement with the arrangement. "It's just as well. We could not be expected to keep the truth of our relationship from you for the entire voyage. Ashley is my wife, but it has been necessary because of her connection with the duke to keep our marriage a secret." Captain Holland frowned, looking pointedly at Ashley's naked finger. Uncertain why she went along with Salem, Ashley answered the captain's disbelieving gaze. "I had to give away any number of precious possessions in order to secure my husband's release. My wedding band was among them." That seemed to satisfy Holland and a short time later Ashley and Salem were safely in their small cabin. "And I thought the captain's quarters were bare," Ashley said, seating himself on the sole chair in the room. The furnishings consisted of a single bunk, a commode which held a chamber pot and washing basin, and a trunk she thought would have to double as a table of sorts. Everything, including the chair, was fastened securely to the floor. Salem lay back on the bed, closing his eyes. "Missing Linfield already? I hope not, because this is going to be your home for quite some time. You won't be able to mingle much with the other passengers. There is no knowing who might cause us problems in the future." "Why didn't you tell the captain the truth, that I am your sister?" "You heard the man. He knows my father. D'you think I haven't a care for his reputation?" "But what of mine?" "Sharing a room with your husband is not the sort of thing that will shred your rep," he pointed out with some exasperation. "What did Captain Holland mean when he was talking about your name?" Salem turned on his side, giving Ashley his back. "Chatterbox, d'you remember saying this morning that I might find a little more sleep once we were on board? Well, we are and I am. I can't seem to stay awake any longer." Horrified that she could forget so easily how tired and weak Salem really was, Ashley rushed to his side and placed the back of her hand against his forehead. "How inconsiderate of me to nag you with

questions," she said sorrowfully. Taking a corner of the bedsheet, she wiped away the beads of sweat glistening on Salem's brow. The Oleander lurched beneath her as it left its berth, causing her to bump Salem's injured arm. His body gave a violent jerk that nearly unseated her from the edge of the bed, but he did not cry out or rail at her as Ashley would have expected. Tears misted her eyes when she saw that he had finally been pushed beyond endurance and sought refuge in unconsciousness. The next several hours caused Ashley no small amount of fright. Though she pleaded very prettily and eventually, very angrily, with Captain Holland, he told her he could not spare a man to look after her husband and would send someone when he was able. It was therefore left to Ashley to nurse Salem as best she could. Never had she experienced such an overwhelming feeling of helplessness. Nothing in her life had prepared her to take care of a person as ill as Salem was. She badgered Jack Brady into abandoning his duties long enough to supply her with towels, soap, and a pitcher of water to clean Salem's wound. Biting her lip, she steeled herself to remove Salem's shirt, finding that she was not immune to her patient's pain even if the patient was. Gently she unwrapped the bandage she had applied earlier. It was all she could do not to wretch at the sight of the putrid flesh. The wound was not long, less than two inches, but Ashley suspected it was very deep. She wanted to weep, remembering that she had been the cause of this gash. The skin around the wound was hot and tender. Ashley drained the cut and washed it thoroughly. It bled some under her meticulous scrubbing, but she had no way of knowing if that was a good sign or a bad one. She ripped her nightgown again for a fresh bandage and covered Salem's arm, this time from wrist to elbow. Later there would be nothing to do but bathe his face and neck with cool water in hope of bringing down his temperature. Ashley applied herself to the task with unrelenting effort so that when George Harris peeked in her cabin hours later, she was still bent at Salem's side. "Here, ma'am, allow me," he said, helping Ashley to her feet. "Oh, Mr. Harris. I'm so glad you came. I don't know what to do for Salem any longer." She arched her back, working out the stiffness in her shoulders and neck. "Just Harris, ma'am. Brady told me your husband was looking peaked." His dark, heavy eyebrows became one as he took Ashley's place at Salem's side. He took off the bandage and whistled softly. "I'm going to have to lance this, clean it out with some alcohol, and stitch it. Can you help me?" "Anything," Ashley said feelingly. "I'll do anything to make him well." Harris nodded. He hurried out of the room, swallowing the warning he could have told her—that anything either one of them could do might not be enough. When he returned Ashley was once again bent over Salem, soothing him with her silky voice and a damp cloth. "It's going to be all right, ma'am," Harris said, hoping he could make it so. "You hold his shoulders down while I clean the wound." Ashley concentrated on keeping Salem's body still while Harris worked. It required all her strength as the wound was probed deeply, and she closed her eyes against the sight of Salem's blood flowing freely into a small bowl. After the wound was purged, Harris applied leeches to the swollen area around it. He waited until they had gorged themselves on the poisoned blood then plucked them easily from Salem's flesh. Ashley avoided looking at the disgusting lethargic creatures as they were returned to another bowl. "It's almost over, Mrs. McClellan. You've done a splendid job thus far. Now I've got to sew it." Although Harris was fairly adept with a needle and thread, Ashley halted him after a few stitches. "Please

don't be offended, Harris, but I'm an excellent seamstress. Maybe you would permit me to do the stitching?" "Well, it doesn't require any fancy stitching." "I'm not planning French knots, Harris, only the smallest scar possible." Harris saw the wisdom of her suggestion and changed places with Ashley. At first she found it difficult to pierce Salem with the needle, but once she was over the initial fear, she managed tiny, evenly spaced stitches that would leave little scarring. "What of his fever?" she asked when she had finished. "I'll send someone with more water and fresh linens if we have them. Also some food. It doesn't appear he's had much to eat of late. I suppose it's what one expects of Newgate's inmates. You'll do well to feed him as you can. If the fever breaks sometime today, then I believe he'll do nicely." He could have bitten back his words when he saw how they affected Ashley. She seemed too young, her shoulders too slender, to bear such a burden. "Thank you for all you've done. You and Mr. Brady and Captain Holland. Are we quite safe from reprisals because of my husband and myself?" "We're clear of England. I won't feel completely safe until I reach the Carolina shore." Ashley silently echoed his opinion as he gathered his medicines, leeches, and linens and left her alone. Food arrived sometime later, solid fare for her and a clear chicken broth for Salem. Salem was not delirious in his fevered state. Rather he was quiet, so peaceful that Ashley's eyes often strayed to his chest to make certain he was breathing. She attempted several times to force the broth in him, but he wanted no part of it, and she despaired that he would get any nourishment. It was late in the afternoon when he finally woke. It proved to be only a brief interlude with consciousness, but Salem seemed to relish the pieces of biscuit that Ashley soaked in the now cold broth. He even carried on a lucid conversation while he ate. It was only his fever-bright eyes and the fact he called her Leah as he pushed aside the spoon at his lips that made Ashley realize he was probably unaware of anything he had said or done. As the evening wore on and twilight shadows fell on the tiny room's few possessions, Ashley became aware of how woefully ill-prepared she was for the voyage. Her personal things amounted to an immodestly shortened nightgown, a clean chemise and undergarments, one pair of stockings, a brush, handkerchiefs, and the clothes she had on. She had supplied Salem with a much better selection of clothes, but the omission of a heavy cape was something she regretted deeply. Now she realized she should have brought food, preserved either by smoking or salt, extra blankets, linens for washing and drying and, for the evening, a lamp or candles. In the trunk at the foot of the bed she was relieved to discover two wool blankets, a box of candles, flint, one candleholder, and a slightly damaged looking glass. After lighting a candle, she covered Salem with both blankets. Brady and Harris each visited once during the evening. She declined an invitation to dine with the captain, so a dinner tray was sent to her. She was ravenous, eating every bit of the crusty meat pie and drinking nearly all the wine. Prior to retiring for the evening she checked Salem's injury, saw the swelling had lessened considerably,

and prepared a basin of fresh cool water in case he became restless in the night. Then she changed into her nightgown, took one blanket from Salem which she laid on the floor, and covered herself with her cape for warmth. Blowing out the candle, she closed her eyes and let the gentle rolling motion of the ship rock her to sleep. When she woke hours later it was difficult to say whether the responsibility for the disturbance lay with her own chattering teeth or Salem's. It was easier to endure her own discomfort than Salem's, so Ashley tucked the blanket she had been lying on around his shoulders and huddled in her cape for warmth. She had nearly managed to nod off again, her head resting this time against the edge of the straw-filled mattress, when the entire bunk shuddered from the force of the chill that swept through the room. The movement jerked Ashley wide awake, her hair spilling about her face. She took one of the dark, fly-away strands and brought it to her mouth, worrying it between her lips as she had done as a child. When she realized what she was doing she brushed it away in disgust. She knew what had to be done to keep her patient warm. Ever conscious of Salem's injury, Ashley carefully slid over his prone form and under the covers. She brought her body close to his, intent on sharing what warmth they could generate together. A few minutes later she sat up. "You really do need a keeper, Ashley Caroline Lynne," she said to herself. "A guardian angel at the very least." She threw off Salem's covers and began stripping off his hose and britches. While her fingers fumbled with the buttons, her face flamed at her temerity. "You can hardly expect the man to make a recovery while he's trapped inside clothes damp with perspiration. It's no wonder he has a chill." Her trembling fingers grasped the edge of his underwear. It was dark, she couldn't see anything, but still she shut her eyes and pulled. "If you would not act like a green schoolroom miss, this would not seem so painfully embarrassing. He is your brother, after all." But he doesn't seem like a brother, some inner voice screamed. "And it's not as if you haven't seen him naked before—well, you really didn't look, but you knew it just the same." She tossed the damp clothes in the general direction of the trunk and slid beneath the covers again. Before she had time to consider her actions she drew herself close to Salem's back. Her legs rubbed against his while her hands made light circles on his shoulders and neck. She massaged his entire back until her fingers ached with the efforts to provide frictional heat. Finally, when she thought she would fail to relieve any of his chill, Salem turned on his back, trapping Ashley's hair and one arm beneath him. It was not comfortable, but she was beyond caring. A faint smile creased her small oval face as she snuggled for her own warmth.

Chapter 6

Salem felt tension drain from his stiff muscles as fingers of heat radiated from his spine. He was content, now that the frigid wench who had shared his bed was gone. He tried to imagine the source of this new heat, and he thought of the sun as it suddenly broke through a gathering of clouds or a fire that had been stoked to life in a cold hearth. His mind wandered to a warming embrace he had once shared with a particularly lusty young lady in a secluded corner of a hayloft. The embrace seemed very real to him now, as did the scent of hay. He breathed deeply, catching the drifting fragrance of field flowers and a hint of something heavier, earthier, like musk. He tried to put a name to the girl who had taunted him so long ago, beckoning with the crook of her finger and a sidelong glance. He remembered calling out to her as he chased her across sunlit fields in late autumn, but now, even though he strained, he could not hear the name he had shouted. He could just make out the slender back of her legs as her red shag skirt was kicked up behind her. Tiny beads of

perspiration glistened on his brow as he thought of running the palms of his hands along the fair length of those enticing legs. She glanced over her shoulder once as they ran and laughed gaily when she saw the direction of his darkened eyes. He wished he had not been concentrating so hard on her bare limbs, else he might have held a better memory of her face. Hoping that she would turn again, he kept his gaze focused on the back of her head. She was wearing a white kerchief knotted about her hair, decorated with an absurd little flower, a black-eyed Susan, he thought. Strange how he could remember that flower, dipping and swaying, as she tore a jagged path to the stables, yet recall neither the bearer's name nor her face. He had no trouble remembering the slenderness of the waist that was spanned by a white linen apron or the slim shoulders covered by a plaid shawl. At the entrance to the stable where the horses were kept, she paused for breath. Salem thought then he would catch her. He would have, he was certain of it, if her shawl hadn't slipped over one shoulder as she drank in air. He had not been able to move as his eyes observed the creamy swell of her breasts in profile. He held his breath, waiting for the moment they would simply overflow the square-cut confines of the tight bodice. It never happened, but his body went rigid as he imagined freeing those breasts, caressing those smooth and velvet curves with his work-roughened fingers, sipping on the rose-hued nipples with his mouth. Her huskily attractive laughter brought Salem out of his trance, and she coyly lifted the shawl to cover the flesh where his eyes had strayed. Spinning on bare feet, she disappeared into the stable. Salem's single-dimpled grin, as he watched her go, was arrestingly wicked. His approach to the stable was maddeningly slow as he taught himself to juggle the pain and pleasure of anticipation. At the entrance he held himself still, listening for a sound that would betray the direction of his quarry. A gasp alerted him, then a moment of sharp pain erased it from his mind. Inadvertently he had brushed against a pitchfork hanging outside a stall. "Damn," he muttered, trying to stem the bleeding on his arm. "Are you all right?" a voice called to him from somewhere overhead. He heard concern and sadness in the soft tones. "Fine." He grinned, taking off his linen shirt and wadding it against the cut. "Come up and let me tend to it. I can't help but think it's my fault." "Aye, it is. And I'll see that you pay." His voice had taken on the same striking wickedness as his smile. There was a rustle of hay overhead, and he imagined the young girl scrambling for cover as he approached. "It's no good hiding. Time to pay the piper." The ladder to the loft was difficult but not impossible to manage. At the top he tossed aside his shirt, hunkered down, and waited for a movement to give her away. It was not long in coming. An ill-timed sneeze shook a mound of hay. Salem chuckled deeply. "Not the place to hide if you haven't got the nose for it," he said, brushing away the mixture of grass, alfalfa, and clover from the back of the giggling girl. Her laughter teased his senses, and he grasped her by the shoulders, having nothing in mind but to turn her on her back and see her face. His movement must have startled her because she struggled against his hold, and he was forced to release her when she unwittingly grazed his arm. She would have taken that moment to escape him, but one of his legs managed to trap both of hers beneath him. "Your arm," she said as her fingers sought purchase on his naked shoulders, and she attempted to wiggle from under his embrace. "Nothing but a scratch. And one that will bother me not at all if you cease this fighting." Immediately she was still. "That's better." His heavy-ridded eyes roved over the sweet face he had been so bent on remembering. "How could I have forgotten you? God's truth, you're lovely." His palms caressed either

cheek of the delicately oval face as she shook her head from side to side, negating his heartfelt tribute. He was not deterred by the darkening emerald eyes, fanned by thick black lashes, that searched his face beseechingly. With his thumbs he gently traced the line of her finely arched brows and felt the wild pulse of her blood at her temples. Her cheeks, soft as swan's down, seemed hot beneath his palms, and he wondered that this temptress should blush so easily. Something moved in his line of vision, and his gaze focused on the sadly crushed flower in her kerchief. Carefully he removed it and brought it to his lips, then touched it to hers. Her eyes widened and she shivered, but Salem merely smiled and held her fast. To his chagrin his hands trembled slightly as they worked the knot of her kerchief. In the end she had to help him with it, and their fingers tangled playfully before her thick mass of dark hair spilled about her face and shoulders. Salem buried his face in the sable softness, nuzzling the curve of her neck with his chin while his fingers wound curling tendrils at her temple. She turned her face toward him. Her breath was warm as it brushed his ear. "Please." The single word seemed a husky invitation to Salem, and his response was to taste the lips that had issued it so sweetly. His mouth was gentle on hers, probing rather than demanding. He planned his course carefully, sipping lightly at her upper lip, wetting it with the tip of his tongue, then tugging at her full lower curve and nipping the soft inner tissue with his teeth. Her mouth parted slightly, then wider, allowing him access to kisses that were at once rough and tender. He sensed the beginning of a response in the tentative pressure of her lips on his, the hesitant touch of her tongue against him, returning the kiss. His eyes closed as he savored the echo of his intimate caress, then he began encouraging an answer that would have a voice of its own. His kisses teased her, played with her, brushed the corner of her lips until he was certain he felt her hands at the back of his head, pulling him closer so that she could have the hot pressure of his mouth hard on her. An eager little groan proceeded his compliance, and the kiss that melded them was a breathless surrender of their senses. As the kiss deepened his hands removed her shawl and caressed the swollen curves of her breasts where they rose above her bodice. The additional liberties he took had her pulling away from him again. "You want taming, little filly," he said softly. "But it requires a surer hand than I have at the moment. Don't fight me now." He relaxed as she immediately quieted beneath him. Vaguely he understood that she was afraid of hurting him, and the idea made him smile. He took advantage of having found her weakness and wasted no time in divesting her of the patched apron and scarlet dress. His own clothes had conveniently disappeared, and soon their entire wardrobe was discarded at their feet. Looking at her now he knew he had lied when he called her lovely, yet he had no word that would describe the way nature had formed the woman in his arms. She was touched with a whisper of something wild, something elemental that defied naming. It was this hint of inborn passion that took Salem's breath away, not the taut plane of her stomach or the slender roundness of her thighs. He ached to have this woman open to him, ached to fill her and in turn be filled. She shied away from him as his mouth sought out the tip of her breast. He felt the wild thing in her and knew a moment's heady triumph when passion stirred and conquered. His lips lifted to hers when she whimpered her surrender. Salem's hands smoothed the warm flesh of her thighs while his leg that had formerly kept her prisoner simply rubbed against her. He kissed her chin, her jaw, placed tiny tickling kisses along her slender neck and warmly brushed the hollow of her throat. His attention was drawn downward to the faint scar of her left breast He kissed her

there. He thought he heard her sob. Wanting to heal the hurt, his mouth slid away from the scar and caught her budding nipple. The rough edge of his tongue flicked the aroused tip, causing it to harden further, and this time he imagined her sob was of a different nature. He laved the tip of her breast until the next sounds were trapped in her throat. Salem's hand at her thigh touched her moist heat, and he knew she was ready for him. Still, some sense of gallantry made him plump up the hay around them, seeking her comfort and insuring their privacy in the action. His knee nudged her thighs apart, but when he went to lift her hips, he found his injured arm would not oblige his intentions. "Shhh," he whispered as he twisted around and lay on his side, fitting her silky back to him spoon-fashion. "Shhh. Don't fret. There are other ways." His leg insinuated itself between her thighs again, and he guided himself to the warm cleft. His swollen sex nudged her opening, and she tried to jerk away. He brought her back hard and thrust forward while his arm wrapped around her waist so there was no escaping him. She resisted him for a moment, then sank back, taking him fully into her. She sheathed him in moist heat, and as he moved she contracted as if to hold him tightly. The rhythm they developed as he cradled her slender hips warmed him, and he kissed her naked shoulder and the nape of her neck. The hand at her waist moved upward to caress her breasts. He rocked her gently at first, but when the small cries she could not suppress reached his ears he pressed harder. Her hand searched behind her to touch his back and buttocks, and the light sweep of her fingers across his heated and perspiring flesh was all he needed to peak. His entire body stiffened as the force of his passion spilled into her. Neither of them moved for a moment. He withdrew from her and lay on his back. The sound of their breathing seemed strangely muted to his ears, and he wished she would say something that would clear the muzzy silence. He turned his head in her direction, but night was darkening the edges of his vision. He couldn't see her clearly any longer. He caught a hint of the fragrance that had teased him before: field flowers and musk. He returned to unconsciousness, unaware of the girl who huddled at the foot of his bunk, naked save for a thin sheet she had managed to drag with her. He never heard her piteous cries as she sobbed into trembling and icy hands. He could not have known that at that moment she wanted to die. Ashley sat in the cabin's straight-backed chair, her stiff spine not quite touching the supports. She stared blankly at the delicate webbing of blue veins in the backs of her hands as they lay in her lap. Her face was without expression. There was no particular tightness about her mouth nor any dullness in her eyes to indicate she was disturbed. Only the faint bruising fanning out from her lower lashes showed her night had been virtually sleepless. The purplish shadows looked particularly dark against the fairness of her complexion. She had no choice but to dress in the same drab gown she had worn for the last two days, preferring not to use all of the underskirts, thinking they might serve better as nightwear. She wore her hair loosely about her shoulders, realizing she had lost her pins some time back. The long ebony waves draped one side of her face, obscuring her vision of the bed and the man who slept there. Except for the disarray on the bunk the room had been restored to its spartan neatness. Salem's boots stood stiffly by the trunk. The few articles of clothing that had not dried and those Ashley had recently washed were carefully laid out on the lid.

Ashley's mind was serenely blank. She had drawn into herself with such a vengeance that it required several moments for her to understand the pounding she heard was not her heart. She found Harris waiting on the other side of the door, and she adroitly turned her back on the startled expression of concern that greeted her. Harris followed her into the room, his eyes narrowing on the stiff line of her back and the rigid set of her shoulders. He doffed his tricorn and threw it on the chair. "It doesn't appear either one of you had an easy night," he said, risking a glance at Ashley's bruised eyes then scanning the disheveled bunk where Salem slept. Although Salem was adequately covered with blankets, he had obviously kicked at them repeatedly. Harris saw bits of straw at the edge of the mattress where the sheeting had been torn. "You should have called for help, Mrs. McClellan, when the fever gripped him." Frowning, he reached for a damp cloth and began sponging his patient's face. He told himself Ashley had been too exhausted to see to her husband's care this morning, yet yesterday he would have sworn nothing could have stopped her. "Were you able to feed him?" "Some. A bit of soup and biscuit." "Has he had anything this morning?" "No." "Captain Holland said to tell you you both are welcome to whatever you need." "That's very generous of him," she said without inflection. Harris shrugged. "Brady and I think you've paid for it several times over. I'll send down the captain's boy with breakfast. You have to try to get your husband to eat, ma'am. And I think after your struggle with him last night you could use some nourishment." Ashley nearly choked. "Struggle?" Harris drew up sharply while straightening the bedding and blankets. "I can see for myself that he's clawed the mattress all to hell, and there's blood on the sheets. Yes, I'd say you had your hands full keeping him quiet." Ashley blanched but managed to keep her voice very even. "He had a nightmare. I think he was remembering prison. His wound bled a bit." "More than a bit from the looks of it, though you seem to have managed to put it to rights. The swelling has lessened and his fever has broken." "Then he's going to get well?" "As to that, we'll have to wait and see. He needs your care, Mrs. McClelland. Rest, nourishment, and proper care." He chastised her gently for not making her husband more comfortable in his bed. "If it becomes too much for you, then ask for help. Especially if he has another violent nightmare. I don't want him to hurt himself or you." Ashley nodded, looking suitably reproached. "Don't fret so. Your husband's color is better today, and while he's not out of danger, his recovery seems more certain. When breakfast comes, so will some fresh bedding. The boy will help you with it." Harris whisked his hat from the chair and made a little bow. "Your servant, ma'am." After Harris left Ashley returned to her seat, high color in her face. How dare he reproach her for not caring for Salem! She glanced at the bunk where Salem still slept peacefully. Why did the man have the quiet, unlined features of an innocent when she knew him to be guilty of rape and incest?

Ashley shuddered. If she hadn't been afraid that darkness and despair would bring the night's work too vividly into her mind, she would have buried her face in her hands. For the briefest of moments she admitted she was fearful of remembering too clearly because she might have to accept some of the blame. She fixed her eyes on a point on the far wall and kept them there even while her vision blurred. The deep concentration effectively closed her mind to unpleasant memories. She remained in just such a position until the arrival of breakfast and fresh linens. Following the morning meal, and for the next three days, Ashley devoted herself to Salem's care. She sponged his perspiring body, covered him when he grew chilled. She forced him to eat and drink on the few occasions he roused himself, and when he did not, she held his nose and slipped broth into his mouth when it opened. She read to him for hours from a book Brady had given her, Homer's Odyssey, and when she was occupied with other chores such as rinsing clothes and linens or mending, she hummed softly to herself. She substituted activity for thought, and in this way she survived the daylight hours. Each evening she slept on the floor of the cabin, wedged between the trunk and the wall and huddled in her cape. She closed her ears to the sound of her own teeth chattering and rigidly denied herself the warmth she could have found in sharing the bunk. By trading comfort for safety she survived the night, and if the visitors to her cabin noticed the bruised and haunted look in her eyes, there was never any mention of it. When Salem's eyes finally opened with any degree of awareness, Ashley was sitting in a copper tub with her back to him. Her white shoulders were glistening with tiny drops of water as she combed her damp and fragrant hair. He was sorry the moment she dropped the comb and twisted her hair into a knot that she secured haphazardly with an ivory pick. Without glancing behind her she rose gracefully from the tub, unaware that Salem's eyes were appreciatively studying her narrow back and gently rounded buttocks. Stepping out of the water she dried herself in motions that were unintentionally provocative, nearly bringing a groan to Salem's lips. He ordered himself to close his eyes, then ignored the command. He followed her every movement as she slipped into her thin undergarments and then into her shabby but scrupulously cared-for dress. She sat in the chair to put on her stockings, and now Salem did close his eyes, afraid she would lift her head suddenly and guess the direction of his thoughts for the last minutes. Because he had no desire to cause her a moment's embarrassment he feigned sleep until someone came to take away the tub. "You thanked him very prettily," he said when he heard the door close. He frowned deeply when he saw Ashley's shoulders stiffen and her hands fold in white-knuckled fists. He could not help but notice that she took a bracing breath before she turned to face him. When she did, it was his turn to stiffen. She was gaunt. He could think of no other word to describe the hollow features of her face. Her cheekbones were too denned, stretching her pale skin tautly. Her eyes had ho sharpness and no depth. Her neck appeared too fragile to hold the weight of her head, and even the modest cut of her gown could not hide the carved appearance of her collarbones. Had she risen from the tub and faced him Salem knew he would not have been able to quell his gasp; he also knew the gasp would have been one of shock, not desire. "What have you done to yourself?" His demand was made harsh by concern. The curve of Ashley's lips made no impact on her eyes. She had dreaded this moment as much as she had prayed for it. As often as she had wished for her own death, she had never hoped for his. She made one pact with herself while she nursed Salem to his recovery; If he truly had no knowledge of what he had done, she would never speak of it. Now she waited for some indication that he would remember the evening she had shared his fevered dreams. When his look remained only narrowed and troubled, with no hint of insight or memory, she relaxed visibly and it was as if a veil had been lifted from her eyes. "That's a fine greeting coming from a man whose face is the color of a morning mist. And what of that

very shabby growth of hair on your chin? You are hardly in a position to cast stones." "There's nothing wrong with your tongue." He grinned, running the back of his hand along the rough contours of his beard. "But you're not slipping by my question so easily. I repeat, what have you done to yourself?" She knelt at his bedside and folded her arms on the edge of the mattress. "I was worried about you," she answered honestly, if not with the entire truth. "Oh, Ashley, I don't think I'm deserving of your worry." She eyed him warily. Had he remembered something? "What an odd thing to say. Of course you are." "And you're an angel to say so, but now that I'm feeling fiddle-fit I think I can take care of you." Her laugh was short but genuine. "You don't look as if you'll be able to do much of anything for some time to come. I shall enjoy bossing you around now that you are awake. I shall plague you with all manner of remedies to make certain you recover your former fine health." "Minx," he said fondly. "And what would you plague me with first?" "A shave, I think. 'Tis a shame to have that handsome visage so bristled." "Ah. You really do have it in for me, don't you? Have I been such a bother?" "The worst." She grinned cheekily, tapping his chin with her forefinger. He made a move to capture her hand, but she easily eluded him and spent the next few minutes humming to herself while she gathered the razor and brush, and mixed a soapy lather for his face in a chipped mug. "There's no need to look stricken. I watched Mr. Brady do this to you the other morning, and I'm certain I shall manage quite credibly." "No one hopes so more than I, madam." "Wretch." She laid a towel beneath his chin and brushed lather on his face. "Now don't flinch or I shan't accept blame for the consequences." She smiled as Salem mumbled something in reply. He accepted her ministrations stoically, waiting until she wiped the last bit of lather from his face before he dared to speak. "I admit to feeling somewhat more human." "And looking it too. How else may I be of assistance?" Salem fidgeted for a moment, not quite meeting her eyes, then blurted, "You could leave the cabin so I could avail myself of the chamber pot." His discomfort was alleviated by the heated color that spread from Ashley's neck to the roots of her dark hair. "Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't—never thought you may want—I'll leave you." Hurriedly she cleaned and put away the shaving implements. Her flushed flurry as she left the cabin caused Salem to chuckle. When he called for her return she was still awkward with embarrassment. She went straight to the commode where the chamber pot was kept, intent upon emptying it, but Salem stayed her hand as she passed the bed. "I've already taken care of that." He pointed to the port window still slightly ajar. "I suppose that living at close quarters will cause us some discomforting moments if we do not speak of our needs openly." "Please—"

"When I am feeling better, this won't be a problem, but for now—" "I quite understand." She rolled her eyes heavenward and wondered aloud: "How ever did I come to such a pass?" "You don't regret your decision, do you?" he asked gravely. Ashley focused on a point just beyond his shoulder so that her eyes would not give her away. "No, I regret nothing. It's right that I should be here with you." "Good." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze then released her. "Have I thanked you for taking care of me?" "Don't. It would be the outside of enough for you to do so." "Now don't go all huffy on me. I know from experience that I am not a good patient. My mother says she would rather spend hours caring for any of my brothers and sisters than spend one minute with me when I am ill." Ashley sat down, making no effort to hide her shock. "That's really too bad of her to say so." Salem grinned. "No need to take up cudgels for me. Perhaps when you meet my mother she'll relate the tale of my bout with the mumps. She relishes the story. You'll wonder how she let me live to see my fourteenth birthday." Ashley would have liked to have heard about Salem's family. Even when he spoke of them in passing, it was clear he cared deeply for them, and she wondered if she would come to feel about them that way and if they would return the sentiment. She bit her lip to keep her questions unasked. It was clear from Salem's heavy lids and slowed speech that he was in need of rest. She resigned herself to waiting for another time when she could learn about his family—and hers. Ashley thought Salem's recovery was remarkably quick. He teased her that it was her constant plaguing that saw him up and out of bed in so short a time. Inside of two weeks he was pacing the cabin and seeking opportunities to be on deck. Ashley rescued him by speaking of the matter privately to the captain. She was able to make Holland understand the cabin was in some way as confining to Salem as his Newgate cell had been. Since she and Salem could not mingle freely with the few other passengers, it only made sense that Salem be allowed to mix with the crew as a member. Holland listened to Ashley's forthright little speech, scratched the back of his head thoughtfully, and agreed. "I know you put the bee in his bonnet, you sassy wench," Salem said, lifting Ashley by the waist and hugging her after Eli Holland departed their cabin. "There is no need to insult me or become physical," she replied in playfully frigid accents. "I had no notion that Captain Holland wore a bonnet." She giggled when Salem tickled her. "And where would I find a bee in the middle of the Atlantic?" He gave her a light squeeze before setting her down. He bowed deeply. "If anyone could manage it, you could." "Flatterer." He managed to look affronted. "I am ever the bearer of truth, madam." He flicked her nose with his finger. "As I am ever your humble and obedient servant. Aaah, you laugh. To what can I attribute this? You think me not humble?"

"You are everything that is modest." "And obedient?" She smiled and her eyes danced. "You oblige my every whim." "Then it must be that you don't think me your servant." His finger touched her lips, stilling them. His voice became soft, his eyes serious. "In this you would be right, for in truth I believe myself to be your slave." Before Ashley could form a reply, Salem left her. In the companionway he cursed himself for bringing that stricken look to her delicate features. From the moment he began to improve, he kept a watchful eye on Ashley. Although there was some lift to her spirits and she ate better, filling out the hollows in her cheeks and throat, there were still those odd times when he swore she seemed troubled and hurt beyond bearing. He hated it when she shied away from him for no reason that he could readily discern. His efforts to discover what thoughts were whirling in her head were met by resistance, evasion, and silence. He wished he had not spoken so simplemindedly of being her slave, for it was precisely that sort of talk that made her regard him warily. It was difficult to honor the promise he made to himself to treat her as he would his sister when what he wanted to do was kiss her sweet mouth and lose himself in her silky warmth. Did she sense the constant battle within him? He decided she probably did. Little wonder she had argued with him so fiercely that first night he was feeling better. He recalled his outrage upon discovering she had spent every night of his illness sleeping on the cold floor. When he had asked her to share the narrow bunk her adamant refusal had been out of proportion to the request. He could not understand why it was suddenly a problem when she had trusted him before. Finally, when he was angered beyond reason and threatening to sleep on the floor himself, she agreed to share the bed. At first she had been stiff and alert to his every move, but gradually she was overcome by exhaustion and fell into a deep sleep on her side of the thin bundling blanket. Salem reached the upper deck and breathed deeply of the fresh sea air. It did much to temper his mounting frustration. While Ashley had accustomed herself to the sleeping situation after the first few nights, Salem decided he had discovered a cruel form of torture. It was the nights when Ashley lay so close to him, innocently curled and agreeably feminine, that made the days so hard to bear. Salem threw himself into the work he was assigned to by the captain, hoping it would serve the same purpose as a plunge into an icy Virginia spring. Hours later, as he lay on his back in the bunk, listening to the softly clipped speech of his companion, he decided there was something to be said for the balm of hard work. He felt pleasantly tired and relaxed, and the occasional rustle of the sheets as she shifted her position was a soothing reminder of her presence rather than a source of discontent. "I'm sorry. I was thinking of something else. What was it you just said?" Ashley's sigh did not reach his ears. "I was speculating about your name. I recall you telling Captain Holland your family doesn't always call you Salem. It's an odd sort of name. How did you come by it?" "Silly chit. My parents gave it to me." "Sa-lem." "I suppose you won't let me rest until you know." Her silence was her answer. "First you should know

that not all Colonials are descendants of thieves, savages, and wastrels. You forgot to account for that highly moral strain, compliments of righteous Puritan blood. My mother, virtuously christened Charity Faith, comes from such a line so there was nothing for it but that all her children should have Biblical names. As the first born male there was never any doubt what my moniker would be. You heard the captain, it's in the family." "But what—" He continued as if her interruption had not occurred. "Now Gareth's name is not precisely from the Bible." "I wondered about that I didn't recall it—as I don't recall yours." "When my mother was carrying Gareth, she was certain she would have twins. She and Father chose a variety of names for the event. When only one squalling and extremely robust baby made an appearance my father suggested Goliath." Ashley giggled. "Mother wouldn't consider it. She said my brother had carried like two and delivered like two and he was going to be named like two. They combined the names chosen for twin boys, Garab and Seth." "Gareth." "Clever pixie." "What of the others?" "Noah was next and Father envisioned him taking over the shipping concerns one day. Unfortunately Noah can become ill merely watching the tide come in. Your assistance in Newgate will probably save him a harrowing trip to England." "He's the barrister then." "Yes. Several years after Noah's birth Rahab was delivered." "Isn't Rahab the name of a—a—" "Harlot may be the word you're looking for. I'm afraid Rahab's name was not my mother or father's doing. Mother nearly died in childbirth on that occasion, and my father was very distraught. Several days passed without naming the baby girl. Gareth and I decided we should take the responsibility. Earlier in the month the minister had delivered a powerful sermon on Joshua and the Battle of Jericho. Rahab was the woman who helped Joshua escape the city and the only woman's name we could remember. By the time Mother recovered and Father came out of his cloud of concern, Rahab's name was firmly established. We usually call her Rae to appease my mother." "And your youngest sister? I believe she's called Leah." "Yes. There's no story to Leah's name, but it's an indication Mother was feeling quite the thing when she was born. Gareth and I had no say in the naming, though we had several fine ones picked out." "It's tempting, but I'm not going to ask." "Good," he murmured, smiling into the darkness. "Don't you think it's time you should be going to sleep?" "Oh, no. You shan't slip away so easily. What of your name? I don't recall any Salem in the Bible." His relief was short-lived and his groan was heartfelt. "It is mentioned once in Genesis."

"I don't think you're telling all." "Salem is not my full name." Ashley was silent for some time, mulling this information. Salem could almost hear her thought processes. He knew the exact moment she figured it out because the bed shook with the laughter she could not stifle. "Nev—never say it's—it's—" "Jerusalem." He endured her laughter and waited patiently for it to fade. He turned on his side and leaned a little closer. His whispered growl tickled Ashley's ear. "I've bloodied a lot of noses for making fun of my name." "Noses made fun of your name? How bizarre Colonial life must be." "Ash-ley." "All right. I am shutting my eyes now. I'm going to sleep. Pleasant dreams—Jerusalem." Ashley was bent over the copper tub, rinsing the soap from her gown when Salem brought in the evening meal. She was still modestly attired in her chemise and petticoat, but there were certain areas of her anatomy, such as her breasts, where the damp material clung in a less than modest fashion. Looking up, she flashed him an ingenuous smile and went back to her work. Salem nearly threw the tray at the far wall in frustration. He held onto it with white-knuckled will. He had never foreseen that propinquity would lead Ashley to relax her rigid sense of what was socially correct. Six weeks ago, when they had boarded the Oleander, she would have gone red with shame if he had walked in the cabin and found her dressed in her underwear. He admitted it was not often he saw her thus, but even once was more than a man should be called upon to bear. Ashley wrung out her gown and laid it over the back of the chair to dry. "There are times I despair of having to wear that dress," she said conversationally. "It's hopelessly faded, and I believe the salt water must have shrunk it. It seems disagreeably tight." Salem laid out their dinner on the lid of the trunk. She glanced over at the fare and sighed wearily. "And I despair of salted pork." "The biscuits are fresh." "How fresh can they be when they're baked with mealy flour?" "The tea is strong, the way you like it." "I like it with—" She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Salem. I don't mean to find fault with everything. I can't think what's wrong with me. I never complained so much before." He patted the space beside him on the bunk "Maybe because you had no one who would listen. Eat something. It might only be that you're hungry." "Then you should stop listening. It's too bad of you to encourage me." She took a bite of her salted pork and strove not to make a face. "I might have known you would find a way to blame your present mood on me." "You don't mind, do you?" He smiled fondly at her and did his best to keep his eyes from wandering to the damp swell of her

chemise. "Not if it brightens your day." Her green eyes sparked mischievously. "And your days haven't been bright lately, have they?" he continued seriously. "I stopped by the cabin earlier when Holland could spare me. You were taking a nap." Ashley gave her food more interest than it warranted. "I was tired this afternoon. I suspect it's being in this cabin most of the day." "And yesterday? And the day before that?" "Well, I was in the cabin those afternoons also. Are you spying on me?" "No. But I am concerned about you. You didn't sleep so at the beginning of the voyage. Are you certain you are all right?" "Of course I am. It's merely cabin fever." Salem lifted her chin and eyed her critically. "You need some pink in your cheeks." He laughed shortly. "The kind that doesn't come and go when you're embarrassed." She sniffed haughtily and removed her chin from his grasp. "Not all of us can be brown as berries." Never would she admit that she had noticed how his work on deck had touched his face with color and that he looked handsome. He ignored her cutting reply and hid his annoyance. Would she never see him as anything but a Colonial savage? "Would you like to go on the deck this evening?" "D'you mean it?" she asked in a rush. "Oh, could I?" Her artless eagerness tore at Salem. He hadn't realized until this moment how she hated her confinement, yet she never really spoke of it It was not surprising she was tired and out of sorts. That she had become dispirited only recently was actually quite astonishing. "As soon as you finish eating." "Must I?" "Yes, minx." "But the gown? I told you it doesn't fit well. I could spare the meal." "Forget your dress. It won't be dry anyway. You can wear something of mine and throw your cape over it. No one will suspect." Ashley was patently horrified. "Breeches? You're not serious. I couldn't." Salem's eyebrows rose as he deliberately allowed his silver eyes to roam her attire. "What an odd time you've chosen to voice your concern for fashion." She looked down at herself. "I suppose I am sadly out of the common mode, no matter what I wear." "You're right about that. You'll never be common. Hush. I meant it as a compliment." Her smile was resigned. "Breeches you say? Promise me you'll never tell." "Ash-ley." "Promise."

"I promise." On the deck that evening Ashley leaned gratefully into the protective embrace of Salem's strong arms. The warmth at her back combined pleasantly with the cool salt spray at her face. To Salem's amusement she held her cape tightly closed so none of the crew could see her clothes. "Feeling better?" he asked, his mouth close to her ear. He tried not to think about how good she felt in his arms. "Yes. It's lovely out here." "We'll do this more often. I don't think the other passengers pose much of a threat to our future safety; still, it would be better if we waited until evening to be together." "I won't get much color that way," she teased. He hugged her. "Quiet. Or I'll color that part of you which never sees the sun!" "Sa-lem!" The Oleander bypassed Charles Town and swung north to Norfolk in order to accommodate Captain Holland's desire to have the bay Salem promised him as payment for Ashley's passage. There was some protest from the other passengers, but Holland concocted a story of unfavorable weather conditions and they had to be satisfied with that When the Oleander really did run into a storm everyone agreed the captain must know his business. Ashley sat by the bunk, hanging on to it as she heaved what little she ate for breakfast into the chamber pot. She was too ill to mind that Salem had walked in on her and was now kneeling beside her, supporting her with one arm around her shaking shoulders. The wild pitching of the Oleander had not lessened in hours. "When will we be out of this storm?" she asked, miserable to her very core. Salem wiped her pale face with a damp cloth. "Things will look better this evening, and we'll be in Norfolk in less than two days." The news failed to cheer her. "I don't think I'll live that long." She moaned and retched again. Salem continued to hold her and stroked her back, trying to ease the spasms that shook her so violently. "Of course you will, you just won't want to." He tried to joke about the matter but his effort fell short. His face was tight with concern for Ashley. After all she had been through he never thought she might become ill from rough seas. He wondered if she had been this sick while trying to care for him and going through the Channel at the same time. "Ashley, were you so ill when we left London?" She shook her head. "The pitching of the ship didn't seem to bother me then. I can't understand why it's happening now." He gave her a gentle squeeze. "Perhaps it is worse now." She nodded weakly, but he knew that she did not really believe it. He didn't believe it either. To his experienced eyes it seemed Ashley was sicker than the motion of the Oleander warranted. He touched her forehead with the back of his hand and thought she was warmer than she ought to be. "Finished?" "I think so."

"Good." He helped her to her feet "Let's get you out of that dress. Why you ever bothered with it, I'll never know." Salem knew it was a measure of how ill Ashley really was when she allowed him to strip her down to her underthings without any sort of protest. "Under the covers. And stay there. I'm going to get you some tea and crackers. That should help settle your stomach." "It sounds awful." "Then it will probably work." When he returned to the cabin Ashley was leaning over the bunk, her body tightly contracted with dry heaves. Quickly he set the tray aside and sat by her, supporting her as best he could. When she relaxed he pulled her away from the side and made her comfortable in the bunk again. His heart contracted when tears escaped her closed lids. He brushed a damp tendril of hair away from her cheek. "Shhh. Don't cry. You'll feel worse." He reached for the cup of tea and a salty cracker. "My mother always swore by this for any sort of upset Can you try a little?" Ashley didn't want any part of his remedy, but she found she couldn't refuse Salem's touching assistance. "I have to sit up." "So you do." He looked around for something soft for her to rest against Finally he shifted behind her so she could lean back on his chest His hands came around her, one with the cracker, one with the tea. He smiled ruefully when she laughed. "I've not had much experience in the sickroom. I'm afraid I don't know quite how to manage." She took the food and drink and experienced a very different sort of flutter in her stomach when Salem's empty hands crossed in front erf her and settled naturally on either side of her waist "You're doing just fine," she said. "The hardest thing to do is not get sick when the patient does." She took a bite of cracker and sipped on the warm tea. "I noticed that." "Have you ever been seasick?" "Never. I often wondered if it's as bad as it looks." "It's worse." "Seeing you, I'm beginning to think so." Salem bent forward so that his mouth nearly touched her dark hair. His chin rested lightly at the back of her head. He wished he had a right to hold her more often. She seemed to fit against him so easily that he could imagine she was really a part of himself that had been torn away and was only now returning. It frightened him beyond anything he had known that she might somehow be torn from him again. "Ashley, it occurred to me while I was in the galley that you've not been feeling quite the thing for a few weeks now." He felt her stiffen but ignored it. "Are you certain this present illness is from the storm?" "What else could it be?" she asked carefully. God, don't let him suspect as I do. "I don't know. I'm asking you." "I don't know either." Salem frowned. She was not going to bring it up so he supposed he must. He cleared his throat. "My

sisters sometimes get ill around their monthly time. Mother says it is different with different wo—" "Salem. There is no need to speak of it." She wanted to crawl under the blankets. How could he talk of such things? What would she do if all Colonials talked so frankly? How was she supposed to respond? "And there is no need for all this squirming." He held her in place. He could practically feel the heat of her embarrassment. "I've spent nearly eight intimate weeks in your company, and it would be impossible for you to hide a thing like your monthly courses from me. You have not had your time. Is your illness related to that?" For the lack of anything better to do Ashley finished her tea and gave Salem the cup. He promptly tossed it on the floor where it rolled around noisily. "Is it?" he asked again. She shrugged and answered in a small voice. "I sometimes am out of sorts around my time. And it isn't unusual for me to skip a month or two. Especially when I've been upset. I suppose this is one of those instances." "I thought that might be the reason." He was rather pleased with himself for having figured out the whole of it. "You seem to have a harder time than either of my sisters, but I've been told it can be like that." "I know," she said wearily. "Nothing can stop the intrepid McClellan women, I doubt if I shall ever measure up." "I never meant anything like that," Salem said quickly, sorry that he had hurt her in some way. "Don't mind me. I told you I get out of sorts." She turned her head slightly and looked back at him. Her mouth curved in a faint smile, and her lids hovered sleepily over her darkened eyes. "I'm feeling a little better. Perhaps the cracker was just what I needed. Would you mind if I went to sleep now?" "No. Not at all. Will you be all right, d'you think?" "I think so. You go back to your work." Salem waited until she had fallen asleep before he left the cabin. In his mind he could see her curled softly on the bunk, the gentle curve of one arm thrust outside the blanket, palm upward like a trusting child. But she is no child he told himself as the storm raged about him on deck, and she would be wiser not to place so much trust in him. The cold wind felt good against his face, and the stinging salt spray was not unpleasant. The elements whipped him, and he took it as part punishment, part balm for wanting Ashley so badly that he burned with it. Bright sunlight crystallized the features of an alien land. Only minutes away from docking at Norfolk, Ashley stood at Salem's side and stared bleakly at the array of ships the Oleander would soon join. I shall be lost here, she thought, remembering her first glimpse of the American shore. The seaboard seemed to go on forever, and she imagined the interior land as Salem had described it: sandy shores giving way to rolling hills dotted with stately pine forests and veined with clear streams and rivers. The vastness of what confronted her was nearly overwhelming. She glanced at Salem to make certain he had not seen her fears, but what she saw in his face arrested her gaze. His features were still, as if he had been captured in stone, yet there was a quality of yearning in his bright eyes that suggested urgency and motion. His body was immobile, yet it strained forward as if its total energy could not be harnessed by muscle and sinew. There was a tension around his mouth, faint lines

that captured the intense pleasure of a man who was seeing something for which a mere smile was inadequate. Ashley felt something turn over inside her as she stared at Salem. When he reached for her, seemingly without noticing the direction of her gaze, she gladly allowed herself to be encircled by his strong embrace. Her slightly moist vision returned to the shore, and she felt as if she was seeing it clearly this time, through the eyes of a man who held this land dear. She leaned back against Salem's hard chest, finding more reassurance in the steadiness of his heartbeat. Her hands held his arms where they crossed beneath her breasts. She closed her eyes for a moment and allowed herself the delusion that this was where she belonged, that the look in Salem's eyes had been for her, the woman he loved, and not only for the land he had thought he might never see again. "What is it, Ashley?" he whispered against her ear. "Hmmm?" He gave her a gentle shake which had the effect of pulling her up stiffly in his arms. He laughed shortly. "You seemed faraway. What were you thinking?" "I was thinking how strong of mind you are to have been able to withstand the confines of Newgate," she replied, then realized it was not so far off the mark. "I had not really considered how intolerable the prison was for you beyond thinking of the wretched conditions. But you were used to open seas and country that must stretch to infinity. I cannot think how you managed to escape with your sanity." "I held my freedom dear. Even if it was only the simple act of choosing how to spend my coins." "I don't understand." "It seems as if there will always be restrictions on my liberty. I am confined on even the largest of oceans to the area of my ship. Every day there are more violations of personal liberty being perpetrated by the crown on its American Colonies. But though I rankle at every threat to my liberty, real or imagined, I know that I am always free to choose my actions. No one can ever take that from me. No one." Ashley nodded. "Most of my life I thought Nigel could do that to me. But it was never really in his power, was it?" "No, not really. He could bully and threaten you, confine and hurt you, but he could never really control you without your consent." She smiled warmly as Salem hugged her. Ashley was learning to accept these frequent displays of caring, trusting Salem to abide by the boundaries of sibling affection. "I wish you had come into my life years ago." As my friend and mentor, she added to herself, never as my brother. "No more than I." "It won't be long now, will it?" she asked as the Oleander neared the dock. "No, not long. Look! There's the Caroline! Thank God she hasn't left yet." Ashley followed the direction of Salem's pointing, but she felt as if something cold and unpleasant had seeped under her pelisse at the mention of his ship. She tried to muster a smile to match the happiness in

his voice. "The Caroline, "she said faintly. "I don't think you ever mentioned the name of your ship before." Salem, caught up in the pleasure of seeing his brig in port, her sails furled against the square-rigged masts, needed a moment to hear the uneasiness that had crept into Ashley's voice. "What has the name of my ship to do with anything? My father named her in memory of his mother." "My middle name is Caroline." At first Salem did not understand, but when he did he gave her a little shake. "No. There's no connection. It's a common enough name. There is no reason to think we share a father simply because of a coincidence in names." Ashley wanted to believe him but it seemed a farfetched coincidence in her mind. "I know you believe that." "Stop it. There's no sense in upsetting yourself. We'll have the answers in a few hours." And not a minute too soon, he told himself. Ashley refused to allow herself the hope that Salem was right. Rather than dwell on the future she directed the conversation to more practical matters. "How will we get to your home?" "I suspect that where the Caroline is we'll be likely to find James Shannon. He's never failed to be around when I need him. He'll get us horses or we'll take a schooner up the James river. In this area we do a lot of travel on the river. The roads aren't good, and it's easier to move produce over water than over land. McClellan's Landing isn't far. We're close to Williamsburg and Yorktown." "That's nice." Salem laughed. "I forget these names don't mean much to you. But you shall be familiar with them before long." Ashley wasn't sure but she wasn't going to voice any more of her misgivings. At any rate her rejoinder would have been lost in the frantic activity around them as the (Meander docked. Salem left her briefly to make arrangements with Holland for the delivery of his animal, and when he returned he found Ashley holding both valises, looking very grave as she faced the prospect of stepping down the gangboard onto American soil. Her eyes were dark as they scanned the wharf and the town beyond. Wind whipped ebony hair about her solemn face. She seemed to have stopped breathing. Salem said nothing for a time, allowing Ashley her private thoughts and moments to gather her courage. Suddenly she seemed to sense his presence and she turned on him. A serene smile lighted her face. "I'm ready now, Salem. No matter what happens, I've made my peace with the past." His silver eyes slid over every feature of her face, memorizing each detail, hungering for the whole. When he realized he was in danger of betraying his desire, he nodded abruptly. "I think you're wise to do that. America will be a beginning for you." "Yes." "Then I think it should start now. Here. Let me have those bags." Ashley gladly handed them over and followed Salem carefully down the gangboard. Already there was a

small crowd of merchants and tradesmen gathering on the wharf to see what cargo the Oleander was unloading. Salem's arrival went unnoticed until they approached the Caroline. The ship was nearly deserted, but those few aboard sent up cheers and whistles that swelled to such a noise that Ashley thought the townspeople at their back had joined in. She was so proud of Salem's grand welcome that she didn't see the slight reddening of his face at first. When she noticed, she chided him. "Why I believe they've managed to embarrass you, captain." "Ash-ley," he said through gritted teeth. She laughed brightly. "All right. Enough said. But it's no use trying to intimidate me. I shall simply recall your rosy cheeks and—" Salem stopped in his tracks and gave her a speaking glance. Her smile simply widened. "I'm finished. Promise." She pointed over his shoulder. "Look, there is someone trying to get your attention." Salem looked back and smiled broadly. "That's Shannon, Ashley. We're going home." Ashley would always remember her first meeting with the Irishman. She had never met anyone so animated. His every sentence was punctuated by some gesture. His bushy red eyebrows would raise almost to his hairline, or his lips would twitch, accenting what seemed to be a perpetual smile. He clasped Salem in an embrace so fierce that Ashley stepped back, looking to Salem for protection when he attempted the same with her. That he managed the grip ping show of affection while balancing himself on a pair of crutches amazed Ashley. Silent laughter at Ashley's wide-eyed expression seemed to bounce around in his barrellike chest until it could no longer be contained and exploded from him, deep and hearty. "It's no use hidin' behind the lad there. He hasn't a prayer of keeping you from me. Now what's your name, my fine colleen?" Salem dropped both valises and put his arm around Ashley's shoulders. "Enough, James. You're going to frighten her." To Ashley he said, "Don't mind Shannon here. He's an incorrigible flirt but if a woman ever caught his eye and returned his smile he wouldn't know what to do." "The hell you say," Shannon bellowed while Ashley giggled. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Shannon," she said, giving him a swift curtsy. Lips twitching, Shannon lifted one crutch in salute. "A well-mannered lass from the looks of her, Salem. Hard to believe she's English. Don't tell me she's the witch you met at the Pooley because I won't believe you." Salem tucked a warning into the frown he flashed his friend. "No, this is Ashley Lynne, the Duke of Linfield's ward, and my savior in Newgate." Shannon lifted one brow while his light green eyes assessed Ashley's slight figure and whistled deeply. "The duke's ward? Your savior? I think I better be having the whole of it on the way to the landing. That is where you want to go, isn't it?" "You know it is."

"Good. We'll take the heel-tapper I've been using to get around. She scoons the river like a waterbug. Your ma says I won't be free of these sticks for a few more weeks." He nudged Salem playfully in the ribs. "But just between you and me, she's trying to keep me harnessed." Salem rolled his eyes and explained for Ashley's benefit. "He means he's fallen in love again with one of the maids, and my mother is doing her best to see that he doesn't fall too hard. Who is it this time, Shannon? Someone new?" "Her name is Meg Culgan, and your ma took her on while we were gone. She's a slip of a thing with a fine Irish spirit and a temper that never quite cools." Salem leaned over and whispered to Ashley but loud enough for Shannon to hear. "I think Meg must be the one all the McClellans have been waiting for. If we can marry him off we may not have to share Sunday dinners with him any longer." "That's too mean of you, Salem," Ashley scolded, her eyes dancing. "I think you've hurt Mr. Shannon's feelings." Shannon caught the genuine affection between Ashley and Salem and wondered at it On that matter he kept silent but thought privately he was not the only one smitten of late. He waved a crutch in the general direction of some smaller ships farther down the wharf. "C'mon, the both of you. God didn't put me on this good green earth for your amusement." He shouted to some of the men on the Caroline to follow. Ashley accepted Salem's help getting onto the heel-tapper, as Shannon called it. The small schooner needed only a few men to work her. While the crew let loose her two mast sails and sent her leaning close to the wind, Ashley sat on an unpadded seat wedged between Salem and Shannon. Travel was as fast and sharp as Shannon had promised, but several times Ashley had an urge to lean over the side so she could empty her stomach. Neither of the men seemed to notice her or her discomfort. After a while the brisk skimming action of the schooner made her pleasantly tired. Over Ashley's weary head Salem and Shannon exchanged information about the smuggling charges that had led to Salem's imprisonment and the subsequent return of the Caroline. Crew members in hearing distance added their own voices to what they remembered of stealing back their ship. Salem shared what he could of his escape without compromising Ashley or explaining what her interest was in his family. Ashley let the conversation drift over her, content to let the landscape blur into a dark green on either side of her. When the forest gave way to acres of rich tobacco land she was already soundly asleep. Salem smiled down at her gently bobbing head and pulled her to him so that she could rest comfortably against his shoulder. Without knowing that she did so Ashley snuggled into the warmth of his chest. Shannon tipped his chin in Ashley's direction. "I don't know what your da will say about you bringing her here. He's got no love for the duke. Robert suspects him as the cause of all your ills. When I told him what had happened he knew Lynne was behind it. He's been brooding for days that he sent you there." "Did my father ever mention Ashley?" "No. Should he have?" "I think she is the reason I was sent to Linfield in the first place." "And what strange brew have you been tippin'? He sent you for a filly for his stud."

"Yes, didn't he?" Salem replied enigmatically, softly stroking Ashley's black mane of hair. He abruptly changed the subject. "How is everyone at home?" "Fighting mad is how they are. Rae and Leah talked about manning the schooner and taking off across the Atlantic on their own. Thank heaven cooler heads held them off." "How soon was Noah prepared to leave?" "Two days from now." "I was afraid we wouldn't get here in time." "You almost didn't. The Caroline had a quick crossing. We strained every sail." "Thank you," Salem said solemnly. Shannon's fair complexion took on a ruddy hue. He directed his attention to Ashley, lying peacefully in Salem's sheltering embrace. "She's just a bit of a thing." Salem nodded. "But so much courage, Shannon. She has no idea of how brave she really is." "You know, she has the look of someone—an old friend of your father's—I just can't—" "She has her own look," Salem said quickly with quiet conviction. "There is no one else like her." When Salem spoke like that, Shannon knew better than to argue. The interesting thing was that Shannon had never heard his friend speak so of a woman. That tone of voice was reserved for the things he held dearest to him. He looked at Salem consideringly. "I think you're in the right of it there." Not much later Salem was nudging Ashley awake. "McClellan's Landing," he said, helping her to her feet. Ashley felt as if she were going to be sick. She grasped Salem's arms for support and clutched him hard to still her trembling. She laughed nervously. "I didn't know I could be this frightened." She bobbed in front of him trying to see the land at his back or catch a glimpse of his home. He laughed. "You'll see all of it, minx. Give yourself a moment to get your land legs." "She's got more moves than a will-o'-the-wisp." Shannon chuckled as he clumsily climbed out onto the dock. "And she's glowin' a little green in the face. Are you all right, Miss Lynne?" Her voice said yes, but her eyes very clearly said no. "You start for the house, Shannon. We'll catch you. I think Ashley needs a moment for herself." Ashley shot him a grateful look. Salem led her away from the dock and blocked her from the sight of the crew while she lost her breakfast and lunch. Then he brought her some water. "Feeling better?" he asked as she handed back the tin cup. "Do you want more?" "Yes and no." He tossed the cup back toward the dock. "I know I'll feel better when you can hold down three meals." Ashley refrained from a comment lest she say more than she knew was wise. They went back to the path that led to the house. "It's probably as you said," she responded, glad for the excuse when he kept glancing at her. "I need to find my land legs."

This time Salem withheld answering but his frown was deep and his manner distracted until they rounded the hillock that gave them their first clear view of his home. Ashley's hand stayed him. McClellan's Landing stood proudly against a backdrop of regal-looking oaks. The white roof and four white columns supporting the portico entrance reflected the sun's lingering light, while the redbrick walls seemed to absorb its warmth. Four chimneys rose above the roof, rivaling the treetops for command of the sky. White shutters framed every window on both floors, and at the east wing were two verandas, opening from both floors of the house, giving a commanding view of one of the most splendid gardens Ashley had ever seen. "Your home is lovely," Ashley said feelingly. "I often wondered what you would think of it after growing up at Linfield." "There's no comparison. They are as unlike as night is to day. For all that I loved Linfield it always reminded me of a cold fortress. Your home is like an open hearth." I want to belong, she cried inwardly, longing in every line of her form. A smile touched Salem's eyes. "My mother will like to hear that. She helped design it." "She did?" "Yes. And if I'm not mistaken that's her tearing down the steps right now. Shannon's quicker with those sticks than I gave him credit. C'mon. The whole clan will follow her in no time, and I'll never get you inside and rested." Charity McClellan collided with her son in the middle of the wide lawn that filled the curved driveway to the house. Ashley pulled away from Salem's hold on her elbow so he could brace himself against his mother's enthusiastic welcome. She was a tall woman, easily reaching Salem's chin, but she was a featherweight, which Salem proved amidst her tears and laughter by twirling her around several times before setting her firmly on the ground in front of him. "When Shannon told me—God forgive me—I didn't believe him at first," she said shakily, wiping a trail of tears away from her eyes with the corner of her apron. "Oh, it's good to have you home, son." She gave him a watery smile and fine lines of experience creased her deep blue eyes. She smoothed back bits of rich coffee-colored hair that had escaped from beneath her starched cap. Salem kissed his mother on both her damp cheeks and hugged her fondly for good measure. "No one is happier about it than I." "You're wrong there, brother," a crisp voice cut in. "I wasn't pleased about the prospect of that voyage one bit." Before Salem confirmed it, Ashley knew this was Noah. Standing to one side, watching the fond clasps the brothers exchanged, the dark heads bent close together, Ashley knew a moment's envy to be part of something so loving. She also knew that she did not want her identity revealed when it would bring pain. The beautiful woman who could not bring herself to look away from her eldest son did not need to know of her husband's infidelity. Salem and Noah were forced to break their embrace by the two young women who pounced on them, each vying for a hold on one of Salem's arms. Ah, Ashley thought, Rae and Leah. The ones who can handle anything. Well, it's obvious they have no difficulty with their brother, she realized, yet she found

herself smiling at their exuberance and wishing that she might learn to express her happiness so openly. Salem kissed each of them on the tops of their heads, one fair, one auburn, and managed to extricate himself long enough from their clinging arms to hold out a hand to Ashley. She stepped toward his outstretched hand, feeling very alien in her drab clothes and grave countenance, which she was unable to shed even amid the gaiety of the reunion. Salem pulled her close so that she stood a little in front of him while offering her the protection of his sheltering arms. "Is Father coming?" he asked his mother. "Shannon went to the stable to get him and someone's been sent for Gareth and Darlene in town." "Don't wait for Father," Noah insisted, his hazel eyes merrily meeting Ashley's nervous ones. "Introduce us to your lovely lady." He grinned boyishly, a smile so like Salem's own that Ashley found herself returning it. "Ah-hah! She does smile, and most charmingly, I might add." "Stop it," Charity told her son. "You're embarrassing the poor girl." Noah did not look put out in the least as Salem began the introductions. "You've probably guessed the one who cannot mind his manners is Noah." Ashley nodded. "The solicitor who gets ill at sea." Noah groaned while all the others laughed. "What have you been telling her about us, Jerusalem?" "You see, Ashley? I only have to make them the tiniest bit angry, and they retaliate by using my full name. Don't worry about it, Noah. My companion here is a kindred spirit. Sometime you will have to hear how she weathered the voyage." "Sa-lem!" Ashley exclaimed. "That's right, dear," Charity said. "Don't let any of them bully you." "Don't encourage her, Mother," Salem replied. "Now then, the fair pixie on Noah's right is Leah, the baby." "I'm fifteen," she said defiantly while bobbing a curtsy to Ashley. "And you won't be announcing your age so feelingly in another fifteen years," Salem retorted. "On the other side of Noah is Rahab, Rae for short. Do you want to announce your age also, Rae?" In reply she stuck out the tip of her pink tongue in her brother's direction. "Do you have any brothers?" Rae asked Ashley with innocent curiosity. Stricken by the question and unable to form a reply, Ashley simply shook her head. "Lucky you." Charity McClellan rolled her eyes heavenward and favored Ashley with a generous smile. "You'll just have to accept my word that I raised them better than this." She stepped forward to offer Ashley both her hands, then impulsively hugged her. She didn't let go until Ashley returned the embrace. "There, that's better. If ever there was a person looking for a hug, it was you." She patted Ashley's pale cheek. "Now don't look so, it fair breaks my heart. I'm Jerusalem's mother, but you must call me Charity. And I don't need my son's introduction to know you're Ashley Caroline. My husband and I often talked about you, wondering how you were growing up. So many times I wished we could bring you to the landing, but Robert could not confront the duke personally." She shrugged, accepting something she could not have changed, then a warm smile creased her face as she grasped Ashley's hands again. "Now it seems that

Salem's managed the thing, and Robert and I will want to hear the whole story. He'll be so pleased, Salem. We never dared hope that you would really bring Ashley to us." When Charity halted for a breath she became aware of the complete silence around her. Noah, Rahab, and Leah were obviously confused, but Salem looked terrified of what she would say next. Ashley's hands felt cold and clammy in her own warm ones. She spoke hurriedly to explain. "Don't everyone take on so. Your father will tell all. I admit it's something of a shock to see her, she looks so like him, but the important thing is to make her feel welcome." Ashley's limbs felt very heavy. It was strange, she thought, to feel at once so heavy and so lightheaded. It had come on suddenly, just as a cloud moved to block the sun. It was the only reasonable explanation for the sudden cold and darkness. Something was pulling her down, and she only had the strength to fight it for a moment. Then she gave in. Charity's hands went to her mouth as Ashley slipped to the ground. Salem bent over her immediately while the others gathered closer. He loosened the neckline of her dress then lifted her in his arms, swinging on his mother as he did so. His face was still pale and drawn. "Mother, I need to understand what you just said to Ashley." Charity was too upset herself to take exception to his tone. "But I don't know quite what I said to upset her so." Salem began striding toward the house. Everyone but Noah had a hard time keeping up. "I know what she heard that caused her to faint. What I don't understand is how you could present it to her in quite that manner." Charity was honestly bewildered. "I'm afraid you're not making sense to me. I was trying to tell her how happy I am that she is finally here. You don't know how thoughts of her plagued your father and me over the years." "Then, damnit, why didn't he go get his bastard daughter for himself?" he fairly shouted. Brought up short by his heated words, spoken in the fierce anger of frustration and disappointment, everyone let Salem stride on ahead. Just as he reached the base of the portico steps, his path was blocked by a horse and rider. "She isn't my daughter, Salem," Robert McClellan told his son. His deep green eyes bore a faint wounded look as he stared down at Salem. He could be an imposing man on the ground, but seated on the cinnamon bay he gained further stature. He sat so still, so straight, that if it hadn't been for the element of pain in his rough-cast features he would have seemed invulnerable. Salem lifted his chin a notch. "But Mother told Ashley that you'd be pleased, that she looks just like—" "Oh, Robert," Charity said forlornly when she caught up. She reached for her husband's hand. "I seem to have made everything a muddle. But I don't know why either of them think you might be Ashley's father. I said she looked like Mm, but I didn't mean you, I meant Ashford, of course. Only she didn't seem to understand, and Salem certainly didn't and she fainted and then—" Robert had to shake his head to clear it. "I think I know what happened then, dear. Salem, don't you think you'd better get Ashley inside?" Salem nodded, stepped to one side, and mounted the stairs. "Oh, and son," Robert called behind him. "Welcome home."

Chapter 7

Salem's quick relieved grin was enough to insure everyone that he was no longer angry. He strode into the house, his shoes clicking hard on the parquet floor until he mounted the carpeted staircase. "Mother says to put her in the blue room," Leah called from the base of the stairs. "She'll be up directly with some tea. Can I do anything to help, Salem?" "You could turn down the bed and fetch a nightgown of yours." Leah ran up the stairs after him, slipped around him in the narrow hallway and had the bed opened invitingly by the time he brought Ashley to the room. When she came back with the nightgown, Salem was sitting beside Ashley on the bed, smoothing wisps of hair away from her face. The tenderness on her brother's face brought a soft sigh to Leah's lips. "Are you in love with her?" she asked ingenuously, blinking rapidly to stay her tears. "I don't think it would be fair to tell you since I've never told her." Leah gave him the gown, realizing she was not going to get a better answer. Did it mean yes or no? "Never say you're going to undress her!" she cried out in shocked accents as he removed Ashley's shoes. "Getting rid of her shoes is hardly undressing her, Leah. As to that task, I shall leave it to Mother and one of the servants." Charity breezed into the room, closely followed by a flame-haired maid Salem did not recognize. The devilry in her eyes and the wayward curls that slipped from her mobcap warned him this was probably Shannon's Meg. Her mouth looked a little swollen, as if she had been kissed thoroughly recently. Shannon hadn't wasted any time cornering her while Charity was occupied elsewhere. His knowing grin in the maid's direction was rewarded with a telltale blush that effectively hid her freckles. Charity ordered Leah and Salem out of Ashley's chamber. Leah went willingly but Salem was not so easily moved. "Why hasn't she come out of the faint?" he asked belligerently at the doorway. Charity bent over Ashley's still form, touching her cheek lightly. "She'll come around in her own time. She's exhausted, Salem. Surely you can see that Look at the poor girl's bruised eyes. She doesn't have any color in her cheeks, and she's too thin by half. Was she sick the entire voyage?" "Only the last few weeks, she says. I can't account for the beginning because I was ill myself. Ashley took care of me then." "God love her. She doesn't look like she would have been strong enough. Lord knows, you're not an easy patient." Because his mother seemed about to regale him with yet another story of his sick days, Salem took his cue and slipped out of the room. He met his father on the stairs. "I was just coming to get you," Robert said. "Gareth and his wife are here now, and I've gathered everyone in the library. We're all anxious to hear how you got yourself out of Newgate." "That story is completely intertwined with Ashley."

Robert nodded slowly, searching his son's face. "I thought it might be. I suppose it's best that everyone hear about Ashley at once." "And Ashley, when does she hear? When she wakes she'll be confused and frightened again. Her guardian told her unforgivable things." "Some of which you apparently believed, Salem," Robert reminded him gently. Salem faced his father unflinchingly. "But I didn't—not until today when Mother went on and on. I never believed for once that you were her father or that Anne was your mistress." "I do appreciate your trust, and I hope Ashley has the same in you. I thought I would talk to her later today, when she's feeling more the thing. I need to know what she's been told, and I want you to be there with her. She'll need someone she can trust I don't know that she'll believe me or want to hear the things I have to tell her." Robert's troubled sigh preceded him and his son into the library, and the expectant faces that greeted him did nothing to ease his tension. The drapes of her room had been drawn earlier against the sun's waning light, and now the sweet scent of bayberry tickled Ashley's nose as she woke. In the diffuse and flickering light of the candles Ashley saw Salem sitting in a wing-backed chair, talking quietly to his parents seated opposite him on a gracefully curved loveseat. Seeing Robert and Charity together, hands affectionately clasped and exchanging amused glances from time to time, Ashley knew then how much she had hoped for the same thing for herself and Salem. She wasn't allowed the luxury of dreaming of it any longer. Some small movement on her part alerted the others to her wakeful condition. "How are you feeling, dear?" Charity asked, quickly moving to Ashley's bedside. "Rather silly, actually," she admitted honestly. "I don't recall ever fainting before. It must have been the shock of discovering that you knew about me all this time. For some reason I hadn't expected that. I was afraid my presence here would be a painful reminder and—" "Stop right there, Ashley," Salem told her, leaning over his mother's shoulder. "You're about to put your foot in it, and though you've got a dainty one, there still isn't enough room." Ashley blinked, startled. "Whatever are you talking about?" She tried to rise but Charity gently pushed her back. "Here, son. You sit here and keep her from getting out. Robert, can you bring the seat over here? We'll be more comfortable if we don't have to shout across the room." Salem took his mother's place before Ashley could object "She's very high-handed and none of us dare disobey." He took pity on her bewildered air and helped her sit up, plumping the pillows nicely behind her. His face was very grave as he intently searched her face. "We're here because Mother insists you need a great deal of rest right now, and Father insists that he must talk to you. And I'm here because we shared a room for so long, I feel lonely elsewhere." Ashley's blush didn't disappoint him. "Sa-lem!" she hissed, wanting to dive beneath the quilted coverlet. "Not to worry, minx. They know the circumstances and that nothing happened."

Ashley shifted uncomfortably, unable to meet Charity's speculative gaze. "Don't be such a tease, Salem," Charity said. Her thoughtful eyes rested on Ashley, though. "Robert, I think you'd better straighten this out before your son makes things worse and Ashley faints again." Quite without knowing how it happened, Ashley found her trembling hand slipping into Salem's steady one. She looked closely at the man she thought was her father. She knew a moment's disappointment as she scanned his solemn face. Other than the brilliant emerald eyes she could see no resemblance. His hair was dark but rich brown rather than the ebony color she and Salem shared. None of his features had the same delicacy she associated with her own. He was several inches shorter than Salem and nearly as broad about the shoulders and slim about the waist. There was the merest hint of a dimple on the left side of his mouth, but she couldn't swear to it until she saw him smile. "I don't think I look at all like you, sir," she said seriously after her appraisal. Robert exhaled slowly, leaning slightly forward in his seat "There's no easy way to tell you this, Ashley, but I am not your father. That fine man died aboard my ship shortly before you were born. His name was Ashford Roche, and your full name is Ashley Caroline Roche. Whatever the duke may have told you, your father and mother were married. You are no one's bastard child." She couldn't quite take it in. She squeezed hard on Salem's hand. So many questions flitted through her mind she grasped at the first one to form fully. "My mother? Did Nigel tell me truly that Anne is my mother? Is she here?" Robert's voice was very gentle, his eyes sad. "Anne is your mother. But she died the night you were born, as Nigel knew very well. It was unconscionable of him to allow you to hope she lived." Tears welled in her eyes and her throat ached. "The duke does whatever he must to secure his ends," she said fatalistically, but the words burned bitterly. "I can't understand why he bothered with me all these years." "As to that I have at least two reasons. The first is that you were a reminder of his dear Anne. Nigel loved her, Ashley, but with an obsessive sort of passion that threatened and hurt her. I knew them both when they couldn't have been more than five. I was still a young man when they used to come to Edenton to ride the earl's ponies. Even at that early age Nigel was intent on making Anne bend to his will. Perhaps it was because they were twins that Nigel thought Anne should fall in with his every scheme. I don't really understand what drove him, but when Anne defied him he went slightly mad with rage." "Surely not all those years ago," Ashley said. Robert folded his hands on his knees. "I caught Nigel once trying to force Anne to cross the creek on their land on a very shaky log. She resisted for some time, then Nigel pulled out a tiny mewling kitten from under his jacket and told her to do it or he would drown the thing. Anne wasn't proof against that so she ventured out on the log. By some miracle she crossed the creek. She stood on the opposite side, trembling with fear, and could do nothing when Nigel tossed the kitten in anyway. 'That's so you'll remember to play my way the first time,' he told her. He was trying to shove the log aside so she couldn't come back when I intervened. After I retrieved the kitten and brought Anne across I reddened Nigel's backside. Ashley, it's important you understand this. I was the head groom's son on a neighboring estate. Nigel was quality. If you could have seen the look in his eyes when I set him down, you would understand why I felt a moment of fear and why I believe he was responsible for the fire to my home that killed my parents."

"Oh, God." Ashley sighed despairingly. "I believe you. God help me, but I believe you." Her eyes sought out Salem, and his tender strength helped her listen as Robert continued. "I was well qualified for my father's post, but when I approached the estate manager I received a complete set down. It seemed I was not to be trusted with the animals since I had displayed an uncertain temperament around the children. Nigel's doing again. I never asked for the opportunity to defend myself. I simply left for the Colonies. For years I gave the Lynnes little thought. I had no desire to burden myself with revenge and I had no proof against Nigel. It seemed best just to go on. "I met Anne Lynne twelve years later on one of my trips to London. I might never have recognized her if she hadn't remembered me." His eyes softened, recalling Anne's striking loveliness. "She was in her carriage on Fleet Street when she spied me and my cargo-master on our way to Lloyd's coffeehouse. She had her driver pull over and give us a lift. I don't remember much of what we talked about, but I do remember how Anne looked at Ashe and Ashe looked at Anne and feeling very much out of place." "Don't sound so put out, dear," Charity told him. "You used to look at me that way." "He still does," Salem confided to Ashley, bringing a faint smile to her lips. "Please go on," she said. "What else do you remember about my mother and father together?" Robert's smile was regretful. "Together? Nothing else. I never saw them together again. We were in London several months that trip and Ashe never let on he was seeing Anne. He knew a little of my experience with the Lynnes, my grudges against the quality, and I think that kept him quiet. How I wish it hadn't," he said forcefully. "He never spoke of Anne to me until he lay dying of a fever on board the Caroline. That's when he told me he had married Anne and that she had the license. From what I could understand from Ashe's ramblings they had married in secret to protect Anne from an arranged marriage to the Earl of Edenton. God! He was an old man when I lived there! It was obvious someone had an eye on the land." There was no doubt as to whom Robert thought that someone was. How odd, Ashley thought with a sense of detachment, that Nigel would perpetrate on her what had been done to her mother. "I was only worth a horse, you see," she said out loud, her voice breaking suddenly. Uncaring what his parents might think, Salem shifted so he could hold Ashley. In truth Robert and Charity watched their son's gentleness with knowing eyes. "Anne wanted a last chance to make peace with her father who was very ill during this time. She knew better than to return to Linfield from London, so Ashe rented a small cottage for her on the coast and hired a young girl to keep her company. Anne promised that when Ashe returned she would be prepared to go with him no matter how things went with her father and Nigel." "But he never had the chance to go back for her," Ashley broke in. "No, he didn't. He died shortly before we reached Norfolk, at peace, because I promised that I would bring Anne to Virginia. It was several more months before I could return, but Anne was still living in the same cottage. It had become a hideaway of sorts because she had learned that Nigel was searching for her, hell-bent on bringing her back to Linfield. Nothing, not even Ashe's death, could induce her to cross that particular log she told me. She smiled when she said it, but her eyes were so sad with the memory. She was going to have Ashe's child in a matter of weeks, she said. And she would do everything to keep her kitten out of Nigel's hands." But Ashley knew very well that she hadn't been able to. "What happened?"

"Nigel located Anne," Robert said bitterly. "He found the cottage while the maid and I were in town searching for fresh fruit for Anne. It was dark when we returned, and I didn't notice the horse tethered in the back. Anne's moans were the first indication I had that something was wrong. She was far into labor by then, and Nigel was standing beside the bed, taunting her, doing nothing to ease her pain. He was seventeen now, but the look in his eyes, that cold, dispassionate rage, was exactly as I remembered it from twelve years earlier. "I shoved Nigel to one side to get to Anne. She begged me piteously not to let him have the baby. I think then she knew she was not going to live. She said your name would be Ashley Caroline, after your father and my mother. She never doubted that you were going to be a girl. Everything that happened next is a blur of disjointed memories. The maid screamed something at me, then there was a terrible burning in my leg. I don't remember hearing the shot at all. Anne's pain blended with my own, and I think I probably fell and hit my head. I know I was out for some time. The room's heat eventually woke me. "Nigel had a fire blazing in the hearth that was nearly out of control. He was holding something over the flames at the end of a poker. I couldn't quite make it out, but it looked to be some sort of key. When it was glowing he took it from the fire, cooled it just enough so he could hold it in his gloved hand. Then he walked over to the bed and before I even understood you existed, Ashley, or that your mother was dead, he placed the hot end of the key on your chest. You let up such a scream then that he dropped it on the floor near my head, and that's when I saw the scrolled L on its tip. Nigel saw I was awake when he bent to get it so he kicked me hard, directly on my wounded leg. I blacked out and when I came round this time the cottage was ablaze. The bed you were born on was a pyre, and I stupidly thought you were still on it. Your mother's young companion was also dead, strangled. I was most fortunate to have been left for dead, for it allowed me to escape." "Thank God you did!" Ashley cried. "We all echo that sentiment," Charity said softly. "But his fight was only beginning. Robert almost didn't recover from the pistol ball in his leg." "Now don't make too much of it," Robert protested. "I regret that it kept me from thinking clearly about that night for so long, Ashley, else I would have realized that Nigel had not left you to burn in the cottage. You see, when he pressed the key to you, he called you by the name Anne had chosen for you and murmured something about you belonging to him now that Anne was dead. "Those are hardly the words of a man who planned to murder you. I believe Nigel had another reason for wishing you with him. When I was able to, I made discreet inquiries from this side of the ocean. I discovered the old duke died some days before Anne. From what my sources were able to tell me, the estate was not entailed." He looked at Ashley expectantly. She did not disappoint him. "Then Linfield didn't necessarily have to pass to Nigel. My grandfather could have intended my mother to inherit." "Exactly," Salem broke in, his eyes flinty. "And with Anne's death you would have been Linfield's rightful owner. Nigel would have been named your guardian but eventually the estate would have been passed to you. Can you imagine Nigel being satisfied with that? Because Anne never returned to Linfield after her trip to London and because she had virtually disappeared after her marriage, Nigel was able to concoct the story of her drowning. For all that anyone knew you were a foundling, and Nigel won approval by taking you in. And all the while he kept you under his thumb, he knew you were Linfield's rightful owner." "But my parents' marriage lines. Wouldn't the date discredit Nigel?" Robert shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck. "I saw the license, which perished in the fire, at any

rate." "But surely the church kept a record." "They thought they had reason at the time to wed under false names." "I see. Then there was nothing you could do." "Nothing that would not endanger you. Nigel covered himself well. I wanted to get you away from him, but I feared what a confrontation would do to you. In the end Charity and I believed you were safer with your uncle. His obsessive love for Anne kept him from leaving you to die the night of the fire. You belonged to Anne first, but that only made you a more desirable acquisition in Nigel's eyes." Ashley lifted puzzled eyes to Salem. "Did you know any of this when you came to Linfield?" "No," he replied tersely. "I'm afraid we did Salem a grave injustice by not telling the whole of it," Charity said and sighed. "We sought to protect him from asking too many telling questions and only succeeded in endangering him. Once the duke realized Robert was still alive, Salem's own life was threatened. Nigel feared Salem could do him some harm." "I really thought I was at Linfield's to purchase a particular animal for my father," Salem told her. "My parents hoped for only the most casual information about you. They had no way of knowing if you were still at Linfield." "It all seems rather incredible. Nigel was so pleased to announce you were my brother, so certain that he had gotten his peculiar sense of revenge. How did he come by the letter he showed me? I was sure it was authentic." "It was," Robert explained. "I was with Anne when she wrote and posted it. That letter was her poor attempt at ruffling her brother. Although she addressed it to her father, she was fairly certain by then that he was receiving none of her missives. Everything in that letter was meant for Nigel's eyes alone. She knew he had never forgotten the name of the only person to ever strike him. So she named me the father of her child, certain it would drive her twin wild with anger." "It did," Ashley said quietly, closing her eyes and leaning her head back into the crook of Salem's shoulder. She hesitated, then voiced the thought that had been plaguing her, "I wonder how he will come for me." "You're not to worry about it," Salem said tightly. "Nigel Lynne is not going to hurt you here." If Ashley had seen the look that passed between Salem and his parents, she would have known they all had that same thought at least once. Ashley opened her eyes and smiled faintly at all of them. "I can almost believe it when you say it so certainly." She saw concern shadowing Charity's face, and she was appalled that she had made everyone uncomfortable with her thoughts. "Don't pay me any mind. I'm sure Nigel has quite forgotten me by now. He's probably discovered that he's better off without me." "Now that's painting it a bit too rosy," Salem said, a teasing light entering his eyes. "We are none of us that naive. Still, I believe you'll be safe at the landing." "Your place is here now, with all the McClellans," Charity said earnestly. "I don't know if any of the family have expressed their gratitude for what you did for Jerusalem, but we all thank you. What you

managed you did at great risk to yourself. There is no way we can properly show our appreciation." Ashley was at a loss as to know how to respond. "It wasn't so terribly difficult," she said at last. "I think your son has probably embroidered the tale." "Not my son," Charity answered, twinkling. "He doesn't know which end of a needle to thread. Now we'll take our leave and let you sleep." "Is it so late then?" Ashley asked. "It's well after ten," Salem told her. "And Mother insists you need your strength." Ashley regarded Charity warily. "I suppose that's true of anyone," she said slowly. "Of course it is, dear," Charity replied in a soothing tone. Salem agreed. "And you'll want to be prepared for the surprise I have for you tomorrow." "Salem," Charity said, "I'm not so sure that she should go—" "Nonsense." "But I don't think you understand—" Salem got up from the bed and tucked Ashley in. "Not another word, Mother. You'll ruin the surprise." "But—" Robert grinned at Ashley's bewilderment while gently pushing his wife toward the door. "Both of you can discuss this some other place. I think we agreed to allow Ashley to rest." When his parents were out of the room, Salem dropped a quick kiss on Ashley's brow. "Sleep well, minx. Life starts very early here in the tidewater." Ashley stared at the door long after Salem had pulled it quietly shut. He was too handsome by half, she thought, her delicate brows wrinkling. And more troubling, why did he choose to give her such a brotherly kiss when she didn't feel in the least like his sister? "There, now, don't you look a sight," Meg proclaimed, bobbing around Ashley to admire her work. She pulled a loose thread from the hem of Ashley's black velvet riding skirt and smoothed a crease on the shoulders of the matching jacket. "You're lovely. Here, have a peek in the glass. I'll not be accused of kissing the Blarney stone." Ashley allowed herself to be pulled to the full-length mirror mounted on swivels in an oaken frame. In the cheval glass she looked at herself critically, wondering what Meg saw that she did not. In acknowledging her special loveliness, Ashley was an innocent. It never occurred to her that someone might find the combination of her fair complexion, ebony hair, and startling emerald eyes to be beautiful. Although she was no more than average height, barely over five feet, her slenderness and the delicacy of her bone structure gave her the illusion of height and an aura of fragility. She could not really bemoan her size, for Leah's habit fit her to near perfection. If only the material at her breasts didn't strain so, she thought, pulling at it. Her brows flew up in surprise when Meg lightly slapped her hands away.

"Now don't be fiddling with it. The shirt is a little snug, I admit, but Leah doesn't have her bubbies yet, and her heart would be fair broken if you weren't to wear all of it." Ashley blinked at Meg's frankness. "Are you certain Leah said I should have this?" "Oh yes. It's only in the way of loan, you understand." "Oh." "Now you're lookin' down in the mouth. I only meant that you're to have it until the missus can take you to the dressmakers." A hand flew to her mouth. "I hope I haven't spoiled anything by telling you. No matter, you just pretend you never heard me. While you're out riding I expect the missus and I will have several other dresses altered. Leah and Rae are tearin' up a storm in their closets right now." Meg finished securing a ribbon in Ashley's hair and brushed out the curls at her shoulders. "All finished," she pronounced grandly. "I'm to point you in the direction of the stables, and you're to remind Mr. Salem that breakfast is at eight sharp." Ashley was taken through the house so quickly she only had a fleeting glimpse of the elegance and grandeur of the landing. The walls that were not richly paneled were hung with agreeably patterned wallpaper, warm in depth and color. Meg took her through the kitchen where polished copper kettles shone over the red brick hearth, and a spry, flour-dotted black woman named Tildy was scolding the kitchen boy for taking out the bread too early. "Mornin', Miz Ashley," she drawled as they flitted through, then immediately returned her attention to the boy. "Does everyone know me?" Ashley asked Meg, unused to the casual pleasantries. "Sure, and why wouldn't they? You're the only new face around here, and we all know how you helped Mr. Salem. The missus says you're part of the family now." She swung open the kitchen door and pointed out the stables. She watched as Ashley began crossing the lawn then remembered Charity's last instructions and called out to her. "You ride carefully! No jumping!" Ashley frowned at the order but there was no question as to who really gave it. Salem's mother was too sharp, she thought. What could the woman be thinking of her? She shrugged off the thought. What others thought had been of no consequence in the past, why should now be any different? Backbone stiff, she hurried toward the stables, eager to see Salem. "You look ready to do battle, Ashley," Salem teased. He had been leaning at the stable entrance, watching Ashley's progress across the wide lawn with ill-disguised pleasure. His eyes slid over her flushed face, the proud thrust of her small chin, and the brace of her shoulders. He pushed himself away from the wall. "And I surrender." He grinned cheekily, lifting his hands while his eyes drifted lazily and appreciatively below her shoulders. His eyebrows rose wickedly. "You have all the right weapons." After his brotherly kiss the night before Salem's very intimate appraisal of Ashley shook her. Two can play, she decided daringly. When he finally took his eyes off her chest, she caught his attention with a tiny half smile and a beckoning tilt of her small oval face. That he was at ease and perfectly willing to accept her perusal of his face and form almost gave Ashley pause. The mocking look in his grey eyes spurred her on. Her gaze fell slowly from his single-dimpled smile to the snowy white linen of his shirt. His russet jacket fit

tightly to his broad shoulders and tapered slightly at his trim waist. Ashley's poise faltered as her eyes drifted to the snug fit of Salem's tight breeches. As was the fashion the material was molded to his legs, but it did her no good knowing it was the mode. Her eyes dropped abruptly to his polished top boots. She couldn't lift them even when she heard Salem's laughter. He caught her chin with his hand and tipped back her head. "I admit you did that much more credibly than I thought you could. I shudder to think how you shall lead me around once you get the hang of it." Ashley's expression plainly said she doubted it. "C'mon. I know you're probably anxious to go riding." He put his arm at the small of her back and took her into the stable. "D'you see anyone you recognize?" Ashley's eyes narrowed, adjusting to the light. She heard Kingdom's familiar whinny before she actually saw him. "King!" she cried out, running to him. She threw her arms around his neck, nuzzling his glossy black coat. "I've missed you so! I never thought I would see you again. Oh, Salem! Thank you! How did —" "Nigel sold Kingdom to me, remember? He was comfortably stabled on the Caroline when she was impounded and still there when the crew took her back. This time King is yours, Ashley. No one can sell him but you." Ashley was too moved to express her thanks. Her face told all. Salem cleared a curious tightness in his throat and gave her a quick smile. "Are you ready to try him out?" Salem gave her a leg up. He thought she looked very proper and restrained as she sat perched on the side saddle. Only the restless movement in her bright eyes told him how anxious she was to be off. He mounted his own animal, Folly, a sleek silver mare with more heart than sense, and led the way outdoors. Their pace at first was slow, and Ashley didn't mind: She was eager to see the McClellan land but gasped when Salem informed her they would not be traveling over the whole seventy-five thousand acres this morning. He took her past the carefully trimmed boxwoods that lined part of the drive and the garden that was his mother's pride. He took her back to the river and showed her the private wharf beyond the dock where they had landed. The Caroline's sister ship, the Lydia, waited there for her hull to be filled. He took her to the stables where the finely bred horses were kept separated from the work animals and to the large vegetable garden that supplied the entire household's needs. She admired everything about McClellan's Landing until he showed her where the slaves were quartered. "No," she said tightly, turning King away from the row of white-washed houses and carefully tended gardens. "It's barbarous." Salem grabbed King's reins and stopped her retreat. "What are you talking about? There is nothing barbarous here. Look at those houses carefully, Ashley. They are better kept than the tenant holdings on Linfield's lands. No one is ill-treated or used here. Our slaves want for nothing." She slapped his hands away, her eyes glittering. "How could you deceive me so? How can you deceive yourself? You speak so passionately of freedom and liberty, Salem McClellan, yet you keep slaves. How dare you embrace so dearly what you will not grant! Don't speak to me of England's oppressions until you have ceased to oppress!" She gave Kingdom a hard kick and the stallion took off at a full gallop. "Ashley! Come back here!" She ignored him, and Salem made no attempt to follow at first. He was shocked by her words. He told himself she had no understanding of a planter's life; she did not realize the

labor it took to harvest the enormous crop or care tor the stud. He rode off slowly in Ashley's direction, telling himself any number of things that justified keeping the slaves. When Folly reached the clearing amid the tulip poplars where Kingdom had instinctively led his mistress, Salem dismounted and tethered his mare beside King. Ashley was sitting on the grass, hugging her knees and staring at the lazy rippling of the cold water spring. Salem sat beside her and idly pitched a few smooth stones into the water. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her face was wet with tears. "There's a small clearing like this at Linfield," he said quietly. "Was it a favorite spot of yours?" She nodded but said nothing. "I thought maybe it was. I felt certain King would bring you here. It hasn't taken him long to know the lay of the land." She shrugged. "I used to come here a lot. It's always been a good place for thinking… and talking." She didn't look at him but spoke instead to the quietness around her, as if she were alone. "He chained me. Nigel chained me with shackles used to hold black children on their wooden pallets and as I lay there I heard in my mind those children crying, knew their fear and their humiliation. I wept as much for children I never knew as I did for myself. No one deserves to be so ill-used." She turned to Salem, searching his face. "Do you understand why I can't abide the thought of slavery? Has your own imprisonment not given you a whit of compassion?" "The problem of slavery is more complicated than you know, Ashley." "Don't you patronize me! I am not a dim-witted innocent for all that I know little of the world. I know what is right and what is not right. Damn the complications, slavery is not right!" Salem had a hard time making out her words because she was sobbing jerkily and fighting for breath. But he had no difficulty following the thread of her statement. "I was not trying to patronize you, but I want you to understand it is not something I can change immediately or alone. I have to speak to my father. This is his property and ultimately it is his decision. It is not a matter that will greatly shock him, for he has discussed it at length with other planters who call the practice an abomination." Ashley bit her lip, trying to hold back another sob. Her hopeful eyes lighted on Salem's grave ones. "You'll talk to your father about this? You would really do that?" "Yes, I'll do it. He's not likely to be angry just because I present an opinion at variance to his own. We can put the topic before us, you know," he said in a gentle mocking tone. "We don't have to ride off in a flurry and sulk." She wiped her eyes and blew her nose with the lace hanky Meg had tucked into her sleeve. She missed seeing Salem's odd expression as she did so. "You must think me a terrible child," she said ruefully. "No, Ashley, I don't think of you as a child at all," he said softly. Unable to move, uncertain that she wanted to, Ashley watched wide-eyed as Salem's face drew nearer to her own. She saw his eyes darken, heard his breathing change cadence, felt the warmth of his sweet breath all in the moment before his mouth touched hers. It was a fleeting, gentle contact, more like the dusting of a butterfly's wing across her lips. It tickled. It burned. She ached for something more, feared that she might get it. Her eyes never closed, memorizing the look of Salem's tender desire. Salem watched the play of emotion in Ashley's telling emerald eyes. A soft sigh drew his attention to her

slightly parted lips. The tip of her tongue peeked out to moisten a corner of her mouth. He smiled at the unintentional provocation. "I agree, witch, that kiss tasted like more." His head bent again while she was still puzzling over his words. This time there was pressure behind his touch, a faint insistence that spoke of his need. His mouth nibbled at her full lower lip, his tongue lightly tracing the tender tissue and moistening the edges where she had not. Ashley's response was tentative, taking her cue from Salem's actions. When his fingers grazed the soft skin at the nape of her neck, her arms lifted to his shoulders, slender fingers slipping beneath the collar of his shirt. When his mouth left her own to dart across the curve of her cheek, caress the silky line of her jaw, Ashley waited a pause before returning the pleasure. As her mouth drew closer to his ear, some mischievous impulse made her tug on his lobe with her teeth. She pulled back as if burned when Salem groaned feelingly. "Never say I hurt you," she whispered, appalled. "Come here, Ashley," Salem rasped, his silver eyes wicked. "And I'll show you the manner in which it hurts." He pulled her to him, not giving her a chance to escape. Laughing lowly, he tickled her ear with his warm breath, nuzzled it with his lips. He traced the delicate whorl with his tongue, and when she felt warm and melting against him, little mewling sounds coming from her throat, his teeth nipped at her lobe. Ashley's brief moan sounded alien to her ears. She shivered. Her limbs were liquid, her insides tightly coiled. Her small, expressive face lifted questioningly to him. Had he really felt this way? "Oh, yes, Ashley. Exactly that way," he assured her roughly. His hands cupped her face; a thumb brushed the tender edge of her lower lip, pulling it down, parting her mouth. His head lowered again, and he whispered against the invitation he had made for himself. "And it's only a beginning." He claimed her then, possessed her lips with a fierceness that left her hungering for breath, but not hungry enough to make her break away from the searching, persistent pressure of his mouth. He seemed to want to draw on her very essence, capture something intrinsic to her and make it his own. Ashley had no thought of denying his exploration because in the taking, he gave. Pleasure spiraled inside her as his tongue teased hers, sought the soft recesses of her mouth, and traced the uneven edge of her teeth. She clung to him, aching for something of his fine spirit, wanting to feel his innate strength. She was as relentless in her quest as he, and similarly, she gave in the taking. Pleasure swelled inside him as her tongue pressed against his own, moistened his lips, and slid silkily along the taut ridge of his jaw. When Salem's hands slipped under her jacket, it seemed the most natural thing in the world for Ashley to want to be rid of it. Unprotesting, she shrugged out of it, and when he folded it and laid it on the ground, it seemed the most perfect sort of pillow. His palms closed over her small shoulders, supporting and guiding her to lay against the ground. His eyes never left her face as he pulled off his own jacket and tossed it carelessly to one side. "This is right, isn't it, Salem?" Ashley breathed lowly as he propped himself on one elbow, his body curving against her. "Very right." He plucked a blade of grass and feathered it across her cheek, her eyebrows, her faintly swollen lips. "I've wanted you forever." "You haven't known me forever." "It was very bad of you to keep me waiting."

"You kissed me on my forehead last evening." "Bothered you, did it?" The blade of grass traced imaginary lines down the smooth flesh of her throat. "Where would you like to be kissed? Here?" His mouth hovered over her eyes until they fluttered closed, then he dropped a light kiss on each pale lid. "No? That's all right then, your lashes tickle anyway. What about here?" He kissed the tip of her nose. "It doesn't do anything for me either. This?" His lips touched her cheek. "Perhaps the other." He pecked the twin. "Too brotherly by half, but I drink I'm warming to the investigation." "You're wicked." "And you're delight. It hardly seems fair that you have to settle for me," he teased . Her hands folded around his hand at her throat, stilling the blade of grass. She spoke earnestly. "Don't think that, even in jest. I know so little of life that most times I don't feel as if I've earned you." Her solemn and anxious words tore at Salem, reminding him how young she was, how vulnerable to his experience. Suddenly he felt unworthy of her. "Ashley—" "Kiss me, please," she said quickly. "On the mouth. On my neck. Please, just kiss me." "God, what you do to me!" His body shifted so that he partially covered her, and his mouth bruised hers with the force of his passion. He kissed her mouth, her throat, and when deft fingers had loosened her shirt and bodice, he kissed the swell of her breasts. He breathed in the fragrant musky scent of her firm curves and fragile hollows. His tongue tasted the salty sweetness of her warm flesh, laving her nipples while he hungered for the taste of her elsewhere. For now, it was enough. Ashley felt her breasts swell under the attention of Salem's mouth and gentle hands. They felt sensitive and ached peculiarly under his ministrations, but the niggling tenderness was nothing to the threads of pleasure that rippled through her limbs. There was a curious heat in her loins that would not subside, and she found herself pressing her hips hard against Salem, as if he could tamp the flames. Her action brought her tight against his own heated desire. Shocked, thoughts swiftly reminding her of another time, she recoiled. Salem raised his head to watch her face as he deliberately settled his hips in the curve of her thighs. Even through the heavy material of her riding skirt, he knew she could feel his arousal. She quieted beneath him when she saw in his steady searching expression that he was in control. "Ashley, you do understand how it is between a man and a woman, don't you?" "Yes." She could not find the words to tell him he had already given her experience. "I—it's been explained to me," she finished inadequately. "Do you remember the last time I held you in my arms like this?" Ashley panicked momentarily, thinking he had remembered what happened on the voyage. Panic subsided as she realized this could not be the case, else he would not have asked his first question. He was obviously thinking back to the night in his chamber at Linfield. "I remember, you said it was all in aid of fooling the duke." "And it was. Did I feel the same against your thighs?"

She flushed, her eyes darting past his shoulder. "No. There was nothing there then." She blinked in surprise at Salem's unexpected laughter. "It was there then, sweet innocent! But when I want you, as I do now, it makes its presence known thusly." "But you said you've wanted me forever." "A monumental case of mind over matter, as it were. Credit me with some control." He moved off her and lay on his back, smiling to himself when Ashley turned on her side, and her eyes slid along his body to the object of their talk. Her hand lifted slowly, hovered a moment over the telling bulge in his tight breeches, then touched him. Fascinated by the warmth, the pulsing, her fingers began an outline. "Inquisitive minx," he said and groaned feelingly, grabbing her hand and effectively imprisoning her body beneath him. "There are limits!" His mouth closed over hers while his fingers found the fasteners of her riding skirt. Feeling her wriggle out of it sorely tempted him. He could only grin when her hands slid beneath the hem of his shirt, tugging at it until he had no choice but to remove it. Her hands caressed the smooth tawny flesh of his chest and back. Her fingers teased his flat nipples until they budded like her own. She placed tickling little kisses on his shoulders and ran her palms along the muscular hardness of his arms. She could not seem to get enough of the feeling of his skin against her own. She loved the way her breasts flattened and yielded to the tightness of his chest. She loved the way his taut stomach was flush against hers and the sensual tangle of their legs. Their eagerness was a tangible thing. Unashamed, Ashley helped Salem remove her lace-edged undergarments and shyly, but without any sense of embarrassment, she withstood his appreciative gaze. His eyes touched her everywhere. It was as if his fingers were in her hair, threading through the raven thickness, tugging gently on the wisps of her nape. She felt his caress on her face, brushing the delicate wings of her brows, the tilt of her nose. His eyes on her lips caused them to part, and this time the appearance of her tongue was a deliberate provocation. His low growl told her he knew. His gaze fell to her white shoulders, fragile and finely boned, and then to the fullness of her breasts, traced faintly with pale blue veins. She saw that he longed to cup them, even taste them, yet he held back, an odd intensity in his handsome features. His eyes slid over her tapering waist, the softly curved roundness of her abdomen, and settled for a moment on the downy triangle at her thighs. She raised one knee slightly, an overture of modesty, but he shook his head and she lowered it again. "All of you is beautiful." Her fingers trailed lightly over his skin to the top of his breeches. She felt her effect in the small contractions of his muscles. "I'm glad you think so." His eyes softened to pewter and traveled the length of her slim legs. It was as if the palms of his hands had glided over her naked flesh. When his hands really did touch her ankle, the sensitive back of her knee, the moist inner curve of her thigh, Ashley felt as if she were already accustomed to his intimate touch. Her legs parted of their own accord under the gentle insistence of his fingers. This was so different, she thought dizzily. So at odds with the one time he had had her. Then there had been no real tenderness, no indication at all that he knew what he was about. He had taken her mindlessly, painfully, no thought to her

pleasure. It had been rape then, for she knew she had been unwilling. This was a seduction of her will, of her senses. She welcomed it. Intuitively she knew there would be no pain this time, that he would be gentle because he thought her innocent Perhaps later he would be gentle because he loved her. Salem's fingers stroked the damp velvet of her parted thighs. A tiny puff of air lodged in Ashley's throat. Her gasp was a whisper. He caressed the very core of where she burned. Another breath caught, and she pushed it out with a short gasp. His probing fingers became more insistent, the even pressure constant. His watchful eyes never left her face. She was by turns cautious of his actions and greedy for the pleasure. Her head fell to one side. The slender stem of her neck arched, exposing her wildly beating pulse. Her hands leveled on Salem's shoulders, and her fingertips indented his skin. Her heels pressed against the cool grass. She thought she was trying to shift away from his fiery caress, then realized she had pushed herself more firmly against it. She wondered at the harsh sounds that came from her throat at unexpected moments. She could do nothing to contain them. It seemed that Salem didn't mind her throaty little cries. She caught him smiling briefly, as if he relished the evidence of her pleasure. She thought it couldn't be over soon enough. She thought she never wanted it to end. He whispered to her. "Ah, sweet, you're lovely. That's right, hold me. I won't let you fall. Open your legs a little wider. That's it. Do you feel it now?" Feel it now? She was hot. She was cold. She was brilliance fluttering on the edge of something dark. What more was there to feel? She shook. Cords of fire radiated from the source of her pleasure. Her legs grew taut, her toes curled. Her nails dug into Salem's flesh. The breath caught in her lungs was expelled crying out his name. Heat fanned outward, dissipating slowly, reaching her fingertips as a pleasant tingling. She stared at him, love shining clear in her eyes. "Sweet, sweet man," she whispered, awed. "What you do to me." Her hands cupped his face and brought his mouth to hers. She put her soul into that kiss and touched his own. Salem felt blessed. He held Ashley to his heart and knew himself to be in her thrall. "I really have been waiting for you all my life." "And I, you." He knelt, one knee separating her thighs while his fingers fumbled for the button fastenings of his breeches. He grinned wryly, the single dimple slashing his face, when her fingers brushed his aside and managed the task easily, as if she had helped him always, "You're quite—" Salem's sentence remained unheard, broken off by the discordant clanging of the landing's call to meal bell. "Not now, damnit! Please not now!" Ashley watched helplessly as a shutter of tension and reserve closed over Salem's taut features. She tried to conceal her hurt when she touched his bare arm and was brushed aside, but inside she felt as if her passion had congealed into something cold and ugly. Without a word Salem moved away, turning from her as he refastened his breeches. Dazed and confused Ashley sat up. Her previously deft fingers were

stiff and clumsy as she slipped on her bodice and petticoat. Salem was shrugging into his jacket while Ashley was still impatiently tugging at the waistband of her skirt. He moved to help her but she pulled away. Salem sighed deeply. "Ashley, let me help you. Your shirt isn't even properly buttoned." Tears glittered in her eyes. "Leave me alone. You couldn't take your leave of me fast enough a few moments ago." "Don't you understand what happened?" Could it be she didn't know what drove him to leave her. Mentally he struck himself on the forehead with the heel of his hand. "What am I supposed to understand? This is still new to me. You're the only man I've lain with." He ignored her bitter denial. "Did you hear the bell?" "What of it?" "Ashley, that ring means we're expected at breakfast. If we're not there in ten minutes Tildy will send someone to get us." He tilted her chin upward, answering the unasked question in her expressive face. He spoke steadily, confidently. "I'm not ashamed of anything we've done, or of anything we were about to do, but I'll not have the privacy of our moment intruded upon." "Oh." "Precisely." Taking her further silence for acquiescence, Salem tidied Ashley's riding habit, pulled a stray blade of grass from behind her ear, and straightened the ribbon askew in her hair. The quiet that followed their journey back to the house was an uncomfortable companion. Ashley would have spoken but was wary of Salem's deep concentration and reluctant to disturb his thoughts. For Salem's part he couldn't help but think the interruption had been as timely as it had been painful. It was true he was unashamed of his desire for Ashley, but he admitted to a certain regret that he had not tread more softly. He had taken advantage of the upheavals in her life. He had hardly given her time to adjust to the fact he wasn't her brother before he was demanding that she think of him as a lover. Didn't he owe her more consideration before he asked her to think of him as a husband? But then he remembered the way she had opened herself to him. Her eyes had pleaded with him to love her. Did she really require his restraint? He grimaced. And if she did, could he give it? Salem glanced at Ashley. Her face was averted, but he guessed it would be as stiffly proud as her carriage. She was a sprite with steel in her spine and something very generous and loving in her heart. How he loved her!

Chapter 8

Ashley sat on the veranda steps, her head resting against one of the column supports. She lifted her chin a tad, exposing her throat to the cool evening breeze that swept up from the river. She closed her eyes, the peace of this night's scene already imprinted in her mind. Salem, his brother, and father had circled chairs at one end of the porch and were speaking of political

matters. Most of the exchanges were given to a quiet intensity that rather frightened Ashley, but she took her cue from Charity and Salem's sisters, who seemed not in the least concerned their men were talking treason. Their heads were bent over needlework frames while they stitched covers for the dining room chairs. Ashley smiled faintly, waving a bothersome fly from her face. Leah seemed to enjoy the sewing, her young face serene as she plied her needle. Rae, however, stabbed at the material as if she wished herself elsewhere. "Are you finding it hot already, dear?" Charity asked, her hand never faltering as she worked her sampler. Ashley came out of her reverie. "Just a little. I can't remember being quite this warm at Linfield in June." "You won't mind it so much after a few weeks." "Salem says this is nothing compared to your summer heat." "Don't let him scare you." Rae grinned. "We've all survived it so far. You can come swimming with Leah and me. There's a lovely spot in the river." "It—it sounds refreshing," she said weakly, her arms hugging her middle. "Perhaps I will—sometime." She missed Charity's thoughtfully raised brow. "Rae, would you consider letting me work your piece for awhile? I'd like to do something to help." Rae pretended to think it over, causing her mother's lips to twitch. "Well, if you really want to," she said. "After all, Mama, you said we should make Ashley feel at home." "You're incorrigible, Rae. But, yes, if Ashley dislikes idle fingers, then she may take your work." Her eyes twinkled as Rae nearly bounded from her seat. "And tomorrow I'll have Jacob make a frame for Ashley so you needn't share." Rae's slender shoulders sagged at the thought of such a short reprieve. The exaggerated resignation on her face was comical. Ashley patted her arm as she rose to take her seat. "Perhaps the frame will take a few days to make," she said. "I doubt it," Rae said unhappily. "If he had it done by Christmas it would be too soon for Rae," Leah stated. "She doesn't like the needlework at all." Ashley's eyebrows lifted. "Really? I hadn't noticed." "Oh, she's good at it when she sets her mind to it," Leah continued confidentially. "But she'd much rather be in the thick of the discussion Papa is having." "I didn't think anyone of you were paying attention to them." "Of course we were," Charity said. "It would be difficult to ignore them. They tend to get quite heated." "But none of you look as if you mind all the talk of treason." "Treason!" Rae yelped. "It is not treason to want to defend yourself against George's tyrannies. Throughout the Colonies people are rallying. Look to Lexington and Concord!"

"Rahab!" Charity said sharply. "Ashley knows little of our problems. To her we must seem treasonous indeed. And she would not find herself alone. Many think as she does." "I'm trying to understand," Ashley said softly. "Lexington is in Massachusetts, isn't it? 'The seat of the rebellion' is how the duke once referred to that Colony. It would seem he was right." "What they started, we Virginians will finish," Rae said importantly. Leah looked up from her sewing. "You sound as if you want to be in the thick of things." Rae's green eyes sparkled. "I'd be a member of the Sons of Liberty if they'd let me." "The Sons of Liberty?" Ashley asked. "Who are they?" "Troublemakers," Charity spoke succinctly. "They are fine spirited men," Rae said. "Who make certain people do not forget King George's oppressions." Charity's brows lifted skeptically. "Most of their reminders are against the law and destructive. They stir unrest where none is needed. It would not surprise me if they incited the trouble at Lexington two months ago." "Mama!" Both girls gasped. "You know as well as I do that the British marched to Concord to seize munitions stolen from the crown in the first place. And no one knows who fired that shot at Lexington. It could have been one of the Sons, looking for a beginning." "Mama, I didn't know you felt this way," Rae said sadly. "I thought you wanted independence." "I do, Rae. But I do not want war. I want none of my sons—or daughters—lost to me because of this cause." Her eyes were suspiciously bright, and Ashley's heart went out to her. How helpless she must feel in the face of the events around her. As if the battles at Lexington and Concord were not enough, the McClellans had received word earlier in the day of a battle at Bunker Hill on the seventeenth. Ashley remembered how Charity had greeted the news. While everyone else was toasting the Colonial victory, she was curiously quiet, even emotionless, and it was then Ashley began to suspect Charity's fears. "My family will always be my concern," she finished quietly, with the fierce intensity of a lioness who felt her pride being threatened. Rae moved quickly to her mother's side. She rested her head on Charity's lap, her auburn hair spilling softly on the folds of her mother's gown. She hugged Charity's legs. "I didn't mean to upset you. Oh, Mama, I do love you!" Ashley blinked rapidly as Charity's hand stroked her daughter's bright hair. "I know you do, honey. And you mustn't mind me when I go on so. I want to be out from under George's scepter as much as any McClellan." "Of course you do, dear," Robert said, coming up from behind and resting his hand on Charity's shoulder. "Surely no one has said differently." "No, it's just that—" "She has a very sensible concern for her family's well-being," Ashley said tartly, rising from her chair as

Salem approached. He looked as if he were ready to treat her solicitously, as he had these past three days while others were present. She knew that he could hardly bare to touch her. He scrupulously avoided her except when he had no choice. "If no one minds, I'd like to retire now," Ashley said. Salem was about to say he minded, but his mother frowned and gave him a small, negative shake of her head. "You go ahead, Ashley," Charity said, exchanging a concerned look with her husband. "I was telling Robert earlier that you should rest more often. This heat saps the strength." "Yes," Ashley replied, avoiding the questioning eyes of all the McClellans as she slipped past Salem into the house. Rae leaped to her feet. "Wait, Ashley. I'll go up with you!" She caught Ashley in the hallway. "Did our talk upset you?" "No. Nothing like that. I'm just fatigued, that's all. You go back to the others. I'll be fine." "If you're certain." "I am." Ashley hoped her smile would reassure her. Inside she felt as if she were breaking. Breakfasting in the spacious dining room, early morning sunlight filtering through the bay windows, was one of Ashley's very favorite things. Serious topics rarely passed anyone's lips, and this morning was no exception. Laughter cleared the cobwebs from her brain as she watched the affectionate teasing between Noah and the girls. Even Salem's watchful eyes on her couldn't dampen her enjoyment of the sibling byplay. Undetected, she made a little face at him as she tucked into her eggs. "Leah, would you stop teasing your brother?" Charity asked plaintively. "He cannot help that he turns green merely taking the schooner to Norfolk." "That wasn't the problem last night, Mama," Leah said knowingly. To Noah's consternation she pretended he kicked her under the table and announced to everyone, "He and Salem were drinking out by the summerhouse last evening. Rae and I could hear them laughing from our room. They were both drunk when they went to bed last night." "Yes," said Rae. "But only Noah got sick." "Thank goodness!" Charity said feelingly. "He's much more civil about being ill than Jerusalem." That brought a groan to Salem's lips while everyone but Ashley chuckled. Rae spoke to answer her questioning look. "Surely you must know how awful Salem is when he's ill. Mama says you had to care for him on the voyage." "It was an—experience," she said carefully. "That's very generous of you." Rae chortled. "He turns this house upside down when he's under the weather. I can't imagine he was any different with you." Ashley began to feel uncomfortable. "I—I don't know. It seemed that he slept most of the time. What does he do here?" "She asked, Salem," Rae pointed out. "I didn't offer the information without an invitation." "You prompted without conscience. But I suppose there's nothing for it but that you tell all. I'm surprised

she hasn't been forced to listen to these unflattering stories already." "Now, brother," Noah said placatingly. "It is your turn to be the victim." Salem rolled his eyes. "Now I know why Gareth married and moved to Williamsburg. And why his visits are so brief." Rae would not be turned from her subject." Salem always sleeps when he's ill," she told Ashley. "Even when he wakes, he sleeps. Did that happen to you?" "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean." "When he had the mumps as a boy he disappeared from his room. Mama found him in the stables. Sound asleep. And he never remembered how he got there. When he had the chicken pox he picked a fight with Gareth but couldn't recall how he got a bloody nose. Then there was the time Tildy and Mama had to wrestle him to the ground to keep him from going downstairs, buck naked, while Papa was entertaining important people in the study." "I had some sort of swamp fever that time," Salem reminded everyone dryly. "I can hardly be held responsible." "He doesn't remember any of it," Leah said and giggled. "He made it to the end of the hallway before he was brought down." Salem appealed to Ashley. "I'm afraid there are more unsavory stories, but you only have their word for it. As far as I know I'm a model patient. You could do much to stop them. Tell them how well behaved I was on the Oleander." Ashley's chair scraped noisily against the hardwood floor as she pushed away from the table. She was very pale, and the hand that had gone instinctively to her abdomen trembled. "Ex—excuse me. I don't feel well of a sudden. Please—I'm—I'm sorry." She spun on her small feet and ran from the room. Salem stood to follow. "Sit down," Charity commanded, parental authority ringing in her tone. "I shall see to Ashley. She needs a woman now. I believe you have done enough damage." She left the room, her spine stiff. "What did I do?" Salem asked everyone, sitting slowly. Robert elucidated. "I don't believe it has escaped anyone's attention that there is some sort of problem between you and Ashley. You haven't gone riding together since her first morning here. You let Noah escort her and Mother to town for the dress fittings." "You only speak to her when one of us is around," Rae said sharply. "You never seem to want to be with her," Leah added. Salem looked pointedly at his brother. "And you, what have you got to say?" Noah lifted his hands in a gesture of innocence. "Me? I enjoyed taking Ashley to Williamsburg—and I'll enjoy taking her anywhere else you don't want to." Salem threw down his linen napkin in disgust His chair grated even more noisily than Ashley's had. He stalked out of the room and out of the house, slamming the front door behind him. To the amazement of his children, Robert chuckled heartily. "Well, if there was any doubt, it's been laid

to rest. Only a man in love slams a door in quite that manner." Everyone grinned at that and, undaunted, finished breakfast in fine humor. Upstairs, affairs were not progressing so merrily. Charity had walked into Ashley's room only to hear from Meg that after delivering her breakfast to the chamber pot, Ashley had run down the backstairs and was going to the stables. Exchanging distressed glances, Charity and Meg waited at the window for Ashley to come tearing across the lawn on Kingdom's back. It did not happen. When they saw her leave the stable at a sedate pace, they slowly sunk to the window bench, sharing soft sighs of relief. "Oh, ma'am," Meg said quietly. "I was sure afraid—" "Nonsense," Charity answered briskly, blinking to stay the tears in her bright blue eyes. "She means the babe no harm. I'm ashamed I thought otherwise for even a moment." Ashley placed her hand protectively over the swell of her abdomen as Kingdom unerringly made his way to the little clearing where she had begged Salem to love her. Would she feel less afraid, she wondered, if he had disregarded caution and taken her then? Would he have realized she was no innocent or would he have accepted that he had given her his child men? It was futile to torture herself with these questions, yet they were not easily dismissed. How was she to explain her babe when he had no memory of lying with her? Would he doubt the child was his? She drew in her breath sharply with the pain that thought caused and urged Kingdom to increase his pace slightly. Impatiently brushing aside self-pitying tears with the back of her hand, she considered how much longer she could keep the truth of her condition a secret. Ashley felt certain Charity knew she was pregnant, and quite possibly Meg suspected as well. They had cared for her on her first day at the landing, and for all that she had been skin and bones, her waistline was thick and her breasts heavy. It had occurred to her, given her family history, that it was not unlikely she carried twins. The thought was as heady as it was frightening, and she wished she did not shy from telling the whole of her problem. It was the thought of distressing any of the McClellans with her troubles that kept her silent. They would be solicitous and caring, but in the end they would offer the one solution that she could not abide. It would never serve to force Salem into marriage. Sliding from Kingdom's back, she tethered him to a tree, then sat by the spring and removed her shoes and stockings. She dipped her feet in the cold water, kicking indolently while she leaned backward, resting on her elbows. She did not have to close her eyes to imagine herself at Linfield. Here, in the lush verdant clearing with water trickling underfoot and thick moss beneath her, the atmosphere was much the same as she remembered. The more she thought on it, the less disagreeable it seemed to return home. It seemed preferable to accept a forced marriage for herself than to place Salem in the same position. She could stand it, she told herself staunchly. What did she care if Bosworth was naught but an old man with designs on her youth? He wanted her at least, and of late Salem had not shown the same. There was little that Ashley could imagine worse than marrying Salem when he did not desire her. He would strain at the confining boundaries of wedlock, and though she knew he would never be unfaithful, he would come to resent her. She doubted she could bear that emotion, not when she had come to know his tender affection. She would not trade on what he felt for her and force his hand. It appeared the only pass open to her was to leave the landing. Heavy-hearted she dried off her feet with the hem of her dress and slowly pulled on her stockings and shoes. Rather than mount Kingdom Ashley led him from the clearing on foot, reluctant to carry out her decision with unseemly haste.

She was alone in the music room, finishing the last of Rae's needlework, when Charity found her. Ashley only had to glance up the merest second to see that not only had she been found but that she had been found out. She out her needle down and slid the wooden frame to one side as Charity closed the door behind her. Charity sat in the love seat opposite Ashley and for a time said nothing. She regarded her with keen blue eyes, searching out each one of the secrets. When she spoke, she said the one thing Ashley had never expected to hear. "I was carrying Jerusalem when I married Robert." Ashley could only blink at this announcement. "I thought knowing might give you cause to change your mind about leaving us. Meg's told me that you've put a valise aside." Ashley's shoulders sagged. Trust Meg to find the thing and spoil her plans. "I must leave soon," she said with quiet conviction. "I was going to speak to you after dinner about lending me the money for my passage. I appreciate you telling me about—about Salem—but it changes nothing. I must go." Charity went on relentlessly, unwilling to accept Ashley's stoic resignation. "It is Salem's child you're carrying, isn't it?" "Yes, but you mustn't think he is to blame. He doesn't know that he fathered my child." A small smile curved one corner of her mouth. "Or children." "I see," Charity said slowly. "I was afraid that might be the way of it when you ran from the table. Perhaps you should tell me the whole." Certain that Charity could not be appeased with anything less than the truth, Ashley explained haltingly of Salem's illness on the Oleander. "Salem has a right to know what happened," she said when Ashley finished. "He'll want to know that he's fathered a child and he'll want to marry you." "I know," Ashley replied sadly. "But don't you see, he'll marry me for the wrong reasons. I want him to love me." "And you don't think he does?" She shook her head. She could not bring herself to explain Salem's continued coolness toward her; that it had started because she had allowed him so many liberties in the clearing. "I think he cares for me. But love? No, I don't think he loves me." Charity could have told her she was wrong, but she didn't think she would be believed. "And you will only marry for love?" "Yes." Too late she realized the trap Charity had laid for her. "And you think you will find love with the man Nigel chose for you?" "That is different. What I meant is that Salem must many for love, else he will feel as if he had no choice." "So you believe you must return to linfield?" Ashley's reply was choked. "Yes, there is no other way." "Of course there is," Charity said crisply. "Your place is with us now."

She said it so convincingly Ashley almost believed her. "At first I hoped—but—but now—it would seem better that I go. Don't upset yourself, Charity. Nigel won't hurt me. He'll be—" she searched for the right word and settled on amused. "He'll be amused by my predicament. It will satisfy him." The thought that Ashley might be right nearly rent Charity's heart "It doesn't matter," she said more sharply than she had intended. "No one will give you passage to England. We McClellans are not without influence, and though I like to think we use it modestly, I have no scruples where you are concerned. You will have to stay here." "But then Salem will know. He'll be so shamed. He didn't mean to do this." "That is neither here nor there. Tell me, Ashley, do you love my son?" "Oh, yes." "Then you must do what I did and ask the father of your babe to marry you." As Ashley was too startled by this news to do more than gasp, Charity continued. A rosy blush colored her face, softening it and making her look like a young girl. "I truly loved Robert but was uncertain of what he felt for me. I was in heaven to be carrying his child, yet he thought I would never consent to marry him because he merely worked for my father. The wounds made by the noble rich at Edenton still smarted, and he fully expected me to look elsewhere for a father for my baby. There was nothing for it but to risk proposing myself. Robert always had a choice, even as Salem does, to say no." "You and Robert have dealt well together all these years." "What an odd phrase. But, yes, I suppose it's true. I should think it would be true of you and Salem. But in order to find out you may have to open his eyes." "Yes." Ashley sighed, resigned. "I suppose I shall." "It isn't as bad as all that," Charity said, trying to instill a spark of hope. "There is always the possibility my firstborn will come to his senses." But the look on her face clearly said she despaired of that happening. Salem spent the morning in Norfolk going over the logs and manifests of the Caroline. He inspected the ship for general damage and assisted personally with some of the repairs. By mid-afternoon he agreed with his men that he was only making a nuisance of himself and headed for a tavern that was a particular favorite of his. He spent all of ten minutes in the place, exchanging pleasantries with the locals. Then he stalked out after realizing a few pints of ale would do nothing to clear his head or temper his disposition. He still stung from the set down his family had given him at breakfast Trust them to see he was avoiding Ashley's company. Trust no one to see he was doing it for her own good! By the time he got the schooner back to the landing his decision was made. He had given her enough time to think about his place in her life, and he was weary of his personal suffering, especially since it was unappreciated. To hell with the noble thing, he thought, kicking a stone from his path on the way to the house. I'm asking her to marry me. And if she can't do it because she loves me, perhaps she'll do it to save me from becoming a complete wretch. He paused on the grassy knoll that gave visitors their first sight of the landing and drank in the beauty of his home captured in the evening sunlight. He never tired of this view of the landing, glowing in a pale pink

sunset, and wished he were sharing it with Ashley. He was ready to start toward the house when something moving near the stables caught his eye. He grinned and shook his head, resigned to Shannon's antics. His friend was loping across the lawn with surprisingly good speed, considering he still was using one crutch. Shannon's direction was the stables. Salem knew the object of his search even before his eyes lighted on Meg's burnished hair and bright red dress. She laughed gaily and disappeared into the barn. In a few moments Shannon followed. Long after there was nothing to look at, after the blue of night descended over the landing, Salem sat on the knoll, his fingers pressed to his temples, and prayed he was wrong about the memory Meg's red dress had stirred. Ashley was studying Noah's last move on the chessboard, her face thoughtful, when Salem entered the parlor. He felt poleaxed by the intimate scene that greeted him. It made no difference to him that Ashley and Noah were not alone in the room—Rae was playing cards with Robert while Leah and Charity sewed—it was enough that they did not appear to notice anyone else. A muscle twitched in his jaw and his eyes glittered. It was damn well the outside of enough that his own brother should pay her such attention while he grew horns. "You're looking very fierce, Jerusalem," Charity said calmly, glancing up from her stitching. "Is there some problem? You were expected back hours ago." "I'd like to see Ashley in Father's study, if no one has any objections." Robert's eyebrows rose at Salem's gritty statement. "Ashley? Do you have objections?" A great many, she could have said. Her initial gladness upon seeing Salem safely at home faded quickly under the intensity of his stare. She glanced at Noah who seemed to be receiving the lion's share of Salem's displeasure, but Ashley could have sworn he was trying to stifle a grin. "Excuse me." She rose and smiled faintly to reassure everyone, then preceded Salem from the room. In Robert's study Salem lighted several lamps while Ashley sat stiffly in a high-backed chair, her hands folded tightly. Even the pleasant fragrance of the leather-bound volumes on two walls failed to ease Ashley's charged senses. By the time Salem seated himself across from her, after pouring himself a generous amount of scotch, she was certain all courage had deserted her. Salem studied her over the rim of his glass for several long minutes before he spoke. She always looked so damn lovely, he thought. Her dark hair framed her face and spilled softly about her shoulders. Her eyes were bright, her lips cherry red—a sure sign she had been worrying them nervously while his back was turned. He recognized her sky-blue dress as one of Leah's and hoped her own gowns would be finished soon. He doubted that he could stand the sight of her breasts straining against the fabric another day. His eyes drifted to her waist and narrowed sharply on the material that seemed to pull there. He recalled the dress she had worn on the voyage, how she had complained of its poor fit. He must have been blind not to see what the problem was. Abruptly he tossed back a mouthful of scotch. "I know about the child, Ashley," he said quietly, rolling his glass between his palms. Seeing her stricken expression, he cursed himself. It wasn't what he had intended to say at all. "You do?" she said, shocked. "I never thought your mother—" Ashley stopped, realizing Charity could not have said anything since this afternoon. Salem had only just returned.

"My God! Does Mother know?" "Well, yes. But I cannot see what difference that makes." "And you?" he asked, thrusting his chin out. "How long have you known?" "Only since the time of the storm on the Oleander." "So long ago? How is it that you never saw fit to tell me?" "Perhaps it would be better to talk in the morning when you are less bitter and angry," Ashley said after a pause. She began to rise. "No! We will finish this now!" He put his drink aside and leaned forward, drawing a calming breath. "Ashley. Please. Be seated. None of this is going as I wished it I am not angry with you, only myself. I was prepared to discuss this clearly, then I saw you with Noah, and my eyes turned as green as yours." "Noah? Oh, Salem!" Rather than returning to her chair she pushed the padded footstool that sat near the hearth to his side and seated herself by his knees. She spoke earnestly. "Noah is like a brother to me. There is nothing between us." "I was like a brother to you once." "No. Not in my eyes. As much as I tried to think of you in that way, you were never as I think of Noah." She looked down. "Can you say the same?" "You must know I never saw you as anything but a woman." "It hasn't been that way of late. Ever since the morning in the clearing." "Oh, Ashley, I was trying not to rush my fences. You were so vulnerable. You still are." He took her hands and laid them on his knee, covering them with his own. His face bore a measure of hurt. "Why did you not tell me you are carrying my child?" "I couldn't Not on the ship. You were my brother then, no matter that I hated the idea. I didn't want to burden you with what had happened. You remembered none of it, and I thought it for the best. But how did you come to realize about the baby?" "I'm afraid my sisters misled you at breakfast. I don't remember the reality of those incidences, but in time the fantasy dream makes itself known. The time I was found in the stable? I was searching for a unicorn. The fight with Gareth? I was slaying a dragon. The battle with Tildy and Mother was because I thought my room on fire. And the night I lay with you I dreamed of a lovely serving girl in a bright red dress who enticed me into the hayloft." "I see," she said quietly. "Then you don't remember how it was with me." "No, I don't. I suspect my dream had little to do with what really happened." She shook her head, and her hair swung about her shoulders. "I suspect it didn't." "Ashley, I have to know. What happened?" She knew he would ask and she had been dreading it. Would he know if she lied, if she tried to spare him? Would it hurt to say that he had been considerate of her, gentle with her, as he probably had been with his serving wench? She searched his face for some answer, and he gave it to her.

"I already have my suspicions about that night," he said, reading her mind. "I think it would be better if you told me the truth." So she told him how he had torn at the mattress until the hay stuffing had scattered about them; how he had held her down on one side so she couldn't move without hurting him; how he had trapped her in a tangle of legs and kept her there until he was finished. In a flat, emotionless voice she told him how he had fallen asleep while she huddled at one end of the bed. When she was finished he would have buried his face in his hands, but Ashley grabbed his wrists and pulled them away from the taut planes of his cheeks. "No! You wanted to know and now I won't let you torture yourself. You were delirious with fever and pain. You didn't know what you were doing. If I ever doubted it, the morning in the clearing proved it to me. That is the way I remember your touch!" Salem hauled Ashley onto his lap and crushed her to him, burying his face in the fragrant curve of her neck. Her arms came around him, and her fingers stroked his neck, smoothing away the tension, comforting him. "How can you bear the thought of carrying my child?" he asked harshly. "Do you mean does it bother me that the father of my child is so full of self-pity that he can't see how much the mother of his child loves him? Is that what you mean?" "You know that's not what I—did you say you—" "Love you?" she questioned, silencing him with a finger to his lips. "I believe that's what I was trying to say. I love you." His eyes searched her face as if he didn't quite believe her. "Is it true? You're not lying to me?" Ashley thought she should probably be offended, but rather than do that she tried a different tact. Her hands urged his mouth close to hers. "I love you." She let the words tickle his mouth, then she kissed him. Hard. Her tongue slipped out to trace the stern line of his lips. She sought an opening and, groaning, he gave it to her. She teased his senses as she dueled with his tongue. Her breasts pressed invitingly against his hard chest, and as she shifted in his lap she felt proof that he wanted her. Somewhat breathless and heady with her ability to make him desire her, Ashley's delicate brows raised ever so slightly. Salem did not miss her rather surprised expression. "I thought I would rue the day you discovered the power you have over me. I think the moment is upon me, and I find myself delighting in it." The back of Ashley's fingers stroked Salem's jaw. "Salem, isn't there something you want to tell me?" "Do you mean how I came to realize you were carrying my child?" His eyes danced and Ashley allowed herself to be sidetracked. "I suppose you will get around to it eventually," she murmured. Surely she was not misreading the love in his silvery eyes. He hugged her. "Once I remembered the dream and surmised what had happened. I realized what your sickness on the Oleander was all about. How you must have laughed at me. Was there ever a man more ignorant?" "I think not," she said tartly. "But, Salem, I was so grateful for your ignorance."

"Why didn't you say something when you knew you were not my sister?" "Well I wasn't sure how to go about it. I was afraid you wouldn't believe me and would feel forced into marriage. And then these past few weeks you seemed to have put me out of your mind entirely." "Is that what you thought? That I had put you out of mind?" Her silence was her answer, and Salem's growl started deep in his chest. "Would that I could have done that. It would have made these last days so much easier. As it was I saw you waking and sleeping. I felt you in my arms and found myself hugging a pillow. I heard your laughter when you were here in the house and I was in the fields. I saw your face reflected in the river, your shape in the clouds." Ashley fought down a smile. "That must have been very disconcerting for you." Salem laughed at himself. "It was pure torment, minx. And it's highly ill-mannered of you to make light of my pain!" "Was it painful?" "Terribly." "Then why did you set yourself from me?" "Because I thought I was pressing you. After what almost happened in the clearing, I thought I needed to court you properly." "Court me? You ignored me!" "I found I could hardly stand to be near you without wanting to hold you. I couldn't trust myself. With good reason, it seems." His smile was self-depreciating. "The deed was already done." "Do you think all our conversations will come around to what happened on the Oleander? Because if they do, then I don't think I can marry you. I would find myself singularly bored within the year." Salem shook his head as his brows drew together. "Did I hear you correctly?" "Did you hear me propose marriage?" "I think so." "Then you heard correctly." "Mother's been talking to you." "She has." Ashley brushed his lips. "Do you need to talk to your father before you answer my proposal?" "No. I've heard the story a number of times. I know what his answer was. I know what mine will be." He touched her trembling lips with his mouth. He kissed her brows, her cheek. He touched his mouth to her ear. "Yes." "Please, Salem. Don't make me wait any longer. Isn't there something you should tell me now?" " I hope you never had a serious doubt." Ashley's stillness told him that she had. "God, Ashley. I thought you knew. I'm certain everyone else does." "I knew there was affection," she said haltingly. "Of love, I was afraid to hope."

"Never be afraid. I love you." She rested her head against his shoulder, her fingers smoothing the front of his linen shirt. Her dark lashes lowered and fanned her cheeks. She felt at peace in his arms, warm and cared for. She knew he had spoken truly and never did it occur to her that he only wanted to do the right thing by the babe. Not once had she seen the brightness in his eyes or heard the passion in his voice. His head tilted slightly and his cheek rested against the rich texture of her hair. "I feel cherished when you hold me like this," she told him. "You are cherished. Always. When I hold you in my arms or hold you in my mind you must know that I love you." "You don't regret the baby, do you?" He was silent for a moment. "No. I very much like the idea of our child. I only regret the manner in which the babe was conceived." She understood. "You know I hated you for a time after you lay with me. I had to be shamed into taking care of you. I didn't want you to die but I didn't want anything to do with you. Then when you got well I tried to forget what had happened. It was very hard." "I know. I often watched you when you weren't looking and I remember how sad your face was then, how alone you looked at times. It frightened me." "It frightened me as well. But you always managed to tease me out of my moods. You are very good at that, you know. You made me put what happened in the past." "Until you knew about the babe. How you must have hated me then." "Hated you? No. nothing like that. I was scared for the both of us, but I had long since ceased to hate you. I think I was terrified that I had begun to love you." Salem pressed a kiss in her hair. "D'you know I was going to ask for your hand this evening?" "You were?" His words warmed her. "Oh, yes. I made up my mind in Norfolk that tonight was the night. Then the realization that I was going to be a father knocked the other thought right out of my head. I'm glad you had the good sense to propose." "You don't mind?" She couldn't bring herself to tell him there was still a packed valise in the base of her wardrobe. He would never understand how she could have considered going back to Linfield. She wasn't certain she understood it herself anymore. It was a crack-brained scheme from the beginning. "Not in the least. It is important our child inherit a measure of sense from at least one parent." "Oh dear," she said, raising her head and looking at him squarely. "I wonder if there shall be enough to go around?" One of Salem's dark brows kicked up. "What does that mean?" "I think there is every possibility that I may have two." Salem's face was blank for several moments, then his head jerked back in surprise. "Children?" Ashley laughed lightly. "How clever you are, dearest! I think there is nothing to worry about after all. We shall have the brightest children in Virginia."

"And the sassiest," he said dryly. "The most handsome babies." His eyes darkened, searching her face. "The loveliest—and the most loving." His kiss held her gently in his possession while one of his strong hands covered her abdomen. Ashley felt his fingers tremble against her, and her own hand moved to keep him close. A loud throat clearing in the hallway and a hasty rap on the door caused them to spring apart. Salem eased Ashley onto the stool at his feet then straightened his cravat. Ashley smoothed her hair and dress and looked anywhere but at Salem while he tried to do something about the bulge in his breeches. "Damn," he muttered, adjusting the front of his double-breasted waistcoat so that it hid his arousal. "Don't you dare laugh, madam," he warned when he saw Ashley's lips curve upward at the corners. "You are responsible for this." She kept her eyes on the delft-tiled fireplace and managed to summon outraged accents. "It hardly compares with what you did to me." Salem lifted her chin and met her laughing eyes. "If one or more of my family members were not on the other side of that door, I would show you what I could do right now." "Perhaps another time?" she asked guilelessly. How lovely it was to tease! "Depend on it!" he said, releasing her chin and striding toward the door. He opened it on Robert and smiled genially. "Father. Your arrival is timely. I was just going to beat Ashley." Robert laughed appreciatively. "Actually your mother sent me here to make certain that sort of thing hadn't already taken place." "Well, you can see that she is fine and too sharp by half, I might add." "Then you've settled your differences?" He looked from one to the other shrewdly. "Charity seemed certain you had come around." "Ashley stole a march on me, Father." Robert's deep green eyes rested on Ashley's demure countenance thoughtfully. Salem was going to have his hands most delightfully full, if he was any judge. "She proposed?" Salem nodded. "You had the good sense to accept, didn't you?" "I think that's what I did. She had me very addled at the time." "I see." And he did. He recalled fondly how Charity still addled him. "Well," he said abruptly, "I think it's time you shared this news with the others. You two go on. I'll bring the port." Salem held the door open for Ashley but before she reached it she stopped in front of his father. Standing on tiptoe she put her arms around Robert's neck and hugged him close. She kissed him on both cheeks and when she pulled away her eyes were bright. "Thank you for sending your son to me. I think it was your intent all along that Salem should bring me here. You hoped from the first Salem would seduce me, carry me off, and fall in love with me. I think you are a romantic." "Actually, that was not the order of events I had in mind." Salem interrupted quietly, placing an arm about Ashley's waist. "It isn't the order of events as it happened

either." That brought Ashley's head around. She thought she had everything in its proper place. "I fell in love with her first, you see." "You did?" she choked. "So long ago?" "Yes." She kissed him full on the mouth. Salem was a little disconcerted that she would be so passionate in front of his father, but he admitted that he enjoyed the kiss. When they parted, Robert was merely beaming at them and looking very pleased with himself. Salem realized then that if the heavens hadn't planned he should love Ashley Caroline Lynne, his parents certainly had. Giving her a loving squeeze he led her out of the study to tell the others. Salem levered his elbows on the veranda step behind him. Stretched out, he could feel the sharp edge of the stairs at evenly spaced intervals beneath him. An evening breeze ruffled his hair and shirt and lifted the light fragrance of violets to his nose. A moment passed before he realized the scent that teased him was not coming from his mother's flower garden. He opened his eyes and saw Ashley standing in front of him. "How did you know I was here?" she asked sitting beside him. "I thought I was so quiet." "You were. It's just that I know your fragrance." "How gallant you are. You could have said I smelled." "Not if I wanted a kiss, I couldn't." "That's true." She sighed. "When I saw you here on the steps I thought you looked like a man in need of some sweet attention. But then you opened your eyes and quite ruined my surprise." "That's easily remedied." His thick lashes dropped. "I think you're peeking." "I swear to you, I'm not," he said earnestly. "Very well," she whispered, her mouth hovering over his. Her eyes were wide open so she could see if he looked. He didn't. Not at any time during the passionate exchange did his lashes even flutter. Only their mouths touched. Denial of other contact sweetened the kiss as it ignited their senses. Their breathing seemed harsher to their ears, and their skin felt rippled with sparks. Pressure built inside them in proportion to their hunger and made them crave a full release. Salem shuddered and drew back. His eyes opened, nearly black now, and his breathing slowed. "For a moment there I thought I had hold of Franklin's kite." Ashley sat up. "Well I like that. We haven't been alone in four days and you compare me to a kite. What happened to all the romantic things you said before? I used to be a shape in a cloud or a re—" He laughed. "If you'll stop spitting at me, kitten, I'll explain. Dr. Franklin is a scientist—well, he's an inventor—and a writer—and something of a statesman—He rather defies a professional title, doesn't he?" "The kite, Salem. Tell me about the kite."

"As to that, he sent up a kite with a key on the end of it during a storm to prove that lightning was electricity." "And what happened?" "Lightning hit the kite, charged down the string toward that key and knocked franklin quite off his feet." Ashley thought about that. "Why that was a lovely thing to say to me!" "I'm glad that's settled. Has it really been four days since we've been alone? God, it seems like a hundred." "I know," she said wistfully. "It seems as if there are no end of things to be done for the wedding. I never see you anymore." "I detect my mother's fine hand in all of this. Now that I've said I will, she's making certain that I won't, or at least that I don't have a chance to." "I'm sure the meaning of that will strike me later." "It's that bit of Puritanism rearing its pious head. Mother trots it out when it serves her purpose." " I see," Ashley said, a hint of laughter in her eyes. "Then you're hardly going to like it when I tell you she's sending me to your brother's house in Williamsburg until just before the wedding." Salem bolted upright. "You're going to stay with Gareth and Darlene? But why?" "I'm needed for some fittings, and there is still the matter of a wedding dress. Charity doesn't think any of the gowns we chose previously are suitable." She took pity on his distressed look and placed her hand over his. "The wedding is in ten days. I shall only be gone for eight." Salem groaned dramatically. "Only? How can my own mother conspire against me like this?" Ashley raised an eyebrow at his theatrics. "Do you think you are the only one who suffers in this conspiracy? Just because I do not display my—er, my desires so obviously, doesn't mean I am immune to them." Salem grinned as his eyes dropped to Ashley's breasts. The thin material of her bodice did nothing to hide the aroused state of her nipples. "Don't you, m'dear? Display your desires, that is?" Ashley's gaze followed Salem's, and she made a small sound of frustration. "It's the chilled air." "It's hot as hell. Even the breeze is warm this evening." "Well, it's wicked of you to comment." "But you don't mind if I merely look?" "That's only naughty," she said cheekily. He hauled her close to his side. "There. Sit like that. Everything facing forward. You, m'dear, are a dreadful tease, and I'm feeling rather combustible at the moment. Might we change the subject?" "Of course. There's something I wanted to discuss with you." "You sound very serious."

"I am about this. Tonight at dinner Noah was talking about a man who has taken command of the army the rebels have formed." "Rebels? Is that how you see them?" "Well, yes. Isn't that what they are? Isn't forming an army to fight the mother country an act of rebellion?" "Of course it is." "Then why ever are you making a fuss?" "I'm not certain," he replied honestly. "I think I may have been testing your loyalty." Ashley's shoulders hunched slightly. What did he mean? Did he think she would betray him? Didn't he know her loyalty lay with him? "I've offended you, haven't I?" he asked. "No," she said mockingly. "Not in the least." "I've put my foot in it now, that's for certain." "Your foot, your leg, and your—your—" "Ass?" "Precisely," she answered. "Could I extricate some part of my anatomy if I apologized and said that while I know you will always be loyal to the McClellans, I am still uncertain as to how you view the Colony. Virginia begs your loyalty, too." "And I am still uncertain of Virginia. I am desperately trying to understand what makes everyone want to be independent of England. Am I allowed to make up my own mind in the matter, in my own time? Or upon wedding you must I rally to the cause as Noah seems bent on doing?" Salem nodded knowingly. "I see. Noah. You're concerned about the noises he was making at dinner. About the Continental Army." "Yes, I'm concerned. Did you notice how quiet Charity became? She's afraid he's going to join that Virginian commander." "Washington." "Yes. Washington. If the man weren't a Virginian I doubt that Noah would feel so strongly about signing up. It's for such a long time, too. Until the end of next year. That's too long for him to be away from the landing." "Ashley." Salem said her name with infinite gentleness, the faintest touch of chiding in his tone. "I appreciate your concern for my brother and my mother, yet I can't help but wonder if you are practicing a bit of roundaboutation. Is there something you want to ask me?" She nodded but said nothing. The question lumped in her throat She swallowed hard but it refused to be budged. She stared out into the darkness that had crept upon them slowly. Could she pretend there was no problem if she didn't voice it? Why didn't he just tell her? He knew what she wanted to ask.

"Go on, Ashley." The words tumbled out. "Are you going to go to Cambridge to join that man?" He was certain no one had ever called George Washington "that man" in quite those accents, but he wisely kept the observation to himself. "No, dearest. I am not going to join Washington at Cambridge." Ashley threw herself into his arms, so relieved with his response that she did not think to ask him to expand on it. She pressed hasty, thankful kisses on his brow, his eyelids, his cheeks, and his mouth. She traced every one of his masculine features with the feminine contours of her lips. And if her cheeks were a little damp, a little salty, neither of them mentioned it. Selfishly, Salem did not want to tell her something that would drive her from his embrace. He tried not to think that he had deceived her, encouraging her to ask the question, then not answering it fully. For now he accepted her lavish caresses greedily and ignored the taste of tears that was transferred from her lips to his. Later, of course, she would have to know that he fought in a different manner and had for some time. Nothing would be served by telling her that now. He nuzzled her neck, soothing her with his mouth and his hands. And when she quieted he simply held her, storing memories against the times when he would not be able to.

Chapter 9

Salem's forearm rested on his brow to shade his eyes from sunlight that broke through the treetops. Lying on his back in his wooded sanctuary, he was thinking he had earned this short rest when some movement alerted him to the presence of another. Squinting to see who would invade his privacy, his eyes rested on a dusty tricorn about six feet above him. The black hat was trimmed in gold braid and covered a head of hair so brightly yellow that Salem thought the sun most likely envied it. Below a pair of darker brows were deep blue eyes that stared down at Salem on either side of a hawklike nose. The man was standing aggressively, broad shoulders braced, legs slightly apart, and arms holding a fixed bayonet pointed at Salem's chest. Salem's eyes crossed slightly as they settled on the sharp tip of the bayonet. He frowned and looked up again. The man was smiling broadly now, lips drawn back over a row of even white teeth. Salem pushed the bayonet away. "Have a care, Smith. Your smile's more deadly than your musket. Close your mouth man, you're blinding me." Salem sat up while Smith dropped beside him, still grinning. That boyish smile made him look younger than his twenty-six years, but Salem knew better than to suppose it made Smith any less of a danger. The man was a crack shot and deadly with a knife at close quarters or twenty paces. Beyond those small bits of information, which seemed rather more important when Smith was needed in a fray, Salem knew virtually nothing about his background. There was a hint of something in his speech that indicated he had been well educated, but most often he covered it with a lazy drawl that defied any schooling at all. "What are you doing here?" Salem asked, taking Smith's offered hand in a firm, friendly grip. "I could have met you in Norfolk, or even Williamsburg." "You never made contact." "That's because I didn't have anything to relate."

"I heard you spent some time in Newgate." "That should have explained why I never bothered to set up a meeting when I got back. My cell was hardly the place to learn anything." "What about before that? I understand you were hob-nobbin' it with some duke." Salem's eyes glittered. Smith wasn't grinning any longer. "That was personal. It had nothing to do with our cause." Smith was thoughtful a moment, then nodded, accepting Salem's explanation without more details. "Then you didn't know the number of troops Gage was expectin' in Boston? You never heard about the eleven hundred men and the three major generals? The message about Clinton, Howe, and Burgoyne was never passed on to you?" "Is this an inquisition? I tell you I heard nothing and if someone tells you differently then they're playing you for a fool." Smith's eyebrows shot up while the rest of him grew very still. Salem ignored the tension in his companion. "Don't forget, Lexington didn't happen until I was on my way home. While I was in England no one was taking Colonial threats seriously. It will be a while before General Gage gets more reinforcements." "How long do you reckon before their blockade is in place?" "About ten weeks after Parliament realizes they have a full rebellion on their hands. Get the redcoats out of Boston altogether and then Parliament may know what it has wrought with its policies. I'm afraid it will take something larger than the skirmishes at Lexington, Concord, and Bunker Hill to make them take notice." "Breed's Hill," Smith said succinctly. "And it was damn well more than a skirmish. We killed or wounded nearly half of the major general's forces before we left that hill. That's over a thousand men, McClellan. Clinton said another victory like that one and they'd be ruined. When the redcoats came up that hill the second time we had to make every musket ball count. It seemed forever before they would get close enough to fire upon. And when they did? God, it was hellish. They went down like flames being snuffed out until we ran out of ammunition." Smith's voice was deep and gritty, his face hard with bitter memories. "Christ. Then it got dirty. They used bayonets on us. Hell, most of our men didn't even have any. We clubbed them with our muskets, and when we finally gave them our backs we had to leave over two hundred dead men behind." Salem felt his skin crawl. Smith shivered in spite of the heat. Neither man said anything for a long time. At length, Smith plucked a blade of grass, held it between his thumbs, and blew on it to make a credible bird call. "Where in the hell did you learn to do that, Smith?" The blade of grass was dropped immediately and a shutter closed over Smith's eyes. He picked up a pebble and tossed it in the spring, closing off Salem's question. "You were a bit touchy when I was askin' you about the troops," he said conversationally. "Wouldn't you be? You don't even like to be questioned about a bird call. You'd be a damn sight touched if someone were questioning your loyalty after all this time." Smith grinned. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Salem McClellan angry. "Now don't get all

riled up. I never had any doubts. I was under orders to find out, that's all. If I didn't respect you, I wouldn't have asked you flat out." "Whose orders?" "The general himself." "Washington? Questioning a McClellan's loyalty? He's been a family friend for years. What would make him think—" "Your name on a list of Loyalists the British are puttin' together." "That's absurd. Gareth's in the State Assembly, and there are few groups more radical than that Everyone knows where Father stands and Noah is—" "I said your name. No one else's. Political dissension has been known to split families before. Why should the McClellans be immune?" "My name on that list is a lie!" "I know that. That cussed general knows it, too, but he'd surely like to know how it got there." Salem frowned. "Tell me about the list." "Like I said, the redcoats are putting it together so they know who they can count on for quartering and supplies. New York and Philadelphia have large Loyalist populations, and the British can occupy either city without much difficulty. But once you get out of the cities, it's more difficult to find the Loyalists, which is why your name nearly burnt the general's fingers when he touched on it in the section marked Virginia." "I don't understand. Who would put my name on such a list?" "I figure it's someone tryin' to discredit you." "Someone who knows what I've been doing?" "I don't know about that," Smith said slowly. "It's possible. How many people know you're a courier?" "My brothers, Shannon, and my father. You, of course, and whoever you've told." "Your sisters? Your mother?" "No, but not because they can't be trusted. I didn't want them to worry." "Your slaves?" The last word was rather a sneer. Salem ignored Smith's obvious dislike of slavery. "No. I've been careful." "Then I don't know if you've been discovered or not. Looks like you got yourself caught between a rock and a hard place, Salem. Your escapade in London, getting yourself tossed in the jail, doesn't win you Loyalist favor here. And your name on Grant's list doesn't win you much support with the patriots." Salem felt his gut twist "Whose list?" "The redcoats."

Salem grabbed Smith's indigo blue vest, pulling off one of the white buttons. "Damnit! Repeat what you said! The man's name." If the man holding Smith's clothes in his fist hadn't been Salem McClellan, he would have been feeling the cold edge of the blade tucked in Smith's scruffed top boots. Because Salem was one of the few men Smith genuinely liked, he only placed his hand around Salem's wrist and squeezed until Salem's fingers relaxed their grip. He picked up the fallen button and tucked it into his vest pocket while Salem shook out his hand. "My regrets, friend. I don't like people grabbin' at me." Salem smiled ruefully. "I'll remember that." "Grant is the man's name you were askin' about. Charles, Lord Grant. He's one of Gage's most valued advisors. He's had a post in Boston for a number of years. He's quite familiar with the Colonies—and Colonial Loyalists." "Married?" Salem already knew the answer. "You'd never know it by the company he keeps, but yes, I believe there's a Lady Grant somewhere in England. Probably pining for the randy goat this very minute." Salem's short laugh was filled with skepticism. "Not if I know Davinia." "You know the lady wife?" "I met her on that personal matter I mentioned. She is the mistress of the Duke of Linfield." He hesitated, searching Smith's hard and knowing features, then plunged in with the details of his visit to London, including Ashley's wise suspicions that Nigel was behind the smuggling charges as well as Shannon's broken legs. Smith listened carefully, his face inscrutable. When Salem was finished he said thoughtfully, "It seems you've made an enemy in your own right, Salem. It looks like the duke wants your hide. I wonder how it can aid us?" Since he had been thinking the same thing, Salem's smile was mocking. "Your concern overwhelms me." "Hell, Salem. I figure you can take care of yourself. In a clinch you're the second best man I know." His grin said he was the first. "Then you think the duke's influence put my name on that list?" "Makes as much sense as any other explanation. The real question is whether Grant did it because he really thinks you're a sympathizer, or if he put it there at the behest of his wife, knowing full well it would discredit you." "I'd like to find out which it is." Smith nodded, lowering his tricorn a shade over his eyes. He levered his elbows behind him. "Had a feelin' you might. I have a plan I've already discussed with the general. I can't see that it needs any changin' just because of what you've told me." "Go on." "I don't know when we're going to move the British from Boston. Washington's got his hands full trying to keep the army together, raise supplies, and plan a campaign, but you can be certain the lobsterbacks will

be gone and just as certain they're not likely to swim for England. We figure New York is a likely refuge. I'd like you to be there, settled in, when they arrive." "And do what?" "What you do best Find out things." "You don't even know when they'll get to New York. It could be a year from now, if ever." Smith shrugged. "It could be worse. They could settle in Philadelphia. After the peace here at the landing, that city would make you dizzy. Anyway, I'm not suggesting you leave tomorrow. The first of the year is fine. That'll give you six months to inquire about a house and think about what sort of trade you want to pursue in New York. You can hardly be a planter there. And, of course, you'll have to make some kind of break with your family." "When I leave the landing for New York, my family will know the true reason. I will lie to others but not to them." "As you wish. The less people who know, the better." "And my wife will go with me." "Your wife?" Smith nearly shouted. "She will be in another three days. I'm marrying Ashley Lynne." Smith looked at Salem shrewdly and realized quite rightly there would be no broken engagement or any chance of leaving Ashley behind. "Damn." He whistled softly. "I hope I never meet the wench that can make me leave my senses." "There's no warning, Smith," Salem told him, remembering the lurch his insides had taken when Ashley sat in his arms sniffling. "I'll keep that in mind," Smith said. "How's she going to like the idea of New York?" "She's not. But if you think it can wait until after the first of the year, then I'm waiting to tell her." "Is she a Loyalist, Salem?" "I was wondering when you'd get around to that. You're asking the wrong question. You should ask if I can trust her with my life. After all, in New York it's my body that will swing if I can't." "You do what you want. But you had better be the only damn one swingin'." "You're a hard man, Smith. If I didn't feel so sorry for you, I'd take you to task. Ashley will never betray any of us." "Keep your pity. I'd rather feel your knuckles," Smith said tightly. "Forget it," Salem said. "What can I do for you before the first of the year?" "Routine coastal searches." "That's no problem. Trade is going to be difficult for a while." "Congress will get around to sanctioning privateering. You could stand to make a fortune on British

ships." "I don't think so. It smacks of piracy, pure and simple. But it sounds like something you'd be interested in, Smith." Smith stood, brushing off his dusty breeches. "No, thank you. I don't ever want to sail again if I can help it." Salem laughed. "Seasick?" Smith's jaw tightened. "Something like that." He looked away, wondering why he was unable to tell the truth even now. What was worse, Salem knew he lied and didn't question him. "When will I see you again?" "You know how to get a message to me." "That wasn't precisely what I asked." "It's a safe bet you'll see me in New York." He picked up his musket and stretched out his hand to Salem. "The general appreciates what you're going to do," he said gruffly. "And if Miss Lynne is only deserving of half the confidence you've placed in her, she sounds like a good woman for you." As an apology, it was the best he could manage. He took his leave then, disappearing quietly into the woods. Salem stayed in the clearing long after Smith had left. Damn, but that man could unsettle every plan he had. He came and went like an Indian, appeared when he was least expected, and was absolutely single-minded in his pursuit of American independence. Salem couldn't believe Smith had anyone in his personal life who depended on him; he seemed almost aggressively alone, trusting no one. Even after working under Smith's direction, and ultimately under the direction of the Sons of Liberty, for nearly two years, Smith remained an enigma to Salem. A rueful smile touched Salem's mouth. He didn't even know the man's first name. The smile vanished as he thought to the future. It was certain Ashley would not appreciate Smith's intrusion into their lives, and the continued influence of the duke, three thousand miles away, would frighten her. The prospect of a smooth first year of marriage suddenly seemed very dim. Ashley's most recent purchase was balanced precariously on top of her other bundles. Her head tilted to one side so she could see around the wrapping that contained one of her new bonnets. Just in time she managed to side step a particularly deep puddle in the street. "Darlene!" she called to the petite woman in front of her. "I can't see where I am going. You shouldn't have allowed me to buy this bonnet!" "Pish!" Darlene replied. "Watch that nasty piece of business there, to your left. You don't want to ruin your slippers." Darlene's own arms were filled with the overflow of Ashley's purchases, but she had no regret about anything she encouraged Ashley to buy. Charity's instructions were that Ashley was to have a complete trousseau. It was a lovely opportunity to learn the new fashions and Ashley's company was refreshing, although Darlene wished Salem's bride-to-be had entered into the spirit of the thing more readily instead of worrying about every expenditure. It took all of Darlene's wiles to persuade her to complete her wardrobe. Darlene neatly skirted a particularly handsome young man purposefully making his way across the street and called out a warning. "Ashley! Are you still back there? Watch your—" Too late. A soft thud, cries

of dismay, and hastily murmured apologies told Darlene she had been too slow with her warning. Spinning on her heels she found Ashley and the young man bent over the bundles. He was helping her load the packages back into her arms. "Sony, ma'am," he said to Ashley, bright blond hair glinting in the sunlight. "Reckon I wasn't lookin'." He paused, looking over Ashley carefully, and his grin said he liked what he saw. "Then again, mebbe I wanted to see who was hidin' behind all these bundles." Ashley blushed and Darlene intervened. "Mind your manners, sir! This young woman is going to be Salem McClellan's wife the day after tomorrow." Smith straightened and tipped his hat to Darlene, his eyes dancing. "Then there's still time for me to win her." Darlene's small mouth pursed and Ashley could see she was ready to deliver the stranger a set down. Ashley broke in. "I'm afraid that's not possible. I've already been well and truly won." She said it with such simple sincerity Smith had no doubt that Salem held her heart. Damn lucky fellow! Smith broke contact with Ashley's striking green eyes and dramatically placed his hand over his heart which made both women laugh. "If there's no hope for me, and if you have everything well in hand, then I shall take my leave." Before Ashley or Darlene could make a polite protest he was gone. "That was a peculiar encounter," Darlene commented minutes later as they turned past the gate to her home. A servant rushed out to relieve them of most of their packages. "I thought the same," Ashley said. "D'you know, I could swear I wasn't going to bump into him until you called my name. Then I couldn't seem to avoid him." "He was such a flirt." Ashley shook her head. "I'm not certain. I felt as if he were studying me." Her eyes darkened with fear. "You don't suppose—no, he couldn't—not yet…" Her voice drifted off, and she realized Darlene was staring at her. "What is it, Ashley?" "You don't think he's someone Nigel sent, do you?" "No," Darlene said hurriedly but unconvincingly. "Anyway, we'll tell Gareth about it as soon as he comes in. He'll know what to do." Ashley wasn't so certain. Suddenly she wanted to return to the landing and Salem. This enforced separation, though brief, was long enough for her to discover that only with Salem did she feel safe from her guardian. Gareth returned from the landing shortly before dinner. Though dusty and smelling of horses and sweat, Darlene hurled herself at her husband's large frame as soon as he crossed the threshold. He picked her up easily in his massive arms and kissed her soundly, thoroughly muffling her protests. Looking on from the base of the stairs, Ashley momentarily forgot her own concerns and smiled at the loving play between the married couple. Gareth's hair looked so dark against his wife's ash-colored curls, and though Ashley was used to his size, she still was amazed when she saw him with his tiny wife. How did they manage in bed? She looked away, embarrassed at the direction of her bold thoughts and filled with a longing for Salem's touch.

With some difficulty, Darlene was able to pull back a bit from her husband's embrace. "Oh, Gareth! You must put me down and listen! Ashley was accosted by a stranger today." Gareth blanched. If anything happened to Ashley it would kill his brother. "What? Were you hurt, Ashley?" "I'm fine, Gareth. Really. Darlene is making too much of the incident, though I admit it gave me fright after I thought about it At the moment it was happening there was nothing odd about it." Gareth set Darlene down, frowning. "A few details please." "A man ran into me because I couldn't see for all my packages. But later it seemed to me that he did it on purpose, and he did look at me strangely." "He flirted unconscionably," Darlene put in. "There's nothing so strange about the last," Gareth said, giving his wife's waist a light squeeze. "But as to the rest perhaps you'll give me the particulars after I've cleaned for dinner." During the meal Darlene and Ashley fully explained the incident, including a description of the rogue. They knew precisely the minute they could cease worrying because Gareth visibly relaxed in his chair, his large frame unfolding. "Who is he, Gareth? And don't prevaricate. I know you know." Darlene smiled triumphantly. "He's an acquaintance of Salem's, and when my brother hears he frightened you, he'll have his guts for garters." "Oh, surely not," Ashley protested. "I was silly to be afraid. It is hardly that young man's fault." Gareth's comment was cut off by his wife. "Ashley, pay attention. You will need to know this about the McClellan men: They are unfailing in their protection of their women, but on occasion they take it too far. Do you realize that my husband has not answered my question?" She turned to Gareth and fluttered her eyelashes coyly. "Now, suh," she drawled. "I am sho' this acquaintance of Salem's has a name. Might we be privileged to know it?" "What possible difference does it make if you know the man's name?" "D'you see, Ashley? He answers with a question. When Jerusalem does that to you, you'll know he's hiding something." Gareth shifted uncomfortably, his hazel eyes darting from one woman to the other. He held up his hands in mock surrender. "All right. His name is Smith. Does that satisfy you?" He laughed at their disappointed faces. "Couldn't you have done better than Smith?" Darlene asked. "He didn't look like a Smith." Gareth smiled smugly at Ashley. "Here's another lesson for you. When your husband gets around to telling you the truth, make certain you recognize it." Darlene was undaunted. "Well, then, who is this Smith? Why don't I know him?" "Can't Salem know someone you don't?" "But you know him, too. You recognized him from our description, and I've never seen the man before.

Is he one of those Liberty Boys? Is that why I never met him?" "Liberty Boys?" Ashley asked, recalling Charity's pronouncement of them as riffraff. "Why would Salem and you have anything to do with them?" Gareth shot his wife a speaking glance and Darlene held her tongue. She knew all the McClellan men were involved in some manner with the Sons of Liberty. Although he never spoke of it, it was not something he could hide once they had moved away from the plantation. There had been small hints over the last year that had made her suspicious, but until now she had never spoken of it She wished she had not chosen this moment to air her suspicions. It was a certainty that no one would want Ashley to find out: She was still undecided on the issue of independence and unlikely to take pride, as Darlene did, in her husband's involvement. "It sounds as if you've been speaking to Mother," Gareth said carefully, helping himself to a second portion of rice and freshly caught flounder stuffed with crabmeat. "She doesn't have a good word to say about the Sons." "I believe she thinks they are overzealous in their pursuit of liberty," Ashley replied. She was aware Gareth had not denied involvement with the men. At the same time she knew it was not Gareth she should be questioning. She would speak of the matter to Salem at a later time. "Mother is not in a position to be pointing fingers at the overzealous," Gareth said easily, glad he had found an opening to steer the conversation through. "She has everyone at the landing jumping through hoops in preparation for your wedding. I haven't seen her this excited since—" "Our wedding, dear," Darlene reminded him. "Ashley, you're bound to learn that month-long parties have been known to be held for occasions less appropriate than a wedding. Just wait until after the fall harvest. You and Salem will be overwhelmed with invitations to spend time with other planters." "Oh." Ashley's eyes grew wide. "I never thought about entertaining. Will it be expected of me?" "Not while you're living at the landing. The primary responsibility for that will rest with Charity, but you will find her gracious and happy to share some of the duties of chatelaine. On the matter of your wedding, however, you have no say. I'll wager guests have started arriving already." "You'd win," Gareth said. "The Lees and Chases arrived today. I have to say that everyone at the landing looks particularly pleased about the wedding. Everyone but Jerusalem. He doesn't seem to know what to do with himself." "Gareth! You've worried Ashley. She's probably thinking your brother wants to forget the entire matter." Ashley's guilty flush told Gareth his wife was correct in her assumption. He tried to explain. "It's just that Salem would like to have it done with." Darlene sighed. "Now you're making it sound as if he wants a hurried affair." "Salem looks as if he's lost his best friend," he said triumphantly. "Your brother looks that way when he hasn't been at sea for two months." "Well, then you explain it." Darlene circled the table and whispered in Ashley's ear until Ashley's blush surfaced then she calmly returned to her chair. A few minutes later Ashley excused herself from the table and Gareth confronted

his wife. "What did you say to pinken her cheeks, Darlene?" "Just some girl talk, Gareth. I told her that Salem knew precisely what he wanted to do with himself, and that was to be with her, right now." Gareth raised an eyebrow. "And that was all?" "I was a little naughtier, now that I think of it." "I don't suppose you'd care to explain." "If we could retire to the bedroom, I may be able to recall my phrasing." "Then by all means, let us retire." In her room Ashley could hear their giggles and knew a shattering sense of loneliness. She hugged her pillow, wondering if Salem felt this way. She wished he was with her at this moment, doing just one of the things Darlene had whispered in her ear. Her wedding day couldn't happen a moment too soon. Ashley closed her eyes and leaned her head against the rim of the tub, exposing the smooth expanse of her neck. She lifted her wet cloth and lazily dribbled a few drops of the warm scented water on the hollow of her throat. The relentless patter of rain outside her chamber window was seductively relaxing, and Ashley enjoyed the luxury of a few minutes to herself, something she had not had since Gareth and Darlene had returned her to the landing earlier in the day. Much against her own wishes she was secreted in her room before Salem or any of the guests knew she was in the house. Her new wardrobe, with exception of her wedding dress, was taken to the suite of rooms she would share with Salem. While Rae and Leah exclaimed over every purchase before it was carried off, Ashley sat quietly at the window seat, hoping for a glimpse of Salem in the yard. Meg pulled her away, sat her in front of the looking glass, and began experimenting with her hair. Ashley felt as if she had no voice in anything that was happening to her. Rae liked her hair up; Leah liked it down. Darlene suggested a braid, and when Charity breezed through the room she said it would look better in ringlets. Meg halted all comments and ordered everyone from the room when she saw Ashley biting her lip and looking suspiciously bright-eyed. "Don't be gettin' yourself in a tizzy," Meg warned her when the chamber was empty. "You'd be lookin' lovely if you was to be married in a sackcloth." Ashley brushed impatiently at her eyes. "Don't pay me any mind. I suppose I'm simply nervous." "Well, you can't be any worse than Mr. Salem. He's been snappin' at everyone this mornin'. And we all know it's because his Ma won't let him see you. Oh, that man's in a right fit temper. You'll be lucky if he don't ravish you in front of the minister and the guests." "Meg!" "Sure, and it's the truth I be speakin'. Mr. Salem has it bad for you." Ashley felt her skin tingle. "Couldn't I see him before the wedding?" "Not with my help you can't. I like my position in this house and I'll not be sneakin' Mr. Salem in here.

You only have two more hours." Meg gave Ashley's hair a few hard strokes and set the brush aside, then drew her a bath scented with fragrant oils. When Ashley was finally alone, her body soothed by the steaming water, she felt as if she hadn't a concern in the world. "Why didn't we have the sense to elope?" Ashley jerked upright at the sound of the husky voice. Salem was kneeling by her tub and the look of wicked amusement on his face sent Ashley's temperature higher than the water. "How did you get in here?" she whispered. "That's a fine greeting for a man you haven't seen in over a week." "Have you taken leave of your senses?" "That is a distinct possibility," he admitted reasonably. His voice held a calmness belied by the hungry searching of his eyes. "You have to leave." She held up her small washcloth to cover the swell of her breasts. It clung like a second skin and did nothing to redirect Salem's attention. "Salem, this is really too bad of you." She slipped lower in the water trying to catch his eye. "You have to go. What will everyone say if you're found in here?" "Nothing different than they're saying now. Everyone thinks I'm acting strangely. Sit up before you drown. I promise to look no lower than your neck." Before Ashley could protest he leaned over the tub and placed a quick kiss on her throat. "God, but you taste good." "Sa-lem. You have to leave." "What a tiresome refrain." He rolled his eyes and spoke to the air above him. "Is this the same woman who was asking to see me only a few moments ago? Can my love truly be this fickle?" "You heard?" "Every word. I was listening shamelessly at the door that connects with Leah's chamber. Luckily Leah is getting ready in Rahab's room. When I heard Meg go I slipped in. You were oblivious. Dare I hope you were thinking of me?" "Have you been this troublesome to everyone since I've been away?" she asked, ignoring his question. "More so." He grinned. When the smile faded, Salem's face had become serious. "Ashley, you don't have any doubts, do you?" She shook her head, her eyes grave. "No. Do you?" "None." "Is that why you sneaked in here, to ask me that?" "Partly. I had to be certain you weren't entering this marriage against your will." "Why would you think that? If you recall, I proposed." Salem shrugged. "I suppose I had too much time to think while you were away. I was afraid it may have been the babe that provoked your feelings."

"You're insulting me, Salem," she said quietly. He sighed, running a finger along the damp curve of her shoulder. "You know I didn't want to do that. I was just trying—" "To give me an opportunity to exit graciously from your life. And if I had chosen this moment to exit, what would you have done? Would you have let me leave?" "No," he said fiercely. "I couldn't let you go." A smile touched her face, embracing his heart. "And I'll never give you the chance." She took his hand that lay on her shoulder and held it to her cheek. "I do love you, you know. For all that you are impatient and immodest and impossible." "I think that's all I wanted to hear," he told her. "No, not the last part, minx. The middle part, where you said you loved me." "I know it is. Now will you leave? This water is getting cold and if your mother walked in here I would die of embarrassment." Salem flicked water in her face and while she was laughing and sputtering he left the room, this time with a spring in his step that no one at the landing had seen in days. Meg fluttered in from the hallway. Her orange hair was mussed and her lips were looking as if they had been very well kissed. "It's time for you to be out of that tub, Miss Ashley, or I'll be blamed for you lookin' like a crone on your wedding day." She helped Ashley from the bath and began patting her dry over protests that she could manage the thing herself, thank you. "I don't know what it is about weddings that makes men a little touched in the upperworks," Meg went on conversationally. "Your man comes tippy toein' out of Miss Leah's room and walks right past me as if I wasn't there. Then when I've gathered my wits and am ready to give him a piece of my mind, out jumps his lookout and says, 'There'll be none of your snippy tongue now, Meg Culgan,' and proceeds to kiss me quite senseless." Ashley giggled. "What did you do?" "I gave Shannon a good box on his ears and told him there would be no more of that until he proposed marriage." "And did he?" Meg wrapped the linen towel around Ashley then plopped herself down on the bed. "Yes," she said, stunned. She looked at Ashley, bewildered, as if she only now realized what had happened in the corridor. Ashley hugged her. "Oh, Meg, that's wonderful. You told him yes, didn't you?" "I can't remember!" she wailed. "He had me all flustered!" Ashley began laughing at the maid's woebegone expression and didn't stop until a hiccup brought her up short. "It isn't fair—hie—what men can do to us," she said. "They shouldn't—hie—be allowed—hie—to make us so dizzy." "Ashley! Meg! Have you been drinking?" Charity demanded from the doorway. She shut the door hastily

as her question sent both young women into another fit of laughter. Meg jumped up from the bed and began gathering Ashley's lacy underthings. "No, ma'am. We haven't had a drop of anything, though a touch of sherry may be just the thing to calm the bride." Ashley hiccupped again. "Just some water will do." "No, I think Meg's right. Sherry's the thing. I'll send someone for it. Meg, when I return, please endeavor to have Ashley partly dressed." Charity was back in the room within ten minutes, and Ashley was suitably attired in her silky chemise and petticoats. Meg had her in front of the mirror again, and they were pinning her hair in a sweep of soft curls. "You look very lovely, Charity," Ashley told her while Meg twisted her hair. Charity was wearing a gown of rose silk cut low over her white shoulders and trimmed at the bodice with a lace fichu. At the elbows were soft white ruffles, and the hem of the gown was delicately embroidered with a tracing of flowers. "Thank you, m'dear." She gave Ashley the glass of sherry. "Sip it. I admit I had a small glass myself a little while ago. I don't recall being this nervous at my own wedding, though the children tell me I was not all of one piece when Gareth married." "Are there many guests here?" "Oh, no. Fewer than one hundred. Of course they all won't be staying past tonight, though I could wish for better weather to see them on their way. I wouldn't be surprised if some have to stay over that weren't expected." Ashley did not hear much beyond one hundred. It was an enormous number in her mind. "So many?" She choked. She quickly took a rather large sip of her sherry. "Never mind about it, dear. I doubt you'll notice anyone but Salem. Now, there are still a few details that must be attended to. You know that Robert is giving you away?" Ashley's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, thank you. I never thought—" Charity brushed her thanks aside, afraid they would all get weepy if they dwelled on it. "There is no single room in this house large enough to accommodate all the guests at one time. Which is why the ceremony was supposed to take place outside. However, Meg says the heavens are weepin' for joy today at the marriage of one of their angels, and—" "Did you say that, Meg?" Ashley was wistful "That's lovely." "I did, miss, and that'll be enough of the sherry. It's one thing to be an angel, quite another to float through your vows." "And because of that," Charity went on blithely, "you'll have to be married on the grand staircase. I'm certain most everyone can manage to see you from there." "On the staircase?" "It's quite lovely. The servants have decorated it with honeysuckle and roses. Now Robert will escort you to Jerusalem at a point halfway down the stairs." "What if I trip?"

"Every bride thinks it and I haven't met one who does it." Ashley was skeptical, though she said nothing. "Don't refine on it," Charity said, breezing out of the room. "You'll see, once the ceremony starts it's like magic." Much later Ashley reflected that Charity was not far off the mark. There was a moment when she stood at the top of the stairs, looking down on Salem and nearly one hundred guests, that she wanted to flee to the safety of her chamber. Only Robert's gentle nudge on her elbow got her started down the stairs. Then she caught Salem's intent silver gaze, and it pulled her toward him, only him, and nothing could have made her turn from her path. She recalled the first time she had seen him and wondered how she could have ever feared this man. There was nothing even remotely savage about Salem McClellan, yet there was a hint of some fierce passion about him that could not be confined to elegant clothes and social mores. He looked astonishingly handsome and supremely confident as he waited for her beside the minister. His waistcoat and breeches were severely cut, fitting tightly across the breadth of his shoulders and smoothly muscled thighs. The soft pewter satin accented the color of his eyes and made his hair seem darker. The snowy cravat at his throat contrasted the touch of sun in his complexion. One part of Ashley's mind noted his attire, but it was the faint look of longing touching his face that drew her to his side. Salem could not remember breathing from the time he saw Ashley at the top of the stairs until she was safely in hand. She didn't seem quite real to him, more ethereal than of his world. When she stood poised on the first step looking like a delicate porcelain doll, he was afraid she would never reach him. But she had looked at him then and what he saw in her eyes belied her fragile air. Her emerald eyes glistened with the strength of the love she bore him. He watched her descent solemnly and heard the faint whisper of her brocaded white silk gown against the carpet. As she drew closer he saw that the embroidered folds of her gown were a delicate shade of pink that exactly matched the slippers she wore. A lace handkerchief covered the soft curves of her shoulders bared by the gown's neckline and fastened in the front with a large bow of white satin ribbon and pink rosebuds. Salem's fingers itched to unfasten the ribbon, but he suspected his mother had left a thorn or two on those rosebuds. Ashley's hair, arranged on her head in a fall of loose curls, looked especially inviting until he spied rosebuds there also. He forgot about rosebuds altogether as his father kissed Ashley's cheek and gave over her hand. The ceremony was completed without pause or hesitation. Ashley remembered Salem's voice, clear and deep, repeating his marriage vows with a sureness that would have shattered lingering doubts if she had had any. Salem knew that Ashley spoke her vows quietly and carefully, as if she were engraving each one on her heart. They both exchanged sidelong glances and secret smiles when they overheard Charity's whispered plea for a handkerchief and Robert's indulgent sigh. When Salem slipped a simple gold band on Ashley's finger, his hand stilled her faint trembling, and the gentle squeeze he gave warmed her. Neither Ashley nor Salem would ever remember the moment they were pronounced husband and wife, but neither would forget the moment Salem was permitted to kiss his bride. His eyes danced as he took Ashley's hands in his own. "They're waiting," he whispered to tease her. "But not nearly as anxiously as I am." For the first time in twenty minutes Ashley became aware of the guests that looked on from the foyer and hallway below. Unfamiliar faces stared up at her from the opened doorways to the parlor, library, and music room. Vaguely she realized the squeeze of people no longer bothered her and, undaunted by their

expectant looks or Salem's wicked expression, she rose on tiptoe and kissed him very soundly indeed. When it became Salem's kiss she wasn't sure, but at some point she felt herself surrender to his practiced loving. As though from a great distance she heard the minister clear his throat, yet she was powerless to pull away from her husband. She heard Leah's exaggerated sigh and Rae's delightful giggle. Noah coughed to cover his laughter. Gareth's chuckle was cut short by Darlene's elbow in his ribs, though a smile tugged at her lips. Robert's glance at his wife said clearly that she had asked for this display by separating the two lovers for so long. Charity looked dutifully chastened then hid her smile while she pretended to dab at her eyes. When Salem finally broke the kiss a collective shout of celebration greeted the newlyweds. He turned Ashley to face her guests and noted with some satisfaction that her cheeks had pinkened to the exact shade of her slippers. He bent his head and whispered in her ear. "When you begin a kiss such as you did, you must bear the consequences." "Perhaps you'll instruct me later," she answered. "My pleasure." "And mine." Salem's eyebrows shot up at Ashley's husky response. He planned to spend a lifetime with her, but he doubted he would ever understand how she could blush so innocently one moment then tease him so boldly the next. He didn't have time to consider it now as he was drawn into the receiving line and given congratulations from his friends and family. He watched Ashley with loving pride as she graciously accepted best wishes and strove to put a name to every face that greeted her. By the time the introductions were complete many of the guests had already helped themselves to the wide selection of food available in the dining room. When Salem escorted her to the oak table, heavily ladened with food, Ashley saw Tildy and the kitchen maids had outdone themselves preparing the feast There were at least thirty dishes, attractively presented and in such a quantity that it made Ashley blink. She recognized squab, crabmeat, sugar-glazed ham, and several kinds of fish. There was rice and sweet potatoes, honey-coated dinner rolls and biscuits, fresh fruit in a watermelon basket, a colorful variety of vegetables, and more sauces than Ashley knew existed. At the end of the table were an assortment of warm and cold pies and tiny chocolates. She took the plate Salem slipped her and began filling it with a bit of every dish, unaware of her husband's amusement. When she approached the desserts she was dismayed to find there was scant room on her plate for even the smallest portion of berry pie. "D'you think I've been too greedy?" she asked, looking down at her plate in disgust. "I didn't realize I was so hungry until I saw all this food." Salem laughed. "You're eating for two, quite possibly three." Ashley hastily looked around her to see if anyone overheard. When she saw they were not attracting any particular attention she sidled closer to Salem and very casually trod upon his toes. "Mind your manners or our children's father will be a cripple." "Oh-ho! What's this?" asked a portly gentleman who had appeared from nowhere, much to Ashley's chagrin and Salem's unholy amusement. "Are you planning your family already?" He didn't wait for an answer or take note of Ashley's embarrassment but good-naturedly spoke to the crowd at large. "Young people have no sense of getting to know one another anymore. The courtship lasts a day and they're

married before they discover they don't even like one another." "He speaks from experience," his wife noted dryly as she dragged him away from the laughing gathering. "That will teach you when to speak," Salem said solemnly as if he were imparting some great piece of wisdom. "Now if you will kindly remove your dainty foot from my shoe I believe I can lead you somewhere peaceful where we can eat our meal undisturbed." It took them more than a few minutes to reach their destination. It seemed they only made a few steps forward before they were engaged in a series of conversations with small groups of guests who filled every available space. Ashley had to admit that the celebration did not seem to be dimmed by the unfavorable weather. Everyone appeared quite content to make the best of the conditions. People were eating on the stairs, balancing their plates on their knees. Some had placed their dishes on the mantles and were enjoying a vociferous political discussion while they picked at their food and waved butter knives in the air. A few intrepid souls had climbed the ladder to the library loft and were eating their fare on the polished oak deck while their legs dangled over the edge. But no one, not a single person, had dared to brave Tildy's kitchen. It took Salem's considerable guile and charm and finally his single-dimpled grin before Tildy consented to let them hide out in her pantry. She even brought them glasses and a bottle of wine before shutting the door on them. "Won't they wonder where we've gone?" Ashley asked when she was seated on a crate of apples. Salem was perched comfortably above her on a barrel of flour. "Let them wonder," he said grandly. "Tildy won't betray us, and we don't have to return until the music starts. Here, have a taste of this squab." He waved a bit of the succulent meat in front of her, and when she giggled he managed to pop it in her mouth. He raised his dark eyebrows thoughtfully as Ashley's pink tongue came out to lick a drop of juice from her lips. "This mode of eating has tantalizing possibilities." Seeing the gleam in his eye Ashley firmly shook her head and pointed to his plate. "I refuse to do anything that will encourage my ravishment in a pantry." "In that case you shouldn't have followed me in here." She remained unmoved and slapped his fingers away when he tried to spear a small piece of her ham. "Eat. From your own plate." "You're a shrew, Ashley McClellan." She nodded absently, intent on her food. "That sounds rather nice, doesn't it? Not the shrew part I mean my name. Ashley McClellan." "Very nice." "Don't you think it was a lovely ceremony?" "I don't recall much of it." Her eyes widened. "Never say you were nervous!" "I wasn't. Terrified more accurately describes what I was feeling." "I can't credit it. You looked so calm; you gave me the courage to come down those stairs. I remember thinking how handsome you looked and how your eyes held me. Few things in my life have been as

perfect as the moment you held out your hand for me. I shall never forget it." "And I shall never forget the moment you took it. Until then I was afraid I had imagined you. You didn't look quite real, you know, at the top of the stairs. You were exceedingly lovely. You still are—even sitting on top of a crate stuffing your mouth with buttered peas." She swallowed and laughed. "There's no need to try to flatter me, you rogue. I swear to you I can't remember when I've been this hungry." "I'm glad to see you eating again. Not too long ago I despaired of that happening. Does the babe still make you ill?" "Not for over a week. I expect he, she, or they have settled in." Salem grinned, obviously liking the idea. "You know your kiss lasted an unconscionably long time," she scolded lightly, remembering his exuberant affection. "Did you see how the minister looked at you afterward?" "That was envy." "That was shock." "You were provoking." "I was provoked." "You tasted like honey and smelled of roses." His eyes fell on the small bunch of pink rosebuds at the swell of her breasts. "Shouldn't you undo that lacy thing? Aren't you worried you may be scratched?" "You mean the rosebuds? Heavens no. Your mother made certain there were no thorns when she gave them to Meg to attach." "No thorns you say?" Salem's brows wiggled in a parody of desire that made Ashley laugh. "Fie on you! I told you I will not be seduced in the pantry. Now keep your thoughts on a chaste plane and pour me a small measure of wine." She held out her glass expectantly. "I wonder if all women become so bossy upon saying their vows," Salem said, pouring her a generous sampling. "I shouldn't doubt it. Oh, stop there! If I drink as much as that I shall be all undone. I have no head for spirits." She smiled at him knowingly, sipping from her glass. "But you suspected as much, didn't you? I do believe you are trying to get me foxed." Salem hopped off the flour barrel and knelt at Ashley's feet, relieving her of the wine glass. There was a faint upward curve to his mouth but his eyes were serious. "Believe me, my love, the last thing I want is for you to be foxed. What we share now and what we will share later is for remembering. And I want no part of it dulled by drink." Ashley could only stare at the familiar darkening of Salem's heavily lashed eyes. When he was this close she didn't need wine to dull her good sense: His presence did that, while honing her every desire to a fine edge. Her small hands rested on either side of his neck, and she could feel the warm throb of his pulse. When she spoke her voice was barely above a whisper. "I don't think it's quite fair that you should make me want you so much." Her face dropped nearer his own so that his breath caressed her mouth. "Do you really mind?" he asked.

"No, I don't suppose that I do. Kiss me." His mouth lovingly captured hers, tasting the hint of wine that lingered there. He sipped at her lips until he felt her tongue tease the edge of his teeth. With a small groan he pushed himself upright, pulling Ashley with him. Her empty plate and silverware clattered to the floor between them, but the noise made no impact. Salem's hands swept down Ashley's slim back in a light caress, urging her closer to him. Without protest she allowed herself to be fitted snugly against his hard contours. The rosebuds at her breasts were very nearly crushed against his chest, but Ashley had no thought for anything except the feel of Salem's heated body against hers. A lilting melody drifted to her ears from far away and she smiled against the mouth pressing hers, blissfully unaware the soft music was not of her own making. She whimpered when he drew back his lips a fraction. "Please," she implored quietly. "Kiss me again." Rather than comply Salem turned her head so she could rest her cheek against his shoulder. He held her there while his chin nuzzled her hair. "Shhh, dearest, with all my heart I'd like to kiss you. But the musicians have started playing, and Tildy will be tossing us out of here with no regard for what we would rather be about." He felt Ashley's reluctant nod against his chest and slowly released her. He frowned when she didn't look at him but bent instead to pick up her plate. When he said her name she ignored him, gathering his plate and cutlery. "Ashley, look at me. What has upset you?" She turned her back on him and went to the pantry door. "I think we should join the others now." Each word was carefully pronounced, as though with great effort. Salem's hands covered Ashley's wrist, stopping her from opening the door. He got rid of the plates and turned her, pinning her stiff spine to the door. "I think we should talk," he said evenly. "Look at me." She lifted her head and glared at him mutinously. The look would have been more effective if her eyes hadn't been bright with tears. "Why are you crying?" Ashley took a deep breath. "I am not crying. At least not yet. I shall manage quite well if we leave now." "I don't doubt it. But then I won't know what has hurt you, and it seems to me this is precisely the sort of thing I should understand." "I wi-wish you w-weren't so nice sometimes." Salem failed to understand her logic, but he was prepared to go along with it. "I promise to beat you later if it will help," he said earnestly, pleased when Ashley gave him a watery smile. "Tell me what has upset you." "You shall think me a veritable thick-wit when I tell you." "No I won't. I promise." "I didn't hear the music. I mean I heard it, but not the way you did." "I don't think I understand." "Of course you don't. You never get so dizzy that you can't think straight." "Ash-ley. I am dizzy right now. Can you explain yourself a bit more clearly for my muddled head?"

She sniffed indignantly. "It's only right that you get muzzy when we talk, for I get muzzy when we kiss." Salem thought about that "And you think I don't." "I know you don't. You knew the music was coming from the players. I thought it was something I was dreaming. You never forget where you are. I never remember." "I see." His face was grave but his silver eyes were bright with suppressed amusement. "Don't you laugh at me, Jerusalem McClellan. I never wanted to be kissed in this pantry. If you recall, I tried to avoid it. Then you got so close and melted me with your eyes, and I just fell into your arms like some green girl." Her face was forlorn. "You are a green girl," he reminded her gently. He followed Ashley's eyes as they dropped to her abdomen. Salem lowered his arms from either side of her head and placed his palms very lightly where she directed. He could feel the feint swell of her belly through the white silk of her gown. He shook his head. "Not a girl," he amended with quiet sincerity. "And not so green. Ashley, did you think I was simply playing with your tender feelings when I kissed you?" She nodded. "You kiss me 'til I can't think properly then you stop as if it were of no bother to you at all." Salem opened his mouth to answer but a knock at the door interrupted him. "Yo' mama is lookin' for you, Master Salem. Everybody's waitin' for the dancin' to begin." "Just another minute, Tildy," Salem said impatiently, his full attention on his bride. "I had not thought I was such a fine actor," he told her. "It bothered me a great deal to stop kissing you, and when you asked me to continue I felt as if the breath had been driven from my lungs. Perhaps it was wrong of me to touch you in the first place, for I knew we could not go on as we might wish to, yet you drive reason from my head at times." "Master Salem! There's gonna be trouble if'n you don't git yo'self out of my kitchen. Miss Rae was just back here and she knows somethin's goin' on. I never was one to tell a lie like some folks I could mention." "It's very bad of you to hint at my past, Tildy. I need a little longer. My bride and I are having a disagreement." "Never heard of such a thing. Arguin' on yo' wedding day. That don' sound good. Don' sound right at all." Salem touched Ashley's cheek with the back of his fingers. "Do you understand, Ashley, that I feel things, too? I would never intentionally toy with what you feel for me." Ashley turned his hand and kissed his palm. "I told you I was being thick-witted." "No, you said I would find you so. And I don't But in many ways you're still an innocent, in need of certain reassurances and understanding. I wish that you would not hesitate to speak when something bothers you." "You will do the same?" "I will." When Tildy called for Salem again and there was no answer she took it upon herself to open the pantry

door. "My, my, my. I always tol' my Jacob that kissin' was a good dressin' for any kind of wound. Now that you two is all made up, how about gettin' out of my kitchen so's the dancin' can start? Lordy, Master Salem, didn't you git enough to eat? Behave yo'self. Miss Ashley ain't no apple tart." Some minutes later Ashley and Salem were leading the guests in the familiar patterns of a country dance. Amid comments that the bride looked serene and lovely, particularly in contrast to the groom who seemed to be a bit ruffled at the edges, Salem kept his eyes from making direct contact with Ashley's. When the steps of the dance brought her close to him he concentrated on some point beyond her head. She was not doing anything to help, he noticed grimly. She was deliberately trying to catch his eye, and if she did that he knew he would start laughing and quite possibly never stop. He raised her hand and she floated toward him in time with the music. "Don't you dare smile," he muttered between lips that barely moved. "Don't look at me. Don't smile. Don't laugh." "But, Salem—" The dance called for a change of partners and Ashley was swept away. Salem matched his steps to Martha Washington's. "I'm very pleased you could be here," he said sincerely. Martha's gentle smile warmed him. "I never considered not attending your wedding. I only wish that—" Salem squeezed her hand. "We all wish the general could be with you now, ma'am. Have you heard from him of late?" "Just before I left Mt. Vernon I had a missive. He writes that the army has no discipline, therefore it has no soul. He wonders if the men will make a regular army. Munitions are in short supply; they have not more than nine cartridges a man." "So few? Each British regular carries sixty." "I know." Her voice was not despairing, rather it seemed to speak matter-of-factly to the obstacles her husband would have to surmount It was clear she did not doubt his ability to do so. Before Salem could reply, it was time to change partners. He broke his step to kiss Martha's cheek lightly. "Rake," she said affectionately. "Go partner your wife and forget our discussion for now. Your lovely bride seems most anxious to catch your eye." "She's jealous of you." "Flatterer." Salem smiled roguishly, and passed Martha on to her waiting partner. It took several more movements of the dance before Ashley was back in hand. He only had to glimpse the devilry in her eyes to know she had not forgotten the incident in the pantry. Just a fleeting thought of it brought a twitch to his lips. Ashley's lips twitched in response. Salem's dimple appeared. Mocking him, Ashley poked her cheek with her index finger. "It was rather funny, wasn't it?" he said. "You should have come up for air when Tildy told you I wasn't an apple tart," she said wisely, just holding back her laughter.

"I believed I had more time. I mean, you aren't a cherry or peach tart either. I hoped she would elaborate on her theme. She seems to have grown rather laconic in her Old age." He sighed, shaking his head as if puzzling over a matter of grave importance. "Who would have thought she could still swing a broom like that, after all these years? And so accurately." That was all Ashley needed to release the bubble of laughter that was hovering on her lips. She would never forget Salem's shocked face when Tildy landed her broom bristles on his backside. Ashley had to bite her lip to keep from howling right there. "You're not going to be able to control yourself, are you?" She shook her head as silent laughter shook her slender frame. Salem began to lead her from the dance floor while some of the guests began to laugh at Ashley's infectious mirth. "If—if only—the bristles—hadn't—" "Ash-ley." But he was grinning too and she knew it. "Hadn't stuck in your—" "Say it. I dare you." "Posterior. You—you looked like a—a hedgehog with its quills up." No one really understood anything Ashley said. Only Salem, and Tildy had she been there, could have explained her garbled speech, but it was clear to all that the bride was enjoying herself at her new husband's expense. The crowd smiled indulgently when Salem hugged Ashley fiercely then picked her up by the waist and spun her, laughing. When he set her down there was no mistaking the gleam in his eye or the loving in his voice as he threatened to give as good as he got. The bride seemed shamelessly disappointed that she would have to wait before the promise was delivered upon, but she had no choice as her father-in-law chose that moment claim her for a dance. As the evening progressed Ashley and Salem had few moments together. When Salem was free Ashley was dancing with some member of his family, or worse, one of his friends bent on making him jealous, and succeeding very nicely. While Ashley pleaded fatigue and took refreshment at the punch bowl, she had the dubious pleasure of watching Salem escort a few of the young women who had hoped to be in her dainty slippers someday. Later, when he took Rae, then Leah, out on the floor, she tried not to show her relief. At last he came to claim her. But not for a dance. Ashley set her glass aside and began to slowly back away from the intent in her husband's eyes. She glanced around, looking for help among the guests. "Noah? I believe your brother intends to carry me off." "Yes," Noah said thoughtfully. "I believe that's what he plans." No aid from that quarter. "Gareth? Perhaps if you explain there is no need for a show of strength, that I will accompany him quite willingly…" Gareth pretended to consider. "No, I don't like interference in my affairs, I shan't do it to Salem." "Darlene?"

"I stand by my husband." Leah's exaggerated sigh said clearly what the young girl thought of her brother's tactics. "Rae?" she asked hopefully. "No." "Charity? Robert?" "There was that comment about the hedgehog, dear," Charity explained. "I hardly think it would be fair to deny Jerusalem his revenge." "I saved you earlier," Robert reminded her, smiling proudly as his son advanced. People parted for her while she backed away, but none moved to block Salem's path. On the contrary, she discovered they were very eager to call out suggestions on how to capture her. The entire affair was becoming quite bawdy and brought a flush to her cheeks. When she felt her spine press against the newell post at the base of the staircase she admitted defeat. Rather than hold her hands up in surrender she held them out It was clear to all present how much the little Tory loved her rebel. Salem lifted her as her arms went easily around his neck. Her silken gown felt incredibly soft against his hands; she seemed to weigh nothing. "Try not to appear too pleased with yourself," he whispered in her ear. "It isn't seemly." In response she buried her face shyly in the curve of his neck. To the guests' delight, Salem began mounting the stairs.

Chapter 10

Salem set Ashley on her feet as soon as he entered their suite of rooms. He chuckled when she remained clinging to him like a limpet. "Don't you want to explore?" He glanced about him. Someone had placed a vase of fresh flowers on the three-legged stand by his bed. The ivory drapes had thoughtfully been drawn against the rainy night sky, and candles on the mantelpiece and escritoire flickered their soft light on the cream walls of the bedchamber. At the foot of the four-poster lay a gauzy silk gown for Ashley and Salem's linen nightshirt. Raindrops lashed a peculiar rhythm against the windowpanes and muted the sounds of the lively party below. "No, I don't want to explore." Ashley stared up at him, a question in her darkening eyes. "That is to say, I do not want to explore our rooms. Would you think me very brazen if I said what I would like to do?" Her fingers trailed across the sensitive skin at the back of his neck. "I doubt there is a brazen bone in your body." "Then if I said I would like to feel you close to me, without benefit of clothes or bundling blanket, you would not think it shocking?" Salem thought it very shocking, but delightfully so. "Is this the same finely curved wench who fought me so fiercely at Linfield?"

"The very same. Perhaps this will jog your memory." Ashley nipped his neck with her teeth. "It seems I do recall those small pearls doing grievous injury to my shoulder." His arms fell comfortably around her waist and pulled her closer in an affectionate embrace. Over the top of Ashley's ebony hair his eyes fell on the nightgown laid out for her. "Would you like some minutes alone to ready yourself for bed? Perhaps you have need of a maid?" Even before he finished speaking he felt Ashley stiffen slightly in his arms. She was more apprehensive about joining him in bed than she had led him to believe. Ashley shook her head. "I'd rather not bother anyone, if it's all the same. I thought you might help me with my gown." She looked very uncertain of herself. "I imagine I've run out of bluff," she said a trifle sadly. "The truth is, I'm feeling terribly nervous about this." "Then you're not alone, sweet." "I daresay we should have retired to the pantry. There was nothing at all intimidating about making love among casks of flour and sugar." "Tildy was intimidating enough for me, thank you." He stroked her back gently. "I think we can manage this thing easily if we don't feel we're forcing it. Does that sound as though it will work?" Ashley nodded. "How do we go about it?" "Tell me what you really want at this moment." "I want you to go on holding me. Your arms are the sweetest security I've ever known." "Then I shall hold you, but I want to be sitting down." Ashley thought Salem would take her to the bed. Instead he led her to the window and opened the drapes. The droplets of rain that clung to the glass scattered the candlelight behind them and reflected their own figures in a misty blur. Salem sat on the padded windowseat, one leg stretched along its length while the other angled toward the floor. He pulled Ashley toward him so that she sat in the space bounded by his thighs. With no encouragement from him she curled like a kitten against his chest. Salem kept one arm around her waist and the other free to explore the delicate contours of his wife's form. "Better?" he asked when she seemed comfortably settled. "Mmm. Infinitely. I suspect I'm not thinking clearly again. It makes no sense that I should be nervous being with you." "It makes perfect sense. There are certain expectations of one's wedding night." He hesitated. "And I have not always treated you kindly." "That is not true, or at least I have forgotten those occasions. I wish that you would do the same." Of its own accord her small hand drifted to his satin-covered thigh. Without conscious thought her fingers traced and retraced a path along his leg. "I have," he said huskily. Indeed, he thought, at her touch he had forgotten all else. His jaw rested lightly at the crest of her head, and the strong perfume of roses suddenly assailed him. Belatedly he realized he had crushed one of the buds threaded through her hair. His sure fingers began plucking out the tiny flowers and he tossed them forward so they fell on Ashley's lap, mingling with the embroidered patterns in her dress. When she laughed at his foolishness he pressed his smile into a particularly tender spot behind her ear.

"It took Meg a long time to arrange my hair," she said. She could not manage to sound genuinely distressed, not when his lips were nuzzling the curve of her ear. "And she did splendidly. I'll compliment her when I see her." "Congratulate her. Shannon proposed." "When?" "Today. Just after you left my room. Meg seemed to think it was the excitement of our wedding that brought it on." "Hmm. Shannon will probably lay the thing at my feet." His tongue flicked her ear. "I doubt that I shall ever get enough of the taste of you. I have a craving right now for a bit of your neck." Ashley's giggle was cut off by a sweet moan as he satisfied himself on the tender line of her throat. Her head fell easily to one side to allow him access. The exquisite nibbles didn't stop at her neck. His hungry lips moved to her shoulder. "I think you would taste better without the lacy garnish." When he put it so reasonably Ashley could hardly refuse to help him undo the satin ribbon bow and pink rosebuds at her breasts. The shawl was slipped off and fell in a whisper to the hardwood floor Unrestricted by Ashley's clothing, Salem's tongue traced a line from her nape to the gently rounded end of her shoulder. She shivered. "Are you cold?" "Rogue. You know I am not." "Then you wouldn't mind if I undid a few of the buttons at your back?" "I suspect I would breathe easier if you did." Ashley could not see that Salem's hands trembled ever so slightly as he began to unfasten the cloth-covered buttons. She helped him ease the tight sleeves and bodice downward so that after a minimal struggle the top of the gown was at her waist. "Salem, I think we should close the drapes now. I would rather none of the departing guests could see us from the window." She stood, and while Salem fiddled with the drapes Ashley tugged at her dress. When he turned to face her she was standing in a snow drift of material clad in nothing but her thin chemise. "If you would come over here and kiss me, I don't think I would be nervous at all." "Happily, sweet. One of us should be calm." He took the few steps necessary to reach her and lifted her out of the pile of hastily discarded clothes. Her slippers dropped silently as he carried her to the bed. He laid her down on the coverlet, and his hands tangled in her hair the moment before his lips touched hers. Ashley felt something soar inside her when she realized his hunger was a match for her own. She opened her mouth and willingly allowed him entry. The rough edge of his tongue swept across her lips and teeth and battled her own with movements that foreshadowed his desire. The erotic dance of his tongue was matched by the small, telling thrusts of his hips as he pressed against her thighs. Ashley found herself shifting with an urgency foreign to her to accommodate his hard body. Her fingers tugged at Salem's cravat and tried to insinuate themselves beneath the material of his shirt. Her efforts were frustrated by his tight-fitting jacket. "This is a most unsatisfactory arrangement," she said breathlessly against his mouth. "I want to touch you." Salem lifted his head enough so that he could see his wife's face. Clearly Ashley was no longer frightened.

"And I want you to touch me." His eyes glittered darkly as he shrugged out of his jacket. When his hands went to his shirt Ashley's soft command stilled his movements. "Let me." Sitting up, she tugged the hem of his shirt from his breeches. She made slow work of removing the garment, her slender fingers stroking his skin everywhere. By the time the shirt was tossed to one side Salem knew himself to be on fire. When her mouth settled on one of his hard nipples and teased it with the tip of her tongue, he decided he was not long for this world if he did not take Ashley to task. He growled lowly in her ear as he began fussing with the laces of her chemise. "If you do not desist, sweet, you shall put a stop to my loving before I get started." Ashley lifted her head, nodded blankly, and sat very still while he stripped off her undergarments. When her breasts were bared they swelled and quivered, just as if he had touched them. In fact, his hands were nowhere near her skin. Only his eyes had settled on the firm thrust of her breasts. His gaze lifted and locked on the slumberous eyes opposite him. The lowered sweep of her lashes was deceiving, for Salem knew Ashley was trembling with awareness of his every move. He kicked off his shoes and watched her blink jerkily as each one thudded to the floor. While his hands unfastened the buttons of his breeches she was as still as a cornered deer. Only when he was naked did she make an involuntary movement toward him. At the last moment she pulled back sharply, but even so, Salem's flesh rippled as if she had touched him. "You're beautiful," she said, her voice husky with an odd reverence. Her eyes widened when she saw his complexion grow ruddy beneath his tan. "Why, I've embarrassed you." "I'll recover. No one has ever said I was—beautiful." He gave a short laugh. "I suppose I could even get used to it." "You shall have to, because I intend to tell you. Often. You are beautiful. Smooth and golden. So tight. And hard." Her hand flew to her mouth as she realized the implication of what she had said. She flushed wildly. "I didn't mean—that is I was referring to your—" Salem's shout of laughter sent her reeling backward. Or was it his hands on her shoulders? She realized she wasn't thinking clearly anymore. The tiny kisses he placed over her soft downy cheeks and on her closed lids effectively silenced her and put an end to proper thought. "I know what you meant, sweet witch, and I love you for it. I do love you." She tingled under the spell of his words, the caress of his warm breath against her skin. She savored the taste of his lips on hers and moaned softly when his mouth moved lower and captured the swollen crest of her breast. His tongue flicked across her nipple, first one, then the other, until she gasped at the tender tugging. "I burn when you do that," she whispered. He lifted his head but her hands directed him back. "And when you stop, I ache." She felt his pleasure in the smile he buried between her breasts and the adoring kiss he placed on the puckered scar that had marked her since birth. The tips of her fingers ruffled his thick hair, slid down over his neck, and drifted lovingly across his shoulders. Experimentally she ran her hand along his spine, pressing the vertebrae and sending a shiver that ran through him and into her. When she reached the taut flesh of his buttocks her legs parted as he nestled against her thighs. "Does it frighten you, that I want you so much?" he asked lowly, making her feel the fullness of his need.

She shook her head. "No, only that I want you so badly." He saw that she was ready, felt the warm moist heat of her, and thought he could not have held back at that moment had she been otherwise. "Help me, Ashley. I have no wish to hurt you." "You couldn't." Her thighs parted further at his urging, and her hand slipped from around his back to guide him to her. It was her thrust, rather than his, that finally united them. Salem hesitated before he moved, but Ashley's sleepy, satisfied smile beckoned him, and he began a slow tempting rhythm that she matched measure for full measure. He glided and stroked, filling her, filling himself. She tightened around him from the inside out. While the velvet warmth of her sheltered him, her legs and arms held him in the softest embrace he had ever known. Gradually his movements became more heated, but still she clung, sharing his need as she shared his love. The tips of her fingers sought purchase in the muscles of his back, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out as the pleasure began to rise fiercely within her. In the end there was no containing it, for she felt him give a hard thrust and watched the tension in his face reach a level of sharpness she had never seen before. It drained away, leaving his features very still with a kind of wonder. Then it was her turn. The pleasure that she felt held her motionless beneath him. She thought if she moved even the tiniest fraction her soul would be scattered to the four winds. Something in her eyes spoke of her fear and he erased it with his voice. "I love you. I won't let you go." Then his hand slipped between their bodies as he began to withdraw from her, and when she thought the pleasure had begun to even out, he touched her just so. The gentle pressure of his hand was all the assault her heightened senses could bear. She tried to hide her face from him so he could not see how vulnerable she was to him, but he would not let her. "I want to see," he said. "You're beautiful." When the tension dissolved from her body she felt as if she would never move again. Lazily, with leaden arms, she curled against him. She nearly purred. "Don't you think we should slip under the covers?" Salem asked, nudging her. He glanced at the foot of the bed where their nightclothes lay in a much abused heap. He doubted they would see any use. "No. You'll keep me warm." "I amend my opinion of you. I do believe you are rather brazen." "I am trying." Seeing that she wasn't likely to cooperate, Salem reached for the edge of the coverlet and simply pulled it over them. "Aren't you going to snuff the candles?" she asked. "No, I want to watch you sleep." Although her eyes were closed her eyebrows flew up in disbelief. "It sounds like a singularly boring activity." "A peaceful one, Ashley." His solemn tone gave her pause. She opened her eyes. "I never drought anyone would love me as much as you do. Or as well. I have to pinch myself and wonder if anything such as this can last."

"It can. There's permanence in what we feel for each other." "I will have to learn," she said earnestly. "Learn not to be afraid." Salem hugged her. Without asking he knew what she feared. "He will not hurt us here, Ashley. I give you my word. I will not allow it." She said nothing, but he felt her relax and in a little while she was asleep. For a long time he simply studied her placid features then he snuffed the candles and joined her. "And I tell you, I will not allow it!" Nigel Lynne was enraged, his eyes nearly black with anger. His fingers pressed tightly against Davinia's white shoulders, leaving red welts when he pushed her away. "You've bruised me, Nigel." Davinia pouted. A vague sort of interest in her eyes said she was not particularly upset by the rough treatment. Her efforts to examine her shoulders pulled the sheet that covered her breasts a bit lower. Far from being intrigued by her display, Nigel was repelled at Davinia's flagrant attempts to seduce him while he was so angry. "Cover yourself. I am hardly of a mind to be tempted." He shrugged into his satin dressing gown and yanked the belt about his waist. "If you wanted a toss you should have held your tongue." Davinia agreed silently. She admitted she had not used good judgment to mention the details of her husband's most recent letter. "It is all very well for you to say you shan't allow it, Nigel, but I fail to understand what you can do to make a difference. The chit's been wed these past four months. It was a mere stroke of luck that Charles happened to hear McClellan had married. The Colony is in revolt, for heaven's sake. You can't expect him to spend his time worrying about your ward." "Then I shall hire someone who can spend their time in exactly that manner. I will have Ashley returned to me." He poured himself a large measure of whiskey and tossed it back in his throat. "I cannot fathom this obsession you have with the girl." "She has tried to make a fool of me. No one does that." "I rather thought she made a fool of Bosworth. After all, he was her intended." "But she was in my care and in my control. And she shall be again. I am going to have her marriage annulled." Davinia's eyes narrowed as she studied Nigel. She could not remember hearing such angry passion in his voice. "Why do you want to do that? By all accounts the McClellans have some wealth. Perhaps there is something in it for you. I should think you are better off with Ashley safely wedded." "You know nothing about it." His knuckles whitened on the glass he held in the second before he sent it crashing against the hearth. Flames spit and hissed, and Davinia jerked in reaction to his violence. "Salem McClellan has no right to be married to her! Do you hear? He has no right!" Davinia was genuinely bewildered and not a little frightened. Nigel's face was uncomfortably flushed but his eyes were as cold as stones. "I cannot help but hear you, Nigel," she said quietly, in an effort to calm him. "I still do not understand why your ward and the Yankee cannot be wed."

"They are brother and sister! As God is my witness, Ashley shall not have her brother! She belongs here, with me, as Anne did!" Davinia felt a cold sort of growth begin in her stomach. It was not what the duke said about Ashley and Salem that filled her with dread but rather what he said about his own sister. She reached for her robe and slipped into it, hugging the fur collar to her throat. Nigel was not looking at her; instead he was studying the fire, and in her mind's eye Davinia could see the portrait of Anne imposed on the flickering heat. Turning her head toward the cheval glass she examined her own reflection and saw herself as she was certain Nigel had been seeing her for years. She and Anne shared the same delicate bone structure, clear blue eyes, and hair that highlighted gold and silver strands. In that moment she felt a killing hatred toward the man who was her lover. "Have I shocked you, Davinia?" Nigel asked at last, turning slowly toward her. "Does it offend your sensibilities that I loved my twin? Needed her as I needed the very air? No? I thought perhaps it wouldn't. You're a hardened woman, Davinia. So unlike Anne in that respect. She was an innocent. Totally unsuited to make her way through life without my protection. Her daughter is very much the same, don't you think?" Davinia nodded as Nigel's fascination with Ashley began to make sense to her. It was not that Ashley was his niece that interested him, but that she was Anne's daughter. "Yes, Ashley is unworldly, but then you took care to see that she remained that way." Nigel shrugged. "Perhaps I did try to mold her in something of her mother's image. In spite of my efforts, I could never quite rein in her spirit. It was intriguing how much she resembled Anne in temperament but not at all in her features. You, of course, palely imitate those features and have none of the temperament I wish that it did not take two women to replace my Anne, but there you have it." Davinia did not even blink at his announcement; it was no more than she had expected. "Then when you make love to me—" "Make love? I bed you. You are naught but a fair form to assuage my needs." Even Davinia was not immune to such perverse cruelty. She struck back to hurt him. "And Anne?" she asked archly. "Was she naught but a fair form? Did you bed her?" Her voice rose hysterically. "Did you lay with your own sister?" Nigel's jaw tightened and a vein throbbed in his temple. "You would be wise to tread carefully, Davinia." Recklessly she persisted. "You never touched her, did you? God, how that must have maddened you! Did you want to crawl between silken sheets with her?" A heated flush slowly rose in the duke's face. Davinia laughed shrilly, pointing a sharply filed nail at him. "You really are a perverse bastard, Nigel Lynne." Nigel cut off his mistress's bitter laughter with a slap to her cheek that sent her reeling backward. "Damn you!" One hand wrapped around her slim neck. "You know nothing of what I felt for Anne. If she did not understand, how can you? I loved her! God, how I loved her! She was part of me, and she should have been subservient to my wishes. Yet Anne always chose to oppose me. But she refused to fall in with my plans one too many times. I had no choice but to punish her. I arranged for her to marry the old Earl." His voice lowered as his fingers tightened. "She should have been pleased that I let her off so lightly. Do you know how she thanked me, Davinia?" "Nigel," she choked. "You're hurting me."

He shook her. "Do you know how she thanked me?" "No. No, I don't know." Davinia's fingers came up to claw at the Duke's hand, but even though she drew blood it had no impact on his grip. "She ran from Linfield and spread her legs for Robert McClellan. Anne had that commoner's child." Abruptly he released Davinia and watched narrowly as she scrambled to the far side of the bed and massaged her bruised skin. "You're such a coward, Davinia. Anne never shrunk away as you do. She stood up to me, even at the last." "At the last?" Davinia asked huskily. Nigel nodded. "I had to prove she belonged to me in the only way I could. I had to show her I had the right to end her life." Davinia did not want to hear anymore. Nigel's eerie confession made her fear for her safety. Nigel accurately read her expression and smiled coldly. "I do believe you think I mean to do you harm. I have in mind nothing of the sort. Though I find you provoking beyond reason at times, I find you adequate, even amusing in bed." "Then you know I would never repeat anything you told me." "I know it. It would be your word against mine. And who ever believes the rantings of a discarded mistress? That is what you would be should you ever open your mouth. I wonder if your pride could stand that?" She understood perfectly and knew him to be right. "Why did you tell me any of this?" "Because you needed to learn the consequences of your insatiable curiosity. I grew weary of your constant badgering. Come here, Davinia." He motioned to a point on the bed nearer where he stood. Slowly she complied. "There's a good girl." He sat beside her. "D'you know I've never told anyone what I've told you. Surely that counts for something between us." She nodded. His pale hands softly stroked the bruises on her neck, and when she didn't flinch he smiled encouragingly. Gradually his fingers slipped the robe from her shoulders and traced the line of her collarbone. "You do understand that Ashley has to come back to Linfield? No, don't pull away. I want to touch you." Davinia forced herself to relax. "I find it disconcerting for you to fondle me and talk of your niece." "My ward," he corrected idly. "I have never really thought of her as my own flesh and blood. I suppose it's a matter of her commoner father. Here, lie back, Davinia." His fingers trailed over her pale breasts as she complied. "You're quite lovely in your own way, you know. I think I've not appreciated it before. I suspect I've grown fond of you after a fashion. That has never happened with Ashley." "Then you've never felt any desire for her." Nigel flicked at her hardened nipples with his tongue. "You always like that, don't you? I do know your body, Davinia. I know what brings you pleasure." He kissed her pouting mouth. "And pain." He bit her full lower lip. "And how they mingle." His mouth crushed hers hard. When he lifted his head she was staring at him with darkening eyes. "There are different sorts of desire, I think. I never wanted to bed Ashley, if that is what you mean. But I have desired to make her bend to my will. And she will bend, or I shall break her." Davinia shivered and hoped Nigel believed it to be his deft hands that had provoked it. "How will you

bring her back? She has that Colonial as a protector." "I have already said I will employ someone to do it. There is a man I can trust to see to the deed. He has been helpful in the past and will know I am prepared to pay handsomely for her return." Nigel drew a spiral pattern on Davinia's abdomen and felt her flesh come alive beneath his touch. "Salem McClellan is the least of my worries. Your husband has generally been cooperative with news and in following your gently worded instructions. Though he does not understand, he has already set in motion certain things that will hurt McClellan. If it weren't for the damn uprising Salem would be back here on the smuggling charges." He laughed rather grimly. "D'you see how people are against me, Davinia? D'you begin to understand why I have to take control?" Was he teasing her, or did he truly believe the Colonies were in rebellion to thwart him? She tried to remove his hands from her waist. "Nigel, please. I must think. I don't want to make love right now." He ignored her pathetic plea and applied himself skillfully to her complete arousal. Her attempts to fight him off came to nothing, and only when she had clearly changed her mind about making love did he pull back. "Davinia, you truly are a delight. So hungry for what I can give you that you would trust me against your better judgment." He shook his head regrettfully as he straddled her hips. "Ashley could tell you never to trust me. She could tell you that I lie a great deal. What a pity you won't be here when she returns." While Davinia stared at him, her eyes a mixture of horror and fascination, Nigel's hands closed slowly over her throat. "Ashley, if you're tired why don't you go on up to bed? I'll be done with these ledgers in a short while." She yawned and looked at Salem's bent head with some exasperation. It was nearly midnight; the rest of the family had long since retired to their respective beds. But Salem had stubbornly insisted he would finish the books. Ashley's gentle smile was comment enough that she intended to wait her husband out. Sympathetic looks from Charity and Robert made her even more determined to discover what was troubling Salem. It was more than the work in front of him, she was certain of it. If anything his state of agitation made it more difficult for him to settle the accounts. "Why should you think I'm tired? And you've been saying the same thing about those books for several hours now." He frowned without glancing up. "They're damn plaguey things. Noah always saw to these matters." He thrust his quill roughly into the inkwell then swore when the tip bent and had to be sharpened. Ashley was thoughtful. Her chin rested comfortably on the back of one hand while she sat curled against the bolster pillow on the divan. The other hand patted her rounded belly, absently soothing the babies who were working up to a brawl. Outside, sharply cold November winds lashed at the windows. Yet none of nature's frenzy attracted her attention. It was all for Salem. His coal black hair was mussed at the brow where his fingers had woven his frustration. His skin was pulled taut over the bones of his face, making him seem violently intense for all that he was still. He had yanked at his cravat early in his work, and now his shirt lay open at the throat, revealing his leashed anger in the thrumming of his pulse. Ashley wished he would lose control, even if it meant lashing out at her. It pained her to see him so coiled with tension and it hurt her that he would not speak of what troubled him. Her mind flew back to her wedding day. Although a little more than four months had passed, she remembered everything that had happened in Tildy's pantry. And by far the most important occurrence

was Salem's insistence they should share their thoughts. Clearly he had forgotten. Ashley felt compelled to remind him. "It was terribly inconsiderate of Noah to go off to war and leave you to do battle with the ledgers." Her waspish derision, so unlike her, brought Salem's head up. "That sort of remark ill becomes you, Ashley. I think you must be excessively tired. Go up to bed." Not by so much as a flicker of her thick lashes did she show her agitation. She stared him straight in the eye, her face serene. Her voice was quiet, lilting. "And in one breath you have proven yourself to be patronizing, pigheaded, and pompous." He tried to restrain himself but it was no use. His lips twitched. The knowing curve of Ashley's lips forced his smile. "Patronizing and pompous, perhaps. But pigheaded?" he asked. "There has been something troubling you since Noah left in late August, and you have yet to speak of it. I have reached the end of my patience. The first few days I thought you reserved. Later I thought you stubborn. Tonight I think you—" "Pigheaded." "Precisely. Salem, we agreed on our wedding day to speak of what bothered us. Perhaps I have taken it too much to heart and burdened you unnecessarily, but—" "Never. You've never done that." "Then make good on your promise. Is it Noah's leaving that has made you so testy?" Salem tossed the quill aside and pushed his chair back. Stretching, he placed his folded hands on his thigh. "Have I been so awful?" She sighed heavily. Darlene had warned her McClellan men had difficulty following a conversation when they had something to hide. "Shall I tell you what I think? I think you are unhappy because Noah is in Massachusetts, trying to oust the British regulars, and you are stuck here with a fat, plaguey wife and fat, plaguey ledgers. You only take the Caroline out on the shortest of junkets, and when you return it seems as if you resent being here. I think you regret ever telling me you would not join Mr. Washington because that is exactly where you want to be at this moment." She held her breath and waited for his reply. Salem shut his eyes as his head fell back. "You know you are exaggerating," he said tiredly. "Only a bit." "You are not fat." She smiled faintly. "Please, Salem. Please confide in me." He was silent for a long time. Finally she realized he was gathering his thoughts. Even the babies had quieted as she anticipated his response. "I think you understand that I want to contribute toward this effort for independence," he said finally. "But I don't think you know how important it is to me. The truth is that I have been involved in activities— treasonous activities—for some time now. I hoped to keep it from you because I knew you would worry." "What sort of activities?"

"In the past I have been a courier, delivering messages of a delicate nature to Franklin when he was still lobbying Parliament. I have planned and led raids on places where the British store munitions and committed certain illegal acts to discourage custom officials from making life so difficult for free Yankee trade." He opened his eyes and stared at his hands, unable to meet Ashley squarely. "Of late I have been scouting the coast and navigable backwaters for evidence of British troops. There are any number of places the redcoats can land, and the militia has to be ready up and down the shore. When I take the Caroline out, it is not for pleasure but for duty, and when I return it is not resentment that you see but a kind of apprehension that time is eroding the peace I have always known at the landing." "I see," she said lowly. She considered all he had said thoughtfully. Although her stomach felt queasy when she thought of the danger he had been facing, it was something else that filled her with sick dread. "Was your fear of worrying me the only reason you kept silent for so long?" He met her eyes."Yes. What other reason would I have?" "Perhaps you do not trust me." Salem crossed the room in three swift strides, taking Ashley's hands as he sat beside her. "I trust you with my heart, my mind, my very life. Otherwise I would never have told you what I just did. Rae, Leah, and Mother know nothing, and it is not because I don't trust them." "But your father and brothers know. I think your notion of protecting your women is misguided. None of us is so very fragile, Salem. I am certain Darlene suspects Gareth is involved in your exploits, and she has not wilted with the news." "Darlene no longer suspects. She knows. It was your encounter with Smith in Williamsburg that saw to that." "You mean the young man who knocked me over? I had forgotten his name." "I doubt that it is his name. But no matter, you can be certain he has not forgotten you. He is the man who directs my activities. At one time it was through the Sons of Liberty. Of late it comes from Washington's camp. Darlene suspected Smith's involvement and Gareth confirmed. I let the matter pass when I was told because I—" "Did not want to worry me." She shook her head. "That is a very sad chorus, Salem. I wish to know when I may hear the last of it." "Consider it done." "Good," she said briskly. Then, "Oh!" Her eyes widened. "What is it?" "The babes are marching to 'Yankee Doodle.' Feel." Salem put his hand over Ashley's abdomen, grinning at the kicking while Ashley hummed the tune the British played to scorn Colonial bumpkins. At some point Americans had claimed it proudly as their own, thus taking away the ditty's sting. Salem kissed Ashley's closed mouth as she continued to hum. Finding that he could not win her over, he joined her. Lips touching, they finished the tune laughing. "I delight in you, Ashley." With her complete cooperation he managed to curl around her on the divan so she fit snugly against him. One of his arms rested protectively around her middle, and his fingers tangled with hers. He breathed deeply of her wildflower fragrance and knew himself to be content.

"Tell me why Smith hasn't forgotten me," Ashley asked at length. "Smith is something of a puzzle, Ashley. He is not the sort of man who trusts many people. He's very angry, very bitter, and takes some pains to hide it. I don't know much of his background, but I do know that he is as honorable as he is hard. Smith and I share a mutual respect that was rather grudgingly given after some difficult moments together. But he thinks I have taken leave of my senses for marrying you. He has no ties himself, so he doesn't understand how it is between us. He is skeptical of my confidence in you. I suspect he made it a point to seek you out and make his own judgment. He won't forget what he thought of you." "But our meeting was so brief," she protested. "How could he form an opinion on such a basis?" "It is not a matter of an opinion but a good opinion that concerns you. Why should that matter to you?" "I would not have him think less of you because of me." "It is more likely that I will think less of him if he can't see your worth," he said, giving her a gentle shake. "Anyway, I doubt you will care so much for his way of thinking when I tell you what he has planned for the new year." Ashley's fingers tightened on his. "I had planned to have some babies around that time," she said. "Will you have to go away?" "I won't leave until after you give birth. And when I go, you and the children are coming with me. We'll take a few servants to help you. And Meg, of course. She's at loose ends since Shannon took off on Noah's heels. She'll jump at the chance to pin him to that marriage proposal." Ashley could not take it all in. "Where are we going? Shannon is camped outside of Boston. That's so far." "I suspect I am explaining this very badly. We are going to New York. To Manhattan Island. It is only a ten day ride from here, but we will take the Caroline for your comfort." Bewildered, Ashley turned to face Salem. She grimaced at her swollen belly for making the movement so difficult and then keeping her from getting closer to her husband. "Yes," she said, mostly to herself. "I am certainly planning on having some babies. Now, Salem, perhaps a better question would be: Why are we going to New York?" "Because Washington says the British will go there after they vacate Boston." "The general is confident as well as prescient," she mocked softly. "He is both those things." "Let us say he managed to push the British out of Boston. How does he know they'll go to New York?" "It's the logical choice. New York is richly populated with Loyalists. Her harbors and inlets make it easy for troops to land. The Hudson River is a natural boundary, cutting off the southern Colonies. And one more important consideration: Lord Howe will look for diverting entertainment, and New York can provide it. His favor will be courted. You can be certain the city will be rife with galas." "You jest," she said. "About the last? I hope not. It is precisely the diversions that lead to the most interesting bits of

information." "But how can you hope to be included at such affairs? Your family is well known for its politics. No one would believe you to be a Loyalist." "As Smith was so quick to point out, it is my family who is noted for their politics. I have rarely been vocal about my leanings, and those who know me well will know my role is one of Smith's schemes. This rebellion has split families. Franklin's own son is a fierce supporter of the crown. It would not be surprising that I choose to break with my family over this." He sighed heavily, his eyes grave as he studied her face. What he had yet to say he dreaded the most. "But there is one more reason people will believe I am a Loyalist." And so he told her about Nigel's guiding hand in his affairs. "It could be a trap," she said softly. "I am sure it is, but knowing that will keep me watchful." "Are you afraid?" "Some for myself. Mostly for you." Ashley's slim fingers traced the hard line of his chin. "D'you know that I would have raised the roof if you had decided not to take me along, yet it is what I would have expected your decision to be." He laughed and kissed her fingers, one by one. "If I left the landing on my own, we would have had a terrible row, and I would have worried endlessly that you were following." She nodded, genuinely pleased he had not underestimated her. "And if I hadn't confronted you this evening," she said, "when would you have told me about our move?" He looked endearingly shamefaced. "Actually, I was working up to it. I believe I could have given you a few hours' warning." "You're an awful tease, Jerusalem McClellan." She chucked him on the chin. "I am hardly of a size to be so threatening to you." He looked surprised. "The threat is only that I may lose you." "That is not within the realm of possibilities." Ashley's smile was wicked, a feminine version of the one he so often used to snare her. "And if we could retire to our chamber I should be delighted to remind you of one of the reasons that is so." "Madam, I am ever at your command." "Salem! Don't pick me up! Your children weigh a stone!" He was not deterred. "If you can carry them, then so can I." Ashley gave in gracefully, wrapping her arms about his neck. She laughed at him as he made a great show of staggering up the stairs. "I shouldn't doubt the entire house heard us," she said when he dropped her on their bed. "If they have any sense they'll know you bearded the lion and have him safely in hand." He lighted the bedside candles.

Ashley tugged at her loose-fitting blouse. "You have been a bit fierce lately. But I never wanted to tame you. I like you best when you're—unpredictable." Once her clothes were cast aside she all but dived under the thick blankets. Since they were so late in coming to bed, the fire laid for them had died. The temperature outside was unseasonably cold. Salem watched her curl beneath the down-filled comforter with some amusement. "That's right, you warm the covers for me." He went to the hearth and stoked the miserably small flames. Ashley's teeth chattered. "Beast. Get undressed and come in here. Never say you have forgotten where everything is. I didn't think you had to see it to fondle it." Salem gave a shout of laughter at her audacity, dropped the poker and advanced on the bed, erotic menace in his eyes. Ashley pulled the comforter over her head. "Come out from under there. I know you're blushing!" "I'm not!" Her reply was muffled. Salem stripped out of his things and tossed them on a chair. When he was naked, he snuffed out the candles and jumped into the bed, pulling Ashley's curved back against his chest. Unerringly his hands slipped around and cupped her breasts. "You are blushing! You're warm all over." "A lot you know. Your hands are like ice." Her hand crept behind her and pinched his buttocks. "Warm me, you rogue." He started at her shoulders, rubbing her prickly flesh with his palms. While his hands drifted down her narrow back his feet massaged her legs. In the beginning there was some doubt in Ashley's mind as to who warmed whom. Gradually they exchanged body heat until she felt toasty and contented. Battling sleep, she snuggled deeper into the curve of his body, her eyes closing as Salem's hands became more gentle and signaled a different intent. He really was the most loving man, she thought, fighting a yawn. He really was. Salem held his sleeping wife close to his breast. His heart thudded warmly against her silky back. His arm was numb and his position most uncomfortable, but he could not bring himself to move. When he carried Ashley up the stairs he had envisioned a very different sort of loving, yet what he experienced now was uniquely fullfilling and he could not regret her falling asleep. Ashley gave so tirelessly of herself that he needed this time to return the giving, even if it was only to warm her and provide a shoulder for her pillow. He buried his mouth in her soft hair and heard the faint whisper of her steady breathing. She felt small next to him, fragile and vulnerable, yet he knew there was a core of strength. When she set out to right a wrong, she was something to behold. He'd never forget her impassioned plea to end slavery at the landing or the cool September evening she had cried like a babe in his arms when he told her it had been done. She never doubted he would make his father see reason, she had said. She had never lost faith in the McClellans to do right by the principles they espoused. It had hardly seemed right that she should love him for simply doing what needed to be done. He placed a tender kiss on her soft ebony hair. The sweet odor of steaming chocolate drifted by Ashley's nose as she awakened. It was nearly as tantalizing as the tiny, tasting kisses being placed all over her face. The bedchamber no longer had any of the chill of the previous evening, and Ashley thought the blankets were something of nuisance. Without opening her eyes she stretched lazily beneath the large body that was hovering over her. The comforter

slipped over her bare shoulders, and her breasts emerged invitingly. Her smile was one of supreme satisfaction when she heard her husband put aside the cup of hot chocolate. Salem's lips touched her mouth, and Ashley's arms wrapped loosely around his neck as she accepted his little nibbling kisses. Her fingers ruffled the back of his hair and stroked his neck. "I think this is a lovely way to wake up," she murmured against his mouth. "You'll get no argument from me." Her hand slipped under the collar of his dressing gown and massaged his bare flesh. One eye opened to study his face. "You shouldn't go to the kitchen without putting on your nightshirt," she scolded. "What would Tildy say?" "She said I was going to catch my death in the updraft if I didn't start wearing one soon. For myself, I thought the robe was sufficient." "That's because you are shameless." His lips slid along her neck and his tongue flicked at the hollow of her throat. "Do you want to catalogue my every fault or would you like to make love?" When she paused, pretending to think her choices over, Salem pinched her gently on the thigh. "Never mind. You don't have a say in it anymore." At first he was playful, teasing Ashley with light kisses and tickling fingers. When her response became hungrier, demanding more from him, he complied with a touch that spoke of his own appetite. Throwing back the covers and shrugging out of his robe, he watched Ashley's eyes lose most of their emerald color as they betrayed her desire. His hands caressed her less gently, forcing her to feel the strength of his passion. She answered with nails that lightly scored the taut flesh of his back. Salem's mouth tugged on the coral tips of her breasts, eliciting a gasp of sheer pleasure. His lips traveled lower, paying homage to her generously rounded abdomen. "Are you certain this is all right?" he asked, kissing her navel. "Sa-lem." She laughed huskily. "We haven't done anything yet." His palm stroked her belly. "But we are nicely leading up to it." Ashley pushed herself upright and brought his face up to hers. "Yes, we are. And I wish we would get on with it." Every word was accented by a kiss. Salem was not proof against such an eloquent plea, and he allowed himself to be drawn down on the bed, this time with Ashley hovering. His dark brows lifted in pleased surprise as she straddled his hips. Her hands massaged his chest and the taut plane of his stomach. Beneath her she could feel the effect of her loving ministrations as Salem shifted, rubbing against her in a most provocative manner. She leaned forward slightly while she offered Salem her breasts. She bit her lip and her eyes closed momentarily when he cupped them in his warm palms. She felt her flesh swell and harden. Her voice was a throaty whisper, infinitely pleasing to Salem's ears. "I have been giving some thought to this," she said, watching her husband's expression carefully. "And it seems to me we ought to be able to manage quite nicely in this position." Salem's fingers stroked her sensitive crests and he smiled wickedly. "What weighty matters occupy your mind," he said, twisting a little under her. His hands fell away from her breasts and down to her hips

where he guided her onto his erect manhood. He loved watching her enchanted face as she slowly filled herself and sheathed him in her silky heat. Apparently she had given the arrangement some thought but hadn't anticipated how pleasurable it would be. Affection for her welled up in Salem's breast as they experimented with the rhythm that would bring them the most delight. He felt her satisfaction first, as her body quivered above him and contracted in a spasm of sensual gratification, then his own flesh caught her fiery response and he gave in to the completeness of his pleasure. Ashley shared a pillow with Salem afterward but, rather than look at him, her eyes were downcast, and she pretended great interest in the embroidered edge of the comforter that covered their perspiring bodies. "Ashley, what is going on inside your head? I somehow doubt that you are considering some new love position." She was genuinely distressed. "Oh, Salem! Don't tease. I behaved so—so—wantonly!" Frowning, Salem took her by the shoulders and gave her a shake that brought her head up. "I thoroughly enjoyed your inventiveness. Will you tell me now I am wrong to take pleasure in a wife who is so passionate?" She shook her head, her hair falling in a silky curtain over one cheek. "Good, because I cannot stop myself." He brushed aside her hair but left his fingers buried in the tangled strands. His grin coaxed a smile in return. "Now give over. When did you think of such a lusty pasttime? When you were playing the harpsichord or doing your stitchery?" "I shan't tell you, else you will wonder if my mind is always so occupied." "I've hit on it. You have missed your morning ride on King these past weeks, and that thought quite naturally led to another." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and Ashley laughed. "No, you fool. I don't think of you as my stallion." He looked so crestfallen that Ashley kissed him soundly to soothe his bruised pride. "Now, will you let the matter rest?" "No." "I thought not. Oh, very well. It occurred to me while I was bathing and I couldn't get comfortably settled in the tub. I began to think of other things that had become uncomfortable of late." Salem's brows nearly fused above his glittering eyes. "My God, you should have told me that I had been hurting you! I would have left you alone." "There. D'you hear yourself?" If she had been standing up she would have had her hands on her hips and her left foot would have been tapping double time. "It was only a small discomfort, more of an awkwardness, really, and insignificant in proportion to the pleasure you gave me. I realized things can only get more awkward so I applied myself to thinking of alternate ways we may enjoy one another as long as possible." Salem fell into a thoughtful silence. His index finger traced her lower lip. "Still, I wish you had told me. It is no hardship to simply cuddle with you. I found last night that I am enormously fond of it." "I did rather lead you to expect something better when we retired, didn't I?" "Not better, only different. You more than made up for your lapse this morning."

"Then I can expect you will be interested in my other, er—lusty, alternatives." His kiss supplied the only answer she needed.

Chapter 11

Christmas morning, several weeks later, a booming cannonade brought Ashley sharply awake. The cannons' roar fairly shook their bedchamber. She nudged Salem's shoulder roughly but his response was only to burrow deeper under the covers. Without waiting for him to wake she forced her unwieldy body out of bed and stepped quickly to the dressing room. It took a few minutes to find what she was after, but finally, and with great satisfaction, she located the pistol she had put to good use in Newgate in the bottom drawer of the mahogany highboy. She emerged from the dressing room wearing one of Salem's nightshirts and carrying the pistol in a trembling, two-handed grip. Her hair was in a wild tangle, and her face was flushed with a mixture of excitement and fear. But from where he sat on the bed, mouth slightly parted in astonishment, Salem could appreciate his wife's fierce beauty. If not for her rather rotund middle and the presence of the pistol, she would have looked much as she did on the first night he had seen her. He shook his head, as if to clear the picture she made, but at last he had to admit this was no queer dream he was having. "Don't sit there gaping at me," she said with some asperity. "Didn't you hear the cannon? The landing must be under siege." Her words were as bizarre to him as the sight of her. The linen nightshirt she wore was slipping off one shoulder, and the overlong sleeves nearly covered her hands. Her small bare feet were braced apart as she steadied the weapon, but her legs looked too slender to support her burgeoning abdomen. It was only this visible reminder of the late stage of her pregnancy that kept Salem from leaping out of bed and taking Ashley right where she stood. He laughed. Tears sparkled in his eyes and his shoulders shook. Ashley's obvious bewilderment only fueled his delight. When she stamped her bare foot, demanding an explanation, and stubbed her toes on a stool, Salem had to muffle his merriment in a pillow. "Well, this is a fine turn of events. I take it very much to heart that you lie abed, laughing at my efforts, while making no attempt to protect your home." A sharp rap at the bedchamber door brought Ashley's head around while increasing Salem's mirth. "That must be the redcoats." He choked on his laughter. "Damn polite even in the heat of battle." He sat up in bed, yanking the covers around him. "Enter if you are sporting a white flag of truce!" he called out. Rae's much puzzled face peeked around the door. "What ever were you—Ashley! What are you doing with that pistol?" She looked to her brother for an explanation, but his amusement had rendered him incapable of speech. "Have you and Jerusalem had a falling out?" she asked Ashley. "Are you going to shoot him?" Ashley lowered her weapon. The sleeves of the shirt fell completely over her hands, and she would have looked charmingly waiflike if it hadn't been for the glowering look she had turned on Salem. "I was just considering it," she said feelingly. "Would you like to watch?"

Rae smiled mischievously. "Oh, yes!" Her auburn curls bounced about her piquant face as she nodded. "I expect I shall marry one day, and it will be important to know how to settle domestic disputes. Now, will you only try to wound him or shall you go for the kill?" Ashley's lips twitched while Salem scowled at Rae. "I rather think I shall only wound him. You see, he normally does not make light of me, so I suppose I must have done something exceedingly amusing to make him so ill-mannered." She raised the pistol and took careful aim at Salem's shoulder, pulling back the hammer. "You have but a moment to plead your case!" Salem had gone quite pale. "Ashley, turn the weapon away from me and lower the hammer very slowly." Ashley was too intent on teasing him in front of his sister to notice his genuine consternation. "Ah! Do you see, Rae? Rather than plead his case, he pleads for his life. At this juncture it is very important to follow through on the original threat, else your husband will think you have no backbone." Smiling pleasantly, she pulled the trigger. Salem dove to the floor. A pistol ball went through the four-poster's headboard, cracked the interior wall, and lodged in the bricks. Ashley feinted. Wide-eyed and heart palpitating wildly, Rae decided marriage probably would never suit her. "What in the name of heaven has happened?" Charity cried out from the doorway. Leah bobbed over her mother's shoulder, trying to get a look in the bedchamber. Sitting up, Salem grimaced at the bevy of women confronting him and pulled a quilt from the bed to cover himself. "May I be allowed to explain this situation before I am cast in the role of the villain? Rae? Please tell Mother I have not murdered my wife." "She's only fainted," Rae said, kneeling at Ashley's side. "Anyway, she fired at Salem. See, here's the pistol. But I think she was provoked in the matter." "Thank you for that spirited defense, Rae," Salem said sarcastically. "Is she all right?" By this time Leah and Charity were bent over Ashley. "She's coming round nicely," Charity told him. "Perhaps you could help her into bed." Hitching the quilt around his waist, Salem lifted his wife and placed her in their bed. "The babes?" He asked his mother. "I'm sure they're fine. There are no bruises. Did she hit anything when she fell?" "No," Rae answered. "She just folded. It was surprisingly graceful. I should like to faint like that." "There is no need to sound so wistful about it," Charity snapped. "Get me a damp cloth. Leah, ring for some tea. Jerusalem, I should like an explanation." "It was the damn cannon shot that started everything," he said. His voice held a note of disbelief, as if he were still unable to fathom that such a simple tradition could cause so much stir. "Ashley didn't know that the plantations fire off a salute to announce Christmas morning." He took the wet linen from Rahab and dabbed Ashley's pale face. When her eyes fluttered open he smiled affectionately and warmly. "Happy

Christmas, minx. You're a deplorable shot." "Oh, Salem," she fairly wailed, bringing her arms up to his neck and pulling him close. Her eyes misted over as she squeezed him hard, running her hands over his face, shoulders, and back to assure herself he was all of one piece. "Shhh." He quieted her, wiping her eyes. "I am finished teasing you. I have no stomach for your retaliation." Ashley smiled wanly, then she became aware of their interested audience and wanted to burrow herself under the covers. "As I was saying, Mother, Ashley heard Father's yuletide salute and thought the landing was being attacked. She bounded out of bed, if you can imagine that, and found her pistol. Thank God she had the sense to put on my nightshirt because the redcoats would have gotten an eyeful." Salem's eyes danced, at odds with the serious tone of his voice. "But, you see, she looked so fierce standing in the middle of the room, ready to take on King George himself, I confess, I had to laugh. Then Rae walked in, and Ashley thought it a great joke to take me to task. However, she did not know the pistol was primed and—" "Ashley!" Rae exclaimed. "You were going to fight the redcoats with an empty pistol?" "I never learned to prime the thing," Ashley admitted, chagrined. "Does anyone care what happened next?" Salem asked, feeling very put upon. Ashley patted his hand, consoling him. "I feel certain they can guess the rest of it." "Indeed I can." Charity sighed. "I shudder to think how it could have turned out." Her statement required no further comment. Everyone was properly subdued refining on it. "Enough of this," she said briskly. "Salem, when Ashley's tea arrives, see that she drinks it down. Then please join us for Christmas brunch. It seems that's why I sent Rae up here in the first place, to roust you lazybones out of bed. Now let's ring the bell for your father. It's Christmas morning, for heaven's sake!" The dining room was festively decorated with pine and holly, and the hearth blazed warmly on the family gathering. Apples pinned with cloves were arranged in a cone on the sideboard, adding a special fragrance to the array of dishes. Ashley and Salem held hands under the table while Robert led them in a prayer that at once asked for His blessing and suggested it would not be amiss if the British were to spend next Christmas at home with their families. "Well," he said, shaking out his linen napkin and smoothing it on his lap. "Tell me, what did you all think of this morning's cannonade? Jacob and I used a special mix of powder this time. I thought it made a fine report." He looked up expectantly, just in time to see his wife's napkin come sailing down the table so that it fell on his plate. Rae and Leah's joined hers. Then Salem and Ashley tossed their makeshift gauntlet in his direction. "Am I supposed to accept this tribute in lieu of flowers?" he asked hopefully. "Think of it as very ripe fruit, dear," Charity said. "Your Christmas greeting was not a rousing success this year, though it did have its moments." Robert's complete bewilderment launched a barrage of excited explanations and quickly gave way to merriment Sitting slightly back in her chair, surreptitiously watching the animated faces of her new family, Ashley mentally hugged herself for her good fortune. Upon hearing the McClellans laugh, she understood what it meant to make a joyful noise.

After breakfast everyone retired to the library where Robert and Charity distributed presents. Ashley received a box of colorful threads from Rae and Leah, yards of green velvet the same shade as her eyes from Charity and Robert, and from Salem, a tooled leather saddle fashioned so that she could ride Kingdom astride. "And I was so careful to always use a proper lady's saddle here," she said and laughed. "How did you know I hated it?" His head bent close to her ear. "Because, love, I know how you hate being a proper lady. And I've seen you ride bareback." "Ashley! Your ears are pink!" Leah exclaimed, delighted. "What did he say to you?" Robert cleared his throat. "Never mind, son, do not repeat it. Here, open this." He handed Salem his gift from Ashley. "Leah, apply yourself to this bundle." While Leah squealed over her new bonnet, Salem unwrapped his package and found a thick triangular fold of material. It didn't look like any garment he had ever seen, but he was prepared to be enthusiastic. Lifting it, he shook it out. His heart swelled with pride and the silence in the room was tangible. This was not merely his gift, he knew, but a gift to be shared. It was a flag, yet more than a flag. The Tory in their midst had made them a revolutionary banner. A rattlesnake coiled on a gold background and hovered menacingly over the words: Don't Tread On Me. Ashley bit her lip as she waited for someone to say something. Perhaps it wasn't as it should be. Perhaps she should have given something more practical. They were all simply staring at the flag as if they couldn't quite believe it. She spoke anxiously to fill the silence. "It's a copy of the flag Colonel Gadsden presented to the Colonial fleet's main ship earlier this month. There was a drawing of it in the Williamsburg paper. I had to guess at the dimensions, and I cannot be certain I have the right number of rattles on the viper. I just gave him thirteen—you know, one for every colony. I—I read something, I think it was by that man you admire so much, Salem, you know, with the kite—" "Franklin." He had to work the name past the lump in his throat. "Yes, Franklin. Well, Franklin wrote that a rattlesnake delivers a means of retribution for the wrongs toward America. I think that must be why the navy has adopted it. Perhaps you could fly it here. Or is it too bold, d'you think?" Salem searched her delicate features. "It is the most excellent of all gifts, Ashley," he said, wonder and love in his voice. "You have rendered us quite speechless. I shall fly it proudly on the Caroline until I take her to New York, then it will be hoisted on the Lydia. " "Well, that makes me feel better. I feared for a moment no one liked it." Charity dabbed at her eyes with one of her new lace hankies. "It's exactly as Jerusalem said, Ashley. Your generous spirit and understanding of us quite captured our voices." Robert stood. "I like it so much I am going to celebrate with one of Tildy's hot toddies, and any who does not join me is a traitor." "Does that include me, Papa?" Leah asked ingenuously.

"Just this once." He left the room for the kitchen. Rae took the flag from Salem and refolded it reverently. "This is a beautiful piece of work, Ashley. I can almost see the worth of stitchery. Mama? Do you think I might have Ashley show me how she did this? It seems a much better application of my skills than seat covers." Charity shook her head in exasperation but gave her approval, resigning herself to finding the viper in the most unlikely places. She despaired of her older daughter ever taking an interest in feminine accomplishments. When Robert entered the room with a tray of hot drinks, Leah helped him pass them out. Everyone stood as Robert raised his glass. "To Liberty. Because her spirit embraces us all. To Ashley. Because her heart has done the same." Salem's arm circled Ashley's shoulders, and she leaned into his strength, a wealth of love in her eyes as she looked around her. Never had she believed it would be possible to feel about anyone the way she felt about these people. "It was a perfect sort of day, wasn't it?" she asked Salem much later. His arms circled her below her breasts as she lay next to him in their large bed. "Perfect," he whispered against her hair. His eyes traveled upward to glance at the cracked headboard. "Rather surprising when you think of how it began." "Oh Salem, I wish you had said the pistol was loaded." "I thought I tried to." "No, I don't mean when I had the thing pointed at you. I wish you had mentioned it when you first primed it." "It was so long ago, I had forgotten. I never thought you would try to use it." "Neither did I. It was a bad piece of luck that I managed to find it." "I thought so. Especially when I considered how easily you could have hurt yourself. You are not to be trusted with a weapon." "My thought exactly. I am done with trying to protect you. From now on you shall have to manage the thing yourself." "Are you quite certain?" He nuzzled her neck. "Yes. Mmm. That feels good." He cupped her breasts, his thumbs passing over her taut nipples. "And this?" "That too." She sighed. "Salem, I don't think you should do this. I can't, you know, please you." Salem chuckled lowly in her ear. "If you think that, sweet, then it is time I taught you pleasure of another fashion." And he proceeded to do just that. "Are you certain you'll be all right if I leave this morning?" Salem asked, calling to Ashley from the dressing room. He adjusted his neckcloth and slipped into a dark blue woolen jacket with wooden

buttons and grimaced at himself in the mirror. Blast, he thought, he shouldn't have to leave Ashley alone on New Year's Day. It hardly seemed the proper way to begin 1776. There was a miserable ache in her lower back, but not for anything would Ashley mention it. She had promised herself she would not plague him with every twitch of pain. She wasn't due to deliver for three more weeks, and he had had enough on his mind since the British put a fleet off Norfolk. "Of course I shall be fine," she called back, sipping her warm milk. The last of the chocolate had been used on Christmas day, and the blockade had put a dash to the hope of getting even a small amount. "D'you think you'll be home for dinner this evening?" Salem thought it unlikely but promised he would try. His mother was more likely to be disappointed than Ashley. Charity and Tildy had planned a special meal in celebration of the new year. Gareth and Darlene were expected, and it would not sit well if he had to excuse himself from the festivities, especially since it was unlikely that the British would threaten anything today. He leaned against the door of the dressing room, watching Ashley pick at her breakfast while she wasn't aware of him. He thought she was looking a little pinched about the mouth and wondered at the number of times she had left the bed last evening to relieve herself. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. "You'd tell me if you were in any pain, wouldn't you?" he asked, pushing away from the door. He straddled the seat of a chair he pulled close to the bed. "What a question! Your children aren't coming today. I won't have it. I think you are trying to use me as an excuse to get out of going this morning." She pushed aside her tray and wagged a slender finger at him. "Admit it. No one wants to go sailing in weather such as this." "No one with any sense," he answered. He glanced out the window and scowled at the cold and bitter winds lashing at the naked trees. He pulled the chair out from under him as he stood and gave Ashley a brief kiss. He saw her frown and tapped her nose with his finger. "Just teasing." This time his mouth closed possessively over hers. Rousing herself shortly after Salem left the house, Ashley dressed warmly, choosing a gold skirt whose waistband could be fitted just under her breasts and a russet saque that buttoned like a jacket in the front then opened to expose the skirt. Underneath she wore heavy yarn stockings and practical black shoes with a small thick heel. Feeling very comfortable, if not particularly attractive, she threw her pelisse over her shoulders and went downstairs, humming under her breath. In the music room Rae and Leah were practicing a duet at the harpsichord. Their lessons were on a table behind them, attesting to the activity they were supposed to be engaged in. "I'm going to the stables, girls," Ashley called to them. "I haven't seen Kingdom in days." "Be careful," they answered in near unison, nimble fingers never missing a note. Ashley shook her head, resigned to the fact that no matter what she said she was going to do, the pat reply was "be careful." Delivery from overprotectiveness couldn't come any too soon, she thought. Once she was outside the wind whipped the hem of her pelisse about her legs, and the cold air bit at her nose and fingers. She was quite relieved when she reached the stable. The building was empty of hands, as she knew it would be. This being the first day of the year, they had taken care of the important work very early and had been given leave to spend time as they wished. Kingdom snorted an enthusiastic welcome as Ashley stroked his strong and silky neck.

"I believe you've missed me as much as I've missed you, King. Oooh, stop that! It tickles when you rub my face. How would you like a good brushing? I'm—" "Is there somethin' I can be doin' for you now, miss?" At first the deep Irish brogue reminded Ashley of Shannon, and she spun on her heel to welcome him. But even before she completed her turn she knew it couldn't be him. Shannon would never have deserted the army. The man facing her was someone she had never seen before, only an inch or two taller than she and nearly as rounded about the middle. His face was almost a perfect circle, with cheeks that puffed like a chipmunk's and a generous second chin that effectively obliterated his neck. His bright blue eyes gleamed merrily beneath dark brows, and Ashley assumed he was probably bald under the weatherbeaten black wig he sported. He was dressed in the livery worn by most of the McClellan servants. The single-breasted coat of black-worsted shag fit his squat frame very closely, and the breeches strained even at the knees. He tipped his cock hat in a gentlemanly salute with the silver-headed knob of his cane. Ashley smiled. "Pardon me for staring. I believe you must be new to the landing." "Michael Flannigan's the name. I've only been in your fair and troubled land a fortnight, but now that I see its fair colleens, I'm thinkin' the Colony has a lot to recommend it." His eyes traveled appreciatively over Ashley's face and form, raising his brows only briefly when he saw her obviously pregnant state. "Although I suppose it's other girls I'll be after, seein' that you're already spoken for." Flannigan's easy familiarity made Ashley realize he had mistaken her for a servant. She quickly sought to amend his opinion. "Well and truly spoken for, Mr. Flannigan. I am Ashley McClellan, Mr. Salem's wife." Flannigan turned bright red and his face seemed to swell. At the moment before Ashley thought his cheeks would burst, he expelled a puff of air through lips that vibrated. "I hope you'll be excusin' my manners, Mrs. McClellan. I should have known it was you. Everyone speaks of your beauty." "Apparently no one spoke of my condition." "No, they didn't," he said, his voice dropping away, as if in anger. Ashley thought she must have imagined his tone, for a moment later he was smiling widely. "I suppose that's because you look like the sainted Mother herself." "I doubt that." Picking up a brush she began running it over Kingdom's glossy coat. Flannigan immediately stilled her hand. Ashley found she didn't care for his thick fingers on her wrist. She didn't know why she felt a certain revulsion to his touch. He was still smiling genially and patting King with his other hand. "Here, let me do that. It's my job, after all." Ashley shook her hand loose. "No, thank you. I'm feeling surprisingly energetic today. I want to do this. I haven't spent much time with my horse of late." "Then you don't object if I stay close, do you. I wouldn't want anyone to think I was shirkin' my duties." "No, I don't mind." When Flannigan sat down on a bale of hay, Ashley turned her back on him, working the brush with vigorous strokes. "You said you've been in America two weeks, didn't you? How long have you been at the landing?"

"It's been three days now. Mr. McClellan, that would be Gareth McClellan, hired me. I answered a notice I saw in the Raleigh Tavern and he sent me out here. It was a good piece of luck that brought me." "Yes, the landing is a lovely place. I'm certain you will like it. If Gareth hired you, you must know horses. You can appreciate the fine stock the McClellans have." "There's no denying that. Are you sure I can't help you?" he offered again. "No. This is a pleasure for me. Isn't it, King? Tell me, don't you have something else you would rather be doing?" "Sure, and I could be twiddlin' my thumbs in the tack room." "I see." She smiled. "I take it you don't have a family here." "No, ma'am." Ashley straightened, putting a hand to the small of her back. The niggling pain had grown. "King, I think that's all the brushing you'll get from me today. There's a good boy. Don't fret so." She patted the suddenly nervous stallion. "I'll come back tomorrow, King. What's wrong wi—" It took Michael Flannigan several minutes to pull Ashley's unconscious body from the stall. Kingdom was in a frenzy trying to protect his mistress so that Flannigan had to shield himself from the horse with Ashley. Once he had her out it did not take him long to put her in a chaise and harness a horse. He checked the back of her head for a lump where he had brought down the knob of his cane. There was only a small one forming. Damn good piece of luck that, he thought as he left the stable. He had no wish to hurt her. His orders were very specific on that count He doubted she would be out much beyond thirty minutes. So that she didn't give him any trouble upon awakening, Flannigan tied Ashley's wrists with a strip of leather as soon as he had the chaise safely away from the main house. Sensible of her condition, he covered her with a blanket as they faced a head wind along the rutted road that would take them to Yorktown. This was a nasty piece of business all around, he thought, glancing over at Ashley's pale face. He had had no qualms about stealing away the colleen when the idea was first proposed, but discovering she was going to have a baby, well, that colored the assignment a bit. You're gettin' soft, boyo, Flannigan thought to himself. A few years ago you wouldn't have blinked at muffin' the girl, babe or no, for the price you're gettin' to bring her in alive and unharmed. It may be time to think of retirin' if you're beginnin' to feel like a Good Samaritan. He looked rather like a middle-aged cherub as he smiled to himself while he considered sainthood. Flannigan's musings were eventually interrupted as Ashley recovered from the blow to her head. "Where are you taking me?" she asked dully, struggling under her pelisse to free her hands. She recoiled when Flannigan's fat fingers stilled her movements. "Stop your fussin'. I'm of no mind to hurt you. My instructions are very clear. I'm to see that you get home." "But you're taking me away from my home." "I was told you would object at first but that you'd be reasonable about it in the end." "Please, whatever the duke's paying you, I can give you more."

Flannigan looked affronted at her offer. "Don't try to bribe me. I'm an honest man—after a fashion. And I'll be doin' this bit of work for my original employer. Save your breath." "Where are we going now?" "To Yorktown. I have a fishing boat there that will take you to the Royal Fleet off Norfolk. The commander of the Arbus has agreed to hold you until he returns to London." "I see. Then you won't be coming with me." "No. I have one more piece of work to do, but that's going to take me north. I'd like to see you settled, but it's all been arranged before the feet. Your accommodations are small but comfortable. Of course the baby does cramp things. I don't know how the commander is going to feel about the baby." Ashley didn't bother to mention she thought she was having two. She held her abdomen protectively as the chaise jounced along the road. She had given up hope that she would see anyone, knowing help was far more likely if they had taken a water route. She wondered how long before someone missed her at the house and began a search. "I don't think you look much like a man who would do this sort of thing," she said, hoping to appeal to his finer nature. Flannigan was not moved. "My face is my fortune. It's the sort of face people trust. I've been told I look more like a physician than a—well, you'll be understandin' what I mean. You were friendly enough when we met." "I made it very easy for you, didn't I? Tell me, how did you know I would come to the stable today?" "Now don't try to flatter me. I couldn't be knowin' that you'd go there today. I've been waitin' since I came to the landin'. I didn't even know who you were until you introduced yourself. It was sheer Irish luck that you fell so neatly in my hands today. Saved me a lot of bother by showin' up when the place was empty. I probably shouldn't be admittin' that I had second thoughts when I saw your condition, but there it is. Now don't be gettin' your hopes up; the thoughts have been put away. I'm doing my job and I won't take kindly to any more attempts to offer me compensation." Ashley fell silent, except for her chattering teeth. She tried to think of how she might escape her rotund captor, yet her own awkwardness and fear for her babes kept her quietly at his side. She knew her best chance at freedom would come when they got to Yorktown. Surely she would be able to summon help there. Something of what she had been thinking must have showed on her face for Flannigan shook his head meaningfully when he glanced in her direction. "I hope it's no ideas of runnin' from me that you're plotting behind that sweet face. I have some laudanum that I'll force you to take if you try to make a nuisance of yourself. I would have given it to you already if I didn't think it might do harm to the babe. And I won't hesitate to apply my cane to your head if I think it will keep you quiet. Listen to my words, Mrs. McClellan, don't be misled by my face." Ashley did as Flannigan suggested and took his warning to heart. It did occur to her that even if this man felt some loyalty to the duke, perhaps the commander of the Arbus would not. Until she was literally in Nigel's hands, she refused to believe there was no chance of escape. The fishing boat that waited for them was a two-master schooner, a fit vessel to buck the winds they would encounter on the short jaunt to Norfolk. The ship rested alone in a narrow inlet south of town, and

Flannigan conscientiously assisted Ashley's descent from the chaise before he lowered her carefully into the vessel's hold. "I'll be back in an hour, maybe less, with the crew to take you to the Arbus. There's no sense in yellin' for help, so don't bother. Try to get some rest and think of the babe." Ashley's mouth opened in astonishment at his presumption of telling her what to think. She swore mightily to show him what she thought and was vexed beyond bearing when she heard his retreating laughter. She impatiently brushed a tear from her eye. Then another. And another. Finally she sat on the floor of the dark and fishy smelling hold and gave in to despair. She knew she stayed in that miserable position for the better part of an hour. Every time she thought about standing up, to perhaps explore some way out, her body resisted the move. Her lower back ached abominably and she felt crampy. Her head throbbed, and the overpowering odor of fish made her want to retch. And if that weren't enough she had only now realized she was sitting in a puddle of water. Her sensibilities were so dulled by distress that it took her several minutes to understand the puddle was of her own making and that her water had broken. She forced herself to move and used the blanket Flannigan had given her to dry herself. She had only just finished when her first contraction made her gasp. It was over before she was even certain what had happened. She did not have time to consider this new twist to her abduction because booted feet overhead alerted her that Flannigan had returned with the crew. She found a slat from a broken crate and used it to pound on the hatch to get his attention. "What is it?" he called, peering down from the deck. "Please, Mr. Flannigan, I have to get out of here. I'm going to have my baby." "Sure, and I can see that for myself." "No, I mean that I am going to deliver now. It's happening before it's supposed to. Please, let me out of here. For pity's sake, at least loose my wrists." "You've got the face of an angel, and I've almost a mind to believe you, but I know when I'm being tricked. Sorry, my little colleen, but you'll have to do better than that. It's a fair voyage I'll be wishin' you now. I have to be on my way. Give my regards to Captain Geary on the Arbus and please, deary, don't try your madonna wiles with these men. I picked every man jack myself and a harder lot I've never seen. If that isn't enough, remember none of them get their money until they put you on the Arbus." Smiling his cherub's smile, he tipped his cane to his hat and kicked the hatch in place. Coldness settled over Ashley as darkness surrounded her. Her eyes had only adjusted when she lost her footing as the schooner shifted beneath her. Her despair grew tenfold as she realized she was being taken into the open bay. She sat down, back propped against a wall, and huddled in her damp blanket for warmth. Twenty minutes passed before another contraction seized her. "I will not have my babies on this craft," she murmured fiercely, hugging her middle. "They will not be born on an English ship either. D'you hear, children? You are Americans! And you will be born on American soil." Having said it aloud made it clear in her own mind that she needed to concentrate on plotting her own escape. As the schooner briskly sliced through the bay on its speedy voyage to Norfolk, Ashley applied herself to that task. Unfortunately, short of throwing herself over the side of the ship when they brought her on deck, she could think of nothing that would free her. If she had only to consider herself, she would

have done just that rather than return to the Duke of Linfield. The life within her, increasingly anxious to be born, would not allow her to seriously consider such a measure. She had lost track of time since she had been dropped in the hold, but she felt she could safely assume that the family had missed her. Ashley had no hope they would be able to guess her direction so she would not permit herself to be deluded into believing they could rescue her. It had occurred to her many times that Salem was in Norfolk, or at least that had been his destination this morning. Was there even the slimmest possibility that he might see her being transferred to the Arbus? Wouldn't a schooner pulling alongside a British frigate attract at least a modicum of attention? It would if she had anything to do with it, she decided. She would strip off her skirt and make an indecent display of herself if it would mean catching the eye of some Colonial spyglass on shore. As luck would have it her skirt was the same gold color of the flag that flew proudly on the Caroline. "Don't tread on me," she whispered harshly, glancing overhead. Her reverie was interrupted by the thunder of cannon fire. Her first thought was that it was some kind of New Year's Day celebration by the townsfolk, but when there was no lull in the deafening report of the guns she realized the schooner was either being fired upon or had inadvertently come upon a battle. The frantic shuffling of men above her—she estimated four or five—and their harried shouts, confirmed her suspicions. The schooner, being unequipped with guns, had but one choice: to run. Ashley swayed as the ship changed position, sprinting for safety. Only the leather strips on her wrists prevented her from rubbing her hands gleefully at this turn of events. As it was, she could not stop smiling. It seemed to her that any delay in reaching their final destination could only work in her favor. Ashley had no way of knowing that the schooner had already reached waters very close to Norfolk, or that the Royal Fleet had begun firing upon the town at three-thirty. The town's defense seemed to be a few ships that were hemmed in by a semicircle of British frigates. The Colonials had no opportunity to maneuver, and their vessels looked very much like they were being used tor target practice. The four men on the schooner's deck swore roundly each time a Colonial ball came near to the fleet. It was impossible for them to reach the Arbus as she was in the thick of things. From their position of comparative safety in the open water but out of range of the firing, they had a good view of the engagement. "Bloody wretched of them to start a fight when we've come to deliver our goods." A spittle of tobacco touched the corner of his grim mouth. "Aye, you've the right of it there, mate. I say if the Arbus goes down, we kill the wench." The statement made by the brawniest of the crew was more chilling because of its matter of factness. Still, it did not raise hackles on the necks of his comrades. "It ain't bloody likely she'll be going under. There's nary a ship on the dock fit to fire back." Even as spittle lips spoke, a ball from one of the British ships connected with a Colonial mast. "Lookee there, did ya see that? There she goes!" he called as the mast toppled. "Can you make her name?" "Carolina. Somethin' like that." "Well, she's about done for." He wiped his mouth on a crusty sleeve and then spit a bit of juice at the feet of his two quiet companions. "Chubb? Smith? You got nothin' to say? Seems me and Hank here have been doin' all the talkin'."

Neither man said anything for a moment, intent on the action as the Caroline fired off its full battery of guns in a blur of smoke and flames. "Hell, would you look at that," Chubb said, waving a meaty fist at the Colonial ship for its retaliation. Smith smiled slowly, twirling a piece of grass in his teeth he had picked up on shore. "I reckon that means we're gonna hafta kill the girl," he drawled. "I figure that ball just shattered the main magazine on the Arbus. She should be showin' flames just—about—now." As the four men looked on an explosion rocked the Arbus, causing it to shudder then list in the choppy water. The crew on the vessel was in little danger with all the support around them. They manned the dinghies and made an orderly evacuation to the safety of their sister ships. "Of all the damn rotten luck," Smith said slowly, spacing out each word for emphasis. "Well, Sid? Where do reckon our money went? On the Pegasus?" "I say it went to the Fortune," Chubb said, interrupting Sid's answer. "Why, Chubb, is that a small attempt at humor?" Smith asked. When Chubb looked blank he explained. "You know, Fortune—our money?" Chubb scratched his head with thick fingers. "Didn't think of that, but it fits nicely, don't it?" Sid snorted. "Forget it, Chubb. I think I saw the commander go toward the Belleisle." "I say we kill her," Hank repeated calmly. "We ain't likely to get the money now. That captain, if he has any sense at all, will say the money's been lost and put us off. I say we kill her so it's ended with the four of us. Flannigan don't have to know what happened." "I'm with Hank," Smith said. "Killin' her sounds the best—unless—no, killin' her is the way to go." "Unless what?" Sid asked. Smith shrugged. "It's too much bother. Throw her over the side and be done with it." "Listen you backwoods bastard," Sid hissed, grabbing Smith by his waistcoat. "If you got some plan that will get us a little money for our trouble, then I'm wantin' to hear about it." "Damned if I'm not always replacin' buttons on this thing," Smith muttered to himself. "Have a care, Sid," he went on pleasantly. "I don't like being handled roughly." When Sid was slow to remove his hands he found himself flat on his back on the unyielding deck with no notion of how he got there so quickly or so violently. His neck was firmly held in place by Smith's boot while Chubb and Hank looked on with faint interest and no intention of interfering. Smith's face was still pleasant, his voice slow and even. "You need to learn a little patience, Sid. I was gettin' around to it." He looked at the others. "It occurred to me that mebbe we could get a ransom for the wench. It's a bother. But it would pay for our time." "And bloody likely get us killed," Sid muttered. "There is that," Smith answered. "I believe I've mentioned twice now that it's a bother. You were the one who wanted to hear." Hank and Chubb were thoughtful. Hank finally spoke. "D'you know who she is? Would there be any

money for her here?" "There's a lot to be said for greed, isn't there, Hank?" Smith grinned, lightly mocking the man's interest in something other than murder. "Didn't Flannigan tell you who we've got in the hold?" All three men shook their heads. "It didn't matter to me," Chubb said, voicing what the others privately thought. "Most often it's better not knowin' too much." "You could make a good argument for that. Most of the time. But I reckon it was smart of me to ask Flannigan a thing or two about the lady. Otherwise I wouldn't know she's a McClellan, and likely to put a little weight in our purses if we go about it right." "How much weight?" Chubb asked. "I figure we could get a thousand pounds each for her." Smith looked down at the man under his boot. "How does that sound, Sid? A thousand pounds." "It's worth considering. And I do that better on my feet." Smith removed his foot and stood back while Sid got up and brushed himself off, fumbling with the leg of his baggy pants. When he came up with a knife in his right hand it was to find, too late, that Smith was ready for him and giving no quarter. He lunged to one side, but even that movement was too slow. Sid's rheumy eyes bulged and he gagged on his chew as the cold steel of Smith's blade was pushed to the hilt in his abdomen. Gutted like a fish, he was thrown overboard to join them. Smith extracted a handkerchief from his sleeve, one that already had dried blood on it, and calmly wiped his blade. Smiling regretfully at his two remaining companions he tucked away the knife and the handkerchief. "Damn messy business," he said, shaking his head. "Now, gentlemen, it makes little difference to me what is decided here. We can kill the girl or we can ransom her. A thousand pounds does have its uses." He glanced over the side where Sid had gone. "Make that thirteen hundred quid apiece." "What's your plan for the ransom?" "Simple enough. We take her into Norfolk and leave her someplace safe while we go up river to the McClellans and deliver our intentions." "Why not take her with us?" Chubb wanted to know. "Because they'll be all over us like honey on a bear's nose. If she's not with us they won't do anything until they know where she is. By that time we'll have our money and be out of here." Smith hesitated thoughtfully. "I do hope you fellows can leave the area." "We were just passin' through, the same as you when Flannigan caught our attention. Ain't nothin' bindin' here. One place is as good as another," Chubb said. Hank rubbed the back of his neck. "I think someone should stay with the girl. Just to make certain she doesn't go anywhere." Smith frowned. "I don't know about that. You can appreciate the fact that I don't trust either of you out of my sight. I don't think I'd want to stay behind. Perhaps you were thinkin' of yourself for the job, Hank?" Hank said he was not. "Chubb could do it."

"No way. I'm goin' with both of you." Smith reconsidered. "Let's just say I stayed behind and you two somehow managed to get the money while sending the McClellans down on my head. How d'you think that makes me feel?" "Angry, I suppose," Chubb said. "No, not angry, revengeful," Smith said coldly, his easy demeanor completely vanishing. "Do I make myself clear? Good. Then I reckon I'll put my faith in that ol' adage about honor among thieves and stay with the girl. Let's get this bucket to shore. Ain't a soul gonna notice what we're up to with the redcoats makin' such a damn fuss. D'you fellows know the Caroler's Inn?" Neither one of them did. "Hell, I'll give you directions. That's where I'm taking the wench. We'll be there until midnight. If you're not back by then, I'm comin' for you. You got that? At midnight I kill the girl and come after you." Neither Chubb nor Hank doubted Smith, but they both believed they were smarter than he. Of course they didn't understand that was precisely what Smith had counted on all along. The cannons had continued without pause for so long that Ashley no longer minded their ear-stunning roar. What she did mind, what worried her beyond all else, was the fierceness of her contractions. She had no way of knowing if her pain was shared by all women before they gave birth, or if something was wrong with her. More than anything she wanted Salem by her side and Charity's soothing hand on her brow. She had just finished knuckling away a tear, angry with herself for her weakness, when the hatch above her opened. She was so surprised when she saw the face peering down on her that she remained speechless. "Raise your hands, wench, and I'll pull you up," Smith directed emotionlessly. "You've reached the end of your journey." For a moment Ashley thought he meant the Arbus, then realized the cannons were still steadily pounding at nearly the same volume as before. The schooner had not neared the fighting by much more than a few hundred yards. She bit her lip, hoping she was doing the right thing, and put her trust in Smith as she thought Salem would have wanted her to. With surprisingly little struggle, Smith had her on the deck, and although she swayed on her feet she managed to steady herself with no help from the three men around her. Not that there was any help offered, she reminded herself uneasily. Even Smith made no move to assist her. She realized with a small shock that if she had never seen him before, if Salem had told her nothing about him, he would have looked just as cruel and merciless as the two strangers in front of her. She still did not know if these others were friends or enemies. Enemies, she decided as one of them touched her hair with thick and dirty fingers. "I know why you volunteered to stay," Chubb said to Smith. "You've a mind to have a little piece and no worry that you might plant your seed." Ashley shuddered and tried to pull away from the man. He wrapped his fingers tighter in her raven tresses so that she was jerked closer to him. "Now don't take offense, darlin'. You can always fight him off." Smith shrugged. "And you can always change your mind about stayin'. I'd like it just as well to go up river." Chubb dropped Ashley's hair. "Smith, I don't like you much above half, and I trust you even less. But I will say that you've done your best to make something of this mess that Flannigan got us in, so I'll be bringin' back your part of the ransom. You just keep the bird safe."

Incredible, Smith thought, how a man could lie through his teeth when it served him. "I'll do my part. You do yours." Ashley hadn't heard a word that was said. Her attention was focused solely on the battle further down the inlet and on the Caroline as it was engulfed in flames. Even as she watched, men were jumping from her taffrail and swimming for shore. She could not make out her husband among them. Her face paled, and she brought her hands to her mouth to keep from screaming. As it was she could only smother the sound. "I'm gettin' her off here now," Smith said, swinging Ashley into his arms. Please don't yell for your husband, he thought. Please don't let them know you have ties with that ship. His pleas were answered because Ashley simply fainted. "Damn squeamish females," he said for the benefit of his companions, clumsily jumping into the shallow water. "Midnight. Caroler's Inn. Tell Robert McClellan that Smith has his daughter-in-law. He knows my reputation. He knows I won't hesitate to kill her if you don't come back with the money by midnight." He gave them each a hard purposeful glance, then turned his back on them and strode quickly along the river bank toward the town. Only when he was convinced the schooner had fled for the comparative safety of the James River did he stop and carefully lay Ashley on the ground. He cut her bonds, massaged her bruised wrists, then patted her tear-stained cheek gently. "Mrs. McClellan, you better come around or your husband is gonna kill me, and I can't say that I'll hold it against him. C'mon, Mrs. McClellan. You don't seriously believe Salem was hurt in that fire, do you? Hell, he's been in worse than that and done all right." Ashley blinked several times and caught her breath sharply as another contraction made her draw her legs up. "Please, help me," she said in a strained voice, raising piteous eyes to him. "I'm going to have my babies." Smith didn't even flinch at the word babies, smoothing away the damp tendrils of hair that clung to her cheeks. "You can whelp a half dozen if you want to. I'm gonna help you. Don't worry. Are you in much pain?" "Only every once in a while." "How often?" "I'm not certain. I think about every quarter of an hour." "Then we've got hours yet," he said with assurance to her. I think, he said to himself. "Can you walk some? I want to get you to an inn where you'll be comfortable until I can bring Salem." She levered herself on her elbows. "I think I can. I may have to stop once in a while." Ashley sounded as if she were apologizing. Smith smiled to himself, the first genuine smile to touch his lips since he had first talked with Flannigan nearly a week ago. If he had known then that Salem's wife was the intended victim of the Irishman's machinations, he would have killed the man right where he stood. Instead he had had to wait until early this afternoon to discover that Flannigan held Ashley. From there he had played everything by ear, thankful in part that he was not tone-deaf. Smith helped Ashley to her feet and let her lean heavily on him with every step. In this manner they reached the hostelry in under twenty minutes. Ashley's faltering steps were frequently punctuated by the intermittent report of cannon fire as the fighting slowed. Smith encouraged her the entire way, speaking to her in a voice made soft by concern for her vulnerability and respect for her strength.

It was only at the end, as they reached the entrance to the inn, that Ashley's legs gave way under pain and exhaustion. Smith picked her up, nodded significantly in passing to the hosteler, and took her to the room the bewildered man indicated at the top of the stairs. He kicked the door open, laid her on the bed, and began issuing orders to the maidservant who was on his heels. "I have to find Mrs. McClellan's husband. I want you to make her comfortable, get her some light broth or tea and see that she's kept warm. Send someone for a midwife or a physician. And above all, keep her calm. Can you do that?" The maid's flaxen curls bobbed energetically about her round face. "Yes, sir. I'll take care of her just fine. Don't you worry." Smith picked up Ashley's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He looked at her with boyish anxiousness softening the hard contours of his face. "I'm going to bring Salem here directly, Mrs. McClellan. I don't want you to think about anythin' 'cept giving him some fine healthy babies." A wisp of a smile curved Ashley's mouth. "Thank you, Mr. Smith—for all that you've done." Smith jammed his tricorn tighter over his bright yellow hair and looked away, embarrassed by her simple gratitude. "I'll be goin' now, ma'am." He was out the door so quickly that he never heard Ashley affectionately call him a fraud under her breath. Smith quickly covered the few blocks from the inn to the wharf. Upon reaching the street his face lost all traces of the softness that Ashley had been privy to see. Everywhere he turned there was confusion as the fleet sailed closer to the town. Norfolk's defenses had been eliminated, and he knew it was only a matter of time before the British landed their regulars. The destruction they would cause he could only guess at. Already cannonballs were landing with unnerving regularity on rooftops and streets. Small fires were breaking out more rapidly than they could be snuffed. Smith had no difficulty in finding the men from the Caroline. They were engaged, along with many others of the town's defenders, in putting out a blaze that was threatening to engulf the wharf. They dodged cannon shot, yelling "heads up," as they passed buckets of water to the main source of the fire. He located Salem near the head of the line. In spite of his words to the contrary he had not known until now how afraid he had been that Salem might not have survived. Smith's relief was so great that he felt compelled to hide it. He shook his head in a mockery of disgust as he looked at his friend. Salem's clothes were stiffly wet from his cold dunk in the water. Where they were torn at the shoulder and thigh Smith could see burned flesh. Salem's hair was matted to his head, his face streaked with soot and sweat. His voice was raw from a combination of smoke and flames and issuing orders. When Smith caught his eye Salem raised a charred eyebrow in disbelief. Without pausing in handing off his bucket he demanded, "What in the name of God are you doing here?" "Just checkin' up on my men," Smith said and grinned. "Like hell!" Salem muttered. "Think you can help out? Or are you going to stand there looking entertained?" Smith pointed over Salem's shoulder to a frigate that was lowering its boats with infantry on board. "Got time for neither. That goes for you and the others. Order everyone out of here; this fight's over for now." When Salem hesitated, Smith lost patience. "Do it, man! You can't hold them off any longer." Salem knew Smith was right, but he had no experience in giving up. The idea didn't set well, and when he

issued the word to evacuate the wharf, the command left a bitter, unwelcome taste in his mouth. Buckets were tossed aside as men ran toward the interior of the town, taking up shelter where it was offered. Salem threw down his bucket in disgust. "Why didn't you just tell them to go if you wanted a retreat so badly?" "Most of them don't know me. They wouldn't have listened," Smith told him. "But they would have died for you." "Not for me. For the things they believe in." Smith jerked Salem's torn cuff and began leading him in the direction he wanted to go. "We can discuss the finer points of your command some other time. Right now we have to get out here. Mrs. McClellan is waitin' for you at the Caroler's." Salem stopped in his tracks. "What in God's name is my mother doing here?" "Not your mother, your wife." "Ashley," Salem said, staring at him. "Damn you, Smith! I'll have your head for not telling me this in the first ten seconds of our conversation." He took off at a run. It was nothing less than Smith had expected. He shrugged philosophically and bolted after Salem. When he reached the inn Salem was already at the top of the stairs following the hosteler's frantic directions to the correct room. Smith mounted the steps at a slower, more thoughtful pace, concluding once again that marriage would probably never suit him. Still, it must have something to recommend it. Ashley was looking hauntingly beautiful as she held Salem's head close to her breast. Her emerald eyes were bright, shining with relief and love. The smudge on her cheek where Salem had obviously first pressed his face to hers did not in any way detract from her loveliness. Salem, Smith noted, seemed blissfully happy to be holding his wife, his hands running over her, assuring himself that she was all of one piece. Smith began to make a quiet exit from the room. "Not so fast, friend," came Salem's gruff voice. "You can close the door as long as you're on this side of it. I want some explanation." Ashley held Salem's arm as he sat up, fearing that he was going to leave her side and do some injury to Smith. She had never heard him speak so angrily before. His voice was unnaturally calm, coldly biting. "Salem, please. It was Mr. Smith who saved my life." She felt the muscles in his arm lose some of their tension. At that moment Salem was deaf to the shouting in the street, the intermittent musket shots, the frantic cries of those seeking safety from the fire the regulars were spreading through town. He was deaf to everything save his wife's tender pleading. He lifted his chin in Smith's direction, pinning his worthy opponent with eyes as cold and steely as the deadly weapon Smith carried. "How did you and my wife come to be here?" Smith straddled a chair, smiling ruefully. "Damned if I didn't know this was going to be the worst part of my day," he said to himself. To Salem he said, "I don't think we have much time, so I'll be brief. I came back to Virginny about a week before Christmas to uncover a squeaky wheel among our couriers. I stayed at a friendly tavern in York-town while completing my business. I was approached by a jovial Irishman, askin' if I wanted some employment. Somethin' didn't settle right with me, the man's

explanations were a bit obtuse, but I played along, curryin' his favor until he decided it was safe to tell me a few details." "This is your brief explanation?" Salem asked dryly. "If you doubt it, I'll give you the longer version," Smith replied easily. "Pray, continue." "Flannigan, that's the fellow's name, told me he was lookin' for some men to deliver a special package to the Arbus. It seemed to me a perfect way to intercept some documents, for at that time that's all I thought he was talkin' about. Flannigan had already found the others for the job or I would have steered him to men I could trust In the end I had no choice but to go it alone. I was told to stay where I could be found easily—" He broke off abruptly as Ashley groaned. "Are you all right, Mrs. McClellan?" She waved aside his concern and met her husband's stormy eyes. "The babies have stubbornly decided they will be born today. I can't talk them out of it." Salem's face paled. He turned his anger on Smith. "Why didn't you tell me she was going to have a baby?" Smith looked startled. "What a poser! Hell, I thought you knew." Ashley bit her lip to keep a bubble of hysterical laughter under control. "Salem, it's all right. My contractions are still at every fifteen minutes. The physician's already been here. He said it's hours before I deliver and he'll send a midwife." "Why didn't the doctor stay?" Salem and Smith demanded together. Ashley's eyes widened as the two men joined forces against her. "Gentlemen, I am only giving birth. I am not the first woman to do so, and I expect I shall manage the thing quite well. However, there are many people in need of attention beyond this room." She looked skeptically at her husband's burned shoulder. "And some in this room that need it more than I." While Ashley spoke Smith had left his chair to throw open the shutters. He grimaced at the view. The fire was spreading rapidly, aided by a wind that allowed it to jump from roof to roof. The darkening sky was being lit unnaturally by the leaping crimson flames. He turned to Salem. "I'm afraid your wife may have to do without the assistance of a midwife or a physician. The fire is coming this way. We need to get her out of here." Salem could have killed him for bringing a look of fear to Ashley's face. "It's all right, sweet. He'd say anything to get out of his explanation." He touched the sooty smear on her cheek with his blackened fingers. "We're a fine pair of sweeps, you and I. Can you bear the travel if I carry you?" "Yes. But where shall we go?" "Don't worry. Smith will think of something. It's why he's tolerated." Salem wrapped Ashley in her thick pelisse and added a blanket for good measure. She circled his neck with her arms as he lifted her, careful not to touch his injured shoulder. "C'mon, Smith. I hope that look on your face means you've hit upon an idea." Smith followed Salem out of the deserted inn then he took the lead, guiding them through narrow alleys away from the fire, past the edge of town until they were out of immediate danger. He led them along the same wooded path that he and Ashley had taken earlier.

"Now what?" Salem asked tersely as Smith halted suddenly, looking around. Smith was too preoccupied to attend Salem's tone. "Damn, I know I saw it somewhere around here before. Probably comes in handy along these smaller inlets. It's got to be here. It was right—over— there!" He pointed to a skiff cleverly concealed among the trees near the water's edge. Salem eyed the small craft dubiously as he approached. He lowered Ashley carefully to her feet and motioned to Smith to support her while he inspected the skiff. It had a sail which looked to be in decent shape if one discounted the rot. There was a centerboard which could be lowered through a slot in the floor to keep the boat from drifting leeward. The outrigger looked sturdy and would lend support, most likely preventing the tiny vessel from tipping. He had to search for the oars. He found them hidden in a hollow log about twenty feet from the skiff. "And where do you think this is going to get us?" he asked, leaning on the oars. "I reckon I was hopin' it would take us to the landin'. She looks yare to me." "Yare?" Salem's brows rose in disbelief. "She looks yare to you? What sort of kettles have you sailed?" Unwittingly Salem had touched a nerve. Smith's eyes were distant, cold. "I told you once I don't sail if I can help it." Ashley chose that moment to grimace in pain. Both men were solicitous, forgetting their grievances, just as Ashley intended them to. She may have gotten away with her subterfuge if a very real, very painful, contraction hadn't taken her by surprise. She would have folded to the ground if Smith hadn't held her. Salem dropped the oars and took her from Smith. "I thought you said your contractions were every fifteen minutes." "They still are," she admitted tiredly. "I was trying to divert your attention. I thought you two were going to argue again." "Argue?" Smith asked as he began to untangle the skiff from the branches and dried leaves that camouflaged it. "You figure we was gonna argue, Salem?" "No, I thought we were going to fight." "That's what I thought. She done shook the mood right out of me. Hell of a thing to do, Mrs. McClellan." "You're a scoundrel, Mr. Smith. Now tell me, can my husband sail this thing?" "It's a skiff, ma'am. And your husband can sail about anything that floats." "Do you trust him to get us to the landing?" "You know I do." "So do I. Salem? Are you going to take us?" Salem didn't believe he had any choice. He lowered Ashley to the ground and tucked the blanket around her. "Stay here," he said roughly. "Smith and I need to put the skiff in the water." He turned his back, just missing her complacent smile. "Was there ever a man so easily maneuvered by a woman as I?" Since Smith reasoned it was a rhetorical question, he wisely kept his counsel.

The men had the craft in the water in under ten minutes. Salem pronounced it sound as long as Smith used his tricorn to bail the water that would inevitably leak in from a small hole in the bottom. "We'll keep close to the bank and cross the river at its narrowmost point," Salem said, returning to Ashley while Smith held the skiff in place. He hunkered down in front of her, eyeing her gravely. "Ashley, for all his foolery, Smith knows the danger of what we're going to do. The skiff is small for the three of us, and it will be dark in a little while. We haven't so much as a candle between us and there will be very little moonlight tonight. I could leave you with Smith, take it up river myself, and bring back a safer transport." "No. I won't let you leave us behind. I want to go with you." "What if Smith could find you a refuge in town?" Ashley glanced at the blazing skyline in the distance. "That's not likely. And even if he could, it wouldn't be safe for him there with the British in town." "No, it wouldn't be, but he'd do it." "I won't ask it." She drew one of her hands out from under the blanket and touched his solemn face. "Salem, he did save me today. The package he mentioned that was going to be delivered to the Arbus ? That was me, dearest. Flannigan meant for we to be taken back to Nigel." Salem swore softly, hugging her to him with a fierce possessiveness. "C'mon, Salem," Smith called from the water. "It's damn cold in here. You got plenty of time for that sort of thing once we're all right and tight." Salem assisted Ashley to the skiff, lifting her above the water and settling her on one of the seats. He took up the oars while Smith gave the boat a shove and jumped in, rocking the craft precariously. If not for the outrigger, they would have been done before they began. Ashley's pride in Salem swelled as she watched him deftly handle the skiff, bringing it into obedience. When they reached deeper water he abandoned the oars, dropped the centerboard in place, and tacked the single sail, setting a course that used the brisk wind to his advantage. She burrowed her nose into the fur trim of her hood, wondering how either man could tolerate the cold air rushing by them. She closed her eyes, believing in another few minutes she would be too numb to feel her labor pains. Perhaps there was a blessing in all this after all, she thought a little giddily. "Smith, if you let my wife fall overboard, I'll kill you. Put your arm around her and keep her in place." He watched narrowly as Smith eased his arm around Ashley's shoulders, drawing her close. "That's right, keep your arm there. Any lower and I'll—" Smith rolled his eyes. "I know. You'll kill me. You do seem bent on murder today." He felt Ashley relax completely against him. He wasn't sure if she had fallen asleep or fainted. He looked to Salem for help. "Well, the rest will do her good. And now I'd like to hear the rest of your explanation. Ashley already informed me she was meant to be delivered to the Arbus." "That was Flannigan's intention, but I only discovered that today. The man disappeared after our first meeting and I couldn't find him. You'll be pleased to know he somehow managed employment at the landin'. When I saw him today he was wearing your livery."

"Flannigan," Salem repeated softly as if placing the name. "Short fellow? Round face? Friendly countenance?" "About as friendly as a rattlesnake," Smith said. "But you've got the man." "I'll be damned. He's been working with the horses. Gareth just took him on." "That explains in part how he was able to abduct your wife. I don't know the particulars. He showed up at the tavern earlier today and gave me the barest details of what I was to do." "Why didn't you kill him when you found out he had Ashley?" "I would have if I had known where she was. He brought all four of his crew together at the last minute and took us to the schooner he had hidden south of town. By then, the odds were a little out of favor." "So what did you do?" "What else?" He laughed. "I set about changing them." Night fell around them, obscuring Smith's face as he finished telling Salem what had happened on board the schooner. Nothing could obscure his chilling voice as he described Ashley's pathetic plea to have her hands loosed, or his last dealing with Sid. Salem's curt comment was only that the man had died too quickly. At the finish of Smith's tale, he found macabre humor in that Chubb and Hank had been sent to the landing. "You really told them to say that you had Ashley?" Salem asked. "Did just that. Figured your father would nail their hides in no time flat." "He did if he was around when they arrived and not out looking for Ashley." "Damn, I never thought of that." Smith felt water seeping in his boots. Hat in hand, he began bailing, careful not to dislodge Ashley. Neither man said anything for the remainder of the trip. Smith's head, glinting pale gold in the meager moonlight, bobbed up and down as he bailed tirelessly. Salem's dark figure remained shrouded, his existence confirmed only by his guiding hand as he tacked the skiff. Unknown to either man Ashley feigned sleep, biting on the fleshy ball of her thumb to keep silent against her pain. She had woken in time to hear most of Smith's account and the telling stung her. More than that, it lashed at her heart, wounding her almost beyond bearing. She prayed as she never had that no one at the landing was hurt because of Nigel's obsession to have her back at Linfield. She estimated her contractions were coming seven minutes apart when Salem announced they were at the landing. She heard him swear softly as he struggled to secure the skiff to the dock. She made a production of waking up, yawning hugely, as Salem told Smith to hand her to him. "It's all right, Mr. Smith, I can stand." She did just that, reaching out to Salem who lifted her on the dock. He swung her into arms and strode toward the house, Smith dogging his steps. Rounding the knoll, they each knew a moment of ineffable calm as they caught sight of the landing. Candles or lamps had been set on every sill, and the house was fairly ablaze with light, every window winking at the approaching trio. It was the McClellans' vigil as well as their welcome. Salem and Ashley moved toward it, pulled by the flickering greeting. Neither of them immediately noticed that the third member of their party had stopped following them. Uncomfortable with the thought of being part of Salem and Ashley's homecoming when he was not part

of their home, Smith stepped off the path and hid behind a tree until he heard the landing's bell ring wildly in celebration. He turned, his shoulders hunched slightly against the cold, and headed toward the stable. He doubted if anyone would begrudge him a fresh mount. He'd be damned if he was going to step foot on that rattletrap skiff again.

Chapter 12

A noise at the front door made Rae pause on the stairs. She remained poised between steps, afraid to turn, almost afraid to hope. It was the familiar sound of her brother stamping his muddy boots as he entered the foyer that lightened her heart and filled her with laughter. Imagine Salem taking the time to wipe his feet at a time like this! She whooped with the most unladylike laughter, bringing family and servants running to the entry hall to see what ill had befallen her. Salem and Ashley found themselves surrounded. For a moment it looked as if they were going to topple to the parquet floor as Salem swayed on his feet under the impetus of Leah's well-intentioned hug. Robert reached out to steady them while Charity touched the corner of her misting eyes in an attempt to stay her tears. Gareth hugged his wife fiercely, something bright in his eyes also. Tildy took a moment to shout her thanks to the Lord then ran to the kitchen door where she announced their arrival by ringing the bell with energetic abandon. Salem took the warm reception in stride, grinning boyishly at Ashley. "What a fuss just because we're late for dinner." His dimple deeply slashed one corner of his mouth. Ashley looked at him in astonishment and promptly burst into tears. Salem's shock was obvious as she turned her face into his charred linen shirt and sobbed as if she were never going to stop. After a bewildered look at his critics, he responded in the only way that seemed reasonable to him: charging up the stairs two at a time and announcing to everyone that birth was imminent. Above the flurry of activity that followed, Ashley cried all the harder. He kicked open the door to their room and laid her on the bed, bending on one knee at her side. "Ashley, we're home safe and everything is going to be fine now." His confusion brought a tender, watery smile to her lips. "Someday you'll feel like I do now, and you'll cry." Her smile vanished and she reached out with both hands to clutch his arm, needing his strength when pain sharply tore at her insides. Charity walked in at that moment, followed closely by Meg carrying a porcelain bowl of water and fresh linens. "How close are your pains, Ashley?" she asked. "I'm not certain." She continued to clutch Salem's sleeve, her eyes tightly closed against the pain. Finally she let go, her hands falling weakly to her side. "Each one is lasting a little longer now." "They come about every six minutes, Mother," Salem said. He took the washcloth that Meg dangled in front of him and with infinite gentleness began wiping Ashley's face. He looked gravely into her dark emerald eyes. "Brave, brave soldier. It's still not over for you, is it?" "No, it's not," Charity interrupted with a briskness belied by the catch in her voice. "But it is for you, son. You'll have to leave us now. Meg and I will care for Ashley; this is no place for you. Tildy is making a poultice for your burns, and Rae is prepared to take care of your injuries. Jacob is readying a bath for

you in the master bedroom." Salem gave up his place beside his wife reluctantly. He watched for several minutes as Meg and his mother stripped off Ashley's damp clothes, worrying over her in the best tradition of mother hens. Seeing that she was in excellent hands and that he was distinctly out of his element, he backed out the door, shutting it quietly behind him. A little more than an hour later he was bathed, bandaged, and nearly beside himself with worry. The continued silence from down the hall unnerved him. Even though he had only been a child himself, he could remember how quiet the house had been when his mother had labored with Rae. And that delivery had almost killed her. His hands shook inside the deep pockets of his dressing gown as he retreated to the library, seeking his father's company. Robert was alone, seated by the fire with a closed book on his lap and a glass of whiskey in his hand. His head rested comfortably against the back of the chair and his eyes were closed. Thinking him to be asleep, Salem began to go. "No, don't leave," Robert said, looking up. "I've been waitin' for you. There's a drink for you on the table. Get it and join me." Salem took the drink and sat across from his father. Almost immediately he was on his feet again. He missed Robert's narrow smile. "These things take some lime, son. Tell me what happened today. The two miscreants who showed up at the landing told me there was a battle going on in Norfolk." Salem knocked back half his drink. "Damn. Smith should be here making these explanations." "Then he's all right? When he didn't come back with you, I wondered." "He was right behind me on the path to the house, then he wasn't. You know how he is. Once he decided everything was fine he just disappeared. I think he would rather face a redoubt of redcoats than accept anyone's thanks." Salem topped off his glass and with half an ear alert to any noise above stairs he told Robert of the day's events. In turn, Robert supplied the information Salem did not know. "It weighs on all of us very heavily that it was the noon meal when we missed Ashley. Charity thought she was in her rooms having a lie in. I don't often see her in the morning and never gave it a thought. She told Rae and Leah where she was going when she left for the stables. Unfortunately they were preoccupied and decided between them they must have missed her return. "When we found the chaise gone I roused everyone to start a search. That was the first I realized Flannigan was no longer here. Meg told anyone who would listen that if Flannigan was really Irish, then she was the queen. The only person more deeply grieved by his betrayal was Gareth. He and Darlene arrived in the midst of all the confusion and he was furious for hiring the man." "He couldn't have known." Robert nodded. "It would be good for you to tell him that. He couldn't be reasoned with this afternoon." "Where is he now?" "With Darlene and the girls in the music room."

"I'll be sure to talk to him. If there is fault in what happened, it is that I have underestimated Nigel's obsession. Ashley would have been safer if I had heeded her warnings." "You don't know that." Salem agreed tiredly, sitting down again. "But at least I could tell myself now that I had taken precautions to prevent this. In truth, I thought her safe enough here." "As did we all," Robert said heavily, sharing the burden of responsibility. Salem set aside his glass and stretched his legs in front of the fire. He spoke to fill the silence rather than out of genuine interest. He thought he already knew the answer to his question. "What happened to the men Smith sent here?" "They're dead," Robert said without preamble. "Then you were here when they arrived?" "No. Gareth and I were leading separate search parties. Your mother, Darlene, and Leah were virtually alone in the house when they came. Chubb and Hank would not state their business to any of the women or servants so they allowed ol' Jacob to leave to find someone they could talk to." Robert's look was grim. "Your brother Ray is the one who returned to the landing." Salem sat upright, brows lifted almost to his hairline. "Brother Ray? As in Rahab?" "The very same. I sent her back from my party when I realized she was there, telling her her place was with the women. She was dressed in some of Noah's old things, looking very much like a stripling lad, and with about half as much sense. When Jacob ran across her she was still in a pique over my orders and decided to show me her place. She told Jacob where he could find me and went back to the house herself." "Your mother nearly fainted when she came swaggering in, looking for all the world as if she ran the whole plantation. Everyone was so afraid for her, they simply played along. Rae found out everything she needed to know from the men and was prepared to turn over the money. You see, Smith's name meant nothing to her; she thought Ashley was still in danger." "Rae left the parlor to get the blunt and Darlene invented an excuse to join her. Chubb followed them, leaving Hank with the others. Chubb's interest was solely on Rae as she fumbled with the drawer where I keep the ready. Darlene clubbed him over the head with that poker." "My God." "Exactly. Smith's name and carefully worded message carried some weight with your sister-in-law. I have revised my opinion of what is best our women should know." "And the other fellow?" "When Rae returned to the parlor she was armed. She put a pistol ball through his shoulder. Darlene and Charity trussed Chubb like a Christmas turkey while Leah helped Rae keep her sights on Hank. When Gareth and I returned there was nothing left to do but turn both men over to the authorities. I don't believe there is any doubt as to their fate." Salem shook his head. "It's hard to credit that Rae and Darlene could be so fierce. Inventive, yes. But to actually strike and shoot?"

"I've been trying not to imagine any of it," Robert said feelingly. "I find I am torn between anger and pride. These women we love have a strength I'm only beginning to realize, Salem, running deeper and truer than I had known. I am coming to think that if we are their protectors it is because they permit us to be, not because they can't fend for themselves. It was quite a revelation to see even young Leah with a musket in her hand." "You taught her to use it," Salem reminded him. "I think, given the circumstances, it was best that she knew. And I want you to teach Ashley." Robert's smile was wry. "No more bluffing with unloaded weapons, is that it?" "I die a little inside when I think of her foolish courage. Believe me, it is better that Rae and Leah know what they are about. Be proud that you taught them so well. When the time came they were unafraid to act." Robert opened his mouth to make a reply but closed it abruptly when a muted scream from upstairs reached his ears. He saw his son pale and his own knuckles whitened as he gripped the arms of his chair. Silence thickened in the room. Robert dropped his unopened book on the floor and got up to pour himself another drink. "I don't know why I am surprised by anything women do," he said. "Will it be much longer, d'you think?" "Each woman is different as is each babe, Salem. There's no way of knowing for certain. Why don't we join the others in the music room? They're nearly as anxious as you are, but they're bound to be more lighthearted about it." Twenty minutes later, in the middle of a tuneful lullaby that Leah was playing to ease the babe's way in the world, Charity entered and quietly announced the birth of her first grandchild. "You have a beautiful girl, Jerusalem." Something was not quite right in his mother's tone. Though she was smiling there was look of terrible sadness in her eyes and tears were threatening. Salem had never been so frightened of the unknown before. "Ashley?" Charity blinked, brought to awareness by her son's rough voice. "She's fine, son. That is, she's tired and —and she needs you now. You must tell her it was nothing that she did…" Charity trailed off as tears slipped down her cheeks. "She blames herself, you see." Salem came very near to shaking his mother. Inside his pockets his fists balled. "What are you talking about?" "There were two. Two babies. The boy was dead." Charity walked into her husband's arms and sought his comfort. She lifted her head once, to explain further to Salem, but he was already on his way to Ashley. Salem met Meg coming out of the room, carrying his daughter. The baby was red-faced and squalling so hard that her eyes had disappeared. Her dark eyebrows seemed to rest directly above her dimpled cheeks. For no reason that he could see she was beating her tiny fists against the loose blanket, flailing at her cocoon in dissatisfaction. When she succeeded in uncovering her head Salem saw her hair was the same ebony color as her mother's. It didn't occur to him until much later that it was his color, too.

"She's beautiful, isn't she, Meg?" He gently touched the cherry-red lips that were opened wide but hardly issuing any sound. He decided she was merely working up to something loud. "She is that," Meg agreed. "A lusty young babe if ever there was one. The mistress told you about't'other?" "Aye. Is Ashley still awake?" "She is. She's takin' it hard." "Meg?" Salem placed his arm on hers as she turned to go. "Was what happened today to blame?" "Your ma and I don't think so, but who can say? I think the boy was dead before today, and that's why she labored early. Nature was trying to cleanse her womb. The miracle is you have a daughter that survived." Salem agreed and slipped into Ashley's room. Her hair looked like spilled ink against the whiteness of the pillow sham, and her lashes the same against the porcelain perfection of her face. Her lids were faintly swollen from the tears she had shed; her lower lip trembled uncertainly. She looked too young to have borne his child, he thought, and too delicate to have survived it. He stood at the foot of her bed, staring at her ethereal loveliness, having no idea what to say to erase the wash of guilt from her face. "I'm so sorry, Salem," she whispered when he sat beside her. She couldn't meet his eyes. It angered him that she condemned herself with those words, but there was no hint of that in his voice. "You are not to blame. There was nothing you could have done." "I should have known something was wrong. I was too stupid to understand the pain I had. I should have known what it was." "Even if you had understood, do you think it would have helped? Please, Ashley, join me in feeling sorrow for the child we do not have, but let us not shadow our joy for the one we do." "He was our son," she said dully. "Nigel's obsession has killed our son." "We don't know that" Salem would not allow her to dwell on that bitter thought. He had no wish to see her consumed by hatred. "Do you want me to say I wish it were our daughter who died?" He saw that his words jerked her out of her piteous trance. "Was I supposed to look at my baby girl and wish that her wrinkled countenance and raven cap of hair were that of my son? Ashley, do you really know so little about me? If I could have commanded it, I would have seen both our children live. Boys or girls, it never mattered to me. But if something had happened to you—that is what I feared most Before Mother told me about the boy I knew something was wrong, and I thought it was you. I wanted to die then, Ashley. I knew a moment of paralyzing terror that I might have to live without you. Can you possibly know how important you are to me? Ashley, I love you." Her eyes glittered, welling with tears. "I love you, too." Salem kissed her gently on the brow, then her eyes, forcing her to close them. "I think you should sleep now. No, don't fuss. I'll stay with you." He did. Long after she fell asleep he stayed by her side watching her, his eyes wet with tears.

Ashley grieved for her son. But she did as Salem bid her and did not let her sorrow shade her joy. In turn, the delight she took in her daughter did much to heal the ache in her heart. "Why she's a piglet, disguised as a girl," Ashley announced as Salem walked into the nursery. The bedchamber that had been converted into a room for the baby was awash in morning sunlight. It warmed the padding of the baby's crib and pinkened the pattern of rosebuds that decorated one wall. It fell over Ashley's shoulder, forming a penumbra about her head and setting her face and form in shadow. She rocked slowly as their baby suckled at her breast, giggling when the babe lost her hold and rooted to find the coral nipple. "And a very good disguise it is. Here, darling. This is what you want." Salem wanted to say she was not the only one, but he held his tongue and bade himself cool his heels a few days longer. It seemed an eternity since he had made love to his wife, but that was hardly reason to begrudge his daughter her breakfast. He had survived all of January, and February was a short month; surely, he thought, he could manage to cuddle his way through the first week of March. "Good morning, love," he said, bending low to kiss her cheek. She turned at the last minute and offered her lips, responding to his kiss with a passion and need that stirred him greatly and brought a pink hue to her cheeks. He hunkered down beside the rocker, grinning with satisfaction that he was not alone in his desires. He touched his daughter's downy cheek with the tip of his finger and spoke to her as if Ashley were not in the room. "It would seem you come by your hunger legitimately, Miss Courtney Ann Rochelle McClellan. Your mama has an appetite which has gone abeggin' these past few months." His eyebrows wiggled wickedly, attracting Courtney's wide blue eyes. "Me thinks tonight is the night I shall have my way with her." "Tonight?" Ashley sighed, conveying great disappointment. "Courtney, do you hear? What would you do if I played such a trick on you?" As if quite understanding the gist of the conversation, Courtney flailed a perfectly formed fist at her father, causing her parents to laugh. "There, Salem, she knows what is going on, so you will please temper your carnal inclinations around our child?" "I will, if you will." "Well," Ashley drawled thoughtfully, "perhaps it was only a lucky thing that she attempted to throw you a facer." Looking very serious Salem asked, "How do we know with any certainty?" "I'll ask her another question, of course. Courtney, what would you say if I left you in Meg's good care this morning while I seduced your dear sire?" Unfortunately for her parents, Courtney lost her mother's nipple at that point and let out a wail that rocked Salem back on his heels. "I suppose she does understand." Salem laughed, mostly at Ashley's chagrin. "I will be careful to mend my lascivious language when she is in the room." He stood, pressed a kiss and a smile in Ashley's hair, and went to the door. "Shall I tell Tildy you'll be down for breakfast?" "Yes."

"And tonight?" "Yes. Most definitely yes. " Salem liked the sound of that and could be heard whistling "Yankee Doodle" as he stepped lively down the stairs. "… and with the girls be handy." "Yo' up to no good, Mister Salem," Tildy pronounced as he swung his napkin on to his lap. "I can tell it every time." She set a covered plate of eggs in front of him as other members of the family entered the dining room. "Jest stay away from my pies, hear?" "Not pies I'm after, Tildy. Have my eye on a sweet apple tart." Tildy wagged a thin brown finger at him. "Ain't likely there's an apple left where you'll be pickin'." She laughed gaily and sauntered out, leaving Salem to carefully field a variety of questions. Ashley thought the day dragged interminably even though she filled it with activity. When it was finally time to dress for dinner, Ashley chose a green velvet gown that brightened her eyes and made the coil of her raven hair seem lush. The square-cut bodice was edged with delicate ivory lace, and the sleeves fit snugly to the elbow where they fell away in long, draping folds. Ivory ribbon and bows circled the skirt a few inches above the hem and below it; the ruffled edge of her petticoat brushed against her kid slippers. The tiny covered buttons at the back defied her fingers so she left them unfastened until Meg came by. Even when the gown was secured its cut bared her white shoulders, displayed the full upper curves of her breasts, and cinched her waist so that it could be spanned by a man's hands. Not any man's hands, she thought, looking at herself critically in the glass. Salem's hands. Warm, loving hands. At her waist, her naked shoulders, molding her bare thighs. Her eyes darkened to the shade of her dress as she thought of those hands. Hard hands. Work-roughened hands. Tender and textured hands. Lean, masculine fingers that stroked, touched with infinite gentleness, searched her body for the secret places that gave her so much pleasure. He would whisper in her ear, tell her what he was going to do to her, then take his sweet time keeping his promises. All the while her body would be flushed in anticipation, eager and arching, moist with readiness. It would be sweet torture as his mouth tasted her skin. He would press his lips to the soft inner curve of her elbow, the pulsing hollow of her neck, and the taut peaks of her breasts. His tongue would slide across the delicate back of wrists and knees, the base of her spine. His teeth would tease the curve of her thigh and tug at her nape. Courtney's cry from the nursery abruptly ended Ashley's fantasy. It was probably just as well, she thought, grinning cheekily at her reflection. What she intended to do to that man didn't bear thinking about —not if she was going to restrain herself through dinner. While Ashley was playing with Courtney in the nursery, Salem went to their rooms to dress. He smiled to himself when he saw the gowns his wife had discarded on the bed. Evidently Ashley had taken some pains to choose a gown to whet his appetite. Just thinking about it made him uncomfortably warm. It didn't seem fair that she had so much with which to tempt him. She would sit beside him at the table, looking like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, knowing all the while that she was making him ache to dip his fingers in the bodice of her gown and touch the swollen curves of her breasts. Oh, he was surely in for it this evening. To give Ashley something to think about, Salem ransacked his wardrobe until he found the biscuit breeches and waistcoat he knew she thought especially pleasing. He added a soft linen shirt without frills or ornamentation except for the jabot which was embroided at the edge with white silk thread. His

overcoat had long cutaway tails and wide cuffs trimmed in gold braid. He glanced in the glass, straightened his jabot, and frowned at the thigh-molding fit of his breeches. He hoped Ashley would not tease him unmercifully, else he would have to sit at the table a long time before he was fit to leave. It would serve her right, he decided, grinning at his reflection. Two could play this teasing game. Salem stopped by the nursery to interrupt his daughter's play and take his wife to dinner. Only one of the women in his life thanked him for it. He kissed Courtney's furrowed brow, handed her over to Meg, and pulled Ashley out of the room before either one of them could succumb to the babe's wail of disapproval. In the hallway, before she could draw a breath, he pressed her back to the wall and kissed her warmly. He drew back only enough to touch his forehead to hers, his breathing ragged. "I told myself I wouldn't touch you before dinner, but when I saw you on the bed with Courtney, nearly spilling out of that gown as you bent over her, I think I went a little mad." "I don't mind," she said, her voice just above a whisper. "Would you rather—" He put a finger to her lips, shaking his head. "Don't say it. Don't tempt me. Don't look at me as if you'd let me take you right here in the hall." "But I—" "But we're going to join the others instead. And we are going to behave ourselves at dinner." "Yes, Salem," she answered gravely. "But it is very bad of you to tease my lips on the pretense of keeping me quiet." "Oh." He seemed surprised he had been doing that and removed his finger. "And it is probably better if we don't enter the dining room joined at the hip. I'm thinking of Leah and Rae, of course." "Of course." He pulled back. "Is that better?" "No. But at least I shall have a small chance of behaving myself." As soon as they walked into the dining room Salem knew it had been a mistake not to take their meal in their chamber. While he was watching his mother cover her perceptive smile with a delicate cough he heard Leah's sigh. That indicated she knew romance was brewing in the air. Since it was followed by a short gasp it could only mean Rae had cautioned her with an elbow to her ribs. This had to be the reason Gareth and Darlene moved to Williamsburg. There was nothing for it but to take it all in stride. He noticed his father certainly was. That worthy was gazing appreciatively at the lovely picture his daughter-in-law made as she swept into the room. Robert easily beat his son at the chance to seat Ashley, and when he winked pleasantly at her it was nearly too much to bear. "You are looking exceptionally lovely this evening," Robert said to Ashley as the food was being passed. "You're very nearly radiant in that gown." "How kind of you to say so." She smiled. "I was so occupied with Courtney that I scarcely had time to know what I was putting on." Thinking of the array of clothes on the bed and in the dressing room, Salem nearly choked on his first bite of honey-glazed ham. He tried to keep his mind focused on chewing and swallowing. These tasks ordinarily would not have caused him any difficulty but with Ashley's small hand patting his knee under

the table, eating came close to endangering his life. His wife obviously had a different idea of what it meant to behave herself. Salem dropped his napkin. Under the pretense of retrieving it he was able to lift Ashley's ruffled petticoat and give the bare flesh above her stockings a gentle pinch. Her polite cough let him know she felt it. She kept her hands to herself for all often minutes while they discussed the move to New York. That subject had more of a sobering effect on her than Salem's playful warning. "Where will you be staying?" Rae asked. "In the heart of everything, your brother says," Ashley told her. "Smith has found us a house in the city, recently vacated by a family tired of their Loyalist neighbors," Salem said. "From the description he sent it sounds like a perfectly adequate home for us." "Will it be long before we see you?" Leah asked, her voice wistful. "Not so long, muffin. When the British vacate New York, so will we." It was not as specific an answer as Leah wanted, but she understood it was the best her brother could do. "It wouldn't seem so long if we didn't have to pretend you were strange." Robert smiled. "Estranged. We have to pretend they are estranged from us." "I think you had the right of it the first time, Leah." Ashley laughed. "At least it will seem very queer indeed to proclaim ourselves Loyalists. And after I spent so much time reading Common Sense this past month, one would think now I haven't any." Ashley's mention of Thomas Paine's pamphlet directed the conversation away from her imminent journey to New York. Salem thought it just as well; he wanted nothing to hamper their enjoyment of each other this evening, and he knew his work for Smith and Washington weighed heavily on Ashley's mind. At the moment, he realized with some amusement, there were other matters weighing on his wife's mind. Her delicate hands, expressive in any situation, were faintly erotic as they circled her wineglass. He shifted, attempted to join the lighthearted conversation, but his eyes remained focused on Ashley's slender fingers idly tapping the crystal stem. Her nails clicked lightly, the soft pad of her thumb rubbing the curved bottom of the glass. His amusement was a fleeting thing. Did she know what she was doing? She certainly did, the witch. He watched her lift the glass to her mouth, touch her lips with just a drop of the sweet port, then taste it with the tip of her tongue. That flick was the proverbial straw. Salem pushed back his chair, tossed his napkin on his empty plate, and stood behind Ashley. "Please excuse us." he said over her head. He reached over her shoulder and took away her wine. "But I think we have dallied long enough. I promised Ashley we would spend some time with Courtney before retiring." Ashley was startled into standing up, but everyone was kind enough not to comment. She had no idea what excuses came to her lips as Salem fairly dragged her out of the room but once she was on the staircase laughter bubbled over. "How did you dare hide behind your own daughter?"

"Did you think I was telling an untruth?" Salem asked with perfect innocence. "Weren't you?" He stopped outside the nursery and peeped in. Courtney was sound asleep in her crib, dimpled knees curled under her, lifting her padded bottom high in the air. Smiling, he closed the door. "Courtney seems to have forgotten the plan. I'm afraid we'll have to entertain ourselves." "You are incorrigible," she said fondly, opening the door to their chamber. Amorous inclinations fled as she gazed at the pile of clothes on the bed. She thought of the things scattered in the dressing room. It was too depressing. She hurried in the room and began gathering up odds and ends. "This will only take —" "You're mad!" He laughed, taking the clothes from her arm and tossing them on a chair. He hugged her to him. "I want to ravish you and you want to clean house. Do you think I have a care about these things?" "But I should at least ring someone to help me put them away." "You touch that bell pull and I'll wring your neck." She sighed dramatically as he began pulling pins from her hair. "Are all American men so masterful?" "You are never going to find out, minx," he growled in her ear. He finished loosening her hair so that it fell in dark waves about her shoulders. It was a temptation to simply bury his fingers in the softness, but the velvet-covered buttons at her back beckoned. He tried to manage them while she had her arms curved sweetly about his neck, but it proved too difficult. Her mouth was nibbling at his jaw and her body was moving against his in a most provocative manner. "Desist, you hussy, else I will forget these buttons and simply throw your skirt up. Now, turn around so I can have at these things." She saucily spun on her toes and gave him her back, lifting her hair and bending her head so that he could get the topmost buttons. The slender line of her neck proved too much of a temptation. "Never say you are going to chew the buttons off," she said, smiling as she felt his lips on her nape. Then she couldn't have spoken to save her soul as his mouth unerringly found a most sensitive spot. Her legs grew weak and she shivered. If not for his hands about her waist she thought she would have fallen. His hands, those warm loving hands, crept upward to cup the underside of her heavy breasts. Her soft moan was filled with longing. She wanted more than the feel of his hands through the velvet of her gown. "Please," she said faintly. "Please touch me. It's—it's been so long." "My love," was all he said. Trembling fingers undid enough buttons so the bodice of her gown could be pushed to her waist. Her chemise followed, and when his hands cupped her again it was the warm velvet of her skin that he felt. His thumbs lightly touched the pink swollen tips. She fell back against him. Her hands reached for his thighs. Her palms smoothed the material of his breeches, felt the hard muscular strength of him. She settled her buttocks against the cradle of his thighs, and his husky murmur was her satisfaction. His lips were at her ear, the line of her throat. He whispered against her flesh, tiny sounds of desire and need that made her feel weak with yearning. Salem finished unfastening her dress, and when it slid to the floor he turned Ashley to face him. "Undress me," he said lowly. Ashley helped him shrug out of his coat and vest then slipped her hands beneath his linen shirt to pull it over his head. Her hands caressed his shoulders and upper arms, his taut abdomen and solid back. Her mouth teased his male nipples until they budded like her own, then standing on tiptoes, she pressed her bosom against his chest.

"Get on with it, madam," he growled darkly, "or I swear I'll take you standing up." Ashley dropped back on her heels. "You couldn't do that—could you?" "Tease me more, wench, and you'll discover what I can do." She raised an eyebrow at him but her fingers deftly undid his breeches. "I'm only complying because I find the bed ever so comfortable," she informed him. She rolled down her undergarments and stockings as he kicked out of his shoes and pants. Ashley took his hand and led him to the fourposter, unaware that the gentle sway of her backside was being appreciatively watched. She gave a little yelp as she was tackled from behind and tossed on the bed. Salem's body quickly followed, covering hers. She thought to protest, but then she saw the warm look in his eye and realized it would have been an outburst without substance. She wanted him. Now. Her body shifted to accommodate him. She yielded to him, taking him into her, then clasped him close and matched his energy, his passion. Their fingers tangled, their tongues touched. Ashley felt as if her toes were curling, and Salem thought his heart would surely burst. Once, when they had to move slightly, it was awkward and they laughed together as they readjusted their bodies. She didn't think she could love him any more than she did at that moment. In his soul there was an echo. They loved one another twice more that night, once when he reached for her, once when she reached for him, and they agreed it didn't seem to matter who initiated their loveplay; each union was uniquely pleasurable. Ashley closed her eyes, resting her head against the rim of the tub. Droplets of perspiration formed on her brow and at her temples. Idly she brushed back a wet strand of hair, not particularly caring if it fell into its proper place or curled with a will of its own. The mist rising from the tub dampened the cool window, and the light from the fire danced reflectively in each pane. Outside the night was black, not even a sliver of moon or starlight penetrated the thick inky blanket hovering over New York. It was not a very welcoming sign, she thought tiredly. She picked up the washcloth and dribbled a few drops of hot water on her neck and breasts. For the moment it was as much energy as she cared to muster. The swiftness with which she and Salem had moved to the city still surprised her. Two weeks ago she had been at the landing, overwhelmingly content with the daily routine of her life. Then Salem had announced he could not put off the move any longer, and Ashley felt as if she had been caught in a whirlwind ever since. None of the physical preparation was as taxing as the emotional one. It had wrenched her heart to have to leave the landing behind. Robert was stoic about the departure which made it harder for Ashley to bear. She knew he was proud of Salem's work but knowledgeable of the dangers. She thought he was probably bleeding a little inside as he stood on the private dock and waved them off. Charity was at his side, face wet with tears she made no effort to erase. The war was taking away another son, and these tears were the proof of the aching in her breast. Leah was silent; there was nothing romantic about war and this maturity weighed heavily on her shoulders. Rae's bright eyes held a different emotion than the others: that of longing. If Charity had turned and seen her daughter's face at that moment, Ashley was certain she would have locked Rae in her room for the duration of the fighting. A hint of a smile curved Ashley's mouth as she imagined Rae McClellan dressed in her brother's breeches and leading a charge of rebels. "No mercy for the prisoners," she would declare. "They shall embroider rattlesnakes on the seat of their pants." Ashley giggled.

"You sound delicious, love," Salem said, dropping to his knees beside the tub." Dare I ask what you were thinking?" "You're going to be disappointed. My mind is not always occupied with randy notions. I was thinking of Rahab." Dramatically Salem placed his hand over his heart. "Then I am cut to the quick." Without opening her eyes Ashley lazily tossed her washcloth at his face. "I am of the opinion that she would like to command a troop of rebels." "You underestimate her, love," he mumbled from under the damp cloth. "She would like Washington's post." Leaning over, Ashley retrieved her missile. "Fool," she said fondly. She searched for the soap, slapping Salem's hands away when he tried to help her, and worked up a lather on her arms and shoulders. "D'you suppose we could send for her? I think she would like to be with us." "You're right, but this is not the time. Mother would not let her go. Perhaps in a few months, when we are more settled and accepted, she can come. Would that please you?" "Oh, yes. She is such a good companion." Salem grew serious. "Ashley, are you lonely here? I never thought how it would be for you." "Salem, we've only been here two days. I haven't had time to be lonely. There have been any number of things to keep me occupied. I never appreciated how much there was to running a household because your mother was the chatelaine of the landing. But here, well, I am mistress, and it's quite enough to keep me busy." "Is it too fatiguing?" he asked roughly, concerned. Exasperated, she sighed. "I shall manage well enough, thank you. I have Meg to help with Courtney, Esther to cook, and a staff to help with the cleaning and entertaining. If I am fatigued it is because everyone looks to me for answers over the slightest detail, and I haven't the heart to tell them I don't care. I expect we will all learn our way around each other in time, so don't give it any thought." "Would you like me to scrub your back?" In answer she gave him the cloth and soap and let him lather her shoulders and neck. She leaned forward, hugging her arms about her knees to allow him an easier reach. She closed her eyes and simply enjoyed the feel of his massaging touch. "Have you heard any word of when the British may land?" It was a compliment to his hands that her question was so dreamy sounding. "They left on St. Patrick's Day, according to the reports just received, and they've gone to Halifax in Nova Scotia to wait for reinforcements and new supplies." "But that's Canada. Aren't they going the wrong way?" "They have support there, but they'll come here once they've received men and munitions. They can't stay in Halifax forever. No one's fighting them there." "Oh. Of course. So what do we do while we're waiting their arrival?" "We prepare, just as Washington is doing by moving his headquarters here. I begin to endear myself to

the Loyalists of this city and you do the same." "I doubt that you will find it difficult." "Yes. Using the Lydia to provide luxuries to the townsfolk certainly reaches their pocketbooks, if not their secrets." "I suspect you'll charm them out of their blunt and their confidences. Will you have to do much sailing?" "Some. For the most part I will leave the Lydia in the command of others." The Congress had recently sanctioned privateering on British vessels. Although Salem had initially wanted no part of it, when he realized that in his present position he could use the Lydia to steal from the British and sell the merchandise back to them, it was too delicious an opportunity to ignore. His decision to give over the command was dictated by the dangers of being linked directly to the privateering. If the Lydia were captured and he was on board, only a complete simpleton would still believe he was a Loyalist. The plan for the ship was simple. The Lydia would sail from harbor and once out of sight, become the ghost of her sunken sister ship, the Caroline. The Caroline would secure the prizes, and the Lydia would bring them back to port. A few marking changes, properly forged papers, and a wily crew would see that officials were satisfied. "I do believe you wish you could sail with them," Ashley said. "No, I don't." "You're really a very terrible liar. I saw how you were on the voyage here. You didn't want to leave the deck." She wriggled a little as she felt his soapy hand on her back, this time without benefit of the cloth. "I can hardly credit what I had to do to get you to your cabin." "Madam, if you had said at the outset you wanted me for carnal purposes, I would have come without a murmur." His hand slipped to the underside of her breasts which were squashed against her knees. It was all the encouragement she needed to languidly unfold in the water. He lavished soap on the arched column of her throat and the silky curves of her breasts. "First you said there was a crisis below deck and refused to name it. Then you said that Courtney was colicky and would I rock her. Then you claimed Meg had taken ill. How was I to know the entire time you were inventing excuses you were attired in the flimsiest excuse for a nightgown ever proposed? And I kept thinking the reason you were clutching your pelisse was because you were cold." "I was." Salem shook his head as he removed all traces of lather with a bucket of warm water. He drew Ashley to her feet and nuzzled her ear, whispering wickedly. "My dear wife, you were hot." "Sa-lem!" Her protest came to naught. He lifted her, dripping wet, and took her to bed, loving her with complete abandon, satisfied when she gave as good as she got. Then he clasped her to him and held her until she fell deep into the sleep she deserved. Much rested the following day, Ashley began setting her new home to rights. Although the agent Salem hired had done a considerable amount of work on the three-story red brick house, Ashley thought it still required some personal touches before it became their home. Several paintings Charity had given her were hung in the dining and music rooms. She had the servants exchange the rose drapes in the library

with the forest green velvet ones in the breakfast nook. Furniture was arranged and rearranged as she sheepishly admitted to herself there were some fine details she did care about. Courtney's nursery was repainted a pinkish hue that nearly matched her room at the landing, and Ashley dragged a rocker from the parlor up the long flight of stairs to place by the baby's crib. Everyone was too busy when Salem came in from his work at the warehouse to pay him any mind. He wandered from one room to another looking for Ashley and discovered she had turned everything on its ear. He admitted he liked the way she had arranged the furniture in front of the fireplace in the sitting room, showing each piece of quality cherrywood to its advantage, while still creating an atmosphere of warmth. He couldn't say what was different about the breakfast room, but he thought it looked cheerier. In the music room the harpsichord was receiving a blinding shine by a young girl in a mobcap and apron. She was humming to herself as she polished the legs of the instrument. Salem stepped out of the room, smiling. She wasn't the first servant he had noticed who seemed to actually be enjoying the work. Ashley had certainly breathed some life into this house. She—no, it couldn't be—she wouldn't—she would. Without turning around he retraced his steps into the music room and took a second look at the maid under the harpsichord. He eyed the slender back and narrow waist, the hint of dark curls beneath the dusty cap, and the dainty feet all but hidden in working clogs. He gritted his teeth. If she had been scrubbing floors today, he was going to— Hands on hips, feet apart, in the best tradition of a tyrannical sea captain, he barked, "Ashley Caroline McClellan! Come out from under there at once!" At the first stentorian tones she sat up in surprise and banged her head on the underside of the instrument. Holding her much abused pate she crawled out from her work place. "There are gentler ways to get my attention, Salem. I am not one of your men." "What are you doing in here?" "I am cleaning." "I pay servants to do this." "They're busy elsewhere." "I saw that. Couldn't this wait?" Ashley got to her feet and walked over to her husband. His dark countenance remained unchanged when he saw her try to shake the stiffness from her legs. "How long have you been working?" She frowned. "You are making too much of this, Salem. I have worked no longer than you. I started shortly after you left and here it is dinner. Not so long." "I was not on my hands and knees polishing furniture and scrubbing floors." "How did you know—" She looked down at her wooden shoes. "Oh, well, as to the floors, it was only a small area and—you're very angry, aren't you?" "Yes." Ashley's rebuttal was cut off by Meg's entry. Her hair was in a frizz about her cap, and there were pink dabs of paint on the ruffle and a few among her freckles. "Sure, and it's a good thing you're back now,"

she said to Salem. "You'd have a loyal staff 'til you draw your last breath if you'd take your wife in hand. She's been workin' like the sun won't set if this house don't come together in one day. I never did hear of such foolishness before, and her a new mother and all." Salem spoke to Meg but remained looking at his wife. "Thank you. I plan to take her in hand directly. Have Esther send our dinner to our chamber and tell everyone Mrs. McClellan has retired for the day." Meg lifted her eyes heavenward in thanks as Salem led his wife from the room, then went to spread the news of the deliverance. Ashley would always remember April as the month she and Salem learned to know one another as husband and wife. She suspected it would have happened earlier, these arguments that gave zest and extended understanding to their marriage, if they hadn't had the other McClellans to provide an unintentional buffer. As much as she sometimes missed the landing, she recognized that leaving had brought a certain strength to their relationship as they had to deal together without direction or guidance from anyone else. Salem thought his concerns stemmed from a natural desire to make life easy for his wife. Ashley said he would never let her out of the bedroom if he had his way. When that particular discussion was ended, Salem showed his wife he was willing to have his way in the library. Ashley thought he was reckless with the chances he took sailing the Lydia. Salem said he was taking only acceptable risks. She cried that there was no such thing and he had no reply, for if their positions had been reversed he would have felt the same. They went to bed very quiet that evening, afraid that touching was somehow wrong in the face of their anger. In the darkness Ashley had reached for him, holding his hand even when he stiffened. "I think I must be a complete fool," she said, forcing words past the lump in her throat "I am so fearful of losing you that I am losing you. I feel as if I am further away from you now than when you were scouting the bay this morning." Salem relaxed beneath her touch. "I think we could argue as to which of us is the most foolish, but I would like to hold you." Ashley rolled into his waiting arms. They didn't make love that night, but something precious and loving was reaffirmed in their bed and it warmed them whenever they thought of it. During May Salem began cementing relationships with other Loyalist merchants. He introduced Ashley to the Marches and the Wards, the Forsythes and the McDowells. She tried not to like any of them too much, but in truth it was hard. It was difficult to believe their heartfelt political ties to the king made them her enemy. At least twice a week she entertained a small gathering in their home. Just as often they were invited out Salem spoke so often of supporting the crown and bringing the rebels to their senses that Ashley wondered how he did not choke on his words. He spoke eloquently and with regret of the break with his family over the rebellion. As Ashley had predicted, he charmed them all. June brought them news from Gareth that the Assembly in Virginia had voted on a resolution for independence. Richard Henry Lee would be delivering the resolution to the Congress: that the thirteen "United Colonies are, and of right ought to be, free and independent States…" "It's rather a dangerous proposal, isn't it?" Ashley asked. "To actually put such a document in writing."

Salem kissed her knitted brow as well as the delicate lines of his daughter's forehead. "She's looking more like you everyday, Ashley." Ashley glanced down and, seeing the frown on Courtney's small face, she laughed. "Naughty puss." Salem sat on the floor at Ashley's feet and held out his arms for Courtney. She cooed and burbled as she went to her father then grew quiet, easily amused with the brass buttons on his waistcoat. "Yes, it is a dangerous proposal, and if Congress votes to adopt it, there can be no turning back. Any man who puts his name to such a document will be announcing his part in treason." "But you think it will be done, don't you?" Salem shrugged, cradling his daughter tightly to his breast. "Who can say? It is foolish trying to predict the vagaries of Congress. You can be certain that whatever is decided won't be decided soon enough to suit half the people, and the other half will wail that Congress was precipitous." A few weeks later Ashley reflected on Salem's words at a small dinner party with the Marches. The gathering was ostensibly held to celebrate the arrival of the British troops a week earlier, but the topic of conversation absorbing everyone was that Congress had drawn up an official Declaration of Independence. Of course the present company believed Congress had acted without enough debate. Ashley was in awe of Salem's ability to hold his tongue in the matter. It couldn't have been easy for him since he felt no small measure of pride in his friendship with the author of the piece. "You did very well this evening," Ashley murmured as she lay her head against his shoulder on the ride home. "I had little hope we would discuss anything but the Declaration. Even when we left you men to your port and politics, Susan and her cousin wanted to talk about it. It didn't seem fair we had to leave you at all." Salem gave her a gentle squeeze. "I know it must have pained you, but I suspect your chat with the women was more fruitful than my after-dinner conversation." "Susan fretted over the fact that Howe has set up headquarters on Staten Island. She wishes he were closer to home. I told her that his ten thousand men would be able to protect her, and she nicely corrected my figures." "How many troops?" "Twenty to thirty thousand. And it came from her husband who talked to someone on Howe's staff about supplying meat to the men. As I understand there will be German mercenaries to compliment the British squadrons, and the general's own brother, Richard, Admiral Viscount Howe will have command of the fleet." "Black Dick." Salem whistled through his teeth. "Parliament clearly wants to crush our rebellion before it gathers more force." "Is it possible?" "Sweet, anything is possible. I will get word to Washington of the potential strength of Howe's forces. It will help him prepare for battle, and perhaps once the size of the enemy is known more militia will join, at least for this fight You did well this evening. Susan's husband was particularly tight-lipped." "He doesn't suspect anything, does he?" "No." He ruffled her hair. "He was just feeling that secrecy made his discussion with Howe's aides more

important. Yet he had the need to confide in someone." "It is distressing to learn things in such a manner. Susan was so proud of her husband's part in assisting Howe." "I know. I dislike nothing about Susan and Henry except their allegiance to the crown." They fell into a companionable silence, listening to the rhythmic cadence of the horse's hooves on the cobblestones. It was a balmy summer evening, cloudless and bright with stars, a sleepy, romantic sort of night that encouraged lovers to make the most of the privacy of their conveyance. Salem plucked the pins from Ashley's hair and dropped them to the floor of the carriage. "What say you we drive awhile before going home?" he murmured against her mouth. "I'd like that," she answered softly. Salem called up to the driver and asked him to take his time about seeing them to their door. The driver grinned to himself when Salem shut the communicating panel between the coach and the box and pulled the blinds. It seemed the young master had lovin' on his mind. That called for a lazy ride to the Bowling Green and back. "He knows, Salem," Ashley chided. "He suspects. And you look so fine this night that I'll wager he wonders how I kept my hands off you on the way to the Marches." "I wondered that myself." "Strength of character," he said humbly, eyes lowered penitently while taking in the creamy expanse of Ashley's bosom. She playfully planted her fist in his stomach. "You are ever the rogue, Jerusalem McClellan. And I delight in your mischief." She lifted her cherry lips for a kiss. Salem delivered the expected buss promptly. Ashley's sweet response only deterred him from his purpose but a moment. Soon his fingers were loosing the laces of her bodice and slipping beneath the soft linen of her chemise to fondle her breasts. She caught fire at his caress and boldly pressed against him. She undid the buttons of his waistcoat and tugged at his shirt, pulling it up until her hands had access to his hard chest and back. She placed small kisses on his jaw, his neck, the base of his throat while her nimble fingers raked his abdomen in a caress that sent a shiver through him. Her hands went lower and through his taut satin breeches she could feel his heated arousal. She cupped him, unhappy with the barrier that prevented her from stroking him fully. Her dissatisfaction with the present arrangement communicated itself to Salem. He lifted her skirts and slid her undergarments down to her knees, then picked her up and had her straddle his lap. Her gown spilled about them, hiding Salem's hands as he warmly fondled her thighs and urged her to settle against him. Ashley's surprise gave way to pleasure as she understood what her husband was about. Reaching under her skirt she groped for the buttons to his breeches. Lost to all but each other in the intensity of their loveplay, neither heard the noisy celebration taking place on the Green. Indeed neither knew they had reached the Bowling Green until the carriage halted. Ashley's fingers stiffened immediately on Salem's waistband. "Why have we stopped?" she whispered, frustrated.

"I haven't a clue, love. But George is going to rue this interruption. Let me have a peek out the window." He moved the blind an inch to see outside, and the revelry on the lawn chilled his blood and effectively cooled his desire. "Ashley, you'll have to let me up. There could be trouble." His voice was so strained that Ashley nearly leaped from his lap and frantically righted her clothing. She looked askance at Salem and saw he was doing the same. "What is it? What's going on out there?" He snapped up the blind to let her see while he slid open the panel to talk to his driver. "Can you get through the crowd, George?" "Ah can't see how. There's people everywhere." "Then turn around. I don't want to be caught in this thing." "Ah'll try, suh." Salem slammed the panel shut and moved beside Ashley, viewing the scene in front of them with a mixture of happiness and fear. The Green was lit with bonfires, and some people carried torches as they paraded around the gilded lead statue of the king. Their strident voices raised merry taunts questioning the man's birthright. No Loyalists here, Salem thought. These were Colonial patriots. No, according to Congress they were no longer Colonials but Americans. And from the looks of the crowd they were bent on mischief. Salem had no desire to be in the middle of the mayhem lest it turn on them, but he could see that George was having difficulty moving the coach. "What are they about, Salem?" "I suspect they have just learned of the Declaration and are showing their approval." "Look!" She pointed to the statue of the king mounted on horseback. "Did you see? They've harnessed the horse!" "And the king's crown," Salem noted grimly. "I think they mean to topple the statue. Ashley, we have to get out of here. These men and women are not our friends while we play at being Tories. When the statue falls they will look elsewhere for their fun, and I would rather they did not use us." "Perhaps you could help George guide the horse through the merrymakers." "You won't be afraid if I leave you alone?" "No. I'll be fine." Salem gave her a fleeting kiss and hopped out of the carriage. While he worked at parting the crowd, which seemed more like a mob once he was among them, Ashley watched the activity on the Green with fascination. She realized with one corner of her mind that Salem was making slow progress. She had to shift to the other side of the coach to see the men heaving more ropes about the king's gilded robe and pulling for all they were worth. The statue tilted then righted itself. The process was repeated several times before the momentum gathered enough force to topple it. Ashley jerked back as the king thudded to the lawn. It was a most ignoble demise, she thought a little sadly as a loud cheer swelled up from the crowd. The people closest to where the king had fallen remained occupied with their trophy, but those on the edge of the crowd where Salem was trying to thread the carriage through were already looking for another symbol of their sovereign to topple. It was then the crest on the McClellan coach attracted their attention. The gilt leaves and lion were ostentatious and out of place among these simple folk, the driver's livery too fine, the horse a prime bit of

blood. Upon sighting Salem it took only one raised voice accusing the owner of being a Tory to rally the mob. Ashley felt a trickle of perspiration slide down her temple as the press of people advanced on the carriage. She scanned the assemblage for a friendly face and could find none. Their smiles were mockeries of that greeting, their voices jeering and most often crude. Each face seemed like every other, not quite sober with the responsibility of their newly declared liberty. Ashley did not know what it was that caught her eye, perhaps the yellow braid on his battered hat or the stretch of material across his great belly. But she did see him and terror washed over her. She blinked to be certain it was Flannigan's cherubic face among the mass. Yes, it was Nigel's hireling, and for a moment she was certain he was as surprised as she. Then he seemed to catch himself and nodded pleasantly to her, tipping his tricorn with the silver knob of his cane. Ashley's stomach lurched at the polite gesture. The Irishman's presence did what even the crowd had been unable to do. Ashley panicked. Her palms, clammy from her fear, slipped on the door handle. Swearing under her breath, she used her shoulder to batter the door. Through none of her effort it swung open and she pitched forward. She would have fallen to the street if Salem hadn't caught her. Her glad cry was swallowed in the shouts of the angry crowd. "Tory!" "Loyalist bastard!" "Get yourself gone 'fore we find the tar and feathers!" Salem's hands tightened on Ashley's waist. "Let's go, Ashley. They only want the coach. If we tarry they'll want us, too." The stark terror in her eyes scored his heart. He gripped her hand tightly and pulled her away from the crowd. He closed his mind to the foul names they called him. It was far more difficult to hear the abuse they heaped upon Ashley. She called to him when they cleared the throng to slow his pace. "Salem! I cannot go so fast." Salem glanced over his shoulder and saw no one paying their flight any mind and stopped to allow Ashley to rest, supporting her while she leaned heavily against him. He could feel her trembling in his arms and her heart beating as wildly as his own. George found them a few minutes later at the far edge of the Green. They were standing in the flickering shadow of a bonfire, clasped in one another's arms. In silence the three of them watched the carriage being overturned and torched. Sickened at the destruction they turned away and began the long trek home.

Chapter 13

"Here. Drink this." Salem handed Ashley a small snifter of warmed brandy. She was about to refuse the offering, but the determined set of Salem's jaw said it would come to naught. She accepted the brandy and raised the goblet to her lips, warming her hands on the crystal bowl.

Sipping her drink dutifully, she watched Salem turn back the covers on their bed and turn down the lamps. Ashley made no effort to move from her chair but settled herself more comfortably within its arms and straightened the satiny folds of her robe around her bare legs. When Salem disappeared into the dressing room she closed her eyes and reviewed the evening's events. Without fail Flannigan's face appeared in the threatening mob. There could be no mistaking the fleshy cheeks and chin, the obscenely ingratiating smile as he recognized her. In spite of the stillness of this summer night an occasional shiver rippled down her spine. Salem chose one of those moments to come out of the dressing room. "You're still trembling," he said, concern clouding his features. "Shall I pour you another brandy?" "No. I need a clear head. Please, sit down. There is something I want to discuss with you." Salem sat opposite her but he could not relax. His muscles ached with tension as he silently berated himself for exposing Ashley to this evening's danger. The question arose in his mind over and over: Should he send her and their child back to the relative safety of the landing? "What is it, darling?" Ashley knew why she was afraid to broach the subject of Flannigan with her husband. It occurred to her that Salem would want her out of New York immediately, and it was not what she desired at all. She plunged in. "I recognized someone tonight in the crowd on the Bowling Green." "Never say Smith was with the rabble," he joked. It fell flat. "Would that it had been him." She sighed. "Salem, it was Mr. Flannigan that I saw." Stunned, Salem said nothing for several moments. "You must be mistaken." "I am not. He was there. I would not forget his face." "I cannot believe it." "Nor could I at first. But nevertheless it is true. I don't know what he was doing on the Green. I don't believe it had anything to do with me. I'm certain he was surprised to see me there. We spied one another at almost the same moment. There was no chance to turn away." "He is the reason you were so frightened when I pulled you from the carriage," Salem said, gritting his teeth. "He surely added to my fear. He seemed so menacing. It is difficult to describe, because he looks harmless. I don't quite understand it myself. He tipped his hat with the knob of his cane. There is something vaguely threatening about the gesture, though I scarce know what it is." Salem felt himself in need of a drink. He poured a generous portion of brandy and remained standing by the window, swirling the liquor in the goblet. "If he was truly surprised to see you, then it seems safe to assume he thought you had been delivered to the Arbus. What would Flannigan be doing in New York?" "I recall he said he had business in the north, but I haven't a clue to its nature." Salem took a large swallow of his drink. "Ashley, you realize you can't possibly remain here. Now that he knows you are still in this country he will try to abduct you again. I think it would be better for you to go back to the landing until I can deal with Flannigan." Ashley's worst fears were realized. Tears brightened her eyes. "No!" she cried, standing up. "I won't go.

My place is here, with you." She set her snifter firmly on the small walnut end table and walked over to him, clutching the sleeve of his robe. "Please don't send me away. There is no guarantee that I will be any safer at the landing. I wasn't before." He flinched at the memory her words released. "Ashley, be reasonable. It will not be forever. Let me have Flannigan found and—brought to justice," he finished lamely. My justice, he vowed to himself. "When that is accomplished you can return." "I won't have it," she said fiercely. "I feel safer with you than away from you." "But I cannot be with you day in and day out." "Then hire someone to protect me until Flannigan is jailed." Salem did not bother to correct Ashley's notion that the Irishman would see the inside of a prison. "I don't know. There are so few people that I would trust with your safety." Ashley sensed he was weakening. "Think on it, love. You don't have to make a decision tonight. I have no worry that the man is going to steal me away from your arms." Salem set aside his drink and sheltered Ashley in his embrace. His cheek rested on the top of her head. "If only you could stay here forever, I would have no fears. If I decide you will stay I only hope that I will not be punished for my selfishness in wanting you with me. But if I decide that you go, there will be no gainsaying me. Am I understood?" "Yes, I understand." I am not agreeing, she said under her breath, but I do understand. "Did you say something?" "Only that I trust you to do the right thing." "Hmmm. I wonder." He gave her a gentle squeeze. "Off to bed while I turn back these wicks." Soon after Ashley slid beneath the cool sheets Salem slipped in beside her. They lay on their backs, fingertips barely touching, staring through the darkness at the ceiling. Ashley spoke first, revealing a secret thought that had plagued her since the incident on the Green. "D'you know there was a moment when those people were approaching the carriage that I wanted to deny being a Tory. I did not like being the object of their scorn because they thought our loyalties were different I confess I came very close to shouting it was all a ruse on your part." "What kept you silent?" Salem asked gravely. "I did not think I would be believed." She turned on her side, placing her small hand on his chest. "I'm sorry. I wish I could say I did not speak because I could not betray your mission, but in truth I merely thought my words would fall on deaf ears." "And it bothers you now, that you did the right thing for the wrong reason?" "Yes. I fear that I am not to be trusted after all." Salem placed his hand over hers, pressing her warm palm to his heart. "Would it help you to know that the same thought occurred to me? And that I remained silent for exactly the same reason? If I thought the crowd would have listened I would have shouted the truth to them. Your safety was of paramount importance to me."

Rather than reassure Ashley, Salem's words distressed her. "Then perhaps it would be better if I went away. I do not want my presence to compromise you." "I know, love. I will give the matter all the consideration it deserves. For now, I would rather we did not dwell on it. Here, come closer and tell me what you think of the Benningtons inviting us to their fete." "I think the entire affair is absurd," she said frankly, fitting her head in the curve of his shoulder. "I wonder if Mrs. Bennington is quite right in her upperworks. To hear her talk one would think it is a privilege to quarter members of General Howe's staff." "It is an honor for her. It provides her with a sense of security and gives her an opportunity to court the favor of men in power. I pity poor John. I think he has no idea how his wife cuckolds him with the officers." "I doubt if he would do anything if he knew. He grovels at their feet in his own way. Neither Louise nor John seemed concerned that battle lines are being drawn all over the islands. I can scarce credit that she wants to have this August affair. It seems in very poor taste." "Cheer up, love. It's some three weeks hence. Perhaps the redcoats will have been routed by that time and we won't have to attend." Or I may be in Virginia, she thought sadly. She no longer was certain of the wiser course, but it occupied her mind many hours after her husband had fallen asleep. Salem was out of the house when she awoke and never returned for the afternoon meal. Ashley fretted most of the time he was away, convinced at one moment he was arranging her transport to the landing, in the next that he was arranging for her protection. Courtney seemed to sense her mother's preoccupation, and the babe fussed whenever Ashley held her. Finally Meg begged her to leave the nursery and find something to occupy herself. Ashley spent most of the afternoon in the library, reading from the same page of Thomas Paine's Common Sense. Salem found her there when he came home. Her concentration was so deep that he stood in the doorway for several minutes before she noticed him. It had taken him only half that long to know she hadn't read so much as a sentence. Looking at her now, features soft in the waning evening light, ebony lashes fanning her cheeks, he knew his decision was one he could live with. He would have to. It was the thought of being separated from her that filled him with dread. Her smile welcomed him as he crossed the room to her side. He dropped a kiss on her upturned lips and sat on the cool marble apron of the fireplace, stretching out his long legs in front of him. He was not proof against the anxious, expectant look on Ashley's face, and he plunged in. "I've arranged for your protection." Ashley closed her eyes briefly in thanks, certain Salem's decision meant he was not afraid of betraying himself through her. "I'm very happy. May I know what has been done?" "For your own safety there have to be rules attached to this arrangement. My friends and I have agreed on what they should be. This house will be watched by them at all times, but you must never leave unexpectedly. If you would plan your day with me in the morning, then I can advise them." "You are sounding ever so mysterious, Salem. Who are these friends of yours?" "It is better if you know nothing about them, Ashley. I don't want them following you closely or making their presence obvious. Flannigan will notice and think of some way to get around them. They will stay

very much in the background, ever watchful if he should try to accost you. Naturally we hope to find Flannigan soon." "Well, I didn't much like the idea of someone living in my pocket." "I didn't think you would. But you must remain cautious and make no unexpected excursions. I don't want you going for a stroll in our own yard without planning it with me. Someone in the house, Meg if you wish it, must know where you are at all times. I want no repeats of an innocent stroll to the stables and have no one miss you for hours. Even when I am with you at least one of them will be near. Can you tolerate the restrictions on your time and freedom?" "Yes. It is the merest inconvenience. I was willing to put up with much more in order to stay. How many of your friends are part of this scheme?" "Enough." "Do I know them?" "Ashley, don't press," he warned. "It is enough that you know you are safe while they are around." "Very well." She realized she had to be satisfied. In the first days of the arrangement she came to understand the wisdom of it. If Salem had pointed out her protectors she knew she would have given them away at the outset. As it was she tried hard not to purposely look for them. Every time she went out she held herself in check not to glance over her shoulder or peer past her reflection in a shopkeeper's window. Eventually she all but forgot about the men watching her steps, and as July's humidity gave way to a dry August heatwave, Ashley began to think Flannigan was a mere vision conjured by her terror. Salem was of much the same opinion as the weeks passed, and neither he nor Ashley's guardians could find any clue of the man's whereabouts. He worried that the watchdogs would have to return to their rightful place under Washington's command before they had caught Flannigan. That they had been allowed to leave the battlements and redoubts at all was a personal favor granted by Washington because of his long friendship with the McClellans. Salem had no wish to take advantage of it. Meg fluttered around Ashley, straightening a pink satin ribbon, reworking a raven curl, while Courtney crawled around her mother's skirt and played peekaboo with her kid slippers. Ashley would lift her gown and allow the baby to hide under the petticoats while she asked, "Where's Courtney?" This game much amused her daughter and distressed her maid. "Don't take on so, Meg. I think I shall do well enough. Louise Bennington will not thank you for making me too pretty." "That one can't hold a candle to you and well she knows it. All the same I would rather you didn't have the little one's paw prints all over the hem of your gown." Ashley laughed. Salem came into the chamber, looking very much the thing in his pewter breeches and waistcoat. His shoes sported a silver buckle, and a black velvet ribbon held back his dark hair. He frowned, glancing around the room. "Where is Courtney? I want to kiss her goodnight before we leave." Ashley giggled and pointed to the ten pink toes that were all anyone could see. Salem grinned."There have been occasions I've thought of hiding there myself."

Meg laughed while Ashley chastized him. "I beg you, not in front of the child, Jerusalem. It is hardly becoming." She lifted her skirts primly to reveal her daughter and a goodly expanse of finely curved leg. Salem took delight in the view until he saw the pistol strapped just above her knee. He sucked in his breath sharply, begging for calm reason to see him through this. God only knew how many times she had left the house dressed in such a manner. He plucked Courtney from the floor and made a show of tossing her in the air. "Have you told your mother how crackbrained she is to carry a weapon. No? That is very bad of you, poppet. Tell her to be rid of it, else we will not leave. And if I see it again I shall turn her over my knee." Courtney chortled. "Darling, did you hear that? I think she said something." "Only in your dreams, dear." She sighed, reluctantly removing the heavy piece and handing it to a sputtering Meg. "Don't worry. It isn't primed. There never seemed to be time to learn." She picked up a loosely woven shawl from the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders. She pressed her finger against Courtney's little dimple as Salem laid her on their bed. "Be good, darling. If she gets fussy, Meg, just rub a little brandy on her gums." She would have given out more advice, things Meg knew well enough, if Salem hadn't been urging her toward the hallway. By the time she and Salem reached the Bennington's massive stone house on Long Island, Ashley had thought of at least three more directives for Meg. "You aren't usually so fretful, Ashley," Salem said as they entered the Bennington's spacious ballroom. "No. I suspect I didn't really want to leave her tonight." She paused beside Salem on the edge of the room, nearly overwhelmed by the size of the gathering. On tiptoe she whispered in her husband's ear. "I think the whole of Howe's thirty thousand must be here." The doors leading to the veranda were opened wide. Many people had already spilled out onto the lighted lawn. Musicians were playing a lively country tune, and brilliant red coats were highly visible among the dancers. Salem effectively hid his distaste from everyone but Ashley. She had no problem feeling the tightening of his hand on her waist. "I suppose we must get the pleasantries done. John and Louise are over there by the window. Shall we?" "Most certainly." For all that Ashley questioned Louise Bennington's motives, there was no doubt she was a gracious hostess. She welcomed Ashley and Salem warmly, asked genuinely interested questions about their daughter, and bid them have an entertaining evening. John, rather husky and hearty, especially when compared to his wife's svelte sophistication, kissed Ashley's hand with more enthusiasm than she would have wished and questioned Salem about his business. After being introduced to several of the Benningtons' honored guests, Ashley found herself whisked away from her husband when the officers asked her to dance. She went through five partners before she lost count. It seemed hours before she was able to prettily plead exhaustion and beg some refreshment. Louise found her a few moments later amid a group of bright red coats, denying she could ever drink so much as each man held out a glass of punch to her. Ashley was ever grateful for Mrs. Bennington's timely arrival and rescue. "Think nothing of it," Louise said. She tapped Ashley's wrist with the tip of her fan. "I could hardly have every man here paying court to you. It was bound to raise eyebrows." She could hardly credit Ashley's blush. The girl seemed a veritable innocent at these gatherings. Clearly Ashley had no eyes for anyone but her husband. What a pity Salem returned his wife's regard. "I'm only teasing, dear. I came to tell you that your presence has been requested in the arbor, and I am to say nothing more. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised." She tapped Ashley's wrist again and waltzed away, joining the circle of guests Ashley had left. Bewildered by Louise's message Ashley glanced about the room. Obviously Salem had had a talk with

the hostess since he was nowhere to be seen. How romantic of him, she thought, to choose the arbor. A smile of delight curved her lips as she gave her glass to a footman and wended her way through the guests. On the veranda she scarcely paused to talk, eager to reach the trysting place. She walked across the lawn in the direction of the orchard, having no regrets about leaving the nonsensical chatter and flirting behind. She breathed deeply, enjoying the fragrance of the night air, the sweetness that had nothing to do with perfumes and colognes, the stillness that had everything to do with nature's peace. A full moon lent its silver light to her path, guiding her way to the vine-covered latticework. "Salem?" There was no reply. She called his name several more times while she looked around, paying close attention to the peculiar shapes of the trees in the orchard. A shudder ran through her when she realized how far she had come from the house. "Don't tease, Salem. Oh, this is very bad of you. I am going back to the party." She turned on her heel. "I always thought you the most ill-mannered chit. It would appear that hasn't changed. A pity Nigel never sent you to school as I begged him to do." Ashley was so startled by the voice she scarcely heard the words. She had no difficulty recognizing the coldly cultured accents of Davinia Grant. There was a slight rasp in Davinia's voice that she did not remember. In the shadows of the arbor this new huskiness had a vague quality of menace. "Davinia! How did you come to be here?" Lady Grant stepped into the light. Her pale hair was piled high and glittered with spangles that dusted each layer of curls. Her alabaster complexion glowed whitely, and the lustrous seed pearls in her gown shimmered as she moved. Her mouth was only a dark slash against her pale face, and when she spoke one hand went to her throat in an unconscious gesture that was almost protective. She fingered the lace that obscured most of the slender length of her neck. "I suppose I must answer your tiresome questions if I am ever to get to my own business," she drawled. "I am the Benningtons' guest, of course. I'm afraid I tore the hem of my dress just as you came in. My husband escorted me to one of the bedrooms to make repairs." Ashley was certain Davinia's timely departure was no accident. For reasons of her own she hadn't wanted to be seen until she could have the upper hand. "Then you are here with your husband. How very nice for you." Ashley hoped her tone held the right amount of polite scorn as she struggled to maintain her wits. "Have you finished with the duke?" Davinia's eyes glittered. "Don't play the innocent. It no longer suits you. You must know Nigel is dead." Ashley was completely caught off balance by this news. She sat on the cool wrought-iron bench. "But I did not know. How could I? Who would think to tell me? Who knows where I am?" "I imagined his solicitors would look for you. You are an heiress now." Ashley could not take it in. Lost in her shocked thoughts she simply shook her head slowly from side to side. "It is unbelievable." "That you are an heiress? I should say so. I can't think of a more unlikely owner of Linfield House than Nigel's bastard niece." "I was not talking about my inheritance, Davinia," Ashley said sharply, gathering her composure. "I can hardly believe that Nigel is dead. I rather thought he would live forever." She paused, thoughtful. "He told

you about my mother, then. Somehow I didn't think he would." Davinia did not feel the need to relate that Nigel had been near out of his head with anger at the time. "He told me a great many confidences, Ashley. The one I found particularly interesting was how you had married your own brother." "You would, Davinia. However, Nigel could not have been more wrong. Salem is not even remotely related to me. If you were thinking to pinch my purse by holding that bit of nonsense over my head it has come to naught." Davinia's pale brows raised a notch as she seated herself beside Ashley. "I believe I was wrong in my first estimation of you, Ashley. It would appear you have become even ruder since coming to this barbaric land. But you are wrong. I have no intention of pursuing this matter with your brother. I—" "He is not my brother." "I wanted to talk to you of other things." "You do pick your moments. How can you think I want to talk to you at all? You blithely tell me the duke is dead and expect me to proceed without pause." "Don't pretend you're sorry he's dead, Ashley. You hated him." "What I felt for him was never your affair, "she answered with quiet feeling. "How very forgiving of you, m'dear," Davinia said. "I feel nothing of the sort. He was a cold-hearted bastard who caused misery for every life he touched. It is my fervent desire that he rots." Davinia's vehemence startled Ashley. It was hard to credit that she had come to hate Nigel so fiercely. What had he done to her? "When did he die?" "Last November." "So long ago," Ashley said softly. "It doesn't seem possible that he has been dead all this time." Struck by a sudden thought she went cold. "Flannigan! It was you! You hired Michael Flannigan, didn't you?" "I find myself quite unable to follow your conversation. Who is this Flannigan person, and why would I want to employ an Irishman? They are murderers." Ashley was puzzled by Davinia's genuine surprise. Or was the woman as adept a liar as Nigel? If not Davinia, then who? "It's nothing. Forget I ever mentioned the name. Tell me how Nigel died." "I don't see the point in dwelling on such a morbid subject." "Davinia, if you want something from me you will have to humor me." "I doubt that you will be so uppity when I am finished with you, m'dear, but for now I will play along. It was an accident. He fell in his bedchamber and struck his head on the mantelpiece. I was with him when it happened, and I assure you it was quite horrid. He suffered a severe blow. For all that he was still breathing I could not bring him round." Davinia's hand fluttered nervously about her throat. "A physician was called in but there was nothing he could do. I stayed at Nigel's bedside for three days waiting for him to open his eyes. He never did. The doctor bade me leave Linfield, saying there was no hope, that Nigel could remain in such a state for weeks, even months. It was then I decided to join Charles here. While I was still in London I received word that Nigel had died."

Ashley was plainly confused. It seemed odd that Davinia had kept a vigil at Nigel's side if she now hoped he was moldering in his grave. Hardly aware of what she was saying, Ashley asked, "Are you certain the duke is truly dead?" "Oh, Lord! I hope so!" Which, Ashley thought, is not precisely a confirmation. But Davinia's spontaneous response indicated that there was more than hatred she felt for the duke. There was fear. As if she realized she had given something away, Davinia composed herself, plucking a leaf from the latticework and casually fanning herself with it. "Now that you've finished with your interrogation, I shall get to the heart of the matter. You must know that my husband is on General Howe's staff." "I was aware of it, yes." "Then you can understand I am hardly satisfied with his position. As long as I must live with him here, Charles should have more responsibility and a higher command." "Befitting your station in life," Ashley said dryly. "You do understand," Davinia answered with sweet menace. "Then you should have no difficulty comprehending what I expect of you. I did not know you were in New York until Louise spoke of you and your husband. I thought you were still in that backwater—" "Tidewater." " Place in Virginia. I am rather weary of traveling, Ashley. First it was Boston, then Halifax. Now New York. I would like to stay here. There is a modicum of entertainment, and the people are perhaps only one year out of the current fashion." "I can see why you want to remain. You have nothing to worry about if Howe routs the Colonial rebels." "That has occurred to me." In the moonlight Davinia's smile looked feral. "It also occurred to me that perhaps I can act in aid of that cause." Trust Davinia not to believe thirty thousand men could do the job. "I'm certain whatever help you could offer would be appreciated." Davinia laughed. "You are determined to go carefully, aren't you? Ashley, I know not where your loyalties lie, nor does it matter to me, but your husband is no more a Tory than Washington. I have heard the tale of how he parted on bad terms with his family, but it didn't ring true to me. You see, Nigel and I arranged for Charles to put your husband's name on a list of Loyalists. Nigel's purpose was never clear to me, but he had a plan that would have endangered your husband." "What is your point, Davinia?" "I am not going to waste Nigel's work, Ashley. That is my point. I am determined that my husband shall rise in the ranks and that I shall stay in New York. If you do not do as I wish, I will see that your husband is arrested as the traitor and spy that he is." Ashley schooled her features and stilled her hands in her lap. "Why would anyone believe you, Davinia? What proof will you offer?"

"At this moment Salem McClellan is carrying a map of Howe's plan of attack on a place called Brooklyn Heights." "That's not possible." "I assure you that it is. The map was placed in the inside pocket of his overcoat after a rather clumsy footman spilled a glass of wine on him. If you have any doubt I can inform Charles of the situation and have him announce the thing before everyone. It assures his promotion and he will not ask too many questions of me." She heaved an exaggerated sigh. "Sadly, it does not necessarily mean that I will be long for this city. I should very much like to kill two birds with one stone. I would prefer that you bring me some important piece of information from Washington's camp." "You're mad, Davinia! I am privy to no such information." "Then I am very sorry about your husband." She began to rise. Ashley stayed her wrist. "No, wait. I don't think I know what you are asking. Must I have something for you this night?" "In two weeks. I can give you that long, but you must bring me something very useful by then." "And if I promise to do as you ask?" "Then I will have the map removed without Salem's knowing it was there. But do not think the matter is ended, Ashley. I am expecting important papers from London concerning your husband's past problems with the law. After all, Salem is an escaped criminal. You surely haven't forgotten those charges of smuggling?" Ashley had. She had never heard any of the McClellans mention them. She assumed they had been taken care of. Could Davinia really resurrect the charges? "Nigel arranged the evidence against Salem. You know that he did." "I know nothing of the sort. And neither do you with any certainty. Anyway, it is a matter for the court to decide. It at the end of two weeks you have nothing for me, I will make certain they have the opportunity to do just that." Ashley could not doubt her. Davinia was not capable of such a bluff. If it had been Nigel's game it could have gone either way, but Davinia was only skilled in dealing with certainties. "It would seem I have no choice but to assist you," she said lowly. "I thought you could be reasoned with." Davinia patted Ashley's hand. "You're so cold, m'dear. It grieves me that I must ask you to stay out here a few minutes longer while I address myself to the matter of the map." She rose regally from her seat and smiled sweetly at Ashley. "It goes without saying that if you mention this conversation to your husband or try to betray me in any manner I will not hesitate to act. I have heard that you have a beautiful baby, Ashley. Surely it would shock these puritanical Colonials to learn she was conceived in an incestuous liaison." "That's a lie, Davinia!" "I have a letter in my possession that says it is not." "That letter is a lie!" Davinia shrugged carelessly. "You may have the opportunity to tell everyone your story if you try to

betray me. Think on that, Ashley." Davinia's words stayed with Ashley long after her shimmering figure had disappeared into the gaiety of the ballroom. Ashley discovered she had not the will to leave the arbor. She remained seated at one end of the wrought-iron seat, a still figure cloaked in the deepening shadows. Painfully dry-eyed she stared unblinking at her folded hands, wishing to wake from this nightmare. She did not hear Salem's approach. "Darling, what possessed you to come out here with Davinia Grant?" He sat beside her, taking her hands and warming them in his. "You're freezing, Ashley. I wish you had told me you were going to speak with her. When Louise said you were with Davinia, it was all I could do not to pitch her through a window. I would have come sooner but a damned clumsy footman spilled wine over my coat and insisted I allow him to clean it. He took his sweet time about it." "It was the second time it happened this evening, wasn't it?" "Yes. Same miserable servant, too. How did you know?" "I looked for you earlier to tell you where I was going," she said calmly. "Someone told me of the accident. I trust you are not badly damaged." Salem frowned. "Ashley, what's going on? I called your name as I crossed the lawn and you did not answer. You scarcely knew I was here until I touched you, and your voice is at odds with the racing of your pulse." She pulled her wrists from him immediately. "What happened out here? What did Davinia say to you?" Surely Davinia could not expect her to tell Salem nothing, Ashley thought. "She told me Nigel is dead." Choosing her words carefully, she related the story. "How like that bastard to fight death to the last. I am only surprised that he lost." "Salem! That is a shocking thing to say!" "At least it roused you. You cannot expect me to feel sorrow at his passing. I am surprised you are taking it so hard." "I'm not certain I believe it yet. I cannot understand how Mr. Flannigan is part of the whole. Who hired him if Nigel is dead?" "Is that what is troubling you?" He put his arm about her shoulders. "Ashley, given the time it takes for news to pass from London to here and back again, isn't it likely that Flannigan knew nothing of Nigel's death when he tried to abduct you? It is possible he since discovered his employer is dead and that could be the very reason you have been left alone. Perhaps his greeting on the Green was simply that—a greeting." "Do you really think so?" she asked hopefully. "I do." Ashley turned in his arms and slid one of her hands under his satin coat, hugging him to her. "It is troubling that my relief should hinge on Nigel's death," she said softly. "I never understood him, but it seems to me that he had a very ill spirit I am not certain he was ever like other people. It is sad when I think of it." "You are too softhearted. The Duke of Linfield was a snake of the first order, and that you escaped him at all was a miracle."

Ashley nodded, brushing the top of her head against his neck. "You are probably right. Would you mind very much if we went home? I am not in the mood for simple amusement this evening." "I understand. I confess that I am not feeling quite the thing myself. It was something of a shock to have Henry March point out Lord Grant tonight and discover Davinia had joined him. I swear I could feel the noose tightening about my neck." Ashley pulled away from him, alarmed. "Don't say that! Does he suspect you are not what you appear to be?" "I made sure to avoid an introduction. I believe I was much aided by that regrettable servant. I have that, at least, to thank the fellow for." "Please, Salem. I want to leave here." There was an urgency in her voice that he could not ignore. His dark lashes lowered over his eyes, briefly hiding a peculiar stab of pain. He was certain Ashley was troubled by a matter other than Nigel's death. He felt somehow betrayed that she would not speak of it. Deep in his own troubling thoughts he silently escorted her across the lawn. During the quiet journey home Ashley clung to Salem. There was a desperation in the way she burrowed in his arms, the way her hands moved over his face and threaded through his thick hair. Her supple body cleaved to his, ignoring the barrier of their clothes. He could feel the tension in her touch, the welling of fear in her that demanded reassurance. He held her tightly and waited in vain for her to speak of her distress. Not by so much as a flicker of his brow did Salem reveal his thoughts as Ashley led him by the hand to their bedchamber. She was desperate to make love to him, impatient with her need as she tried to express an emotion she had no words for. He was as dismayed as he was deeply aroused. When they were in their room, she drew him to the bed, pulling him down beside her and arching against him. Her breasts strained at the fabric of her gown until she directed Salem's hands to her back. Impatient for his touch she stopped him after he had unfastened only enough buttons to lower her bodice a few inches. She stretched, freeing her taut ivory flesh to the caress of his palms. She murmured his name huskily as his thumbs grazed her nipples. Ashley's hands freed Salem's shirt and stroked the tight warm skin of his abdomen and chest. Her tapered nails traced the dark arrow of hair that disappeared beneath his breeches. She loosed the buttons, felt the heat and pulse of his need as she fondled him. Her mouth tasted his lips, her tongue teasing the sensitive corner of his mouth. Her kiss was warm, possessive, and demanding. She touched her lips to the hard line of his jaw and his neck. Through the soft linen shirt she felt his heartbeat with her mouth. She moved lower, tasting the saltiness of his skin, flicking her tongue over his navel. Salem fell on his back, eyes closing, as her head bent farther. The feel of her was exquisite as she sought to pleasure him. He breathed her name. Ashley. He thought he could taste the sound of it on his lips. He could not remember a time when her passion had been so whole-souled, so ardent. When he felt himself on the brink of exploding with his need he pulled her away. "Ashley, I want to love you, too." "Yes," she said sibilantly against the curve of his shoulder. "I want that." "I don't know if I can wait for you to get out of that gown," he growled lowly in her ear. "Don't wait. Have me now." It was not at all a command but a plea. She helped him raise her skirt and

lower her lacy underthings. There was a rustle of satin on silk as her gown was crushed between them. She guided him into her, welcoming his first thrust. She arched to meet it, demanding his forceful entry. Her nails raked his shoulder as she urged him in a harsh whisper to take her. She didn't know when she began to cry. It didn't make sense to her that at the same moment she felt so much joy from Salem's fierce loving, she could feel a rending sadness, too. But as she clung to him, eager for the strength of his movement, matching his desire with her own, there were tears slipping beneath the black fan of her lashes, wetting her cheeks and the hollow of her temples. She whispered his name, filling the single word with longing and love. She revealed an ache in her heart that the intimate bond of their bodies could not soothe. Only at the last, when she shook with the force of her sensual response, did she realize nothing she had done had assuaged her fears. The moon's pale light caught Salem's expression as his taut body gained pleasure's release. It clearly showed Ashley the man she loved so dearly was not invincible but vulnerable. She had never been so afraid of losing him. The tremors that shook her body had nothing to with the aftermath of her climax; they had nothing to do with her pain. Beside her, Salem levered on one elbow and peered closely at her glistening eyes. "Ashley? Did I hurt you? It seemed you wanted—I know I was rough." "No." She shook her head, bringing one of his hands to her cheek so he could feel her denial. "No, you weren't. And you didn't hurt me." Gently he kissed her wet face. "Something has hurt you. You've been wild with it this evening, like a wounded animal you sought comfort in the most elemental way." She forced back a sob. "I don't know what is the matter with me." Salem sighed, disappointed and not a little hurt himself. "You do, but you don't want to speak of it." "No. You're wrong." "As you wish," he said tiredly, rising from the bed. "Salem?" Ashley questioned his leaving. "Please don't go." "Will you tell me what is troubling you?" "What do you mean?" she asked. "Never mind." He lighted a single candle at the bedside and disappeared with it into the dressing room. He stripped off his clothes, shutting his ears to the sound of Ashley's weeping. He washed quickly and rather than return to bed naked, he uncharacteristically donned a nightshirt. Ashley was lying with her face down on the bed, a pillow muffling her sobs. She had made no attempt to undress. "Do you need help with your buttons?" he asked, setting the flickering candle down. "No." "Very well." He snuffed the light and slid into bed, leaving ample space between their bodies. He turned on his side away from her. "If you have need later to drive out that demon in your breast, I shall be happy to service you." He felt Ashley stiffen at his calculated cruelty, then sob harder into her pillow. He pretended to fall asleep, but in truth he was awake long after sheer emotional exhaustion had claimed his

wife. When sleep finally took him he was no closer to understanding what thoughts had prompted Ashley's behavior. Unless she talked of it he knew he could not hope to reconcile her fears. Ashley woke in the middle of the night. Disoriented, she could not recall why she was sleeping in her dress or why she was on top of the covers. When the evening's events rushed in on her she buried her face in her hands, despairing that she could ever right matters with Salem. Quietly she slid out of bed and fled to the dressing room. Fumbling in the dark, she found the porcelain pitcher and bowl and poured some cool water to wash her face. She leaned against the highboy, holding the damp cloth to her eyes to soothe the burning behind her swollen lids. For several minutes she did not move and thought of nothing save the pounding in her head. Finally she dragged the cloth across her face, erasing the salty tracings of her tears. She plucked the pins from her hair, clutching each in her palm, until she could put it on the dresser top. It seemed very important to her that none of them drop to the floor, as if losing one would have meant the loss of her fragile control. It was a struggle to get out of the dress, but when she had managed the thing she felt a great sense of satisfaction. She ran the cool cloth down her neck and along the underside of her arms. She winced, touching a tenderness that was certain to bruise. Yes, Salem had been less than gentle, but she had no regret. She had wanted his rough passion, had needed him to answer her urgent loving in kind. If he had hurt her a little with his anxiousness to love her, then it was no more than she had asked for. She had wanted to mold him to her, feel his muscle and sinew, know the intensity of his desire. She had wanted to shelter in his steely embrace, memorize the texture of his skin, the caress of his hands. His response had been all that she asked for. He welcomed her fire, her loving aggression, then gave in return. Ashley paused in pulling on her nightgown to impatiently flick the beginning of a tear. All the time she had been loving him he had known she was hiding something and hurting with it, yet he gave because she had asked it of him. She shivered, recalling his unbearably painful words about servicing her, and cringed inwardly that she had given him cause to speak so angrily to her. A mewling cry from the nursery interrupted her introspection. Gladly she went to the adjoining room, lighted a candle on the mantle, and scooped her fussing daughter from the crib. Cradling Courtney in her arms she sat down in the rocker, easing it back and forth with the gentle movement of her feet. "You must have known your mama needed you, babe," she crooned softly. "That's why you're crying, isn't it? You just wanted to cuddle." Her daughter smiled, and the tiny dimple that appeared tugged at Ashley's heart "I love you, Courtney darling. You mustn't ever think I want Davinia to say anything that could hurt you. But I must speak to your father on a certain matter, and Davinia will most likely be disagreeable if she finds out. Shhh, don't fret. You shouldn't worry that she'll know. Your father will make everything all right You'll see." Courtney made tiny gurgling sounds of approval. Ashley lifted her daughter higher in her arms and kissed her silky cap of hair while tenderly patting her back. "I love your father to distraction, too. I treated him very shabbily tonight when all I wanted to do was love him—and keep on loving him. Forever. You can understand that, can't you." "If she doesn't, I think I may." "Salem!" Ashley twisted her head to see him. He was leaning comfortably against the doorjamb, his eyes pewter soft as they swept over her and the baby "I didn't hear you come in. How long have you been standing there?" He pushed away from the door and sat on the edge of the trundle bed. "I believe the answer to that is, long enough." "Oh. I didn't mean to wake you," she said not quite meeting his eyes.

"You didn't. Courtney did." "She was fussing. Her teeth, I think." He shook his head. "No, I believe you were in the right of it the first time. She just wanted to cuddle. She's sleeping now. If you put her down I could do that." Ashley pinkened, glancing at him in surprise. "I—I don't want to be ser—serviced," she said hesitatingly. "I was very angry when I said that. I meant to be cruel." "You were." "I mean to be kind now, if you'll let me." Ashley nodded slowly and held out the sleeping baby. Salem took Courtney and laid her in the crib. He heard Ashley pad softly into their own chamber. "I think you are a knowing little thing," he whispered lowly. "I love you." Ashley was in bed when he returned. "She's snuggled down," he reported, throwing back the covers and sliding in beside her. He realized she was not ready to be cuddled; she held herself stiffly out of his reach. "And her thumb is a captive of her tiny mouth." "She's a darling." "Like her mother." "I don't know how you can say that." "Because it's true. I should be very proud if Courtney grew up to be like you." "Don't wish that on her. I want more for her." "Such as?" "I want her to not care what other people think." "Why is that important?" "Because Davinia has the letter my mother wrote to Nigel. She plans to share it if she thinks I've discussed certain things with you. Courtney will have her birthright mired in terrible lies that some people will always believe." "I see." "But if I keep silent, then I have betrayed you. And if I do the things she asked of me, I shall betray my country." In contrast to the hint of rising despair in Ashley's tone, Salem kept his voice very even, very calm. "And this is what has had you tied in knots all evening." "Yes. I have been so afraid and uncertain." And desperate, he added silently. Desperate to hold and be held. "Then perhaps it is time you unburdened yourself and told me the whole of it. You told Courtney I would take care of everything. That may have been overstating the case, but at least allow me the chance."

Ashley sat up in bed, drawing her knees to her chest In a soft tremulous voice she related all that Davinia expected of her and all that had been used to threaten her. "Davinia obviously learned something from her lover," Salem said when he had heard it all. "Nigel would be well pleased with her intrigues." "I beg of you, do not make light of this. In her own way she is every bit Nigel's equal." "No, she is not," Salem answered. "But she wants to be. She is cutting her teeth on us." "Can she do the things she threatened?" "Certainly." "I thought so. I had hoped I was wrong." "Where you were wrong was in thinking nothing could be done about it. Put that letter from your mind. It is the least of all our worries. Assuredly Davinia can make some people believe it is true, but she can only shame us if we let her." He took Ashley's hand in his and ran his thumb across the back. "You understand, don't you?" "Yes." "I know you do, else you would never have told me any of this." He gave her hand a light, reassuring squeeze. "The matter of the smuggling charge will take some work on our part. There is no real authority anymore to deal with the charge here. I would have to be arrested and transported to London for trial. In Virginia there was no one to arrest me. It is not quite the same thing in New York, not with more soldiers around than townspeople. If Davinia wishes to pursue the charge she can have me arrested. Ashley, there are several things we can do to avert that end. You could provide her with the information she seeks." Ashley's breath caught in her throat. "I cannot do that." He continued as if he hadn't heard her, though in truth his heart swelled with pride at her vehemence. "You can provide her with information that is false." "But if she discovered my duplicity she would—" "It is a dangerous game, but it would give me time to intercept the papers she is waiting for and allow us to plan for leaving the city. I am not long for this place with Davinia here. It appears to me her husband was never told of my true loyalty, but Davinia has only to mention it to him and I am off to the gallows on the flimsiest of evidence." He paused, unsure of the reception his next thought would receive. "Of course, there is yet another way I can deal with Davinia. I don't believe you are so innocent that you haven't thought of it." Ashley went cold. "You mean kill her, don't you." "Yes." "I had thought of it," she said in hushed tones. "I thought of doing the thing myself. Have I shocked you?" Salem shook his head. "No. You haven't shocked me. It would surprise me if you hadn't considered that method of protecting your husband and your child." Ashley rested her chin on her knees. "My husband."

"Yes. For always." A smile touched her lips. "What are we going to do?" "I have no taste for killing Davinia, Ashley. If I must needs do it to keep her from hurting you or Courtney it will be done. But to save myself I cannot." "You can't go back to Newgate! You are innocent!" "In the smuggling matter. Of treason, I am guilty." "No!" "Ashley, it is true. A year ago you were saying it yourself. The only thing changed is that now you have joined me. Of your own choice you have collaborated with me on many occasions. Every time you shared information gleaned from the Tory supporters you were guilty of treason. If Davinia suspected how willingly you assisted me, she would use it against you." He sighed deeply. "I think the only recourse I can live with for now is to intercept the papers. I must find out what packet she expects them on and when." "I think they will arrive in two weeks. That is all the time she gave me to deliver information to her." "That is something, at least. The crew of the Lydia will like this assignment. To hear them talk you would think there is no sport in running down British merchants. While that is being done I will speak to Noah about the legal status of the smuggling charge and the theft of the Caroline. He may be able to advise me." "Noah? You've seen him?" "He's here with Washington's men." Ashley realized he had not exactly answered her question, but she doubted he would. "I know he is here, but I think it would be dangerous tor you to see him. It would certainly set tongues wagging if people knew you were visiting him in Washington's camp." "I have no intention of setting foot in that camp. Come here." He pulled her closer so that she unfolded in his arms. "Why not allow me to attend the details? I haven't done the job too badly, have I?" "You know you haven't. The general must be very proud of you." Salem chuckled. "I do not think proud is precisely the word. I am doing what is expected of me as are thousands of other men—and women." "Thank you for that." Salem said nothing for a moment, taking pleasure in the way Ashley had relaxed against him. When he spoke his tone was hushed and grave. "I love you to distraction, too, you know." She nodded, placing a hand on the side of his neck. "I am sorry for this evening. You were right when you said I had a demon in my breast. It is strange, I know, but I thought making love would somehow keep you safe for me, that it would prove you could not be hurt." "I am a man, Ashley." "I know." She could feel the warm pulse in his neck.

"And the kind of man you are is your strength." Her fingers touched his mouth. "I saw that in your face when you were loving me." He kissed her fingers, one by one. Slowly. Then they made love in the very same way.

Chapter 14

The mood in the city was somber during the dog days of August as the armies prepared for battle. There was precious little laughter to be heard on the streets and few entertainments. People who could afford to leave the city were doing so; those who stayed often chose to keep close to their homes. It was impossible not to know the battle for the city was imminent. One did not have to travel far to see Washington's fortifications being erected with relentless energy. Batteries were established at strategic points along the rivers and hulks were sunk offshore. When Washington split his army, leaving almost half to protect Manhattan and taking the rest, about ten thousand men, to guard Long Island, some people said it was the beginning of the end and that the righting was only hours away. In truth, there was a little more time than the doom sayers predicted, but Davina was out of patience. She wanted assurance that she would be in New York this winter and not staying on some wretched farm in the hinterlands. To this end she had convinced one of the Benningtons' servants to ferry her to Manhattan so she might speak with Ashley. She would have preferred to travel with the footman who had been so instrumental in helping her the night of the Benningtons' fete, but the man seemed to have vanished. Gone on to other employment, she supposed. A pity really. He at least had been pleasant to look at and displayed a modicum of skill in bed. There had been the chubby Scot in his place who said he would take her, but she didn't think she could have stomached looking at his simple smile for any length of time. She settled on a pimply-faced youth with strong arms and broad shoulders who worked in the stables. This one at least would be a pleasure to hold, if not look at. Nothing of the sort could be said about bedding the roly-poly Scot. She almost felt sorry for the man, remembering the quickly veiled disappointment in his eyes when she said she had found someone else to take her. Davinia was not as adept in veiling her own disappointment when Ashley ushered her into the sitting room and blithely informed her she had nothing to share. The preparations for war were there for all to see. There was no secret in that. "Will all this preparation never cease?" she demanded of Ashley. "Why hasn't someone started something by now?" Ashely choked on her sherry as she watched Davinia nearly come out of her chair with her question. She quickly put down her glass and covered her mouth delicately. She hoped Davinia did not suspect she was on the verge of hysterical laughter. Gathering her composure, she spoke quietly. "Davinia, calm yourself. The fate of New York is not likely to be decided in one day or by one battle. I can appreciate that you are most anxious to move in to your winter home, but you must let the generals command things as they see fit." Davinia's pale brow raised a notch as she tried to determine if Ashley was making sport of her. She decided the chit would not dare; not when she had so much to lose. "Are you telling me there is nothing of any import to be learned?"

"That is exactly what I am telling you. And even if there were, it is doubtful I would learn of it. I am afraid you have set yourself upon the wrong path by hoping that I would have information for you." Davinia frowned at Ashley's composure. One slim hand fingered the brooch at her throat. "Can it be you have forgotten that I will reveal your husband as a spy?" Ashley watched Davinia's nervous gesture without making it apparent that it interested her. This tendency Davinia had to touch her throat was something new, a gesture that occurred when the rasp in her voice grew more noticeable. "I have not forgotten," she said calmly as she tried to remember the things Salem told her to say. "But do you really want to incriminate yourself and your own husband in the matter? How will it look for Lord Grant when it comes out that you helped put Salem's name on that list of Loyalists? If Salem really is a traitor to the crown there are many who would think you aided the rebel's cause by playing such a trick. You need something more substantial to name my husband a spy. I am not worried you will be slipping more maps into his coat. I will not give you the opportunity." "You're feeling very certain of yourself. I can only suppose that you think I am bluffing. I am not, Ashley." Her eyes narrowed icily. "If you had the sense to know how much I despise you, you would know I will do everything I have promised." Ashley was careful not to show how affected she was by Davinia's vituperation. Salem had said that unlike Nigel, Davinia would be frustrated by Ashley's calm. It sounded so easy when she and Salem discussed it, but in practice it was difficult not to shy from Davinia's cold hatred. Ashley had never supposed Davinia felt anything tender toward her, but this bitterness was something else again. "I am beginning to think you are doing this thing only partly to serve yourself," Ashley said slowly as the thought took form in her mind. "Pray, continue. I find myself fascinated. Tell me why I am here at all." "I think you imagine I have done you some wrong. It is not my husband you wish to hurt, nor my child, but me." "Your powers of perception are astonishing," Davinia drawled in bored tones. "You don't deny it, then?" "Why should I? Think anything you wish if it encourages you to understand that I am not making idle chatter. If you think I cannot send your husband to prison as a spy, so be it. Spy? Smuggler? Do you think it matters to me?" "Smuggler, Davinia? Have you the arrest papers?" "Yes," she snapped. "And I will use them." "First the British troops will have to win New York. There is no one to serve notice of those charges here on Manhattan Island. Salem is not going to walk into Howe's headquarters and give himself over. I will tell him of your threats long before I let him leave here again." Davinia stood abruptly, her skirt swaying about her legs. "I am weary of this conversation, Ashley. I will give you two days to consider the seriousness of your position and that of your husband's. I will return on the twenty-seventh, and if you cannot help me then I turn over the papers to Charles and he can arrange for Salem's arrest. It may not happen with the swiftness I would wish. But it will happen. Think on it."

Davinia regally swept out of the room without a backward glance. Ashley simply gaped after her, astonished at the woman's bold exit Long after Davinia left Ashley remained in the sitting room, pondering the other woman's threats and puzzling over what it was she had done to bring Davinia's hatred on her head. "It was as if she held me responsible for some terrible deed," Ashley told Salem later at dinner. She speared a small piece of cold ham and chewed it thoughtfully. "And you can't think of any reason why she should hate you?" "Davinia has always resented me, and she liked to cause mischief between Nigel and me, but this bitterness? No, it is new." Salem frowned deeply, massaging his aching temples with his fingertips. This day had been full of setbacks; Davinia's uninvited presence in his home was a complication he did not need. "Ashley, do you think Davinia would physically harm you?" "No! She is a vicious woman but not violent." Salem was not as certain as his wife but he kept his counsel. "She said she would return in two days?" "Yes. She is adamant that I will have something for her or that she will give over the papers. I fear I almost laughed when she said she had them. I had not thought her capable of such a bluff." Salem pushed his plate away, leaving much of his food uneaten, and leaned back in his chair. "You were right. She is not capable of such a bluff." It took Ashley a moment to understand the meaning of Salem's words. "But I thought—the Lydia— surely the crew was able—" Her voice drifted into silence as she watched his still face, the faint muscle twitching in his jaw. "Oh, no. Never say she has them." "She does," he said wearily. "There were ten transports and four more warships that anchored off Sandy Hook late last night. We knew most important communications were on the Perry but there was nothing the Lydia could do against so many. An interception was planned on land but it failed. A courier delivered the papers to Davinia early this morning. Which is precisely why she felt she could pressure you today. I'm sorry, darling. I did not know of the failure until I met with the captain of the Lydia late this afternoon." Ashley's own appetite vanished. "Then she could have you arrested at any time." "Any time after the British take the city. I do not intend that we should be here when that happens. I am making arrangements for all of us to leave on the Lydia if it appears we could be caught behind enemy lines. General Washington already knows that I cannot continue in this Tory guise while Davinia is here. My usefulness in the city is at an end." He sounded defeated, she thought. She could think of no phrase that would ease his surrender. She rose from her chair and stood behind him, easing her arms around his shoulders and pressing her cheek against his. Ashley sighed softly. "I know not what to do." "Don't do anything," Salem said sternly, concern making his voice harsh. "I have no wish to see you in danger. I will be happy when we have left this place."

He said it so vehemently that Ashley could not doubt that he meant it—for the moment, at least. She could feel the tension in his shoulders and back. Her hands gently massaged the knotted muscles. "What shall I say to Davinia when she returns?" "Repeat what you told her today, that you have no information for her. Tell her to do what she will. No doubt she will be incensed, but I will be with you this time. I don't want you to see her alone. I don't trust the woman." "Do you think it wise for you to be there? After all, I met with her alone today." "Hardly alone," Salem corrected her. "Shannon was guarding you." Ashley's fingers stilled on Salem's back. "Shannon? Has he been watching my every move since the Green?" Salem nodded, shrugging his shoulders slightly so that her hands returned to their working caress. "And Noah. And Smith. There were no others I could trust with the task, but their help ended this evening. They had to return to duty." "How did I never notice them?" "They would have been humiliated if you had. They stayed very much in the background." "I can hardly credit they have been so close to me all these days. And for nothing. It would appear Mr. Flannigan was a mixture of terror and frustration on my part. Now I wish I had said nothing. Poor Shannon, he must have hated being so close to Meg and unable to speak to her." "He'll recover," Salem said dryly. Ashley was thoughtful, pressing the pads of her fingers against Salem's temples. "If they have returned to their duty then the fighting is very close, isn't it." "Very close. It could begin tomorrow or the next day. Smith says it will start within the week." "Does Smith have an opinion on who will carry the day?" she asked lightly, mocking Smith's prescience. "Yes." But Salem did not elaborate, and the silence answered Ashley. She held Salem's head to her breast and prayed that Smith was not in the right of it this time. Two mornings later Ashley and Salem were enjoying an unusually late breakfast in the privacy of their bedchamber when Meg rushed in with scarcely a scratch at the door. Her face was flushed, blending all her freckles. Arms akimbo, she stood at the foot of the four-poster. Ashley clutched a sheet to her bosom and swallowed the bit of biscuit Salem had playfully fed her only moments ago. "Meg Culgan! What—" "The battle for Long Island began at nine this morning," she announced breathlessly. "I just heard the news from the crier. Thought you'd both want to know the way of it." Salem sat up, alert. He did not have the look of a man who had had every intention of making love to his wife just a moment earlier. "Tell us what you learned."

"The redcoats made a night march. Sure, and didn't I always say you couldn't trust an Englishman." "Get on with it, Meg," Salem said tersely. When Salem used that particular tone, Meg knew better than to color her story with any more asides. "The word is that the British came around from the east and completely surprised the men. They've taken two American generals and some eight hundred prisoners." "That would be Sullivan and Stirling. They were with the forces at the rear." "Shannon?" Meg asked earnestly. "And Mr. Noah?" "And Smith?" Ashley pressed. In a voice devoid of emotion Salem explained. "They're with Washington on Brooklyn Heights. I imagine they're waiting Howe's assault." "Oh, dear God," Ashley said, closing her eyes. "What can they do against so many?" "They must fight or retreat before they are surrounded." Meg wailed. "If James Shannon dies I am going to kill him." The concept made perfect sense to her and she spun on her heel, leaving the chamber in a flurry more dramatic than her entrance. Salem jumped out of bed and went to the dressing room. Ashley heard him pour water and splash it on his face. Then he began rummaging through his wardrobe without sparing any time to shave. "What are you going to do?" she called as she slipped into her robe. She padded to the doorway and leaned against the jamb, watching Salem fumble impatiently with the buttons on his buff breeches and jerkily pull on his riding boots. "Scout the area from this side of the East River. Do you realize if Howe's admiral brother can sail his fleet into the river, Washington will be cut off from Manhattan? He'll have no place to go. He'll have to make a stand or surrender." He tucked his pistol in his breeches and a spyglass in his overcoat pocket. "But what can you possibly do to help?" "Probably nothing, Ashley, but I can't simply lie abed." "I understand," she said quietly. "Of course you must." He kissed her hard on the mouth. "Godspeed," she whispered against his lips. "Stay safe for me." He nodded, searching her glistening emerald eyes. Then he left. Ashley heard the front door close and she ran to the bedroom window to see Salem leaving the house. She smiled faintly as a strong wind lifted the tricorn from his head and sent it sailing. He caught it, glanced up at the window where he knew she would be standing, and made a courtly bow. The expression on his face was one of near jubilation. How strange, she thought, that he should be so happy about losing his hat. She blew him a kiss then stood there for long minutes, forehead pressed against the cool pane, until Salem disappeared into the livery down the street.

Salem was very pleased about the bracing northeast wind as he rode Folly along the southern tip of Manhattan Island. It would make the East River inaccessible to Admiral Howe's Royal Fleet. The British warships and transports simply could not enter the river against a northeast wind. Salem thanked God for this stroke of luck. He spent the afternoon scouting the southern perimeter, waiting for the Americans to retreat across the river while the wind was their ally. He could hardly believe it when he saw through his glass that Washington was reinforcing his position on the Heights. Outnumbered three to one, it didn't seem possible the general was going to risk complete defeat against Howe's superior troops and siege works. Salem sat numbly on the bank, obscured in a wooded grove and waited for the cannons' thunder. Although he was expecting it, his head still snapped in surprise when the sound came. But when heavy raindrops began to fall he realized that it had not been a cannon's thunder at all but nature's own. He left the shelter of the trees and turned his face heavenward, welcoming the rain's cool lashing. He imagined the redcoats in their soggy woolens and nearly whooped with joy. The rain was bound to hold off the British attack for the remainder of the day. Perhaps with this reprieve Washington would reconsider withdrawing while the Royal Fleet was still unable to sail into the East River. The darkening sky, the lateness of the hour, led Salem to revise his opinion of the general's tactics. It seemed if there was to be a retreat Washington would only lead it under cover of the night. Hoping he had not misjudged the plan, Salem decided to return home and pass the few remaining hours where it was warm and dry and friendly. His home seemed eerily quiet when he entered the foyer. He brushed off the droplets of rain clinging to his coat and gave his hat to the footman who met him at the door. "Where is Mrs. McClellan?" Salem asked, eyeing the servant's unusually somber face with puzzlement. "She is in her bedchamber, sir." "Is there something wrong, Stanley?" The response came quickly. "With me, sir? No, sir. Glad you're home, sir. Just worried 'bout the fighting and such." Salem did not believe him, not with three "sirs" in four sentences, but then he didn't care to explore the man's problem right now. He was anxious to see Ashley. He found her in their bedroom, sitting by the hearth, staring morosely at the fire that had been laid to take the chill out of the air. He frowned. "Ashley?" he asked, a clear question in his voice. When she heard his entry she nearly leaped out of her chair and ran to him, clinging to his damp chest and shoulders. "I am so glad you're home," she cried, burying her face in his neck. Salem remained uneasy. Didn't Ashley's voice sound a shade too bright? He returned her embrace, relishing the feel of her lithe body against his, then gently set her back from him. He narrowly regarded her face. Her eyes were bright and the lids were the slightest bit swollen. She had most certainly been crying. And the smile she gave him was large but slightly trembly. "Ashley, what's wrong?" She took a deep breath, pressing her palms together in a calming motion. "Why nothing is wrong," she said easily. "Surely I am allowed to worry about you. I had expected you to return before now. You are looking slightly bedraggled. Are you going to change your clothes?" He listened to her nervous chatter. "No," he answered. He stood in front of the fireplace and held out his

hands to the toasty heat. "I'll just dry off here. There's no point in changing." "Then you are leaving again?" Salem's dark brows pulled together. She seemed almost relieved that he was going out. "Yes, I thought I would wait until dark. I am hoping Washington will leave Long Island. What have you heard about the fighting?" "I haven't heard a thing. I've not been out all day." Watching Ashley closely, Salem explained the situation on Brooklyn Heights. "So you see," he finished quickly, sensing her distraction, "it won't be long before Courtney takes command of the fleet and sails it up the Thames." "That's wonderful, Salem." "Ashley! You haven't heard a word I've said." She was jerked out of her reverie. "But I have," she protested. "You said that Courtney—oh—I'm sorry. I fear I am all eggshells today." "You weren't like this when I left." She paused. "I suspect I am upset because you've forgotten what today is," she said, choosing her words carefully. Salem grew thoughtful, trying to remember this day's significance. He could think of nothing. No birthday, no anniversary, no special event came to his mind. "I don't know what you are talking about," he said reluctantly. Ashley's shoulders slumped a little. "Don't refine on it. It is nothing very important." "But aren't you going to tell me?" "Then it wouldn't be the same." "You are being very enigmatic." "I cannot help it if you are obtuse." Salem began to wish he had stayed by the river bank. Ashley was being most disagreeable. He shrugged off her last observation and walked toward the dressing room. "I thought you were not going to change," she said. He turned, looking at her quizzically. "I'm not," he explained with exaggerated patience. "I am going through here to the nursery." Ashley came out of her chair. "No!" "Madam, are you saying I cannot see my own daughter?" "Yes—I mean no. Of course you can see her, but she's been very fussy all day. Meg and I only got her to sleep a moment ago. I'd rather you didn't disturb her." She slowly sat down again as Salem came to

stand in front of her. He leaned forward, placing his hands on either side of the chair, effectively trapping Ashley. "I demand to know what is troubling you." Her eyes grew darker, pleading for his understanding, but she made no reply. Salem pushed himself away from her in exasperation. "I despair of ever understanding you. I thought you would be pleased to hear my news, yet you barely listened. You say you are happy to have me home, yet you seen equally anxious to have me gone. Honestly, Ashley—" Salem was cut off in midsentence as a loud commotion downstairs signaled the arrival of visitors. The color drained from Ashley's face until she was paler than the ivory shawl that graced her shoulders. As the raised voices and hurried footsteps drew near their room her knuckles turned white as she clenched her hands in her lap. Salem recognized the voices almost immediately. But Ashley's cheeks did not pinken until Smith, Shannon, and Noah barged into the room and then she remained noticeably wary of them. "Washington needs boats, Salem," Smith said tersely. "He's going to evacuate the island tonight." Salem nodded. "I hoped he would. I've scouted the area. I know where there are some vessels to be had. How many do you need?" "He only has ten flat-bottomed boats." "Hardly enough for ten thousand men, is it?" "Not so many any longer," Noah put in, drying the tails of his coat by the fire. "There were prisoners taken this morning." "We heard," Salem said. "There was a time this afternoon when I thought it would be the same for all of you." "Sure, and we thought it, too," Shannon said and grinned, glancing around in hope of seeing his Meg. "Damnedest piece of luck, that wind and rain. The general figured the Almighty was tryin' to tell him something. He sent a few parties out, pretendin' to round up more militia, when what we're all after is anythin' that floats." Noah laughed mockingly. "For myself, nothing less than the ark will do. I nearly died on the way over here." A tiny smile curved Ashley's lips, the first any of the men had seen since they came in. "Why did you come, Noah? Surely the general had others to send." "I couldn't tell him I get seasick, could I?" he asked sheepishly. "I managed to hide it well enough when we went there to set up camp." Salem laughed shortly at his brother's predicament. "It's somewhat rougher today." Smith cleared his throat, returning to business. "We have to have the boats ready at nightfall. That's when the first group will be coming over. Washington put the mariners from Massachusetts in charge of the retreat. If we can have more boats for the Marbleheaders to take back, they'll be less likely to use us for fishbait."

Salem could not disagree with that. Everyone connected with Washington's army knew about the seasoned fishermen and sailors from Marblehead, Salem, and Danvers. Every time the troops had to move over water the hearty strength and spirit of the New England Mariners was tested. But the extent of the ferry service they were being called upon to provide tonight was without precedent. "Very well." Salem grinned. "I've no wish to dangle at the end of their hooks. Let's show them that Virginians are good for more than tobacco." He looked pointedly at all three men. "If you'll wait downstairs a moment, I'd like to say good-bye to my wife." Noah gave Ashley a brief kiss on her cheek before he trooped out with the others, shutting the door quietly behind him. While he waited for Salem to join them he wondered briefly why Ashley had been so quiet and her cheek had been so cold. Then Shannon started ribbing him about the trip across the river and Noah failed to notice that Smith was deep in very similar thoughts. "Ashley, I don't like parting like this, but there is nothing for it," Salem was saying upstairs. "You and I will have this out when I return. In the meantime it would please me if you would behave more graciously toward our friends." He saw that he had hurt her deeply but he went on relentlessly. "Lest you have forgotten, let me remind you that those three men kept you safe for many weeks. Good evening, madam." Knuckling her mouth to keep from shouting after him, Ashley did not move until she heard the front door slam, then she hurried into the nursery. "You did very well, dear," Davinia said mockingly as she moved away from the door. "I thought he was going to choke you himself and eliminate all my troubles." Ashley ignored Davinia completely and went to Meg's side, taking Courtney from her trembling arms. "Are you all right, Meg?" She nodded. "I'm fine. And so is the babe. It's that one who's queer in the attic." She jerked her chin scornfully in Davinia's direction. Ashley took heart from Meg's unflagging spirit. The poor girl had faced Davinia's madness alone for the better part of an hour and only had shaky limbs to show for it. "Put down the pistol, Davinia. I did all that you asked. Salem is gone, none the wiser to your presence, and I don't doubt that you heard all of the conversation in my chamber." "Most enlightening," she said carelessly as she sat at the foot of the small nursery daybed. She continued to level the pistol at Ashley, following her movements as she paced the floor slowly with her daughter. "So Washington plans to run tonight. What cowards these Colonials are." She laughed lightly. "I believe I have the information I came for after all." "Then leave us," Ashley said sharply, patting Courtney softly on her bottom. Thank heaven she was finally worn out from crying, Ashley thought. Courtney's loud squalls had kept the servants alert to the danger of interfering ever since Davinia entered the house. They were helpless against Davinia's threats to kill the child. "Go run to your husband with your news," Ashley hissed. "It is what you've wanted all along." "Do you take me for a fool, you stupid chit? As soon as I leave you'll send someone off to tell Salem that I have sniffed out his game." "I give you my word that I won't," Ashley stated. "Your word? What good is the word of a Lynne?" Davinia asked scornfully, her voice rising at the end,

her rasp more pronounced. "Your uncle promised me any number of things and reneged on them all." "Why speak of Nigel at a time like this? Let him at least rest in peace." "You sicken me with your tender-hearted ways. You hate him as much as I do." "I feel nothing at all for him any longer," she said tiredly. "He's dead, Davinia." "Yes, he's dead. And by whose hand do you suppose?" Ashley stopped pacing. Meg paled. Both women regarded Davinia's glittering blue eyes with something akin to horror. Two pairs of eyes dropped to the pistol she held on Ashley. Any doubt that she was capable of using the weapon vanished. Davinia laughed huskily at their shocked faces. "Can it be that I've finally convinced you that I'm not playing games? And you have not even heard the half of it. It was you who were the cause of the calamity; we were arguing over you when it happened. Nigel was outraged over your marriage to the Yankee. You had made a fool of him, Ashley—a dangerous mistake. He was crazy with anger. He told me things he never meant to. He loved Anne, you know. Loved her almost passionately—obsessively. He only kept you all these years because you reminded him of her." She sneered, jerking the pistol at Ashley. Never would she explain that Nigel had made her his mistress for the same reason. It still had the power to hurt and humiliate. "And it repulsed him that you were lying with your own brother." Ashley heard Meg's small gasp and gave her a quelling look. "This is the last time I will say this. Nigel was wrong about Salem. He is not my brother." Davinia went on as if she hadn't heard. "Nigel made several sordid confessions and then attempted to silence me, Ashley. He tried to kill me. And I returned his treachery by fighting back." "Then you acted to defend yourself." "I only regret that he did not die quickly. Even he did not deserve to linger so many weeks. The thing would have been done in an instant if his manservant hadn't heard the noise and come into the room." Ashley's eyes closed briefly as she imagined the scene. "That's why you stayed by Nigel's side for so many days, isn't it? You wanted to make certain he died." "Yes. Don't you see, if he lived I would have met with an arranged accident. It was the sort of thing Nigel did when people acted contrary to his wishes. In the end though, I was forced to leave Linfield. I am afraid the physician was unconvinced by my grieving manner. But I did grieve, Ashley. In my own fashion I loved Nigel Lynne, and in the same way, he loved me." Her voice lowered and the rasp became more pronounced. She could feel Nigel's fingers tightening about her throat, crushing the breath from her body. He was deaf to her pleas, bent on doing murder so that he might have his dear Ashley returned to him. The pistol trembled in Davinia's hands as she remembered the terror that had lent her strength. She could see him falling back from the bed, stumbling over the footstool, his head connecting sharply with the mantelpiece. Davinia breathed deeply, banishing the memory of Nigel's pale sculpted features. "It was always you that came between us, for you were Anne's spirit he said. It was always you that he wanted to keep close to him. I had to share you with him for years. If not for you, I would have had him to myself. I would have him still, if you had not angered him out of all reason." Davinia's face was slightly flushed, and her eyes still glittered with the force of her jealousy. "And now," she said with venom, "I have you. And if you do not agree to accompany me to Howe's headquarters, I

will delight in killing your child." "Of course I will go with you, Davinia," Ashley said calmly. She stilled Meg's protest by placing Courtney in her arms and tried to smile encouragingly. "How agreeable you are," Davinia said mockingly. "But the child goes with us." Ashley straightened, spine stiff and chin thrust forward. "No, Davinia. Courtney remains with Meg. You must deal only with me from now on." Ashley wondered if anyone could hear the terrible pounding of her heart against her breast. Hidden in the folds of her damask gown, her hands clenched into fists. Davinia's ice-blue eyes narrowed. It was obvious the chit had no concern for her own safety if her child was threatened. She reconsidered her position. "The brat can stay here. But know that I will not hesitate to hurt you if you should try to escape." She turned her scathing glance on Meg. "And know that I hold your mistress's life by a tenuous thread. If you had any thought to summon help, put it back in your tiny mind." Meg would have liked to talk more about tiny minds, but Ashley's hand on her shoulder cautioned her against it. "Meg will send no one after us, as will none of the other servants." Davinia's thin smile was as fleeting as it was cruel. "Let's go, Ashley. There is a boat waiting for us." Salem led his three companions down a steep bank tangled with vine and hazardous low branches to the river's edge. At the end of a small dock two fishing sloops bobbed in concert with the water's rough surface. "These boats will manage the trip quite nicely," he told them. "Shannon, Noah, you sail them around the bend to where we have the others. I'm taking Smith further down the bank. I saw an unattended rowboat there this afternoon, and the Marbleheaders will need it if the wind changes." Reluctantly Noah followed Shannon to the sloops, bringing an amused smile to Salem's face. He turned away, prepared to show Smith the path, only to find his friend regarding him curiously. "What are you staring at?" Salem asked tersely, brushing by Smith to lead the way. Smith shrugged as he followed. "Reckon that's the first time I've seen you pleased tonight. You're tighter than strings on a fiddle. I don't figure it's finding these boats that has you bothered." "For someone who plays his cards close to his chest, you have a terrible penchant for looking into everyone else's hand," Salem muttered. Smith remained unperturbed. "Thought Mrs. McClellan was lookin' a little peaked this evenin', too. Didn't seem natural somehow. I never noticed her so uneasy all the weeks I was watchin' her." "You're not going to give this a rest, are you? For the life of me I cannot understand if you are fearless or simply dense in your upperworks." He let a branch snap back without warning and it narrowly missed Smith's face. His friend's chuckle gave him pause. Salem shook his head in exasperation. "All right. Ashley says she's upset with me because I've forgotten what today is. Can you make any sense of that?" "No." "Neither can I and she wouldn't tell me. We didn't part very pleasantly. I'm afraid I was quite angry with her." Salem halted suddenly. He could feel Smith's still presence behind him, alert to the same noise that

had cautioned Salem. There was a loud thrashing ahead of them as someone approached the river from another angle, kicking up dead leaves and flailing through the undergrowth. "The boat is about forty yards ahead, over that little rise," he whispered. "It would seem the owner has plans for it, though I can't fathom why he doesn't use the path. Let's go carefully." Salem and Smith hardly needed to tread lightly. The noise made by their unknown companion covered the sound of their advance. At the rise they stayed low, taking cover in the stiff grass around them. There was only the smallest bit of daylight left, and the forest covering made it difficult to see much beyond the boat. Still, they could make out three shadowed figures: two distinctly female and one male. The rounded shape of the male caused a shiver to ripple through them and made it possible to identify the women. Salem reached for the pistol tucked in the waistband of his breeches. At the same time, Smith reached for the knife strapped to his thigh. "She was trying to tell me that today was the day that Davinia returned," Salem said lowly, mentally flogging himself for having been so slow to understand. "That bitch must have been in the house while we were there." "Under the circumstances, I would say Mrs. McClellan was remarkably composed. How does Flannigan come to be here?" "Hell if I know," Salem answered through clenched teeth. "But I want that man." Even as he spoke he saw a thick arm reach out to touch Ashley's shoulder. She seemed to shrink back, away from Davinia and the Irishman. "Don't touch me!" she whispered harshly, eyeing the cane he held in one hand. "You make my skin crawl. Davinia, I thought you knew nothing about Flannigan! How dare you send him after me!" Davinia frowned. "What are you going on about? I told you I wouldn't have an Irishman in my employ. This is Mitchell Ferguson." "The wee lassie's a bit confused, Lady Grant," Flannigan said with a hint of the Scottish burr. "My apologies for being late. Dinna mean to upset you both." "Stop it!" Ashley cried. "I was your fair colleen when last we met!" She looked to Davinia. "Did you hire this man to take me away from the landing?" Flannigan interrupted Davinia's reply. "I dinna think we should stand here talking." "You're right," Davinia said coolly. "There's been a change of plans. I want you to take us to Howe's camp. I have news he would like to hear." "Step this way." Flannigan indicated the narrow path leading to the boat. Ashley stubbornly held her ground. "No! Davinia, this is wrong! Leave me here." "And have you run for help? Do you think I'm fool?" "You're a hundred times a fool if you step into that boat with him! If he is not your hireling, then he is Nigel's. D'you understand, Davinia?" "You would say anything to save yourself," Davinia said. "This man works for the Benningtons. I have no more time for your twaddle. Get into the boat."

Ashley shook her head and clutched her shawl closely about her shoulders. "No. I won't." Her eyes glistened in the dark. "He'll hurt us, Davinia. Can't you see past your own aims? Nigel's alive!" "Nigel is dead," Davinia said tightly. "Into the boat or I swear I'll kill you now." She raised her weapon until it was leveled at Ashley's breast. Ashley stood very still, her every sense sharpened. Small animals scurried underfoot. She could hear the snapping of twigs, the rhythmic beat of water licking the river bank. Fear tasted bitter in her mouth, and her flesh went hot and cold by turns. She dared not look away from the point of Davinia's pistol, calculating the precise moment when the weapon would discharge. She wondered if she would have the presence to leap aside or if she would remain frozen. "I can't be lettin' you do that now." Ashley's head snapped in Flannigan's direction as his deep Irish brogue blanketed all other sounds. "Sure, and it's your pistol I'll be havin'." His raised right hand held a silver mounted pistol every bit as primed as Davinia's own. "Lower your weapon, Lady Grant," he said kindly, his pleasant smile flashing briefly. "Have you taken leave of your senses?" Davinia demanded coldly. "Not at all. It's my own head I'm lookin' out for. The duke's likely to have a relapse if I tell him his ward is dead by your hand." "The duke? A relapse? But—" Flannigan merely shook his head, watching Davinia's trembling hands cautiously. Her shoulders sagged slightly. She lowered her pistol until it was aimed at Ashley's feet. "Who are you?" she asked slowly, twisting her head to see Flannigan. "I'm not important. It makes no difference if I'm Flannigan or Ferguson or Fairbanks. I've used many monikers in my business. But it's as Mrs. McClellan said: I work for the duke. He's very much recovered from that nasty blow to his head and very insistent that I carry out his orders. I can't have you hurting the colleen; the duke wishes her returned unharmed." He paused an instant, long enough for Davinia to surmise what his orders were concerning her. "You can't begin to know the trouble you've saved me by returning with her this evening. Sure, and I thought it was only you I'd have tonight." He laughed genially. "Luck o' the Irish, if it's to be believed. Now I want you to drop the pistol, Lady Grant, and step into the boat, Mrs. McClellan, you follow her. Don't be difficult about this." Ashley knew Davinia would not simply acquiesce because Flannigan wished it. Certainly not after his thinly veiled threat. "How dare you speak to me in that tone!" she shrieked harshly, lifting her pistol again. It was the force of her outrage that made Davinia's hands tremble on her weapon, but the movement was enough to ensure her death. There was a flash of powder from Flannigan's silver-mounted pistol, and the report that followed deafened Ashley to the sound of Davinia's cry. Ashley dropped to her knees beside Davinia, vainly trying to find some sign of life. A crimson stain blossomed above Davinia's breast, and her pale eyes stared sightlessly at Ashley. Ashley lowered Davinia's lids and brushed a smudge of dirt from her face feeling a strange and overwhelming pity. Then she turned away from Flannigan, lifting the hem of her skirt to wipe her eyes. "We have to go now," Flannigan said, impatient with her fumbling with her gown. "Step into the boat and I'll see to Lady Grant."

"I'm not going with you," she said. She stood, raising her arms stiffly in front of her. In a firm, two-handed grip she held the pistol Salem vowed he never wanted to see again. "Nothing could persuade me to go back to the duke. I want no part of Linfield. Ever." Flannigan's brows shot nearly to his hairline. He shifted uneasily, never one to trust a feminine hand on a weapon. His own pistol dropped uselessly to the ground. "You will have to get in the boat, Mr. Flannigan." Ashley mimicked his polite accents. "I would not hesitate to shoot" She was well pleased her voice did not quaver. Flannigan feigned a step toward the boat in the same moment he cracked the heavy knob of his cane against Ashley's wrist. She cried out, dropping her pistol and falling to her knees in pain. Her head was bent and tears blurred her vision. She did not see Flannigan raise his cane over her. It was the bright orange spark of gunpowder and the explosion that followed immediately that jerked her upright. Flannigan's cane dropped harmlessly past her lifted face, and before she could release the scream that was trembling on her lips, Flannigan himself fell heavily to the damp earth. Her scream locked in her throat, Ashley looked about her frantically, trying to peer into the dark border of woods where the shot had come from. She did not know if she was being rescued or if she should expect the next pistol ball in her chest. "Ashley!" She gave a glad cry at the familiar voice as she leaped to her feet, running in the direction of that most welcome and beloved sound. She nearly toppled them both with her exuberant greeting, winding her arms about Salem's neck and throwing her body flush against his. Salem kissed her brow, her eyelids, the fine arch of her cheeks. She didn't know she was crying until she tasted her tears when his mouth touched hers. "Are you all right?" he asked between hurried kisses. She nodded in spite of the wrist that throbbed behind his back. "I think I'm all of one piece." She buried her face in his neck, trembling against him. "I was so frightened. I thought they would take me away from you." "I despaired of ever having a clear shot. I should beat you for drawing that pistol!" he said in her ear. "Never was there a woman with more guardian angels than you, my love." A lazy voice drawled beside them. "Reckon before you squeeze the life out of her, I might be allowed to say hello?" Surprised, Ashley nearly came out of Salem's embrace, but the circle of those strong arms would not release her. "Mr. Smith?" "The very same, ma'am." He lifted his hat and even the murky darkness could not obliterate the golden cap of his hair. He jammed the hat back in place, and only his smile kept him from blending into the night. "If you don't mind me sayin', Mrs. McClellan, you sure do have a way of gettin' in trouble." "Please call me Ashley. I can't deny that I've caused trouble." "I didn't say you caused trouble, ma'am—Ashley—only that you get into it like a bear does honey. But we'll have to talk about that later. Salem, if you take her on up the rise, I'll take care of—" "Right. This way, Ashley." He led her up a narrow path and over the rise, talking to her the whole time so she could not hear the soft splash as Smith buried the bodies in the river. "They didn't hurt you?" he

asked. While his eyes searched her face, his hands touched her shoulders, her waist, reassuring himself that she was unharmed. "No, no one hurt me. I have a few scratches from walking through the woods, but nothing serious. How did you manage to find me? I never thought to see you." "It was an accident, Ashley. No more than that." Her shiver was transmitted to him and he rubbed her back, giving her more security than warmth. "We were looking for boats for the retreat, and I recalled seeing one in this area. Flannigan and Davinia must have arrived very early in the day." "Yes. Davinia watched you leave the house this morning. She announced herself shortly after that. She was furious that I had nothing for her. I think she went a little mad, then. She started waving a pistol, threatening to use it on Courtney if anyone interfered." "I should have been there today," he said bitterly. "At the very least I should have understood your message when I returned. She was in the nursery, wasn't she?" "Yes. With Meg and Courtney. She saw you coming to the house from the window. She was listening hard at the door all the while you were there." "Then she heard about the plans for retreat." Ashley nodded. "She was afraid I would ruin her chance to get the news to Howe so she forced me to come with her to the boat." Salem pressed her head to his shoulder and laid his cheek against the softness of her raven hair. "How did you come to have the pistol?" "I tied it to my leg when I knew I would be seeing Davinia alone today. But while Davinia's loaded pistol was pointed at Courtney I was too afraid to use it." "And Nigel?" "Let us speak of him later," she pleaded quietly. "I hear Smith coming, and you must surely be about your business now." "I will take you back to the house first." "No. Let me stay here with you." In truth, Salem had no wish to be parted from her, but he gave in reluctantly. "All right. I'll send Noah back to the house to let them know you have come to no harm." Smith's noisy intrusion brought a rueful smile to Salem's lips. "I think Smith fears he's interrupting something," he whispered in Ashley's ear, delighting in her small laugh. "I swear the man could walk on broken glass without a sound. C'mon, Smith. You've adequately announced your presence. Let's get the boat and join Noah and Shannon." "Ashley?" "She's staying with us." His tone brooked no argument. Smith had never intended to give him one. "I reckon she'll give the men somethin' nice to look at when they reach this side of the river." To Smith's embarrassment, Ashley placed a tender kiss on Smith's hard cheek. "You're a fraud, Mr. Smith, but I cannot help but like you."

"Yes, ma'am," he said sheepishly. One of Salem's dark brows kicked up. He had never thought to hear Smith admit to any deception. "Come along, Ashley, before you have the man disclosing the whole of his shady history." "Very well," she said. "But some day I shall learn it all." Ashley touched Smith's arm briefly, and in that instant he understood she knew things about him even Salem could not guess. Somehow it did not surprise him that she heard the traces of an accent he could hide easily from others. "I don't doubt that you can worm it from me, ma'am." He grinned. Then he turned and led them back to the rowboat. Washington's retreat from Long Island took the better part of the night. The first men began arriving on Manhattan shortly after ten o'clock. Ashley waited with Noah on the river bank while Salem, Shannon, and Smith joined the Marbleheaders, returning to Long Island for more men. Each trip across the East River, made soundlessly and secretly, brought increasing numbers to safety. Only two hours after the evacuation had begun there was a lull in the wind and the tides changed. Ashley and Noah and the several hundred men already on shore watched helplessly as the sailing craft were left behind and rowboats were all that remained to ferry the men. Ashley did not need the grim look on Noah's face to tell her the rowboats alone could not do the job by morning. There were not nearly enough to bring back all of Washington's men, and those who were left behind faced death or prison. Ashley helped distribute water and rations to the men who rowed tirelessly from point to point, and to her husband, just once, she managed to give an encouraging kiss. "You shouldn't do that," he said, reluctantly lifting his head. "Everyone will want one." "Then they shall have one," she teased, laughing when he scowled. But as soon as she was away from the boat, Salem took up the oars and set himself and his small crew to the rhythm that would make the crossing smooth and quick. The mariners faced an impossible task that night, but they continued to strain their muscles and backs, refusing to accept they could not save everyone. When the winds changed direction, filling the sails of the discarded crafts, it seemed a reward to the spirit and energy of the men who could not be bowed. But even with the sloops, dinghies, and skiffs adding their space once again to the effort, it was dawn before the last of the soldiers and materials reached refuge on Manhattan. The final convoy had nothing to fear from the early morning light; their passage was assured, covered by a heavy cloak of fog. It seemed to the nine thousand men who had been ferried from Long Island that a hand finer than Lady Luck's had guided them to safety. It was hard to remember they were in retreat. The midnight exodus under the nose of the most powerful army on earth smacked of victory. Salem slowly opened one eye. The sun was setting on a day he had barely seen, having slept away the whole of the morning and the better part of the afternoon. All things considered the dream was too pleasant to risk waking. He ached everywhere. There was a stitch in his back and his hands seemed unable to open fully. It was much easier to take refuge in the warm and tender ministrations of the woman at his side than to hazard full awareness. With no regret he turned his back on the prospect of greeting the day, closed his eye and fell easily into the arms of his loving fantasy. Naturally she was dark. Salem had long ago decided he preferred ebony over the pallid blondes he once admired. Her hair was soft and thick as velvet, and he buried his fingers in the strands delighting in the rich texture. His thumbs idly traced the delicate arch of her cheekbones and the faint hollow of her temples. He was familiar with every fine contour of her face, the sweeping fan of her black lashes, the full

sensitive curves of her mouth. Her wildflower fragrance drew him closer to her warmth. She was freshness and light and he had every intention of making her his. His mouth tasted hers, savoring the honeyed recesses, drawing out the flavor that was peculiarly hers. He played, he teased, he dueled with her tongue, relishing the response of his emerald-eyed lady. He touched his mouth to her ear, whispered love words that brought her body flush against him. His hands caressed the length of her slender throat, her shoulders, the taut curves of her breasts. In his palms he felt her arousal and groaned softly with wanting her. Her tapered waist filled his hands, her nipples budded beneath his mouth, her thighs parted to accommodate his desire. A giggle, completely unexpected, certainly unwanted, followed by a light pinch on his buttock brought Salem to awareness. "Wake up, you cheeky rogue, and have done with ravishing me in your sleep." "God!" Salem groaned, looking down at the tangle of arms and legs and sheets. He fell back on the bed, covering his eyes with his forearm. "Did I hurt you?" He still ached with wanting, but his needs faded as he thought he may have harmed her. Ashley leaned over him, brushing her naked breasts against his chest and kissing him fully on the mouth. "No, you didn't hurt me. I was finding you everything delightful, but I prefer you awake. Anyway, I admit to being jealous." "Jealous?" He raised his arm, grey eyes surveying her skeptically. "Of whom?" "Of the women you love in your dreams." "Minx. They're all you." "I don't think that is always true, but it's good of you to say so." He smiled gently and his forefinger fell to the puckered scar on her breast. He traced the brand then added the letters O, V, E to the L. "That never stood for Lynne at all." "I think you must be right. Love is everything I teel for you." "And I you." He hesitated. "Ashley, at the risk of shattering our mood—" "I know. You want to talk about Nigel." "Yes. I doubt that he will ever give up, not while he lives." She laid her head on his chest, placing her hands on his shoulders. Her eyes closed. "I hope that you are wrong, that something will bring him to his senses." "I will have to act to protect you, Ashley. It may mean doing more than dealing with the men Nigel will send for you. I promise I will not commit myself to any course of action until I've explored every legal means to have him stopped. With the war, there may be no way to pursue justice." "But you will try, won't you? I cannot help but fear trying to stop Nigel by employing his methods." "I will try," Salem said. "If that is what you want, I will do it." She nodded. Her hair tickled his chest as she moved. Her palms lightly rubbed his shoulders, easing the stiffness. At length, when she felt him relax beneath her caress, she lowered her mouth to his flat nipple,

flicking it with the tip of her tongue. "Are you still awake?" she whispered as her hand slipped past his flat belly to rest casually on his inner thigh. "Madam. Can you doubt it?" Ashley's hand passed over him lightly. "This? You do this when you're sleeping, too." "Ash-ley." She lifted her head and kissed the dimple slashed in the side of his face. "Well, you do. And I want you to be awake when we make this baby." "Baby?" His question was muffled because of her lips hovering over his mouth. "Mmmm. A child. Like Courtney. Do you think we might manage it." He pretended to consider. "I can't be certain that we'll hit on it this very time, but of a certainty we can try." "I'd like that, please." Salem laughed, captivated by her sassy expression. "I'd like it, too." With the activity mutually agreed upon it seemed wasteful to spend any more time in discussion. That is why it was some time later before Ashley's hushed sigh broke the loving silence. "Sa-lem." He doubted there was anything sweeter than the sound of his name on her lips. He fell asleep, pillowing her head on the crook of his shoulder and dreamed of her saying it just that way again. And again. Ashley lay awake for a long time, savoring the gentle thudding of his heart beneath her palm. She decided she could have asked no more of life than to give her the love of Jerusalem McClellan. When he sighed her name well into his dreams, she pressed her smile against his warm skin and fell asleep, wondering what libertine ways her rogue was practicing now.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jo Goodman lives with her family in Colliers, West Virginia. She is the author of eighteen historical romances (all published by Zebra Books) including her beloved Dennehy sisters series: Wild Sweet Ecstasy (Mary Michael's story), Rogue's Mistress (Rennie's story), Forever in My Heart (Maggie's story), Always in My Dreams (Skye's story), and Only in My Arms (Mary's story), as well as her Thorne Brothers trilogy: My Steadfast Heart (Colin's story), My Reckless Heart (Decker's story), and With All My Heart (Grey's story). In October, 2000, Zebra books will be repackaging and reissuing Seaswept Abandon, which is the second book in her three book McClellan family series that began with Crystal Passion. Jo is currently working on her newest Zebra historical romance, More Than You Know, which will be published in April, 2000. Jo loves hearing from readers and you may write to her c/o Zebra Books. Please include a self-addressed stamped envelope if you wish a response.