Rebecca

Rebecca Book Two The Foxbridge Legacy Trilogy

Jo Ann Ferguson

ISBN 1-58608-004-0 Rocket eBook ISBN 1-58608-100-4 Copyright © 1988 Jo Ann Ferguson Cover art by Eliza Black Second Printing - New Concepts Publishing First Printing - Tudor Publishing Company November 1988 New Concepts Publishing 4729 Humphreys Rd. Lake Park, GA 31636 www.newconceptspublishing.com

Dedication: This book is dedicated to Charles and Mildred Stern Agents and Friends Thank you for believing in my dream. . .

And helping make it come true.

Chapter One The sun was bright off the mountainsides to the north as the young woman adjusted her veil on her dark hair. It would not have mattered to her if it had been the dreariest day of the year, for she could see only the glory of her happiness reflected around her. With a joyous laugh, she twirled about so her full skirts belled out even wider around her. She turned once more to view her appearance in the small mirror. The veil did not hide her blue eyes and brilliant smile that were the two most admired features of her lovely face. She smoothed the silk dress along her body. She had never had such a fine gown, so it was appropriate that today she would wear it. Today Rebecca North would become the wife of Keith Bennett. After their courtship and the thrill of him asking her to marry him, she would this morning take the vows that would make her his wife forever. It was a dream come true. He had proposed marriage several months ago, but had asked her to delay the wedding until he could finish the cabin he was building for them. At last, the day had come. Her bags were packed and in the front room, ready to go to that new house. When she and Keith returned from their wedding party, her things would be waiting in the house they would share. Her smile softened as her eyes grew distant with thoughts of the life she would have from this day forward with the man she loved. "Rebecca, are you ready?" came a voice that jarred her back to the present. Her smile broadened as she turned to greet her older brother Hart. He would be giving her away, because their father Major Henry North had died in service to his country during the battle at Saratoga. The horrors of the war so recently over were forgotten in the midst of her joy. "Take Aunt Dena out to the wagon, and I will be with you directly." He nodded and closed the door. Rebecca looked around her room. Today she was leaving behind everything she had known all her life. Today she was beginning a new life that would incorporate all the love in the old one with a new love that would be the center of her being. "Good-bye," she whispered to her room, her home, herself that had lived there for all of her nineteen years. Cloying thoughts of nostalgia disappeared as she went out to the cart. An ecstatic bounce was in her step as she walked out of the cabin without another backward glance. "Here comes the happiest bride I have ever seen," teased Aunt Dena. She was a spare woman, well

wrinkled with time. Lines had been etched in her face by laughter and sunshine. Her white hair was pulled back beneath her outrageous hat she wore for only the most special occasions. Its feathers and ribbons added six inches to her slight height. Hart laughed as he helped his sister onto the hard wooden seat of the wagon. Unlike her, he had the light hair of their mother, but in many ways the Norths were alike. They shared a deep joy in life and a closeness which had strengthened when they had lost both of their parents. Hart was pleased that she would not be moving far from their home. The two of them and Aunt Dena were the total of the surviving North family. It was a very short ride to the church, but Hart had insisted that they drive. He had not wanted her to walk and get the dust on her new gown. When they reached the white clapboard building, he lifted the older woman down so she could go in to take her seat of honor in the first pew. "All ready?" he asked, jokingly. "I know brides are supposed to be nervous," Rebecca said with a laugh, "but I'm not. I know that this is just the beginning of the most wonderful part of my life." He bent and kissed her cheek. His voice was very serious as he said, "I hope you are right, Rebecca. I hope you are right." "Hart, what is wrong?" Her smile faded as she saw the bleakness in his eyes. A weak smile crossed his lips. "I'm the one who is nervous, I guess. It's hard for me to realize that in a few minutes you will be Keith Bennett's wife. I've been used to you being my little sister." "That does not change, silly!" She hugged him. When she heard the music from the church, she said, "I think the ceremony is starting." He held out his arm to her. "Then let us make our grand entrance, my lady." "What fancy manners from someone who used to dip my braids in mud puddles!" Rebecca smiled up at her grinning brother as they walked into the church. He had seemed as delighted with this wedding as she was. Keith was his friend, and it had been Hart who first had suggested that she take a walk with Keith along the moonlit path home from church services. Soon Keith had come calling on her. She had long admired her brother's friend, and her admiration became love. She guessed this wedding was the fulfillment of Hart's dream, as well. As they walked past the rearmost pew, Rebecca noticed a stranger sitting there. Her eyes were caught by his dark ones which were narrowing with an emotion she could not read. She wondered who this scowling man was. Something about the strong line of his jaw and his black eyes tugged at her memory, but she could not connect his handsome face with anyone she knew. As she passed him, she shrugged off her concerns and told herself he must be an acquaintance of Keith. All thoughts of him faded as she looked at her fiancé waiting with uncharacteristic formality by the altar. Keith was more comfortable making jokes around their supper table than standing at the front of the church while dressed in his stiff collar and knee breeches. When he turned to see her walking toward him, his face split into a grin that made him look much more like the normal Keith.

Rebecca took his hand as she stepped up onto the raised section of the altar. He brought it gently to rest on his arm as they together looked at the minister. He glanced down at her as if to share an ecstatic secret while they listened to the clergyman intone the words that would make them one for all eternity. Hart answered when asked who gave this woman in marriage. In a stage whisper, he warned the groom, "She's grouchy in the morning, Keith. Beware." Along the first few pews, a ripple of laughter sounded as brightly as the blush glowing on Rebecca's face. The groom held out his hand to Hart. For a moment, he looked startled, then he shook it seriously. Rebecca glanced from one face to the other, but could not read the emotions on either. Keith was grinning delightedly, but Hart's face was completely blank. She forgave her brother his jest when he bent to kiss her cheek and added more softly, "Be happy always, Rebecca." When he was seated, the minister who had appeared pained at the levity continued with the rite. He read a blessing on the couple. Before he started the exchanging of vows, he asked, "If there is anyone here who has a reason why this marriage should not take place, let that one speak now or forever remain silent." "I have a reason!" Rebecca gasped as she turned to see the stranger on his feet in the pew at the back of the small church. She looked up at Keith and saw the mixture of shock and rage on his usually placid features. Her thought that this was a prank he had devised to tease her disappeared as she saw his furious expression. The stranger began to walk along the aisle toward the altar. A rumble of whispered comments preceded him like the foam of a wave rushing to embrace the shore. All eyes were on him, but he paid them no attention. His dark ones were riveted steadily on the bride. His lips curled up in a smile as he saw the astonishment in her eyes. The pretty bride clearly had no idea who he was or why he had stopped her wedding. The minister stated, shortly, "Sir, it's a serious thing to interrupt a holy ceremony like this. You say you have a reason why this marriage should not take place. What is it?" He grinned coldly, and the pastor had the feeling he was looking into the face of Satan himself. Only the fallen angel would have such a dark malevolence along his black eyebrows and sternly chiseled features. His eyes returned to the bride. There was amusement in their obscure depths. "Why don't you ask Rebecca?" His voice was as mysteriously rich as his sable hair. "Me?" she gasped. That this man knew her name was as astounding as the rest of this outrageous situation. His gaze held her eyes as if he was trying to look past them to examine her soul. Lowering her eyes, she said, "Sir, as Reverend Poore said, this is no time for such antics. You have disrupted my wedding long enough." His eyes slowly and with obvious pleasure moved along her slender body. In the gown that flattered her delicate curves, she was the image of the maidenly bride. "I admit I wouldn't have known you, Rebecca, but I had thought you would recognize me. I haven't changed that much since our last meeting." Once again, memory tried to stir within her, but brought no answers. "I'm sorry, sir. I don't think we have

met. You must be mistaken." Keith stepped between his bride and the stranger. "Sir, Rebecca has asked you to desist. I suggest you do so, or you may not like the result." Although he stood several inches shorter than the dark-haired man, he was not afraid to take on the man who had ruined their wedding. He had been waiting so long for it to take place, and he would let no one halt it. "I don't know who you are or why you think you have the right to interfere." "Let me introduce myself." He gave a half bow in their direction. "My name is Nicholas Wythe. That woman next to you is my wife." Immediately the church erupted into chaos. Hart leapt to his feet and over the front of the first pew to join in the confrontation with this man who dared to make such a pronouncement. Keith caught Rebecca as she gave a small cry and swayed against him. He feared she would faint, but she only clutched his arm as her life felt as it was whirling out of control. The elusive memory had been so close to her heart. While packing her personal and dower items that morning, she had pulled out, from under her bed, the box which contained her most precious mementos and discovered the faded marriage lines that announced she was the wife of one Nicholas Wythe. It was a secret which had been kept for so long that it was no longer worth revealing. Nearly five years had passed since the day she had discovered a wounded man delirious in their barn. The only thing he had been able to communicate was his need for secrecy. She had smuggled food to him and had cleaned the wound in his side and bound it for him. Around his head had been a bloody turban she had not dared to touch. For two weeks, he slept in the barn. Each morning, she expected to find him dead in his hiding place behind the bags of feed for the animals. Both her brother and her father had been away fighting in the War of Independence from England. It had been just her and Aunt Dena, Father's spinster sister who had come to live with them when Rebecca's mother had died before her young daughter's fourth birthday. Slowly he recovered enough to escape his delirium. Whenever she had been able to get away from her other duties, she went to sit in the barn with him. She entertained him with her young impressions of the war, the village she lived near in northern Connecticut, and the world in general. He seemed ancient to her, for he must have been in his early twenties. Soon she learned how to cheer him so he was not so unhappy in his confinement. What little he told her of his own life had been forgotten in the passage of time. She did not remember exactly when she had discovered that he was not a Continental soldier, but a loyalist. By that time, she had come to see him as a person, not as an enemy. When he gave her a crudely written note to carry to a friend, she did not pause to wonder if she was doing something to compromise the ideals of independence she valued so highly. Her friend would never ask her to do something wrong. Shivers of fear had filled her young body when she had had to face those she knew were enemy soldiers. They were frighteningly close to her home. Only her friend's name kept her from being shot by the men. She gave them the note and scurried away once they were sure she would not betray them to the Patriots. The next morning, the man who had told her his name was Nicholas was not alone. She recognized one of the men as the person she had delivered the note to the day before. The other man had been a stranger.

Clearly she could recall his deep voice as he said, "Rebecca, I fear I shall not survive this. I -- " "No, don't say that!" she gasped. The idea of death was alien to her young heart. Tears filled her eyes. She had come to value his friendship and did not want to think of him dying. "You must do me a favor." "Anything!" He smiled weakly and glanced at his companions as if her answer confirmed something he had said before she entered the barn. "Rebecca, you have taken care of me. I owe you something." "No, you don't!" "All right. You can't disagree that you are my very best friend in Connecticut." Twisting her hands in her apron, she nodded. That was undoubtedly true. Loyalists were not welcome in villages where Patriots were the majority. "Rebecca, it would make me feel better if I had someone to leave my personal effects to if something does happen to me. For that reason, I'm asking you to marry me." "Marry?" "It'll make it easier." She looked into his ebony eyes and nodded. At the time, it did not seem odd for a fourteen year old to be wedding a dying man nearly a decade her senior simply to be his heir. The stranger had been the chaplain who had witnessed their vows. Nicholas gave her a brotherly kiss on the cheek before he was secreted away by his comrades. His promise to write was kept well for a few months. Then after a large battle where many members of the unit to which he belonged were killed, there had been only silence. For twelve long months, she had hoped he survived, but when the first anniversary of the battle came, she knew it was useless to pray any longer. She packed away the three letters he had sent her and her marriage lines which had been kept secret at the bottom of the box. They had been tied with a piece of velvet ribbon which had once belonged to her mother. The war ended, except for the formalities of signing treaties and exchanging ambassadors. The war had cost her her father and had sent her brother home with a limp from a poorly healed bullet wound to his hip. In those years, she had changed from a child to a woman. She had been courted for the past year by Keith Bennett without anyone knowing that Keith would be her second husband. She had thought that since Nicholas Wythe was dead, there was no reason to bring up the subject. She had planned to tell Keith someday of that secret wedding which had netted her only pleasant memories of a man who had passed through her life so quickly. As Rebecca stared into the dark eyes which matched the ones from the depths of her memory, she could form no coherent thoughts. When she spoke, the wedding guests fell silent as they waited to hear her reaction. Her voice was rough as she spoke past the lump in her throat. "Nicholas Wythe? Captain Wythe? I thought you were dead!" Hart demanded, "You know this man, Rebecca?"

She could not meet the eyes of the man she loved. She raised her left hand and pulled off the engagement ring Keith had given her. With a half sob, she placed it in his hand. He glanced from it to her, not knowing what to say. When she stood on tiptoe to kiss him one last time, she squeezed his arms convulsively. Only then did she turn to answer her brother. "I know him, Hart. He is my husband." A shout came for someone to catch Aunt Dena as she swooned. All shreds of decorum disappeared. Reverend Poore closed his black book and placed it on the altar. It was clear there would be no wedding today. The dark-haired man reached up and took Rebecca's hand and drew her down to stand next to him. As if he were the groom, he raised her veil to be able to see her face undistorted by its fine mesh. He bent slightly and kissed her cheek. "It is so good to see you again, Rebecca." She gazed up into his handsome face which was far above hers, for he was well over six feet tall. Knowing why he had seemed so familiar, she could not believe he was here. In her memory, he had been a faceless entity whose identity had been blurred by the passing of time. "I thought you were dead," she repeated in a whisper. She was afraid if she spoke aloud the vibration of her own voice would shatter her. "I thought you had been killed. I waited for a year to hear from you, but there was nothing. I could think only that you were dead." He chuckled at a joke only he could share. Holding out his hand, he touched the soft skin of her cheek. The unmolded face of the child had matured into beauty. He had not been prepared for the change. In his mind, she had remained the youngster who had risked her life selflessly to save his. Only because he had learned that it was Rebecca North being married in this backwater village had he known that the bride was his wife. "I'm afraid I am very much alive. It was impossible to get mail out of the prison hulks which were my home for the last four years. I have been released with the end of the war. Now that I have found you, my dear wife, we must be on our way home. We have only time for you to pack what you want to take with you, if we want to meet our ship." "Ship?" she repeated. She knew she sounded stupid, but just now her mind was unable to function. All she could think of was that this man had come out of her distant past to interrupt her present. Until he had said he meant to take her with him, she had not considered that he would want her. "You are taking me away? Where do you live, Captain Wythe?" "Nicholas, my dear. We are married, so it would be more normal for you to call me by my given name. Your new home is across the ocean in England. It's called Foxbridge Cloister, and you, my dear Rebecca, are Lady Foxbridge." Hart stepped forward and took his sister's arm. He pulled her away from this man he already had decided that he disliked intensely. "I have heard enough of this nonsense. You have disrupted my sister's wedding, and you have so shocked our aunt that she has fainted. I think you have done quite enough. Sir, I ask you -- No, I insist one final time that you leave." "I am leaving," he replied calmly. "Rebecca and I are leaving. I expected that I might not be believed, so I brought this with me to lay any of your fears to rest. I did not want you to think I was kidnapping this lovely lady from underneath your very noses." He held out a paper which was stained with sweat and

rusty discolorings that no one had to be told were blood. "Here is my copy of our marriage lines. Do you still have yours, Rebecca?" Hart took the page and scanned it. He recognized his sister's signature at the bottom. This man was her husband. His hand shook as he handed the page to Keith. The rage on the groom's face increased as he looked from the stranger to the document. When Wythe held out his hand, he reluctantly placed it back on his palm. Rebecca watched as the piece of paper that tied her to this unknown man circulated among the men. When she saw the dark-haired man was awaiting her answer to his question, she nodded. "I have my copy still, Cap -- Nicholas." Keith was recovering from his shock of realizing that Rebecca would not become his wife. Irately, he turned to her and demanded, "This man is telling the truth? You are really married to him?" "Yes, Keith," she whispered. "That is ridiculous. Look at the date on that document. That was when the damnable British were running all over the area. Such a marriage under duress would not be sanctioned by any court." He frowned. "Did you fear she was pregnant, Wythe, and wanted to give your bastard a name?" The fury which burst forth from Nicholas was as cold as his eyes. "I did not seduce Rebecca when she was a child. I can assure you of that, sir. She saved my life. I was a badly injured man in enemy territory. She did nothing for which she should have been ashamed." When Hart stepped between the two men who looked as if they were set to settle the issue on the altar, he asked Rebecca for her side of this confusing tale. It did not take her long to tell her tale, although he had to ask her to repeat herself several times when her voice became a whisper. Because she could not bear to look at the man she had promised to marry, she did not see Keith's outraged expression when he learned that she had married of her own free will and had known exactly what she was doing. The fact that she had been only fourteen would have no bearing on its legality. Many lasses were wed not much older than that. "Are you satisfied?" asked Nicholas when she had completed the short account which had kept the wedding guests enthralled. Once more he put out a long arm to pull Rebecca close. No one could miss her discomfort as he placed his arm around her shoulders. "As I said, we must be leaving, if we are to catch our ship before it sails. Come along, Rebecca." "Now?" She could not comprehend what was happening. Her mind had been numb. Her world had turned inside out in one split second. One moment, she had been so blissfully planning to wed Keith, the next this man who was a stranger was claiming her rightfully as his wife. Nicholas's voice softened for the shortest moment as he gazed at her shattered face. "Yes, we must leave now, my dear. Bid your friends and family farewell." Docilely she did as she was told, for she did not know what else to do. She did not hear what she said or who she said it to as she went from one guest to the next. Only when she turned to Keith did her frozen exterior break. "I'm sorry, sweetheart," she whispered. "I had no idea that he was alive. I'm so sorry to hurt you like this. I love you, Keith."

Paying no attention to anyone else, he swept her into his arms and kissed her with all his desire for her. Holding her tightly, he whispered in her ear, "I will come after you, my love. We will have this marriage annulled. Try to keep him out of your bed, Rebecca." "My bed?" she cried. Involuntarily, she turned to look at the dark-haired man who was talking quietly to her brother. Hart nodded his head in resignation. As each second passed, this nightmare was solidifying into reality. She closed her eyes in pain as she saw her brother introduce Nicholas to her aunt who had recovered her senses. When she saw Aunt Dena smile, Rebecca was sure the whole world had gone mad. Grimly, Keith said in the same low tone, bringing her attention back to him, "He's your husband, Rebecca. He has a right to sleep with you. Try to keep him away. As soon as I can sell my farm, I'll come to England and hire a lawyer to free you. If the marriage is unconsummated, it will be easier. Just be careful, darling. You know how I love you. I promise you I will see you released from this marriage." "Rebecca?" She sighed as she pulled herself reluctantly from the arms of the man she loved to face the man to whom she was married. Taking her fingers, Nicholas placed them on his arm. Without another word, he led her toward the door at the back of the church. She was startled there were no shouts of protest, but the others had learned what she knew. Nicholas Wythe was her husband. According to the law, he had done nothing wrong. According to the law, she belonged to him. The sounds of the multitude of conversations followed them out into the sunshine. In response to his questions, she pointed out which cabin belonged to the North family. He quickly turned in that direction. "My things are all packed," she murmured. "Hart was going to take them to Keith's house after the wedding. The trunk is in the main room of the house." When they entered the small house, she fought the tears burning behind her eyes. Never again would she see this place that had been home for all her memory. When she had said farewell earlier, it had not been a real good-bye. She had planned to visit often. That would be impossible if she was living on the far side of the ocean. Nicholas said quietly, "Go change, Rebecca." "Change?" "You do not want to travel in your lovely dress, do you? It might soiled quickly on our trip. It isn't an easy journey to where our ship is docked in New York City harbor." For the first time, she heard a hint of sympathy in his voice. Her eyes rose to meet his ebony ones. In the merest of whispers, she asked, "Why, Nicholas? Why are you taking me away from Keith?" "Keith? Oh, you mean your erstwhile fiancé?" He chuckled in a tone as black as his hair. "My dear Rebecca, you are my wife. I don't choose to be wed to a bigamist. No, no, there is no reason for you to say it. I don't plan to let you ask for an annulment. Our wedding was legally and properly done. You are mine, sweetheart."

"But you don't love me!" she asserted. "How could you love me? You don't know me! The last time we met I was just a child." "You are right. I didn't come back for you because of love, but there are many reasons to marry other than love. Perhaps in the shock of our reunion you failed to hear me. You are Lady Foxbridge, my dear, for your husband is, by the unfortunate death of his brother, lord of Foxbridge Cloister. I married you five years ago to give you my share of that estate in gratitude for your kindness. Now, you shall have it all, including the lord." He put out his hand to touch the softness of her face. "Rebecca Wythe, you have become so beautiful. I never would have guessed such a scrawny child would turn into such a lovely woman." In horror, she pulled away. Keith's warnings filled her ears to replay over and over. This man was her husband. Tonight and every night he wished, he could take from her what she wanted to share only with Keith. If he asked her, she should not refuse for she was his wife. With stern resolve, Rebecca told herself that Captain Nicholas Wythe, Lord Foxbridge of Foxbridge Cloister, whatever that was, would not find it that simple to have her as his lover. She would fight him before she was forced to surrender. His eyes narrowed as his eyebrows drew close together. On her face, he read her undisguised emotions of obstinacy and disgust. Although it had been many years since he had been in the company of a lady, he had not been accustomed to being repulsed. "Come here, Rebecca," he growled. His hands grasped her shoulders and drew her to him. As one arm wrapped around her, his fingers tipped her chin up so he could view her pretty face. With a satisfied smile, he said, "You have yet to welcome your husband back from the cold of the grave, dear wife." "Please, Captain Wythe -- " "Nicholas, my dear," he corrected, impatiently. "Please, Nicholas, don't do this." He chuckled softly and lowered his lips over hers. Gently, but persuasively, he kissed her. His fingers slid along the slippery texture of her silken gown to caress her back. Rebecca fought her desire to pull away. His kiss brought only feelings of despair as she realized it would be a long time or forever until she felt Keith's mouth against hers again. The half-forgotten, childish lark which had seemed like such a great adventure was coming back to haunt her. When he looked down into her eyes, he saw the sorrow in their dark blue depths. He was not surprised that she was so confused. To discover a spouse who had been mourned so long ago was alive and wanted her would have stunned the most resilient person. "Go and change, sweetheart," he whispered in her ear. "I must get a dress out of my bag." Her voice caught on a half-sob as she added, "I hadn't planned on changing until I was at Keith's house." "Go ahead. I will see your things are loaded." He looked at the small trunk and the battered bag with the words "SGT Hart North, Connecticut Militia" stenciled on it. "Is this everything, Rebecca?" She nodded. Stooping, she pulled out her everyday frock. It would handle the trip best. She continued to

be astounded at how her mind seemed able to handle the most minuscule details although she could feel nothing. Not that she was anxious to feel anything. When the numbness wore off, the pain would be so strong, it might rip her apart. In her room, she changed quickly. She pulled the pins from her upswept hair and braided it in its normal style. Wrapping the braids around the crown of her head, she put the hairpins in a pocket of her skirt. Picking up her wedding gown, she went back out into the main room. Nicholas was standing in the doorway with his profile to her. For a long moment, she stared at him. All of her confused perceptions of him came together as she watched him while he was speaking to someone she could not see. He was an incredibly handsome man with his dark coloring and flashing eyes. His clothes were cut in the latest style, and the white of his stockings was unmarred. If she had not hated him so much for laying waste to her life, she would have admired the virile lines of his body so finely accented by his well made breeches and coat. The sound of her light step caught his attention. He turned to see the woman who suddenly resembled the child-bride he had left when he had expected to go to his death. In her homespun gown and her hair in braids that did nothing to detract from her beauty, he could see more of the fourteen year old Rebecca. Gone were her smile and her joy with his agonizingly slow progress as he had fought the infection of his wound. Holding out his hand to her, he took her slender fingers in his. "Come along, darling. Our carriage is waiting. We have many miles to go before nightfall strands us along these desolate backroads." She stepped out into the sunshine to learn he had been talking to a man who obviously was going to be their driver. Astonishment filled her eyes as she saw the lovely carriage that awaited them in front of her rustic home. Even though she knew it was not Nicholas's, it was still impressive. Before now, she always had ridden in a wagon. "Oh, my!" she whispered as she stared at the fine paneling on the doors and the curtains that could be drawn at the windows. They were richer than the simple material hanging over the panes of glass in the cabin. "I thought my Lady Foxbridge would enjoy traveling in the style that she will become accustomed to in England." He lifted her fingers to his lips. "Oh," she whispered, unable to think of anything else to say. She glanced at him sharply, wondering if he was jesting, but his dark eyes regarded her evenly. With a smile, he aided her into the carriage. Her eyes grew wide as she saw the velvet covered seats and brocade embellished walls. Tentatively, like a child afraid of touching something forbidden, her fingers stretched out to stroke the material. When she heard Nicholas's laugh, she blushed and snatched her hands back to clench her dress. His cruel reminder that she was so unsophisticated compared to those who inhabited his life on the far shores hurt her deeply. When Nicholas sat next to her on the cushioned seat, he draped his arm along the back of the cushion with his fingertips resting lightly on her shoulder. His other hand slapped the side of the carriage to signal the driver to start. As the settings of her childhood rolled past them while the vehicle picked up speed, Rebecca tried to keep from looking at the beloved sights she would never see again. She did not want her precious

memories tainted by the sorrow of this leave-taking. When they went past the church she had entered so happily less than an hour before, her eyes were caught by those of her beloved Keith as he stood on the steps and watched as they went by. "I'll be coming for you, Rebecca!" he called into the cloud of dust from the wheels. "Soon, sweetheart!" She gasped as she felt the tightening of her companion's fingers into the soft skin of her shoulder. The words which had sent a swelling of hope through her heart clearly filled her husband with rage. Softly, she said, "Nicholas, that hurts!" He pulled his hand away and stated gruffly, "Excuse me, my dear. I didn't mean to bruise you." When she heard the gentleness in his voice, her last bit of composure dissolved into tears which fell in a violent storm of despair along her face. Her whole life had been decimated. Her dreams of being married to Keith were dead, and her nightmares of being bound to a man she did not love were the total of her life. Hiding her face in her hands, she turned away from the man beside her. Her shoulders shook convulsively. When she felt his hands on her arms as he tried to turn her into his embrace, she snarled and ripped herself away from him. "Don't touch me!" she spat. "If that is what you wish, Rebecca," he answered in a taut voice, "then you can cry alone. If you don't want my comfort, you won't receive it!" Without turning, she sobbed, "I don't want anything from you!" "That's obvious!" he snapped back. She felt the seat shift as he moved to sit on the far side. Crouching against the wall in front of her, she placed her face on her arms and sobbed until there were no more tears left within her. She cried for lost dreams and for the Rebecca who had been left behind. She cried for everyone this cold man had hurt so callously. She cried until her eyes grew heavy with fatigue, and she slipped away into the only world where her love for Keith remained uncompromised.

Chapter Two Rebecca awoke to the changing rhythm of the carriage. She murmured softly as she drowsily tried to patch together what had happened before she had napped. It was so unusual for her to sleep during the day that she could not comprehend for an eternal minute why she had fallen asleep.

The feeling of lips pressed softly to the top of her head brought a smile to her own. When an arm around her pressed her closer to a warm body, she stretched out her fingers along the rich wool of a man's coat. Her face was tilted back to be at the perfect angle to meet the mouth of the one who held her. For a moment, she was swept along on the sweetness of the tender kiss. Abruptly, her eyes popped open. This was not Keith who was holding her and caressing her with eager desire. There was laughter in the night-time dark eyes of the man who was kissing her. Although she struggled, Nicholas just pulled her tighter to him. "Did you have a pleasant nap, my dear?" He ran his hand along the loosened strands of hair falling around her face in waves. His eyebrows drew together in the evil expression she was learning to fear. "It isn't so horrid to sleep with your husband, is it?" She could not halt the fire hot blush which colored her face, but her words were icy cold. "You know as well as I do that I can't stop you if you demand your rights as my husband, Nicholas. Just don't think that I will come to your bed willingly." He bent to kiss the smooth skin of her forehead. Against her cheek, he vowed, "Someday, you will, Rebecca. Someday, you will come to me asking that I hold you and make love with you." "Don't be so sure of that! I hate you!" she cried. "Do you?" he asked reasonably. "That's a true pity, for you are my wife. I had hoped you would be a bit more willing to accept the situation and see that we don't have to be unhappy with the circumstances." He looked out the window. "Here's the inn where we will be spending the night." Silently, she slipped out of his loosened grip to regard the building. The name of the inn was illegible on the wind-scoured sign which hung over the small porch. The whole building was in desperate need of whitewashing, but the yard was free of clutter, and all the windows were intact. The carriage pulled into the stableyard and stopped. When the driver opened the door, Rebecca could see children gathering across the dirt trail to view the outlandish sight of such a fine vehicle which must be as common in the small settlement as ice in July. She was sure that hidden behind the open windows and doors of the cabins, their elders were as eagerly awaiting the chance to view the ones who rode in such luxury. Nicholas stepped out and held up his hand to her. When she stood on the ground next to him, he wrapped his arm around her and rubbed her back gently. She tried not to move away, for she knew such an action would enrage him. She was sure she did not want to face that wrath. Calling out to one of the children, he said, "Lad, come here." "Yes, sir?" "Help my man here with the luggage, and then I will give you a few coins to treat your friends to candy at the store." "Yes, sir!" he said eagerly. As Nicholas took Rebecca's arm and turned to go into the inn, a young child ran up and pulled on his coattails. He squatted down to gaze into the little girl's face. "Yes, miss?" he asked with kindness.

"Are you King George, mister?" He laughed loudly and tousled her soft, blonde curls. "No, young lady, I'm not King George." "Oh," she said, obviously disappointed. "I thought when I saw your pretty carriage that only a king would drive in it." "Let me tell you a secret," he said with a smile. "See that lady over there." He pointed to Rebecca who was pausing by the front steps of the inn to watch the exchange with a baffled expression. "She's a princess who has been hidden away for many years, and I'm taking her back to her castle in the clouds." The child gazed at Rebecca, wide-eyed. She had never expected to see a real princess, especially one who was on her way to a palace in the sky. Without another word, she ran toward her home to tell her mother what she had seen. Rebecca was curious what Nicholas had told the child who had been looking at her so queerly. When he rose and walked over to where she was waiting, there was the remnant of a delighted smile on his face. "Were you like that little girl, Rebecca?" "What do you mean?" she demanded. "Must you act so suspicious of everything I ask you?" he retorted with sudden heat. "Maybe you were never like her, believing in lost princesses and magic." More puzzled, she repeated, "What do you mean?" "Never mind!" he said coldly. "Come, and we will go inside." He took her arm and turned her roughly toward the stairs. "Sit here," he ordered, pointing to a bench. "I will handle the details of getting our accommodations, and then I will take you upstairs so you can ready yourself for dinner." Chastised, although she did not understand what she had done wrong, she obeyed. She watched as several of the young boys came in with the luggage which had been tied to the top of the carriage. They stopped to speak to the innkeeper, then carried it upstairs. When they returned, Nicholas counted a generous amount of coins into their hands. She could hear the boys whooping in delight as they raced outside to share their largesse. Rebecca stared at her hands clasped in her lap. It seemed that her husband could be kind to everyone but her. As much as he seemed to enjoy talking to these youngsters, he delighted in being sarcastic to her. When she showed her lack of ease with the luxury he took for granted, he found it cruelly amusing. If she could not comprehend what his strange words meant, he viciously snapped at her. The only time he showed her any compassion was when he was trying to seduce her away from her love for Keith. She could not help flinching as Nicholas took her arm to lead her up to the second floor. He made no comment, but she could tell he was angry by the tightness of his jawline. Already she was becoming able to read his powerful emotions that he kept so closely restrained. At the top of the stairs, he opened a door. He motioned for her to precede him. Rebecca took a deep breath and walked into the room. She feared the moment had come when he would force her into bed.

Alone in this nondescript, wayside inn part way to New York City, she would have no choice but to submit. Submit she would, but not freely. She stood in the middle of the worn carpet, her fingers clamped tightly around the strings of her bag. Her eyes surveyed the room. It was a pleasant room, far more opulent than she was accustomed to in her plain home. There was a dressing table and chair to one side by a changing screen. An bench was set near the hearth of the fireplace which took up one whole wall. This she noticed later. What she saw first and solely was the large feather bed which dominated the room. Nicholas hefted Rebecca's case onto the bed and flipped open the latches. With a smile, he said, "Get dressed for dinner, my dear. I will be back in fifteen minutes. I assume that will be enough time to wash the travel stains from your pretty face and make yourself presentable." He lifted out a royal blue gown decorated with lace she had tatted herself. "Is this your best?" "Yes, Nicholas," she said. She did not have to look to know that he was displeased with her limited wardrobe. He would want his Lady Foxbridge to dress in the highest fashion. Her clothes, with the exception of her precious wedding gown which had been worn for too short a time, had been made to endure wearing and washing over and over. Fancy clothes following the latest quirk of style were not part of her life. "Fine. Would you wear it? The color will be perfect with your violet eyes." He tossed it toward her, and her hands automatically rose to catch it. "Fifteen minutes, my dear." As he walked to the door and put his hand on the latch, she turned in surprise and asked, "Where are you going?" He laughed the dark laugh which sent shivers along her spine. "If you wish, I will stay, Rebecca. I must admit that I am tempted to stay, but I thought that you would prefer me absent when you are in déshabillé." Once again, his eyes swept insolently along her. "If you would like, I will stay, although to do so might make us very late for supper." Gazing at the floor, she moved toward the changing screen. As she reached it, she glanced over her shoulder. For a moment, her eyes grew as volatile as his. She was tired of his barely veiled innuendoes about her lack of interest in his often expressed desire to consummate their marriage. All day she had tried to control her temper and not speak the words she wished to say. She could not keep her true feelings hidden any longer. "Go, Nicholas. Leave. Let me tell you before you go that I don't care if you ever come back. You have ruined what should have been the best day of my life. You have forced me to leave the man I love with all my heart. You are expecting me to be grateful for some title I have never heard of. I don't want to be Lady Foxbridge. More exactly, I don't want to be your Lady Foxbridge. If this is how you pay back a kindness, I would hate to see how you treat your enemies." "Are you finished?" he asked quietly. "If you are, I have a few things to say to you." Deliberately he crossed the room. Grasping her arms, he twirled her into his strong embrace. Before Rebecca could react, his mouth covered hers. Gently he loosened her braids and undid them to allow the silken tresses to flow along his arm. His fingers entangled in it to hold her motionless. At her waist, his other hand slowly stroked the soft angles of her body. Although she was tensed for what she feared would follow, Nicholas continued merely to kiss her and

hold her as if she were made of the finest crystal. Like a treasured piece of art, he carefully and most tenderly examined her without doing anything to damage her. She was not fooled by his chivalrous behavior. She could not be mistaken about the yearning he held so closely in check. Nicholas wanted her. She could see it in every motion he made, but she did not want to be his. Her hands pushed against his chest to free herself from this unwanted embrace. Only when he chose was she able to step away. He picked up the gown she had dropped. Handing it to her, he said, "You are my wife, Rebecca. You are my Lady Foxbridge. I will be back in fifteen minutes. You had best be prepared for dinner, or you may learn how I treat my enemies." Without waiting for her response, he walked to the door. When it closed with a distinctive click, she ran to the door. She breathed heavily with fear as she dropped the bar into place. She knew very little of this man who was her husband, but she had learned enough to know he would do as he pleased. If it meant returning immediately to rape her savagely, he would be surprised to learn that his wife was not the docile lass he expected her to be. Quickly she dressed. She brushed her hair back into the style she had worn it to the wedding. Her chin rose defiantly as she tried not to think of the day's events. The woman in the mirror appeared unchanged, but there was a hardness in her heart which had never been there before. Whether it was the core of her pain or the bitterness of learning how truly cruel another human being could be, she did not know. All she knew was that Nicholas would not find it easy to transform her into his lady. She would fight him every inch of the way as she waited for her darling Keith to come for her. When this marriage was dissolved, she would marry Keith immediately. Then they would resume the life they had lost. When a knock sounded, she asked, "Who's there?" "It's been fifteen minutes, Rebecca." Even the sound of his Stygian voice set her heart racing, but she would not let him know how much she feared him. "One moment." Checking her appearance a final time in the mirror, she turned to the door. The key clanked loudly as she unlocked it. She lifted the latch, then turned away as if she was not concerned about the man entering the room. "You look lovely, sweetheart." Her heart contracted as she heard the endearment that Keith had used so often. Her pain did not show as she looked at Nicholas. Her face was as cold as her voice. "Thank you, Nicholas." Although she hated the man who stood in the room, she could not help admiring his appearance. His dark brown coat was designed in the most fashionable style with the front corners cut back nearly to the side seam in a half circle shape ending at the split back. His waistcoat and breeches were of the palest tan which made his full sleeved white shirt and white stockings appear even brighter. The black of his shoes was only slightly less shiny than his silver shoe buckles. A ribbon of the same brown velvet as his coat tied back his unpowdered hair. His fine clothes put her simple frock to shame. He walked to her. Grasping her hand, he twirled her slowly to view her from every angle. "Yes, you look lovely, Rebecca. That dress is perfect for you."

"Stop it!" she cried, pulling away. "Excuse me? Stop what?" He was plainly baffled. "My dear Rebecca, you haven't given me a chance to start anything." Enraged, she repeated, "Stop it! Stop being so condescending. I know my dress is no match for your finery. You don't have to remind me of that with your sarcastic compliments." He fought to control his own anger as he wondered where the sweet Rebecca North had disappeared. Five years ago, she would have found his remarks delightful and would have patted his hand with her delicate touch which had reached past the delirium of his fever to help pull him back to health. He asked only, "Are you ready to go down?" Silently, she nodded. He picked up her fingers and raised them to his lips. There was no kindness in the motion, for his eyes reflected his true sentiments as they drilled deep into hers. Neither spoke as they went down the stairs and into the dining room that was just off the front hall which served as the lobby. When he had seated her at one end of the single table, Nicholas excused himself brusquely. Her eyes followed him as he went into the taproom at the far end of the room. Rebecca was staring so intensely at her hands in her lap that she was startled when a male voice spoke to her. She looked up to see a man standing behind her. "Yes?" she asked. The man bowed slightly in her direction. He was an attractive man with light brown hair that curled on his forehead. His clothes were wrinkled slightly, so she guessed he was also a traveler taking shelter for the night in this wayside inn. "My dear lady, my name is Winfield Harding. I see you sitting here so alone." As he paused, she said, "I am Rebecca Nor -- I mean, Rebecca Wythe, sir." "It would be a pity for such a lovely lady to dine alone. May I make you the offer of my company for dinner, Miss Wythe?" She was about to refuse when a hard voice sounded behind them. Fear crossed her mobile face as she saw Nicholas with a mug of beer and a glass of wine in his hands. She wondered how much of the conversation he had heard. Although she had no reason to feel guilty, she knew he would not see it that way. "This lady, who is Mrs. Wythe, is not alone, sir. If you would be so good as to step aside, I would like to join my wife for our evening repast." Harding faced the man who was several inches taller than him. He glanced from the terror on the woman's face to the anger on her husband's. Wrongly, he translated it to mean she expected Wythe to demand satisfaction from him. With a quick apology, he scurried away before either could say anything else. "Here, Rebecca," said Nicholas, tightly, as he placed the wineglass in front of her. "I trust there won't be a repetition of this wherever we go. I admit an ignorance of exactly how you colonials deal with such things, but I don't want my wife flirting with every man she meets." "Me? Flirting?" she cried. "You are impossible, Nicholas Wythe! I was just sitting here when Mr. Harding came over. I didn't want to take supper with him, and I do not want to take supper with you!"

When she started to rise, he put his hand on her arm and tugged her back into her chair. A sharp pain ran along her shoulders from the forceful movement. She pulled away and rubbed her wrenched elbow. "Sit down, Rebecca!" "I will stay only if you stop treating me as if I have no feelings. If you hate me so much, why are you dragging me away to England?" Taking a large sip from his tankard of beer, he replied much more calmly, "You refuse to understand, don't you? I -- Oh, good evening." She looked up to see the innkeeper. Mutely, she listened as the two of them discussed the evening's offerings. While Nicholas ordered for her, she played with the stem of the goblet. She did not raise it to her lips. She did not want the wine to confuse her mind. All her wits would be necessary when she faced what must be later this evening. When the food arrived, she toyed with it in the same manner. Although she had not eaten all day, she was too nervous to enjoy her meal. If Nicholas spoke to her, she answered in monosyllables or not at all. Like a warm cloak on a midwinter night, she wrapped her misery around her to protect herself from more hurt. How could she eat this food when she had spent so much time selecting the menu she had planned to prepare for Keith on this most special night? She pushed the food around on the plate. It was not until Nicholas put his hand under her elbow that she noticed that he had finished, and he politely was aiding her to her feet. As her eyes were caught by his, she could not stop the spasm of fear that raced across her face. They would be going back up to that empty room on the second floor which would be the site of their honeymoon. When she saw the rage erupting in his explosive, black eyes, her terror grew. Her imagination supplied too many sordid details of the lovemaking he would force her to endure. "Come along, Rebecca," he said, quietly. "It's been a long day for you. Tomorrow we have an equally long journey. I think you should go to bed now." Without a mirror, she knew her face was colorless. Although she tried, she could not force any words past the blockage in her throat. Compliantly, she walked out of the dining room and up the stairs. The time she had dreaded all day had come. It would be best if she let him do as he wanted and have it over. Her best hope would be to give him the heir he obviously wanted as quickly as possible. Then, perhaps, he would do as other gentlemen did and take himself a mistress. That was her best and only hope. As they reached the door of their room, she said quietly to break the oppressive silence between them, "That was a delicious meal. Thank you." "How would you know if it was tasty? You didn't take more than three bites during the whole meal." She did not answer because she knew anything she might say would enrage him more. When he opened the door, she fought to keep her hands from trembling. He pushed the door open, and she stepped past him. As he closed the portal, his arm snaked around her waist and pulled her back to him. When he kissed her, she stood without moving. In a husky whisper, he asked, "Can't you pretend to feel something when I hold you, Rebecca? In the carriage, when you awoke in my arms, I could feel fire deep within you. Find

a bit more of it to share with me now, sweetheart." "No!" she gasped. "I cannot pretend anything. This afternoon was a mistake. I was dreaming you were -" She paused as she saw the rage increase on his scowling face. "All I can show you is how much I hate you, Nicholas Wythe." "Hate?" With a harsh shove, he pushed her back against the bed. He laughed as she tried to scramble away from its lushness. Easily, he kept her from escaping him by putting his arms out on either side of her. Inexorably, he pressed her back onto the coverlet with the strength of his body. All fright she had known was eclipsed by what she experienced as he forced her clawing hands to her sides. As his lips explored her throat where her pulse beat rapidly, she wished herself away from this man. If she had known five years before that he would return to rape her, she would have let him die. He raised his head to look into her tearfilled eyes. He could read her thoughts as clearly as if she had written them across her forehead. It was time that Rebecca knew the truth. "Sweetheart, you shouldn't hate me. I saved you from a marriage which would have made you miserable. You should thank me for what I did." "Thank you?" She stood shakily. His nearness unnerved her far more than she had thought. "You think you know everything, don't you? The all wise lord of the manor! This time you are very, very wrong! Keith would have made me very happy. I love him, and he loves me." Nicholas chuckled again, as he stood. It would serve her right to learn the truth. "And marrying him would have made Hart very happy, right?" "What are you talking about?" Her eyes narrowed as she searched his face. She wondered what trickery he was up to. "Of course, it would have made Hart happy for me to marry Keith. They are friends. My brother would not have forced me to wed Keith or anyone else." "It wasn't just coincidence I was at the church today, dear wife. I have been spending the last few days doing some checking into what had been happening to you since we last met. Did you know that your brother owed your onetime fiancé a great deal of money?" Confusion replaced the anger on her face. She did not like the track of this conversation. Already she could tell where he intended it to lead. "Hart owed money to Keith? What does that have to do with me? Their business dealings don't include me." "That is where you are very wrong, Rebecca." His fingers came up to stroke her face with the gentleness of a lover. She was so astounded by what he was implying that she did not try to pull away from him. "Sweetheart, you are the one thing of value that your brother possessed that Bennett wanted. He did not want your cabin or your fine farm, for he did not want to be involved in the day-to-day work to maintain them. Instead he wanted the prettiest lass he had ever seen. You were the way Hart planned to clear the slate of his debts. I don't know if you were lucky or not that Bennett decided that he wanted you for his wife and not simply as his mistress." Wrenching herself away from the words he was twisting around her, she moved to the dressing table. In a whisper, she said, "I don't believe you, Nicholas. Keith loves me. You heard what he said. He's coming to get me." "No, he won't come. Hold onto your foolish dreams if they give you comfort, but don't expect Bennett to

chase you across the ocean to wrest you back from me. He doesn't want you that much. There will be other women for him. I wish I could convince you that I'm telling you the truth. I would never lie to you, Rebecca. You saved my life. All I want to do is share that life with you." As he had been speaking, he came to stand behind her. He put his hands on her shoulders, but when he felt her flinch, he drew them away. He knew there was no way he could tear down the wall she was erecting between them without breaking her will. Gently he kissed the top of her head again as he had in the carriage. "Good night, my dear. Sleep well." As she had before, she turned to watch him go to the door. This time, she was not foolish enough to give him an opportunity to stay. Although she was curious as to why he was leaving and where he was going, all she said was, "Should I be ready by a certain time in the morning?" "By eight will be early enough, Rebecca." He paused as he put his hand on the latch. "Don't be so foolish as to try to run away from me. Don't force me to do something both of us will regret." "Good night." There was no emotion in her voice. She did not look at him as she turned to pick up her nightgown on the foot of the bed. Only when she heard the door close did a half-sob escape the depths of her aching heart. Rebecca stared at the nightclothes in her hands. Her fingers touched the delicate lace at the deep neckline and full cuffs as her eyes filled with tears. She should be wrapped in her darling's arms as they shared the love they could give to each other. With a sigh, she told herself, with more than a touch of irony, that she was lucky to be sleeping alone. For a moment, Nicholas's face filled her mind. He had changed very much in five years also. The stress of his wartime experiences had furrowed the face of the young man he had been when she had exchanged marital vows with him. At the time his head had been so swathed in makeshift bandages that she had been unable to see his hair which matched his black eyes. Then she had not realized how incredibly handsome and diabolical he could appear. She did not understand why he was leaving her alone, although she was very thankful he was not with her. His desire for her was clear in his kisses which persisted despite her reluctance. It was obvious also in the way he touched her whenever he could. His jealousy when she talked to another man was an additional symptom of that frustrated yearning. If she had missed all other clues, she would have seen it in his eyes. Nicholas wanted very badly to make her his wife in more than name, but, for some reason, he was making no effort to force her to sleep with him. There was much she did not begin to understand about the man who was her husband. One minute he was as cold as a midwinter sunrise, the next he was asking her to respond to his kiss as if her feelings were of the utmost importance to him. He was a puzzle she did not want to solve. All she wanted was for her sweetheart to rescue her from this madness. She could not believe the account Nicholas had given her of why Hart had been so pleased to see Keith courting her. It was simply silly. Admittedly money had been scarce for the past few years, but neighbors helped one another. She could not conceive of the idea that her brother would sell her to settle his debts. With a frown, she undressed behind the screen. No, she did not believe a word of it. Nicholas was only defaming the two men she loved when they could not defend themselves. Rebecca pushed the heavy bench against the door. She was a prisoner in this room, but she was

determined that Nicholas would be given no chance to change his mind. Only with the bench in front of the door would she be able to sleep tonight. When her head rested on the pillow, she hid her face in its freshly cleaned pillowcase. For all the long, dark hours of the night, she remained like that as she fought the demons of despair that longed to overwhelm and destroy her. She would not give into them. She would fight Nicholas Wythe's advances and await Keith's arrival at Foxbridge Cloister, wherever that was.

Chapter Three The carriage stopped by the pier shadowed by the great ship. The more than two day long overland journey was over, though they had a far more lengthy and tedious sojourn ahead of them. Last night the weary travelers had slept in another simple roadside inn. Again Rebecca had been left alone in her room. Although Nicholas had demanded a kiss before he had retired to sleep elsewhere, he had not pressed her in any other way. She continued to be confused by his bizarre actions. If he wanted to be her lover, she did not know why he waited. Sometimes she thought he despised her as much as she hated him, but, if that had been the case, there was no sense in bringing her with him to England. He could have returned by himself with no one being the wiser. She would have married Keith, and Nicholas could have wed a woman who would not have spurned him. "Here we are, Rebecca," he said, interrupting her thoughts. Looking out the window, she was awed by the sight of one of the large, sailing ships that were most at home on the sea. The sails were still furled, so the masts were black fingers pointing skyward. Every bit of the rigging was silhouetted sharply against the blue sky. On the deck, she could see men straining with other ropes and doing jobs that were incomprehensible to her. She knew they had arrived with little time to spare before the raising of the anchor. Nicholas made arrangements for the loading of their bags before he turned to assist Rebecca from the vehicle. "There she is, my dear. The magic vehicle that will take you to Foxbridge Cloister. Neptune's Prize is her name. She will take us home." "To your home," she said tartly. She took his fingers as she stepped from the carriage. "To our home, my sweet," he replied. It seemed his wife was determined to become a shrew. Every word he said to her was repudiated or questioned. "Let's go aboard. Her master, Captain Jennings, is an old friend from prewar days. He did some shipping for the Wythe family. Now he will be our host." She stopped, and he turned to face her. "Please, Nicholas, reconsider before it is too late. Let me stay

here in America. Whatever you want in exchange, I will try to get it for you. We do not have much money, but I doubt if someone with a title like Lord Foxbridge has a need for money. Don't take me with you. Please!" His fingers slipped along her pale cheek to the nape of her neck. Entwining them in the thick, brown hair swept up into her conservative hairstyle, he pulled her head back so he could see her face. The expression of fear was blatant on her features, although she no longer cringed away from him each time he touched her. In a tone as black as his snapping eyes, he stated in a tight whisper, "You do not seem to understand that I want you. You are my wife, and I have no desire to trade you for anything or anyone else. I don't want to hear anymore of this begging to be left behind. If I stepped aboard that ship and left you here, what would you do? You could not get three paces along these docks before you would find that you had gained a new friend who would not be as willing as I to let you have a bed to yourself." Taking her hand and placing it on his arm, he said, "Come along, Rebecca." Mutely, she walked beside him as they stepped down the stairs leading to the pier. Her hand on his arm trembled with her suppressed emotions. She swayed as she walked along the wooden platform, but it had nothing to do with her sorrow. She had felt a sense of nausea from the moment she had woken this morning. At first, she had thought it was simply a reaction to the horrible disruption of her life, but it seemed to be more than that. Nicholas had not noticed her increasing ill feeling because he had grown accustomed to her silence as they rode mile after mile. After a few attempts to have her join in what amounted to a monologue, he had given up and spent the time reading a book he took from his bags on one of their frequent stops to water or change the horses. When they climbed the steep gangplank, she lifted her skirts so she would not step on the front of her hem. Nicholas took her hand to aid her up the wide board. At the top, a man was waiting for them with a smile on his mahogany face. He was introduced to Rebecca as Captain Drew Jennings. Whether the man was in his thirties or fifties, it was impossible to tell. His hair was bleached by the sun to the white of age and his face lined with the wrinkles of skin which has been exposed to the brilliant rays of light reflected off the sea. He wore a casual assortment of loose shirts and knee breeches, but no stockings or shoes. When her shoes slipped on the wet deck, she understood why. "Nicholas, I was beginning to wonder if you had decided to stay in America a bit longer," joked the man in his deep voice that would resonant over the howling wind of a tempest. "No, no, I have seen all of this blasted wilderness that I ever wish to see. I'll be glad to see the walls of Foxbridge Cloister and the quiet gardens." She was grateful she was looking elsewhere when Nicholas spoke the words that told her that she was leaving her home forever. He had no plans to bring her back, even for a visit. She swallowed roughly as she thought of never speaking with Hart and Aunt Dena again. The idea of not being with Keith was too impossible to imagine. How she wished she could awaken from this nightmare! Captain Jennings was saying, "That's right. I should call you 'Lord Foxbridge,' shouldn't I? I was astonished to hear about Brad getting himself killed in a duel, but it's hardly a surprise considering the lifestyle and friends he had acquired in London." "No, not a surprise, but still a shock. I'm sure Mother is still in mourning. She always had pinned her

hopes on him being a fine lord." He laughed without humor. "I guess she knew that I would be too busy seeking adventure elsewhere to want to settle down to the life of a country squire. After this war and being a prisoner for more than four, endless years, I am ready for that life with my family and my wife." The mention of Rebecca brought the two men's attention back to her. Although they had been involved in their conversation and had forgotten her for a moment, none of the other men on the deck had. They had been staring openly at her. The coarse dress of homespun and heavy lace could not disguise her beauty which outshone any woman who had comforted them in exchange for gold during their short shore leaves. "My dear Lady Foxbridge," said the captain graciously, "I can see why Nicholas risked missing our sailing in order to marry you and bring you with him to Foxbridge Cloister." Coldly she replied, "Captain, we were married nearly five years ago. Nicholas just returned to find me." "Five years ago?" the startled man gasped. He wondered what his friend had been thinking. Lady Foxbridge could not be twenty years old. Nicholas answered smoothly as he put his arm around his wife and pulled her close, "Yes, five years. It was quite a surprise for Rebecca to discover me alive. She had thought I had died in the battle when we were captured. So this is all a sudden change for her." He glanced down at her pale face. "Drew, how about showing us our cabin before you get involved in heading out to sea?" "This way." He looked back over his shoulder in bafflement. Something was not right between Nicholas and his lady. She did not act like a woman who had discovered her adored husband had eluded death to reclaim her heart. It was wiser to say nothing. One of the reasons he lived upon the sea was to avoid involvement in domestic squabbles. The room he led them to was cramped even in comparison with the conditions Rebecca had been accustomed to. A single, wide bunk was attached to the wall. Underneath it were drawers for storage. Although there were only, in addition, a table and a single chair in the quarters, it was crowded when all three of them stepped entered. Her eyes widened as she saw Nicholas's bags on the table next to her own. Unlike the nights on the way to New York City, they would be sharing this small room. She knew better than to say anything. Captain Jennings was still talking to Nicholas. To say something in front of him would prove an embarrassment to her husband. She was sure Nicholas would not accept such easily. Forcing her feet to move, she sat on the bed. She tried to breathe shallowly to convince her stomach to stop churning. The steady rise and fall of the ship created a dizzy feeling in her head which made her middle feel as if it were steadily climbing toward her mouth. Nicholas turned and said, "Darling, Drew has asked us to join him up on the bridge for a while. Would you like to see the Prize set sail, or do you want to rest after our long trip?" "Go ahead without me," she said softly. She was aware that he had become tired of her lack of cooperation. She did not feel like fighting with him any longer. "I'll stay here for a while." He bent to kiss the top of her head. "Rest, Rebecca. I will be back later." She was sure his kindness was only show for his friend.

The door did not close quick enough to mask the captain's words. A flush heated her skin as she heard him say, "Nicholas, my friend, you had better let your young bride have some sleep. She looks positively peaked. I can understand your desire for such a woman, but don't forget you have your whole lives together." His chuckle sent a wave of shame over her. Whatever her husband replied was muffled as they walked away. She hid her face in the pillows which reeked of the mildew that inhabited everything on the ship. The only thing interesting these men was the marital relationship she did not share with Nicholas. She no longer had any identity of her own. Rebecca North had ceased to exist. She was Lady Foxbridge, wife of Lord Foxbridge. Mrs. Nicholas Wythe. Simply an extension of her husband and seemingly of value solely for the entertainment she could give her husband and the children she would bear to inherit his estate. In misery, Rebecca huddled on the bed. Her arms wrapped lightly around her anguished abdomen. All thoughts but of her own abject feelings fled from her mind. Time passed with eternal slowness. She was afraid to move, for she knew that she would be sick as soon as she did. When the ship left the harbor for the open sea, she had no idea. The movement adding to her discomfort only became augmented as the Prize raised her white sails and sought deeper water and a port thousands of miles to the east. Occasionally bits of conversation and the sound of footsteps came through the open window or along the beams over her head. She could pay them no mind. She had heard tales of seasickness from her aunt who had crossed the ocean as a child. In her wretchedness, she understood how it could kill its victims by wrenching their insides into knots. All she wanted was an end to this sickness and to this horrible life that had broken her heart into so many pieces she did not know if she ever would be able to mend it.

Nicholas was smiling as he walked along the passageway. He loved being at sea. At one time, when he was a youngster of about eleven, he seriously had considered running away to sign aboard a ship as a cabin boy. His father had gotten wind of the project and had vetoed it. Living in Foxbridge Cloister overlooking the western coast of England had whetted his appetite for the salt smell of the sea winds and the pulsating sound of the waves bashing themselves against the wooden bow of a ship. His hair was damp with sea spray and his clothes stained with the brine that covered everything and everyone on the ship. He did not care that his fine suit was ruined. When he returned home, he intended to rid himself of everything that he had obtained in America, except for sweet Rebecca. He wondered what was wrong with her. She was quieter than usual. Perhaps her hatred for him was growing, although he did not think that possible. He had no ideas of how to change her opinion of him. The truth she ignored, and his kindness she treated as a new form of sadism. When he opened the door to the tiny quarters they would have to share, for they were the only passenger quarters on the ship, all thoughts of changing Rebecca left his mind. His eyes went directly to the bunk where she moaned in obvious agony as she clutched her midsection. In two long steps, he had crossed the room. "Sweetheart, what is wrong?" At the sound of his voice, her anguished eyes turned to him. "I'm so sick, Nicholas. Help me, please." In her desperation, her antipathy had dissolved. He was the only one she had to depend on. "Let me take off your jacket, so you will be more comfortable." He slipped his arm under her shoulders

to help her sit. While she was pulling her coat off, her trembling fingers paused. She moaned as her face turned the same green-grey as the sea. He took one glance at her face and reached for a bucket holding water. Tossing the water out of the window, he placed the wooden pail on the floor. He held her head while she was ill. When her retching ceased, he rolled her gently so she rested on the pillows once more. He placed a dampened cloth on her forehead, and she groaned. "Feeling any better, Rebecca?" "No," she whispered. "Take me home. Tell them to turn around and take me back to shore. I shall die if this continues." He chuckled lightly. "Seasick?" "What else could it be?" she snapped with sudden heat. His humor irritated her so much that she would have slapped his face if her hands had had the strength. With a shrug, he said reasonably, "It could be several things. Morning sickness, for example. You have been looking very pale since morning." "It can't be morning sickness!" She put the back of her hand on her forehead as she fought to breathe without irritating the pain in her stomach. She struggled to keep from moaning in the unrelenting distress of her middle. "I cannot be pregnant!" "No?" His eyes glowed with the fire she knew was smouldering directly behind his courteous exterior. He had never made any efforts to hide it. "So your wonderful Keith Bennett never bedded you to be sure that you were worth what your brother owed him?" He caressed her cheek. "I'm surprised, but delighted that you are as untouched as the day we wed." She started to retort but only groaned as her stomach revolted again. As he had before, Nicholas held her while she was sick and aided her back onto the bunk. She shook with the strength of the nausea ravaging her. For that reason alone, she clung to him. "Don't be cruel to me now, Nicholas," she murmured. "I can't fight both you and this sickness inside me. If you must be mean to me, do it later." He replaced the damp cloth on her forehead. "I don't want to be cruel to you ever. I would far rather be kind to you, but you make it impossible." Her eyes creaked open as she looked up into his blurred features. "Damn you, Nicholas Wythe. All you care about is the fact that you can be the first to bed me. You don't care one bit that I am so miserable I wish I was dead. I wish I had not come out to the barn to discover you that day until you were beyond help." "Rebecca, that's enough!" he retorted sternly. "What?" she asked in a sharp voice that cracked on the single word. "Does his high and mighty lordship dislike hearing the truth?" Her words faded into a moan of torment. She turned her back on him to face the wall. He did not dare to touch her to bring her to face him so he could force her to see the reality she continued to disbelieve. If she was moved, she could become ill again. He hoped she would recover

quickly. Although he had never suffered from seasickness, he had seen its debilitating effects. Such a long voyage as the one ahead of them could be fatal to someone who was ill before they had left behind them the land visible on the horizon as a low, grey cloud. As he saw her shoulders shake, he knew that in the weakness of her tortured body she had lost the strong will to hide her tears from him. Except for the one time she had cried in the carriage, he had not seen her shed a tear, although too often he had seen them gleaming in her eyes. He had expected her to be unhappy to leave her familiar world, but she was trying to hold it all inside her. With no one was she sharing her sorrow. He put his hands on her arms to stroke her softly through the coarse material of her shirt. Soon he would have her dressed in satins and silk that her loveliness demanded. If she could believe that he longed to make her happy, she might be able to see past her sorrow. "Leave me alone!" she pleaded through her sobs. "I know I will have to endure sleeping in your bed, but can't you have the decency to leave me alone now?" Wounded by the loathing in her voice when he only had been trying to comfort her, he stood and walked away from the bunk. He wondered if this could be the same woman he had remembered with such fondness from their last meeting. Then Rebecca had been a delightful child, more interested in his well-being than her own life which could have been forfeit for harboring the last surviving man of a mission that had into a suicide assignment. He had been one of the despised English soldiers who represented the overlord whom these proud, independent yeomen had turned their backs upon in derision. He sat in the chair by the table and was silent. Rebecca did not want his sympathy, but he could not leave her alone in her misery. Whether she could accept the fact or not, she needed him as he had depended on her so long ago. As she could not have left him to die, he could not abandon her. When she was asleep, Nicholas opened her bag to search for a clean nightdress for her to redress in when she awoke. As he pulled out one, a piece of paper floated to the floor. He bent to pick up it and could not contain his curiosity as he unfolded the time-yellowed paper. His eyes widened in shock as he saw it was a letter dated "July 1777." Dear Rebecca, The hour is late, but I wanted you to know that I am doing better every day. My recovery is because of you. The doctor says by next week, I will be able to resume my command. Although that is good news, it means going back to fight this war which seems so endless. I am tired of the war, but I will have to do as I have vowed when I became a captain in service to the king you despise so deeply. I hope you are well, little wife. Have you kept the promise that you would tell no one of our wedding? Be brave, Rebecca. If I survive this conflict, I will set this whole thing right for you. I know it would not be easy for you to be married to a man you do not know. If it is meant that I should come back to you, we will work it out as you want. I just did not want to die without thanking you for your sweet compassion for a wounded stranger. The candle burns low, so I will stop now. As I fall asleep, I am thinking of a little lass with long, dark braids and a laugh that teases starlight from the sky to twinkle merrily in her eyes. Take care, Rebecca. I wish I could hear how you and your family are doing, but I have no address I can

give you to write to me. Somehow, I will find a way to get this to you. You know that I am thinking of you with fondness and gratitude. I remain your devoted friend and Your husband, Captain Nicholas Wythe Nicholas looked from the letter to the pale face of the woman. When he had written that note, it had been a scant two weeks before the battle where his commander had surrendered their unit to the Continentals. He had given the letter to one of their scouts to post secretly so it would reach Rebecca. After his capture, he had been unable to write for fear of compromising Rebecca and her family. At the height of the conflict, it would have been dangerous to be known to have a friend on the wrong side. All these years, she had kept his letters. She even had planned to take them with her to Bennett's house. He wondered how she would have explained to her second husband about her first marriage. Bennett would never have believed that it had been a totally chaste relationship. If he had discovered these letters or their marriage lines, he would have made her suffer. Carefully, he refolded the letter and put it back in the case. Perhaps Rebecca had not changed that much. It would have been characteristic of the young girl who had aided him to treasure the letters sent to her by her husband who was a stranger. He recalled she had said she anxiously had waited for a year to hear from him. When he had asked her to be his wife, he had not given any thought to the sorrow she would suffer if he died. He was sure there was no one else who would have waited so patiently and mourned so deeply for him. As Rebecca slumbered, he walked over to gaze down into her face. She was incredibly lovely. >From the second she had walked into the church on her brother's arm, he had known no man would convince him to release her from their marriage. When she had turned to look into his eyes as she went to marry another man, he had seen the fiery spirit of Rebecca North Wythe was unchanged. At that moment, he had known he must have her as his own. In sleep, her face had softened to the sweetness which had been on her features that morning. If anything had altered Rebecca, it had been his interruption of her wedding. In that moment, the gentle child had been shoved aside to enable her to become hard to deal with her broken heart. Yet he knew the gentleness remained. On the trip, he had seen her talking sweetly to everyone but him. When she thought he did not see, she had gone to admire wildflowers by the side of the road while their horses were exchanged for fresh ones. She had charmed their coach driver so much that the drab man had unbent enough to smile at her whenever she spoke to him. Only to her husband was she cold. He wondered if she would ever forgive him for taking away from what she saw as the realization of her dreams. If she did not learn on the trip, she would learn after their arrival at Foxbridge Cloister, that she would need an ally to help her face what awaited her there. It would not be easy for Rebecca Wythe to become Lady Foxbridge, and there would be some eager to see her fail. With a smile, he bent to kiss her forehead. His happy expression faded as he placed his palm where his lips had been. He cursed under his breath. Rebecca was not seasick. She was ill with a fever. After he had tucked the blankets around her, he went to the door. Although he did not think he would wake her, he closed it quietly.

"Jake!" he called to a youngster he recognized as the cabin boy of the Prize. "Go to Captain Jennings, and tell him Lord Foxbridge requires his presence immediately. It's an emergency, but speak to no one but the captain about this. Understand?" Shaken by the urgency in the man's voice, the boy said, "Aye, my lord." He spun and raced up the steps to the upper deck. Nicholas went back into the small room. There was only one window, but he opened it wider to freshen the room. The stagnant smell of sickness would hurt Rebecca in her recovery. After a second of hesitation, he went to the bed. He loosened the collar of her gown. Pushing aside the blankets, he removed her high shoes and heavy stockings. With a sharp tug, he ripped her cumbersome petticoats from under her dress. He did not want to disturb her by trying to untie them. In her plain gown, she would be as comfortable as in her nightgown. She did not acknowledge his actions, except to moan softly as he put the blankets over her again. He knew she was lost in agony. There was no medical man on the ship, so she would have to fight whatever was making her ill with her own resources. A knock on the door cut through his reverie. He opened it. "Come in, Drew. I thought you would want to know about this." The shorter man took one look at her and said, "What is it?" "A fever. Whether it is contagious or not, I don't know. I noticed she was exceptionally quiet today, and you yourself said she looked pale. If I had known she was ill, I wouldn't have brought her aboard." Jennings frowned. "I wish you hadn't. If she was not your wife, my friend, I would put her in the hold until she died, so the rest of us would not be contaminated." His voice tight with anger, he retorted, "Drew, I don't want to hear of that even in joking. Rebecca cannot be moved. The man who tries such will have to get by me first." The threat of violence marred his worried voice. "I'll stay here to tend her. I just wanted to let you know of your possible danger, for you are the only one she has had contact with other than me." "We will leave your meals in the passageway. If you need anything, give us a note on the dirtied dishes. If she dies, we can't take her corpse all the way to -- " He paused as he saw the murderous look on Nicholas's face. "You needn't worry about that, Captain. She will survive. I shall inform you when she's better. I bid you good day." Briefly, rage raced through Jennings. The Prize was his ship, and he was not used to being dismissed by a lord of the realm as if he were the lowest cabin boy. Then he sighed. He could not blame Nicholas for his uneven temper when the man's wife could be on her deathbed. Lord Foxbridge seemingly was besotted with his newly rediscovered bride. "If you need anything, let us know," he said in a much calmer tone. The black-haired man sighed. "I will."

Even before the door had closed, Nicholas had returned to the bed to wet another the cloth and put it on her forehead to try to cool her heated skin. As he had not done for years, he prayed. She must survive. He had waited almost five years for Rebecca. He did not want to lose her again so quickly. *** *** *** "Aunt Dena?" came the whisper from the bed. A soft masculine chuckle filled the small room. "No, my dear. Your Aunt Dena isn't here. How are you feeling?" Rebecca's eyes blinked open to see the darkness lit by a single taper. She had no idea where she was. This was not her room, for her room did not sway with a gentle motion as if she were a babe in its cradle. When a shadowed face came into her view, she raised trembling fingers to touch it. "Keith?" she murmured, sleepily. "I'm afraid not." Nicholas knelt on the floor next to the bunk. Slipping his arm beneath her shoulders, he tilted her toward him. "I hope I will do, Rebecca." His mouth descended hungrily onto hers. Still floundering in her world of delirium, she was not quite aware of her own actions as her arms slid along his arms to wrap around his shoulders, and she answered his kiss with her own fervor. In her clouded mind, a burst of light cleared away some of the cobwebs. She was suffused with a yearning to be close to this man who brought such delight to her with a single kiss. When his lips tasted the skin along her neck, she gave a gasp of undisguised pleasure. Her weak fingers tangled in the untied thickness of his hair. His heated breath against her skin sent waves of ecstasy through her in rhythm with the ones rocking the ship. She felt herself being lifted, but she was placed again on the bed. Only when the man stretched out next to her did she understand why she had been moved. His eager kiss wiped all other thoughts from her mind. Her lips welcomed his. As his legs entwined with hers, he pulled her close to the sturdy line of his body. He rolled her onto her back so she could feel all of him pressed into her. Unsteadily, she wavered between consciousness and sleep. The touch of his hands as he stroked her enticingly began to vanish into senselessness. Her body became lighter than a piece of fluff floating on the breeze, and the one above her disappeared. Every bit of herself was washed away into a bliss. Nicholas smiled as he saw Rebecca fade into sleep. He had thought she was not fully awake when she had gathered him to her. Still, this was a sample of the passion he had expected from his wife. Although he was sure she had not been cognizant of his identity, her reactions to his kisses were unfaked. Having sampled her lusciousness, he wondered how long he could wait for her to invite him to share her bed. It would not be long. He wanted Rebecca, as he had since that moment he had seen her in the church and had known that this beautiful woman was his. Getting himself comfortable on the hard bed, he drew her close to him. Her head rested on his shoulder, and her body reformed along his in sleep. Through the thinness of her frock, he could feel the lithe lines of her body. A lightning-hot bolt of desire raced through him as he longed to make love with her. Soon, he promised himself. Now he simply would enjoy her lying in his arms. With her warmth next to him, he

dozed also, dreaming of the pleasure that awaited him.

Chapter Four Rebecca woke with memories of anguish and a ravenous hunger which seemed insatiable. Her brow furrowed as she looked around in confusion. It took several seconds for her to remember that she was on a ship bound for England. She wondered what had happened. Although she could recall coming aboard the ship whose name she could not remember, everything else was a bizarre collage of what was fact and the fantasy of a fevered mind. "Nicholas?" she whispered. She needed someone. It did not matter that he was the man who had wrecked her dreams. Instantly, he appeared in front of her eyes as if he had materialized from thin air. His hand rested momentarily on her forehead. He smiled as he felt how cool her skin was. Quickly he bent to place a light kiss where his hand had touched. "How are you feeling, Rebecca? You have been quite ill." "Ill?" she questioned weakly. "Is that what has been happening? I can't remember anything but bits and pieces of things I don't think were real." He slid his arm under her shoulders and raised her to take a drink of cold broth. For days, he had had a cup waiting for her when she finally awoke long enough to be hungry. Greedily, she swallowed the soup. She closed her eyes as he placed her against the pillows again. She was so grateful to him that she did not object when he sat next to her on the bed. Gazing up at him, she saw that his face was shadowed with the scruffy beginnings of beard. It told her that he had been devoting himself to her care for several days. "How long, Nicholas?" "Five days, sweetheart. I don't know what it was that you contracted, but it nearly killed you." He put out his hand to stroke her tangled hair. "You are getting well, and that is all that matters." In a whisper, she said, "Thank you for saving my life. I guess that makes us even, doesn't it?" "My dear Rebecca, do not think of my crude nursing as an effort to even the balance of debts between us. I did not enjoy seeing you suffering in the depths of your fever. I did not like the idea of putting you in the stuffy darkness of the hold to die like some unwanted animal." His eyes narrowed in the expression he wore when he was trying to delve deeply into a quandary. "Or is this your latest bid to convince me to release you from our marriage?" Shocked by his abrupt fury, she stated quietly, "I don't care a whit about our marriage. What kind of marriage is it when a simple thank you is twisted and thrown back into my face? Nor do I care a bit if you helped me get well for kindness sake or simply so you could have me to abuse longer. I'm very fatigued. I would be grateful if you simply would leave me alone so I can sleep."

Her eyes closed. When Nicholas started to speak, he saw that she intended to pretend he did not exist. For a moment, he stared at her. It was useless to argue when she could use her sickness as an excuse to push him away. Suddenly anger filled him. He had devoted nearly a week to her care. The only time she had seemed grateful was when she had been in the flush of her sickness and had let him hold her close. As soon as she began to get better, she showed how much she hated him. Rising, he went to the door. It slammed loudly as he went out for his first fresh air in days. Let Rebecca take care of herself. He could enjoy himself playing cards with the crew and the captain of the Prize. He did not need to spend his time acting as a nursemaid to an ungrateful wench. Tears rolled from Rebecca's eyes as she heard the crash of the door. She could not believe that Nicholas could be so vicious when she was so ill. When she had tried to thank him by telling him that she appreciated his efforts as much as he had hers, he had turned on her in a vile, verbal attack. For the rest of the long years of her life, she would be tied to this man who wanted only one thing from her. She feared that if she learned to feel anything but antipathy for him, she would be hurt that much more when he tired of her. That he would grow bored with her, she did not doubt. What could a backwoods maiden offer to a man who had lived on two continents and had been raised in a world where the people might speak regularly with the royal family? It had seemed so exciting to marry this handsome man who told her tales that had seemed like fairy tales of large houses and titled people. What she had not realized was that Nicholas was not a simple soldier seeking his way back to his unit. He had been telling her of his real life when she had thought he was delirious or trying to entertain her. There was no place for Rebecca North. . .She corrected herself with a sharp pulse of pain. There was no place for Rebecca Wythe in that world. It would be impossible for her to fit in. Perhaps if she had been raised in Philadelphia or Boston or Williamsburg, she would have known how to talk to people who would view her as a most queer Lady Foxbridge. In a soft whisper, she begged the night, "Let me go home. Let me go home, please." On the last word, her voice shattered into sobs. *** *** *** For the next two weeks, Rebecca slowly recovered. Occasionally she saw Nicholas when he came into the room to retrieve clean clothes. He spoke only a greeting or asked her how she was feeling. She replied in a small voice, afraid of arousing the wrath she could see glittering in his eyes. Otherwise, during that time, she rested and ate the food delivered by a kind boy named Jake. Sometimes he stayed and talked. She learned he had run away from home when he was only eight to seek a life on the sea. His widowed mother had remarried a man he did not like, so he had decided to take control of his own destiny. Since then he had sailed on the Prize, first as a kind of unofficial mascot, and as a full-fledged cabin boy with duties and a few coins in his pocket at the end of each voyage. She enjoyed his tales of places that she would never see in the Indies and even along the coast of mysterious Africa. In his few years, he had seen things most people could not imagine. Jake came to look forward to his times visiting Lady Foxbridge. Although she asked him to call her Rebecca, he did not dare to, for he was intimidated by her powerful husband. He did not want Lord

Foxbridge to think anything other than innocent conversation was taking place in the cabin where the door always remained ajar when he spoke with the convalescing woman. It was the first time in many years that he had had someone near his own age to talk regularly. She did not laugh when he spoke of his dreams of someday being the master of his own ship which would sail as far away as the Spice Islands and China. "Enjoy your dreams," she told him more than once. "Hold onto them and savor them. That way, maybe you can make them come true." Although he had wondered about the sadness in her voice, he refrained from asking her the reason. In her eyes he could see that one of her dreams had been stripped away. He could not understand it. He would have guessed that her life must be a dream come true. A title, a wealthy husband, a beautiful home with servants to anticipate her every need. If he had been able to discern the truth, he would not have believed it. Day after day, things remained as unchanging as the seascape around them. The waves marching endlessly to the horizon in every direction. Rebecca began to expect that her life would continue in this limbo forever. Finally, one day nearly three weeks into the voyage, she decided she could not tolerate being in bed any longer. With care, she swung her feet to the floor. She stood and swayed, nearly falling. Balancing between the bed and the chair, she waited until the dizziness vanished as her sea legs steadied. As if it were her greatest victory, she smiled in triumph as she walked the scarce three steps from the bed to the door and back again. She was up. She was no longer confined to that bed. If she wanted, she could leave the blasted room and breathe in the fresh air which so tantalized her when it blew through the small window. She could not wait another second. Pulling a clean dress and petticoats from her bag, she stripped off her nightgown and washed herself in the bit of tepid water in the bucket. She drew on the petticoats and tied them behind her. Her smile broadened as she put her dress over them. Even the tedious job of closing all the hooks up the back of the dress would be delightful. The cabin door opened. Rebecca spun so that her unhooked gown was held together by her hands behind her back. She took a step backward as Nicholas came into the tiny room. "Up and dressed, my dear?" He smiled, as he added, "Or I should say nearly dressed. Would you like some help hooking up your frock?" "I can manage alone," she said coolly. The expression of eagerness in his eyes warned that he would prefer to help her undress than dress. He stepped closer. His foot pushed the door closed with a crash as he put his hands on her arms and whirled her to face the wall. Pulling her fingers away from her gown, he bent and kissed the back of her neck. As he tasted the dulcet flavor of her skin, his arm swept around her waist to draw her back against him. Rebecca was less shocked by his actions than by her reaction. From deep inside her, a sweet flower of desire blossomed forth from a seed that she could not remember being planted. >From the time of her fever, she could recall a most realistic dream when Nicholas had held her with sweet love that had drawn

from her these same yearnings. As his tongue traced the half circle of her ear, she closed her eyes and leaned against his muscular strength. Although she was tempted to twist in his arms to place her mouth against his, he held her motionless, intent on controlling her growing desire. His mouth slipped along her neck, bringing a weakness to her knees as she felt the urge to surrender totally to the sensuality he brought forth from her. A soft gasp of delight escaped her lips as his fingers reached through the gap of her unhooked gown to caress the lush roundness of her breast. Only his arm around her waist kept her from falling to rest on the hard surface of the bed. The motion of his hand sliding the sleeve of her dress along her arm brought her back to her senses. "No!" she cried, trying to pull away. "No?" he repeated in surprise. She hooked her gown closed with trembling fingers. "Don't touch me, please, Nicholas." Her voice was still breathless from the strong emotions he had brought to life. "You are my wife. I can touch you whenever and however I please." He pulled her back to him. His hands stroked her, pausing to rest on the hooks, but he did not release any of them. "Why are you fighting me when you know you like it when I caress you, sweetheart?" Rebecca was not sure how to answer. He was correct. She liked the way he made her feel. Too much. It had been not a month since she said farewell to Keith, but she was ready to turn to this man when his well-practiced techniques aroused her desires. She had to admit that she no longer despised Nicholas. After his kindness during her illness, she would have been a heartless drudge to continue stoking her hatred of him. She did not love him. What he was asking she could not give to a man she did not love. She was afraid to show him that she was relenting. If she did, he would turn that change to his own advantage. Her best course was to continue as she had from the moment he had informed her that she must go with him to England. Icily, she said, "I don't want to be your lover, Nicholas. It's as simple as that. I know you think you are irresistible, but I don't want you in my bed." Instead of the explosion she expected, he laughed lightly. "That is hardly news. You have made your opinion clear from the onset." He held out his hand. "Come with me for a stroll on the deck. It's about time you got out of these close quarters." She stared at him, unsure of what to say. He never reacted as she thought he would. He was irate when she expected gentleness and tender when she was prepared for rage. What type of man was this one she had married? For a week, he had nursed her as compassionately as a loving parent would a child. Then, during the past two weeks, he had acted as if he did not want to admit that she existed. Coming into her room, he was smiling at her as if nothing ever had been wrong between them. It seemed more as if nothing was ever right. Softly, she said, "Thank you, Nicholas. I would appreciate your company. I want to go up on the deck, but I am still a little unsteady." "Then, my dear wife, that is all the more reason for you to hold my arm." He smiled disarmingly as he offered his arm. When she took it, he asked, "Do you want your parasol? The sun is bright up there." She bit her lip to keep from laughing at his honest kindness, but her amusement was not containable. Amid her chuckles, she retorted brightly, "A parasol? Do you think I carried some piece of silk and lace

when I went to get the cows from the fields or worked gathering the harvest? I don't own such a thing, and I don't know anyone who does." Nicholas bent and kissed her cheek which was still too pale. "You shall have a parasol to go with every one of your new outfits when we get back to Foxbridge Cloister, Rebecca. You shall have whatever it is that you want." For a moment, she was tempted to state that the one thing that she wanted he would not give her. There was no sense in ruining this pleasant time together by repeating what she had told him so many times already. She wanted to go home. She wanted to marry the man she loved. Regarding the hesitation on her face, Nicholas knew that at last she was learning to accept the inevitable. She was his, and nothing short of death would change that. Gently he turned her in his arms to face him once more. "Don't hate me and what I want to do for you." "I don't hate you. Not any longer." He chuckled at the near regret in her voice. It had been easier for her to hate him than to admit that he was not the demon she had labeled him. He put his hands on her cheeks and brought her mouth to his. With the tender kiss, he demanded no more from her than she wanted to give him. Of their own accord, her hands slid along his sleeves to encircle his neck. When she felt his arms sweep around her, compliantly she let him press her closer. Her eyes opened to look up dreamily into his incredibly handsome face. With a smile, he kissed her lightly. "Shall we go for that promenade, sweetheart?" "Yes," she said, knowing how dangerous it was to remain in his arms. Because her memories were unsure of the time when they had boarded the Prize, it was as if she were seeing the ship for the first time. The great sheets were taut with the wind. All around them, the boards creaked and moaned with the strength of the wind and the resistance of the water as the ship dipped and swayed across the water like a hummingbird seeking to find nectar in springtime flowers. Nicholas chuckled when she grasped his arm more tightly as her feet slipped on the wet deck. Ignoring his laughter, she sat on a nearby box. In moments, she had removed her shoes and stockings. When he held out his hands for them, she smiled and gave them to him. "Jake?" he called above the steady sound of the ship racing the wind. "Aye, my lord? Good morning, Lady Foxbridge. It sure is fine to see you up this morning." The young man had his ready smile on his face. "It sure is fine to be up this morning," replied Rebecca with a laugh. Taking a deep breath of the salty air, she stared at the rigging so high above her head. Nicholas held out the footwear. "Lady Foxbridge has decided to emulate you sailors. Would you be so kind as to take these back belowdecks to her cabin?" "My pleasure, my lord." He dipped his head, grinned once more, and ran easily across the deck to the stairs. His feet compensated for the roll of the ship with unconscious grace.

"He's a good lad," said Nicholas. "Someday he should be a fine captain." Rebecca smiled softly. "That is his dream." Although he regarded her strangely, he said nothing. He knew that the cabin boy had been spending time with Rebecca, but had not realized that they had become such good friends that they would share their young dreams of life. For a painful moment, he wondered what she had told Jake of the dreams she clearly thought were gone forever. He wished she would open her eyes and see that he wanted to give her a new set. She was far more steady as she walked to the railing by his side. As she admired the massive seascape, she was overwhelmed with the solitude in the middle of the ocean. She knew Captain Jennings had tools to help him find his way across the trackless water, but she had no idea where the ship might be. All she saw were the waves which moved in their own tempo from shore to shore. A school of deep water fish paralleled the ship, and she watched with delight. It was comforting to know that they were not alone. Overhead only fluffy clouds decorated the sky. "What do you think, Rebecca?" she heard Nicholas ask. "I have never been able to see so many miles," she said in awe. "At home, there are so many tall trees that you cannot see the horizon. Here it is miles away, and there is nothing to block the view." "Do you like it?" She did not answer immediately. She had not thought of the sea in that manner. It filled her with reverence of its majesty. It terrified her when she considered its latent power. It delighted her when she saw its beauty. Slowly, she said, "Yes, I think I do, Nicholas. This ocean is like nothing else I have ever seen, but I think I like it." "That's good. I have loved the ocean as long as I can remember. Of course, it has its other shore not far from Foxbridge Cloister." In his voice she heard the same tinge of wistfulness she felt when she thought of her family's small cabin in the Connecticut woods. "You have missed Foxbridge Cloister, haven't you?" He looked into her upturned face. For the first time since he had left her so long ago, Rebecca was reaching out to him in friendship. During the two weeks that he had left her alone, something inside her had changed. Not enough so he could tell her that although he had left her in anger which had erupted from his exhaustion, he had been afraid to return because he did not know if he could resist making love to her. Honestly he answered, "Yes, I miss my home. It has been more than six years since I left. My brother was shot in a duel two years ago, but I only found out about it six months ago. For the almost a year, none of our mail was given to us. In the packet I was given shortly before we were released was the news that Brad had been so stupid as to challenge a man who was a better shot. I had not thought that Foxbridge Cloister would be mine, but now that it is, I cannot lie and say I'm not happy. In a few more weeks, we will be there. It's a beautiful house, and you will love it there, Rebecca." "Will I?"

Nicholas turned her to face him as he heard the quiver of disquiet in her voice. His hands on her upper arms were gentle. "Look at me. Do you remember any of what I told you of the Cloister when I was hiding in your barn?" "No, it was so long ago. How do you expect me to recall what you said when I didn't remember what you look like?" "Time travels much more slowly for the young." He smiled wryly. "What for you seems so long ago does not seem that far in the past for me. I have noticed as I grow older, time slips past much more quickly. Even the years in the prison hulks passed faster than the years of my childhood when I waited for summer that seemed to have come last a century ago." His smile became sad. "I am sorry you have forgotten so much, sweetheart. I think I remember it all but the very first days. All I can recall then was thinking that you were a very strange angel with braids instead of wings." Her laughter was a light sound which instantly took him back in time to those delightful, pain-wracked days when he had been entertained by Rebecca's gentle humor. In a way, he had loved that child. Not as he longed to love the woman, but in a most special manner which had cut across the boundaries of different experiences, beliefs, and ages. It had bound them together long before they had spoken the vows of the love they did not feel and the fidelity which they had shared from the moment she had discovered him and had moved him to a secret spot in the barn. "You don't see yourself as an angel?" he teased. "No, not as an angel. Yet I do believe you have the looks of one, Nicholas." He smiled diabolically. "I have often been told I resemble the one thrown out of heaven by the powers of good. It isn't necessarily a bad thing, for it can be an asset to be able to intimidate one's enemies and friends alike." He paused as he saw a man approaching. "Good day, Drew." Captain Jennings had seen his passengers come up on deck and had given them a few minutes alone before he joined them. The longer the Wythes were on the Prize, the more he became confused by their strange behavior. What man who has discovered his beautiful wife anew leaves her to sleep alone while he stretches out on the wet deck or sleeps in one of the hammocks in the crew's quarters? He told himself that Nicholas must have his reasons. With Lady Foxbridge well, he guessed they would resume their normal life together. He tipped his cap to the lady. He could not help admiring her lithe form outlined against her dress by the forceful gusts of the wind. Carefully he drew his eyes back to her pretty face. His friend would not appreciate anyone ogling his bride. "Good day, Nicholas. Good day, Lady Foxbridge." "Rebecca," she corrected him quietly. With a grin that wiped away the years from his wind wrinkled face, he said, "Good day, Rebecca. Isn't it a wonderful day?" "Yes," she agreed. She took a deep breath of the tangy breeze. "This must be close to paradise." Nicholas laughed and put his arm around her waist. "I think the love of the sea is infecting Rebecca very rapidly. Moments ago, she had to think deeply before she could decide if she liked this watery world. Now she is waxing poetic about it."

"Well, I'm sorry I can't stay and chat, my friends. Will you join me for dinner tonight in my quarters? It would be an honor to have such a lovely lady share my meal." Rebecca blushed. She was not used to such effusive compliments. Even Keith had been most grudging in admiring her. She was startled not to experience the deep slice of agony that she expected at each thought of him. Her eyes rose to meet Nicholas's dark ones which contained unbridled desires in their fathomless depths. His fingers tightened on her waist as he drew her closer. Turning to their host, he said, "That would be delightful, Drew. I know Rebecca and I shall enjoy that immensely." When the captain bid them farewell, they continued their stroll along the swaying deck. Nicholas led her to the bow of the ship where the sea spray was heaviest. As Rebecca's fingers clutched the railing, he held his arm around her. From the helm, Captain Jennings could see Nicholas point in a sweeping motion to different points on the compass. He did not have to be near them to see how well the two forms blended together with the rhythm of the ship. It was only his obsessive love of this seafaring life which kept him from wishing for a wife like Lady Foxbridge. Nicholas Wythe might be the luckiest man he knew. *** *** *** The days flowed one into another with no sense of hurry or of time. Sunlight was for being awake, moonlight for sleeping. For the passengers, there was no need for any other timepiece. The crew were more aware of the movement of the stars, but only as a beacon to help them steer their course toward the shores of Britain to the north and east. Each evening, Rebecca joined Nicholas and Drew in the captain's cabin for dinner. None of them made any pretense of formality. Both men wore the open neck, loose shirts and breeches which the crew found most comfortable. Rebecca had packed away her shoes and kilted her skirts to keep them out of the water on the deck. Her hair was tied back in a single braid which hung heavily along her back. She had removed the scarf from the neckline of her dress. Her normal coloring quickly returned, and she began to accumulate the golden tan which denoted seamen. The crew adopted her in the same way they had Jake a few years before. Knowing that this pretty lady was off limits to any man who did not want to be shark bait, they developed an easy relationship with her. They answered her questions and taught her of the ways of the ship. Between Nicholas and Rebecca, things were becoming less difficult. Mainly because both knew there was no choice but to accept the close confines of their quarters. Each night, she slept on the bunk with one pillow and the blanket. He stretched out in the chair with his feet propped on the table and using the other pillow behind his head. Although it was silly for him to sleep like that, they were aware that for him to rest next to her would be too dangerous to their status quo. Every morning, Nicholas politely disappeared so she could have privacy for her ablutions. Where he shaved and washed, she did not ask. Rebecca was afraid to delve too deeply into any facet of her husband. The friendship they shared could be ignored no longer. She could accept the fact that they could be friends, for they had been in the not so distant past. It was being lovers she was unsure of, for each time he pressed his lips over hers in a sweet invitation to rapture, she remembered the man who had

warned her to keep Nicholas from her bed. Keith had promised that he would bring her home as his wife. She could not betray her vow that she would be true to him if she was able. Already her body was urging her to submit to Nicholas's superb loving, but it was not possible to forget her love for the man she had been set to marry. Each day passed at this impasse. Nicholas pressured her no more, but he let her know that he wanted her more than when he had come to claim her. Days dissolved into weeks until it seemed that they had lived all their lives on this small ship braving the unending waters of the ocean. It was because she was so attuned to the rhythms of life aboard the Prize that Rebecca was able to notice immediately when that tune changed to one more frantic. She stood at the railing where she often could be found when she was alone. Her usual smile had vanished as she watched the changing scene on the ship and in the elements around them. The fitful breeze blew uneasily through the sheets above her head. They usually stretched taut, making the ropes creak with a sound that she at first had thought meant they were ready to unravel, but in the midday whisper of wind they sagged listlessly. Rebecca sensed the crew was waiting, although she could not guess what they knew was going to happen. She was sure it would not be pleasant. She watched the waves which were higher than usual. Certainly the Prize seemed to be climbing longer before dropping into the deep trough between the crests. Turning to view the frenzied activity on the deck, she was sure something horrible was set to happen. When she saw the crew taking any loose articles belowdecks or, if they were too cumbersome, lashing them to the one of the masts, she could not doubt that they were heading into violent weather. Involuntarily, she turned to look at the dark patch that had at one time been a mere black line on the horizon. It had reached halfway up the sky as if it was a giant mountain lion raising on its haunches to pounce on its prey. A primitive fear of the fierce strength of the monstrous storm looming over them urged her to seek the comfort of someone who cared for her. Her eyes searched the small ship and found Nicholas standing at the helm talking with Captain Jennings. She fought her own feet as they tried to run to the two men. They saw her coming across the deck with the easy grace that she had learned quickly. Her years of skipping across moss-slick stones in the creek had taught her a sense of balance that had helped her gain her sea legs with alacrity. Before she could climb the ladder to the helm, Nicholas leapt down. He took her hands in his and pulled her into the half-circle of his arms. Quietly, he explained, "Drew suggested that we might want to go belowdecks so we're out of the way of his men during the storm." "Is it going to be that bad?" He started to dissemble, then nodded. She would want to know the truth. Captain Jennings had been watching the ominous thunderheads rising out of the sea, and Nicholas had seen that the captain was not pleased to be running into a storm this close to shallow waters. They were not far out from England. A chance wind could run the ship up on the shoals offshore. "It could be very bad, Rebecca. Drew is an experienced master, and the Prize is a fine ship with a good crew. He just wants us landbound folks out from underfoot." He kept his arm around her shoulders as they walked to the stairs leading to their quarters. "Let us secure our things, as well. I'm sure we are going to get quite a ride."

Wishing she could joke about it as he did, she nodded. After they entered the room, he closed and bolted the door. Opening the small closet, he shoved the lone chair into it. Rebecca put any loose items into the already full drawers under the bed. Overhead the lamp swayed with the uneven rhythm of the ship which had been so predictable for so many weeks. Suddenly the ship leapt forward with the speed of a wildly racing horse. She could not help the shriek that escaped as she fell back against the floor. "Sorry." She grinned sheepishly, as Nicholas helped her to her feet. "That's all right." He did not laugh as the ship rocked sharply again. "Sit on the bed." Reaching up, he unhooked the lantern from the ceiling. The wax in the lamp could be dangerously slippery if it splashed onto the floor. He tied it onto one of the shelves. They would not have a light until the storm passed. As he walked toward her, the floor turned into a wall beneath his feet. Allowing his bare feet to slide, he clumsily made his way to the bunk where Rebecca sat clutching the shelf above it. He sat and took her in his arms as the ship reached the crest of the wave. When it plummeted into the trough, it felt as if he had left his stomach on the top of the mountain of water. "This is just the beginning?" she asked, hoping he would tell her this rough ride would be the worst of it. "I'm afraid so, sweetheart. Are you scared?" She laughed unevenly. "Of course I am! Don't worry. I won't get hysterical." Tapping her nose with his fingertip, he smiled. "I would be shocked if you did. You are one of the bravest people I know." "Hold me, Nicholas," she whispered as the sound of the wind rose swiftly. "I don't feel brave. I'm terrified." He brought her lips to his as her fingers clutched the material of his loose shirt. When her hands slipped, with the motion of the ship, under the open front of his shirt to touch the black hair on his chest, he pressed her back against the mattress which heaved beneath her. He had no time to touch her before the ship was rocked abruptly to port as a gigantic wave tried to swamp her. Rebecca cried out in pain as her shoulder banged into the wall. It took the full brunt of her weight as well as Nicholas's above her. Instantly, he pulled away and reached to help her sit. As he touched her right arm which had been close to the port wall, she moaned. "Don't, Nicholas!" Ignoring her words, he checked her tender shoulder. Tears of pain rolled along her face more steadily than the fitful rain on the window. He sighed. "It's not broken, sweetheart. Just bruised." He gripped her tightly as the ship bucked under them. Although her arm ached with the steady pain of an abscessed tooth, she did not complain as they huddled together through the long minutes, then hours as the storm roared around them. She hid her face against the warmth of his chest and sobbed out her anguish until there were no more tears. Even then, she stayed in his arms. The creak of the ship escalated to a screech as the wood was buffeted from every side by the powerful waves. When they heard the sharp snap of a giant whip, they knew that one of the furled sails had loosened to flap uselessly, but dangerously in the high winds.

Once, Nicholas lurched across the volatile deck to stuff material under the door. Water rapidly pooled on the floor as rain and the waves washing over the deck above cascaded down the stairs. At the same time, Rebecca wrapped one of the pillowcases around the sill of the porthole which had served as their window. The squall was forcing water through cracks to small for them to stay. Although the night came and went, they were unaware of its passing, for the unrelenting darkness of the storm did not alter. They paid no attention to their stomachs which told them that both dinnertime and breakfast had been forgotten. Rebecca was dozing fitfully against Nicholas when she came abruptly awake. A painful silence assaulted her ears. She glanced at him in hope, but he shook his head regretfully. "Drew explained that there would be a brief period of calm in the center of the storm. Not more than a few minutes." He paused, as he heard a knock on the door. When he unbolted it, Jake poked his head in to ask, "The cap'n wants to know if you two are doing all right, my lord." Nicholas smiled as he glanced at Rebecca cradling her injured arm and himself in his soaked and torn clothes. The cabin boy looked far worse with his hair and clothing plastered to his body. "We are fine, Jake. Let Captain Jennings know that if he needs an extra hand, I'm available." Jake vacillated between the truth and not wanting to hurt the taller man's pride, but a landlubber would be a liability on the deck where decisions must be made in seconds. Swallowing so harshly his Adam's apple bounced, he said, "We're doing well so far, Lord Foxbridge. Carruthers and Holloway are securing the mainsheet that's loosened in the blow. A few hours more should take us out of it. The Prize is a dandy ship, and she'll ride like a mermaid through it." He looked at Rebecca with a silent question. With a weak smile, she answered, "I'm fine, Jake. You go and help Captain Jennings." He tipped the cap that somehow had remained on his head through the storm and closed the door. They could hear his footfalls racing away. Many tasks had to be done before they faced the fury of the hurricane winds once more. Nicholas restuffed the cloth under the door and came back to sit next to Rebecca. "You have another admirer, my dear wife. You seem to collect them wherever you go." When she regarded him uneasily, he smiled and added, "You collect them without trying." "He's a very nice, young man. He kept me company when -- " She hesitated, for she did not know how to speak of the days when he had ignored her purposely. His eyes narrowed as he saw her face close up as it did whenever he spoke of anything that related to their marriage and their lives within it. He put his hands on her shoulders and turn her to face him. When she gasped in pain, he pulled his fingers from her bruised right shoulder with a quick apology. His voice remained stern as he said, "I think it is time to discuss what our relationship is going to be, Rebecca." "Now? In the midst of a storm at sea?" she asked incredulously. "This is the calm before the storm, my dear," he said with a cold chuckle. "We have many more to face. Soon we'll be back in England. I think we should know what our relationship is going to be before we reach Foxbridge Cloister." He regarded her steadily. "I assume that, despite the seductiveness of your

touch, you haven't changed your mind and want to be my wife in truth." She stood and walked across the strangely still deck. Gazing at the door, she said, "I can't. I love someone else." "Yet you let me touch you and kiss you?" he demanded. "You don't seem to be thinking of Bennett when I hold you in my arms. Oh, I know he acts as your conscience when I show you that I want to you lying in my arms, but you're using him only as an excuse to keep me at bay." She did not answer immediately. He was correct. In the weeks since she had left home, Keith had been on her mind and in her heart less and less. She must remain true to him, although his kiss never excited her like Nicholas's did. He was going to sell everything he owned and come to secure her release from this unwanted marriage. He had extracted a promise that she would wait for him to come for her. She could not break such a vow. "I cannot," she repeated softly. "Very well," he said, resignedly. "I will make you an offer, Mrs. Wythe, which you may find satisfactory. I won't be invested formally in my title until court reconvenes in London in the fall. The ceremony is a mere formality, but that is what the British court thrives on. Play the rôle of my wife until then, and, if you wish, I will give you the annulment you so desperately crave." Suspiciously, she asked, as she faced him, "What do I need to do to play the rôle of your wife, Nicholas?" Her gaze did not leave his face to look at the rain which was beginning to splatter hysterically against the windows. "Act as if you care for me in public. Serve as the chatelaine of Foxbridge Cloister. Be my hostess when we entertain." "Nothing else?" she asked, snidely. She did not trust his sudden benevolence. His wintery laugh sounded again, freezing her heart in the middle of a beat. Nicholas played the rôle of his satanic double so well that it continued to frighten her. She knew he was capable of violence, but he fought to control those powerful urges within him. Beneath the civilized veneer, he was as savage as any beast of the forest. He stood and stepped toward her. He did not touch her. That in itself was terrifying, for, before this, he had never resisted the impulse to caress her. Her eyes were held by his fury. Her warm tan paled as she wondered if he was going to break the contract before it was agreed upon on this storm-wracked ship. "Sweetheart, if I had wanted to force you into my bed, I would have done it long ago. Don't convince me now that I should do so." His voice rose as he struggled to be heard over the increasing screech of the wind. "Is it a bargain?" She sat on the bunk again. She had to escape from the man who scared her far more than the tempest. So softly he had to lean forward to hear her, she whispered, "I will do as you have stated for the six months until you have your hour in court, Nicholas, if you will give me an annulment at that time. No more and no less." Bending, he kissed her fiercely. The strength of his body bent her back over his arm. When he lifted his mouth from her bruised lips, he said, "That seals our bargain. A bargain made without compassion sealed

with a mockery of love." As he sat beside her, but did not offer to hold her again, Rebecca knew that she had hurt her husband fiercely by her acceptance of his cold-blooded offer. All that had grown between them in the halcyon days on the ship had been destroyed by a few contemptible words. The rest of their journey would be as it had been during the trip from her family's cabin to the great port of New York City. Only hateful words and baleful looks would they share. She hid her face in the pillows and wept in sobs that were swallowed by the louder cries of the wind. Not once did he look at her or consider comforting the woman who had severed any chance they had had of bridging the pain to offer the affection they both craved.

Chapter Five Rebecca clutched tighter to her bag as the carriage turned from the shore road to drive past a gatehouse which would have dwarfed her family's home. The grandeur of the landscape continued to awe her. It was so civilized compared to the wild woodlands where she had spent most of her life. Even the small villages with their houses built so close to each other had a finished aura that the rough cabins would never be able to emulate. This magnificence was far beyond what she had imagined. When she felt an arm slip around her shoulders, she looked up into Nicholas's smiling face. She had never felt less like smiling. The sight of this impressive estate reminded her more strongly than ever that she was Lady Foxbridge and that she belonged to the man by her side. She reminded herself that the time she must spend at Foxbridge Cloister would be bearable because she knew it was only for a short time. Either Keith would arrive for her soon or she would be released voluntarily from their marriage by Nicholas once he had gone to court. She did not understand why he wanted her to be with him at the investiture of his title, but she would honor the promise she had made. That vow left her life controlled ever more tightly by Nicholas Wythe. From the moment she and Nicholas made their bargain aboard the Neptune's Prize, they had settled into an unsure relationship that was unlike anything else she had ever known. In the presence of others, nothing seemed to have changed. He was as pleasant as ever, for he joked and teased her and found opportunities to touch her as if he truly cared for her. Only in his hooded eyes could she see his black fury. In private, it was a completely different situation. From the time the storm was past until they landed a week later, he never came into their room if she was awake. She began to doubt that he used the cabin at all, for he was always absent when she woke. When he had to come into the room when she was there, he was stiffly polite. She had longed to reach out to him and tell him that it was foolish to act like enemies when they had been

on their way to becoming such good friends. Then she knew that he did not want her friendship. He would be satisfied with nothing less than her love. That she could not give him. Instead she had waited in misery for landfall. Until he cut her off from him, she had not realized how much she had grown to enjoy his company during the long, sea voyage. So many things she wanted to tell him, but he would not let her have a chance. On the long trip north from Plymouth, he had been a only bit more pleasant to her. As he had during the days of traveling to New York City, he had retrieved his book from his bags and read it as the hired carriage took them to Foxbridge Cloister on the west shore of England. Questions had taunted her as the miles passed. So little she knew of her future home. Even its name suggested luxury and wealth. She longed to know who lived there and what her daily life would be like. She wished to discover the names of their neighbors and determine what her social obligations might be. Knowing it was futile to ask Nicholas, for he spoke to her only when absolutely necessary, she stared at the front of the carriage and tried to calm her fear. The facts were made clear by his silence. She had to face what waited for them in this huge house alone. She could not depend on Nicholas to be of any help to her, for it he did not hide that he hated her as much as she had despised him when he had taken her away from Keith. Or that was what she had thought until he suddenly put his arm around her. "Sweetheart, don't look so frightened!" Nicholas said, comfortingly as he saw the despair in her eyes. "I can't help it!" His touch undammed the floodtide of fear in her. "You are coming home." She looked out of the carriage at the sweeping expanse of lawn quilted with groups of huge trees in a pattern unlike the wild disorder of Connecticut. "This isn't home to me." "It will be." He grinned at her unspoken protest. "Rebecca, there is no need to be afraid. Our nations are no longer enemies. The peace treaty should be signed soon. After all, during the war, we weren't enemies, were we? Our timing is always wrong. We waited until the end of the fighting to start our own battles." His light expression vanished on the breath of his heartfelt sigh. "Don't worry. My family will be delighted that I have wed such a lovely lady." He leaned down and kissed her cheek that was shadowed by her best bonnet. Her eyes widened at his motion, but she said nothing. She was unable to speak past the lump of fear in her throat. If she had had her choice, she would have preferred facing an Iroquois alone in the woods than meeting Nicholas's family on this palatial estate. When the massive stone house, built in the Elizabethan style of two centuries before, came into view along the curving driveway which was edged by gardens, her eyes widened even farther. Staring at it, she forgot even Nicholas's sudden warmth. She had never seen such a tall building. That this monstrously gigantic edifice could be a home was even more astonishing. What she had envisioned was paled by the reality. Through the small window of the carriage which had met them at the inn in a nearby village, she could see only a portion of the house which three storeys high. Around it were stone walls built with arches to separate different courtyards. Flower beds were filled with petals blossoming in a variety of beautiful colors. With so many things to see, she did not know where to look first.

As impressed as she was with the house, Rebecca was shocked when Nicholas told her that they had been on the property of Foxbridge Cloister since before they had reached the small village in the hired coach. The village of Foxbridge and the surrounding fields overseen by the tenant farmers belonged to the Cloister. Looking from his studied smile to the huge house, her hands clenched on the velvet seat of the carriage which belonged to Lord Foxbridge. Nicholas had sent a boy for it and to give his family the news that he was on his way home. By her side, Nicholas watched her with concealed concern. As they had come closer to his family's home, his disquiet had increased. Belatedly, he became concerned about how Rebecca would adjust to this life of relative ease as Lady Foxbridge. All her life she had toiled to help her family make a home in the forestlands of Connecticut colony. At the Cloister, she would be expected to direct the labors of a household of servants. She must greet callers and pay morning visits herself on their neighbors who, by this time of the year, had come from London to spend the summer in the comfort and luxury of their ancestral estates. For himself, the change would not come readily, either. When he had left for the colonies, he had never expected to succeed his brother as lord of Foxbridge Cloister. That the fool had managed to get himself killed in a duel while his younger brother was facing death daily across the ocean seemed ironic. Yet what he had to relearn would be simple in comparison to what waited for Rebecca. His thoughts were interrupted when the carriage stopped in front of the double doors on which were carved the Foxbridge family crest. The door of the vehicle was opened by the driver who wore the pale green livery of the estate. "My lord?" he asked, politely, but with a hint of curiosity. Nicholas gave his wife his wry grin and stepped out. He waved aside the driver and helped Rebecca himself. For a moment, they stood side by side as he gave her a chance to look at what soon would be familiar to her. He told Sims, the driver, to take the carriage to stable. They would not be needing it further. A slow smile spread across Nicholas's face as he regarded the grey stones of the Cloister. Until now, he had not realized how much he missed this place which had been home during his childhood. His memory's eye could pick out which third floor window was the one he and his brother had once used to crawl out into a tree and run away for a night of childish adventure. Nicholas had been the daring one, and Brad had followed his lead in all their expeditions. His older brother had depended on him to look after him. Nicholas's departure had added to Brad's slow fall into the decadence that surrounded the young men who made London and the country estates their playgrounds. He shook his head in sorrow at the waste of his brother's life. Once more he looked at the nursery window. The tree had been cut down, but the memories still were hale. In his memories, Brad would not be only a name on a stone in the family graveyard behind the chapel at the end of one wing of the house. In his heart, his brother would be kept safely as the youngster who had joined so enthusiastically in his younger brother's pranks. Rebecca gazed at the stone house with its three wings forming the letter "E" in the style of its time. She had no idea of the bittersweet memories her husband was experiencing. For her, this place held nothing but unknowns. Leaded glass was shaped in diamonds in the windows of the two upper storeys. On the ground floor, clear glass and stained glass alternated in the arched windows which were more than ten feet in height. She wondered how the interior floors would appear when colored with the reflections of the sunlight through those lovely windows.

"It looks like a church," she whispered in awe. "Not like my church. Like the ones we saw in New York City and here in England." He smiled, pleased with her candid appreciation of the home he loved. "It was a church. Or a monastery actually. With the dissolution of the monasteries under King Henry VIII, it became my ancestors' home. When I show you around later, you can see sections of the original building." Glancing up as the front door opened, he placed her trembling hand on his arm. "Ready, Lady Foxbridge?" "No!" she replied, but grinned. He knew she remained uncomfortable with her acquired title, and he had delighted in using it to tease her during their long voyage from America. That he jested with her as he had not done since the storm warmed the dankest part of her frozen soul. She dared to be honest with him again. "I don't think I will ever be ready, Nicholas. I want to run back home." She glanced to the west where her family were separated from her by incalculable miles of salt water. He squeezed her fingers. "You will do fine. Just be yourself, and everyone will be as charmed as I was the first time I met you. Did you know that I thought you were the most delightful child I had ever met?" He looked around with pride at the house and the lawns before his eyes returned to rest with the same possessiveness on her. "I never imagined that day that I would survive and be able to bring you here." Her face remolded into an expression of the unease which echoed in her voice. "Nicholas, I don't know if I can, if I should, continue with this charade. It isn't right to lie to your family." "Charade? You are my wife." He gave her a roguish smile before he asked far more coldly, "Are you breaking our agreement, sweetheart? You vowed to continue as my wife until my title is invested upon me." "I know, but, Nicholas -- " "It will not no more than a few months. Then you can run back to your sainted Keith Bennett with enough money settled on you to satisfy even his greed." "Stop it! I'm trying to treat your family with honor, but you continue to disparage my loved ones! I don't wish to hear anymore." He twisted her roughly to look up at him. "Why? It's the truth, isn't it? You are willing to play this game to achieve your own ends. That makes you no different than me. You have your reasons to cooperate. I have mine. Don't worry, Rebecca. You are prostituting only your name, not your body." His fiery gaze scorched her as it ran along her. "Fool that I am, I made the wrong bargain." "Nicholas, don't!" she gasped as he pressed her tightly to his strong form. He ignored her as he ignored all her wishes. When he forced her mouth under his, there was no tenderness in his motion. She cried out, but the sound was muffled against his lips. The flash of fear which filled her was familiar, but no less terrifying. His words and his actions reminded her that he was doing what he had a legal right to do, and, if he chose to continue, she could not stop him. When he drew his mouth away enough so he could speak, he said in a low tone, "Let's go inside, Rebecca. Remember, if you want Keith, you must do as I wish. Play your rôle well in public, wife. I want everyone to see how much my Lady Foxbridge loves her husband, even though it is only an act." His shadowy eyes held hers with the threat that he would force her to play the part in private as well if she

betrayed him. "I understand, Nicholas," she whispered. With sudden fury, she jerked away. Crossing her arms on her chest, she glared at him. "I understand you very well." "I thought you would." He took her arm and led her toward the house. As if there had been no heated words between them, his voice lightened as he pointed out various points of interest on the house. He could not hide his pride in the wonderful house which was his. They walked up the half dozen steps to the door which opened as they approached. Nicholas greeted the butler briefly, "Good afternoon, Brody. You are looking fit as always." "Thank you, sir." The tall, straight man appeared to be a contemporary of Nicholas's father. His greying hair was neatly arranged in an unpowdered queue, and his green livery was spotless. "If I may say so, my lord, it is good to have you home." Nicholas smiled. Taking off his cloak, he handed it to a wide-eyed maid who was staring at him as if he were a ghost ready to haunt the unused wings of the house. He straightened his frock coat and asked, "Where is Mother this afternoon?" The butler did not reply immediately as he looked at the coarsely dressed woman standing next to Lord Foxbridge. He wondered who this beauty was who was looking about as if she had never seen a house before. Quickly he remembered his place. "Lady Margaret is in the solarium, my lord." "Thank you." Nicholas led Rebecca down the hall without explaining her identity to the startled man. His family must know before the truth was gossiped through the servants' quarters. Rebecca glanced from side to side to see the unimaginable wealth which had surrounded her husband during most of his life. The large selection of furniture in each room shone with age and tender care. It was the antithesis of her home where there were only a few, functional pieces. A suit of armor startled her as it appeared out of the thick dusk of the long hallway. When she heard Nicholas's chuckle at her gasp of shock, she blushed and laughed shakily. She knew it was useless to pretend that she was not overwhelmed by this ostentation. Nicholas would see through any attempts she made to try to appear sophisticated. He had derived so much humor from her naivete that she did not try to hide it any longer. It was another three steps up to a room at the far end of the hallway. As they entered the chamber which was walled on one side by a bank of leaded windows stretching from floor to ceiling, Rebecca's feet sank into the thick richness of a beautifully patterned carpet. She gazed in awe at the heavy oak furniture arranged in front of the huge fireplace where logs burned brightly. There were more chairs in this single room than in her whole home. Overhead, lowered from the ceiling fifteen feet above their heads, was an iron wheel where candles burned, for the sunlight had a difficult time shining through the windows set in the almost foot thick stone walls. Two women sat on a green velvet settee. They rose in unison as Rebecca and Nicholas came into the room. For a moment, they simply looked at each other. After the many years of separation, there were too many things needing to be said and no way to say them all at once. Suddenly the younger woman, who had the same dark hair and brown eyes as Nicholas, ran and threw her arms around him, nearly rocking him off his feet. "Nicholas! Thank God, you are finally home and

safe. It's been months since we heard your unit was being released. I did not think you would ever be coming home again!" He laughed with a spontaneity which astonished Rebecca. So infrequently had she heard that honest sound. "Eliza! I see you are as irrepressible as ever." Smiling, he surveyed her with and arm's length between them. Like Rebecca, his sister had grown up during his years of captivity. When he had left Foxbridge Cloister, she had been a child, but she had become a pretty woman with the distinctively dark Wythe coloring which reputedly came from a Spanish lover of a Lady Foxbridge of centuries past. Teasing, he said, "If you greet your callers like this, little sister, you will never have a husband, for all your suitors will have a broken back." "I have no worries about that." Again, she flung her arms around him. "Oh, I have so much to tell you." "Later, Eliza," came the stern sound of the other woman's voice. Nicholas looked past his sister to the older woman. He bent to kiss her wrinkled cheek. Then he embraced her. "Good afternoon, Mother." "Welcome home, son." Lady Margaret was dressed in somber colors of mourning for her elder son, although he had died almost two years before. Her white hair was swept up under a beribboned chamber cap. When she turned to look at Rebecca, the unmistakable sound of heavy satin had preceded her. Rebecca felt the older woman's eyes sweep over her in curiosity. Her blue wool dress decorated with homemade lace seemed most out of place in the company of these women dressed in the height of fashion. The ribbons tying the bodice of her overdress together were nothing like their fancy gowns accented by sashes and flounces. She could not be unaware of the displeasure on the elder woman's face as she stared at her. For the first time, she doubted Nicholas's words that she would be well received at Foxbridge Cloister. This woman who was her mother-in-law already acted as if she did not approve of her. The one he had called Eliza was not as reticent. She looked at the stranger who was accompanying her beloved brother. In the first moments of welcoming him home, she had paid no attention to her. Surprise filled her face. She had never seen anyone dressed like this one or anyone who wore her hair in braids twisted around the crown of her head. Her tact was overcome by her astonishment. "Who are you?" Nicholas took Rebecca's hand and brought her next to him again. His fingers tightened painfully around hers as he felt her hesitation before she moved to stand beside him. When he looked down into her uneasy eyes, he did not need to warn her aloud that the play was about to begin, and she had best play her part to perfection. Without a preamble, he said, "Rebecca, allow me to introduce my mother Lady Wythe and my sister Lady Eliza Wythe. Mother, Eliza, my wife Rebecca Wythe, Lady Foxbridge." The very formality of his introductions told Rebecca that he, too, had sensed his mother's immediate displeasure. "Wife?" squeaked Eliza. Rebecca guessed she was about her own age, although she seemed much more immature than a woman who had survived a war fought close to her home and had had all her dreams of love destroyed by the man holding her hand. "Oh, what is Clarisse going to say, Nicholas? She has been waiting so anxiously for you. She expected you would marry her when you came back from America. After all, you had an understanding." Nicholas shook his head as his smile vanished. Clarisse Beckwith was the last one he wanted to hear

about. She was a problem he would have to deal with. Every letter he had received from Foxbridge Cloister during his sojourn in America had included some bit of news about her. His mother had hoped he would marry her, but Lady Margaret did not know Clarisse as well as he did. She could not understand why he had been adamantly opposed to wedding the woman who had been the bed-partner of most of the male gentry in the area. Even when they had been in the midst of their torrid affair, he had known that she welcomed others to her bed when he was not there to share it. Clarisse had been a major source of his desire to escape from Foxbridge Cloister and buy a commission in the army which would send him far from her sugary talons. Upon discovering that he was the possessor of the title of Lord Foxbridge, she would have been even more determined to make their previous liaison permanent. His smile had nothing to do with humor as he gazed at Rebecca. Although she did not know it, she would be his tool to pay back Clarisse for humiliating him by taking other lovers to her bed on nights after she had spent the day riding by his side. She would learn as others had that Nicholas Wythe was not a man to play for the fool. "No, Eliza," he said with no suggestion of the rage within him, "I had no understanding with Miss Beckwith. I never made any promises to her. If I had, I would not have wed another. Aren't you going to greet Rebecca?" "Of course," said Lady Margaret quickly. She turned to regard the young woman holding so securely to her son's hand. There was no denying that this woman was a beauty, although her clothes were outlandish. Her wide blue eyes showed that she was impressed with Foxbridge Cloister and its inhabitants. That pleased Lady Margaret, for such a child could be molded in the way the older woman deemed proper. Later she would discover where Nicholas had found such an unsophisticated lass. "Excuse me, dear. This is admittedly a shock. Welcome to Foxbridge Cloister, Rebecca." "Thank you," she replied with quiet dignity while her thoughts were on Eliza's words. She wondered who this Clarisse was. Poor Clarisse must be another one hurt by her husband's stubborn insistence that they continue this farce of a marriage. Until now, she had not given the women in Nicholas's past much thought, but she could not help being curious about this Clarisse. She obviously had been very important to him. It was not the time to ask. She tried to remind herself that she should not complain if he took a mistress, for it would mean that he would not be as eager to share her bed. Strangely, that thought bothered her, but she had no time to examine her odd feelings. The older woman was motioning for the newcomers to join her and Eliza by the fireplace, but Rebecca hesitated again. Nicholas smiled and put his arm around her shoulders. With a gentle push, he propelled her forward. He bent to whisper in her ear, "Don't forget our bargain, sweetheart. You are my loving wife, remember?" "I'm trying to do my best," she murmured in desperation. If he reneged on the agreement, she could be tied to him forever. His arched eyebrows displayed his disbelief, and she subsided into frustrated silence. She did not know how he could expect her to act normal. Not only had she never seen a house this big, but, most of the time, she had no idea what his family spoke about. Until she was more sure of herself, she wanted only to sit and smile so she would not make a fool of herself. Seeing the curiosity in the eyes of the Wythe women, she knew her plan was doomed to immediate failure. They intended to make her the center on

their conversation. Once they were seated, Eliza asked, "Honestly, I think it was horrid of you, Nicholas, to marry without having us present. I so love weddings. I don't believe we've met before, Rebecca. You aren't from around here, are you? Are you from London?" Nervously, she wet her lips before answering. "I'm from Connecticut." Seeing the women's confusion, she added, "Connecticut, in the United States of America." Nicholas's mother's blue eyes widened in shock. "You're a colonist?" "She was," Nicholas replied smoothly. He took Rebecca's trembling hand and caressed it. As he gazed down into her eyes, only she could see the yearning he made no attempt to hide. Suddenly she thought she should be glad if he would reestablish his relationship with this Clarisse woman. She wondered how much longer he would be able to accept her adamant refusal to let him spend the night with her. It frightened her how well he could read her every emotion. He continued calmly, although humor brightened his face, "Her home is here now." With a delicate sniff, the older woman said, "That's just as well. I wouldn't like to think of my son and daughter-in-law having to deal with those rebellious colonials." She smiled at the disconcerted young woman. "It must have been so difficult to deal with that riffraff." Rebecca bit back her retort, knowing that Nicholas must not have written of her in whatever missives he had sent home. His mother and sister had not even known that he was bringing a wife home. She wondered why he had not seen that it was advisable to prepare his family a little. Her eyes narrowed in rage as she heard the two women discuss the low level of mentality of the colonists who had resisted the good policies of their king. She did not consider her family of any lesser quality than Nicholas's, even though they lived in comparatively primitive conditions and did not possess such fine clothes. Certainly, she did not consider them the dolts that the Lady Margaret labeled all supporters of General Washington. Rebecca's father had been a brave man who had been respected by his superiors and subordinates alike. Although she had no firm memories of her mother, Mira North had been a well-loved woman in their small community. "Mother, Eliza, I think you have said enough," warned Nicholas, as he saw the sparkle of anger in his wife's eyes. He was surprised that she had been able to stay silent this long, for he had discovered that his own heated temper had met its match. Although she might appear docile, Rebecca North Wythe only projected that image because she had been taught that a lady must be polite at all times. When she could contain her vociferous emotions no longer, then they exploded to astound everyone. He was thrilled with her fiery spirit, for it was far more amusing to be wed to a spitting tiger than a quiet lamb. "Now, son, I won't be told what I can or cannot say about those Yankee Doodles in my own house. Lazy fools, all of them." "Mother," he cautioned again, "please watch what you say about the Continental Army, or the United States Army, as I should call them. Rebecca's father was an officer with General Gates who so successfully defeated our forces at Saratoga. I have heard much of Major North's valor and intelligence, and I have no doubts the description is valid, for his daughter has both."

Rebecca glanced at him in astonishment. He had never complimented her in front of others. What remarks he had made to her privately would have embarrassed her if overheard by anyone else. He seldom admired anything but her physical attributes, which he made no secret that he wanted to explore intimately. That he would defend her to his mother and sister was a double shock. He stood and walked over to stir the fire on the hearth. The eyes of all the women followed him as he assumed a nonchalant pose best befitting the new lord of Foxbridge Cloister. Leaning easily against the oak mantel, he said, "All of Rebecca's family, including this sweet lady, espouse the ideas of liberty put forth by their Continental Congress. Political ideology and who was right and who was wrong is something Rebecca and I don't discuss. She graciously has refrained from rubbing my nose in the fact that I was fighting on the losing side which cost me too many years of my life in a dank, rat-infested prison which would have made Newgate Prison seem a true Eden in comparison." "You are a revolutionary?" gasped Eliza. She looked at her surprising sister-in-law with new interest. Nicholas's sister knew little about the war which had been fought in far-off America and had cared little about it. All she had wanted was for it to be over, so her brother could come home. Somehow, she had not expected a real Continental to look like Rebecca Wythe. She was not sure how she had thought a colonist would appear, for her only view of them were the cruel caricatures in the London newspapers. Rebecca smiled slightly in response to the young woman's question, but her thoughts were on her husband. She was disturbed by Nicholas's description of his time as a prisoner of war. She had given no thought to what he must have endured during those years. Her eyes explored his face which was nicely tanned by their time at sea, but wondered how long he had been free before he arriving at the perfect moment at the church. He had not come directly from the prison hulks. He knew too much about the Norths and their business. He must have spent some time investigating her past and present before he came to wrench her future from her. Somewhere, he had gotten the beautifully tailored clothes that he always wore. Feeling her eyes on him, Nicholas looked at his wife. A slow smile inched across his lips as he saw the sympathy she could not hide. Gentle, innocent Rebecca had no idea what he had had to do to survive for the bleak years when each day brought the promise of only more degradation for men who ached to see the sunshine and feel fresh air on their faces. The smell of dying flesh and human waste would fill his senses forever. If he had his way, she would never learn of what he had suffered. She would never know that it was the memory of her sweet, childish smile that had given him the impetus to hold onto life while his comrades surrendered to despair and death. During his captivity, he had not felt desire to have Rebecca as his lover. He had known simply that someone nearby cared if he lived or died. He listened as Rebecca replied to his sister. By the sound of her voice, nobody but he could guess the stress she felt. As he had thought, Rebecca was able to handle this difficult situation with apparent ease. "We preferred to be called Patriots, Eliza. Of course, I had to put that behind me when I came here with Nicholas. The war is thankfully over, and America seems so far away." It was impossible to miss the tint of sadness discoloring her voice. Only Nicholas guessed it was not simply homesickness for her family. The pain for her of losing Bennett as her husband apparently had not lessened. Every day made her sorrow deeper. He was beginning to think he should have renounced her and left her to face her future with that clod. Then he knew that would be impossible. He wanted Rebecca as his wife, not as some other man's. Eliza leaned forward to speak to Rebecca. "Have you met Mrs. Washington or Mrs. Adams?"

Smiling, Rebecca shook her head. She was about to reply that was as silly a question as if she had asked Eliza if she had met Queen Charlotte. She stopped herself before the words left her lips, for it was possible that Nicholas's sister had been to court on many occasions. Softly she said only, "I haven't had the honor. Mrs. Washington lives in Virginia and Mrs. Adams in Massachusetts. They were not likely to be visiting our cabin in the backwoods." "Cabin?" Lady Margaret stared at Rebecca as if she had suddenly turned a strange shade of green, then glared accusingly at her son. "What kind of joke are you playing, Nicholas? This is no longer amusing! Who is this woman?" She picked up a fan which had been resting on a table beside her and wafted it briskly in front of her flustered face. Calmly, Nicholas replied, "Don't get so upset. She is my wife, Mother. Rebecca lived with her family in what you would term the backwoods. We met when she saved my life and married me five years ago. When I was released, I went back for her before I came home." "Five years ago?" echoed his outraged mother, as she rose. "Were you crazy, Nicholas? Look at her! She must have been a child then." His eyes darkened with the fury he tried to restrain. His mother was being resistant to the idea of Rebecca as his wife, but she would have to learn he was not a youngster to be ordered about or threatened with going to bed without his supper if he did not behave as she wished. Even if she did not like Rebecca being his wife, she must accept it. He walked slowly to where Rebecca was watching the exchange with growing despair. Taking her hand, he brought her to stand next to him. He put his arm around her shoulders as he caressed her arm lovingly. The pose told his family that he was sincere in his devotion to her. "She is a child no longer, as you can see. I had my reasons for marrying Rebecca which are no one's concern but ours. Despite its unorthodox beginning, we are satisfied with the circumstances. Don't act so shocked, Mother." Lady Margaret bristled. "What can you expect when you bring home a Yankee mudfarmer's daughter and tell us she is the new Lady Foxbridge?" "Mother!" exclaimed Eliza. "This is Nicholas's wife." Her mother glared at her as if she was a traitor and left the room without speaking. Seeing the stricken expression on her new sister-in-law's face, she added, "Forgive Mother. Since the news came that Brad was killed in that ridiculous duel, she has been like this." More fervently, she said, "I'm glad you are home, Nicholas. Maybe you can convince her it is worthless to mourn like this. Nothing is going to bring Brad back. I wish she could accept that fact." She sighed. "Why don't you take Rebecca upstairs and let her rest? You'll have the master suite, of course." "Of course," he repeated, but his eyes were on the door to the hallway. Eliza glanced uneasily at him, then spoke to Rebecca, "Excuse me. I will go and tend to Mother." As soon the young woman had left, Rebecca whispered, "Nicholas, why didn't you warn me that your mother would be so against this marriage?" "You aren't the trouble, sweetheart." He frowned. "I truly didn't think Mother would be so opposed to you. She'll come around to loving you. It does nothing to change our relationship, Rebecca," he warned her quickly as he saw the light of hope flash in her eyes. She spun away from him and crossed the room to look out the huge windows. The gardens were bright

in the afternoon sunshine. There was nothing which was not alien to her. Her fingers on the window sill clenched in frustration and misery. "Nicholas, this is insane. I don't want to be married to you. Your mother is opposed to me. Why continue to make everyone unhappy when it would be so easy just to annul this marriage?" He put his hands on her shoulders which trembled with her barely suppressed emotion. Over her head, he, too, regarded the formal gardens of Foxbridge Cloister. His hands moved leisurely along her arms as he drew her back against him. In her ear, he whispered, "You left out one very important person. I don't wish to see this marriage dissolved now, Rebecca. Right now, I am very pleased to have you as my loving wife." "At what price do the rest of us pay for your happiness? How much wretchedness do you plan to inflict on me and the ones who love you before you admit the folly of this whole experiment?" She faced him. Her hands unconsciously went out to touch his arms in a posture of pleading. His arm wrapped around her waist and brought her sharply to him. When he bent to kiss her, she turned her face away from him. He grasped her face and did not let her elude him as his lips touched hers with startling gentleness. Although she fought her own feelings, she could not keep from reacting to the lure of his mouth. Her fingers tightened on his arms as she was unable to escape the rapture which enfolded her as sweetly as his arms. A soft sigh of delight floated from her parted lips while he explored her skin with obvious appreciation. When her knees buckled against his with the passion overwhelming her, he put his arm beneath them and swept her up to be cradled against his chest. Her arms automatically went around his neck as she gasped with astonishment, "Put me down." He chuckled softly. "What will you do if I say no? Scream for help? I doubt it anyone will think you are in much danger from your husband. Remember the rôle you promised to assume." Tartly, she stated, "In public. I see no one else here. I think you should remember your part of this agreement as well." He placed her on her feet. Cupping her chin in his palm, he said, seriously, "My dear Rebecca, this agreement is not carved in stone. If at any time you wish to change your mind and become the wife you should be, I will be willing to renegotiate this unwritten contract we have between us." "I can't! I have told you that, Nicholas. I can't, as much as I would like to -- Oh!" She put her hand over her mouth in a motion which recalled the child she had been when he first met her. Nicholas touched her cheek tenderly and smiled. "If you wish, I did not hear that. I know how important it is for you to be faithful to the man who, I'm sure, has not proven as steadfast to you. Come with me, and I will show you where we will have our apartment here in Foxbridge Cloister." Slowly she reached out to take his hand. Her new life with Nicholas was starting. Whether she wished it or not. If only she knew which.

Chapter Six Forcing down her fears, Rebecca walked with her husband back the hallway to the main staircase. A coldness swept through her as she realized Nicholas was taking her to the room they would be sharing for as long as he was kept her imprisoned in this marriage. Although he had most kindly let her have the bed alone during the long voyage, she did not think that situation would continue forever. She wished she could begin to understand why he acted as he did. She could not hate him when he was as warmhearted as he just had been. Still, she knew it was only a matter of time before he made some snide comment about the relationship which seemed to be floundering on a self-destructive course. She forgot her concerns momentarily as she became enthralled by the splendor of the house. Everything was spotless, telling her there must be a large staff serving the Wythes. She peeked into the rooms they passed and viewed the velvet drapes and furniture covered in light green brocade. Silver gleamed on the mantelpieces next to fine pieces of arts which even her unknowledgeable eyes could appreciate. As they passed one room more stately than the others, she paused in mid-step. Drawing away from Nicholas, she walked into the room. She bumped into a chair, but her gaze remained on the portrait above the marble fireplace. It was of a woman dressed in the spectacular style of Elizabethan England. Even from where Rebecca stood near the doorway, she could see the gown was a sumptuous, blue velvet matching the woman's eyes. A full lace ruff surrounded her face to accent the dark upsweep of her curly hair. In her hands were a musical instrument that Rebecca could not name. A small, golden dog sat at her feet resting on a footstool in order to show off the fine silver of the buckles on her shoes. "Who is that?" she gasped. Nicholas looked from the painting to Rebecca. Until now, he had not been able to figure out who his wife reminded him of so strongly. With a laugh, he answered, "It would appear to be a portrait of Rebecca Wythe." "But who is she?" "Lady Foxbridge, my dear. Her name was Sybill Wythe, and she was my however many greats great-grandmother. It is rumored that she had a lover who was a Spaniard washed ashore during the Armada whose child she foisted off on her gullible husband as his own. That's the explanation for the dark coloring inherited by each generation since then. Does it surprise you that the present Lord Foxbridge might owe his heritage to bastardy?" Dryly, she stated, "Not in the least." His laughter bounced off the high ceilinged room. Putting his arm around her, he gazed up at his ancestress. "I have always admired Sybill. If the story is true, she must have been unafraid to face public ridicule to have the man she loved." "Perhaps you should have instead felt some sympathy for her cuckolded husband, Nicholas."

He twirled her to face him. Once more, he looked from her face to the other. They were not identical, for it was more a trick of light than a macabre coincidence which gave them a resemblance. "The fool let a beautiful woman go looking for a man who could satisfy her. I have no pity to waste on such a dolt. If Sybill had been my wife, she would have found there would have been no need to haunt the shoreline looking for a lover from the sea." "Is there a moral in this whole tale for me?" she teased. She was finding that more all the time, she enjoyed trading words with Nicholas. He was an extremely intelligent, cocksure man who delighted in trying to force her to admit that she cared for him in the way he longed to have her do. "Are you telling me that, like your esteemed Lady Foxbridge of the past, I will seek a man coming to me from the waves?" Suddenly, his eyes turned thunderhead black with rage. He released her so abruptly, she rocked on her feet. "Isn't that what you have been waiting for from the second we set sail, Rebecca? Your hero who would fly on the fastest ship available to take you away from your husband! Don't worry about going down to the beach. Most conveniently, from the windows of our suite, you can see the sea." He turned on his heel and stamped out of the room. Not knowing her way, she had no choice but to follow him. She said nothing. He had misunderstood her. The thought of Keith had not been anywhere in her mind. Nicholas's reaction warned her that he was becoming more frustrated with his fruitless efforts to end the loyalty she had to her onetime fiancé. She hurried after him to the main staircase in the foyer. The thick banister was carved of smoke-darkened oak and was wider than her palm. Along the curving staircase, niches were built into the wall to showcase various small pieces of treasured art. The risers were stone worn smooth with the passing of countless feet over the centuries. At the landing which divided the stairs to go to opposite sections of the second floor, a stained glass window was outlined brightly with the setting sun. Rebecca stopped to admire it. She recognized the intricate design of the Foxbridge family crest. The herald flag was the same green as the livery the staff wore. One quarter section contained the red rose of the Lancastrians, two others were decorated by fleur de lis, and the last by a single feather. The crest was supported by a pair of what could only be wolves. She bent to read the Latin inscription on the banner beneath it. "'Always Prepared, Truth's Champion' is how it translates," said Nicholas as he rejoined her on the landing. "I'm afraid the Wythes have long been didactic by nature. Such a motto is a bit pretentious and more than a bit presumptuous." He smiled grimly. "I have hated that window all my life, except for the wolves. They are the one thing which seems to fit this family. If you knew the history of the Wythes, you would see the connection. In the past, we were far less urbane out here on the west coast." Quietly, she said, "I don't think I would be like to be aligned with wolves." "Why not, my love?" He took her hand in his again and led her up the last few steps to the wing where their rooms were situated. "A wolf is brave, wily, fights only to protect what is rightly its property, and chooses a mate that it will spend its whole life with. Explain what is so wrong with that." She was spared from answering, for it was only a short distance to a door where Nicholas stopped. Turning the doorknob, he swung the iron bound door open and motioned for her to enter. With a glance at his emotionless face, she obeyed.

Standing in the middle of the room, she turned about slowly to see all of it. At one end was a huge fireplace like the one in the solarium. Oak furniture upholstered with velvet cushions was arranged about the room which was bigger than the Norths' cabin. One wall had shelves for books. Facing it hung a huge banner woven with the family crest. Along the walls were paintings of the seascapes visible from the house and several elevations of Foxbridge Cloister. Touching the lush, green fabric on the chairs, she stared at the carpet below her feet. It covered the floor which was still of bare stone. Although some of the other rooms had wood floors laid over the original stones, this one had been left as it had been for centuries. She went to the windows at the opposite end of the room from the fireplace. Opening one wide, she leaned out to see past the thick walls. The fresh taint of the sea that she had grown so accustomed to filled her as she breathed deeply. Not far distant, she could see the ocean fading into the rose of the twilight sky. With a sigh of regret, she closed the leaded panes. She had come to understand the siren's call of the sea which lured men to the hard life that mistress demanded. Her eyes met Nicholas's amused ones when she discovered him standing behind her. She tried to dismiss the desire in her eyes by saying, "This is like nothing I have ever seen. It is so big!" Honest admiration brightened her voice. "Aren't you interested in the sleeping arrangements, Rebecca?" he taunted. "That has been your major concern whenever we enter our newest accommodations." Blushing, she tried to move away, but he grasped her shoulders and drew her back to him. When he kissed her, she found herself once again trying to fight the feelings that he seemed to be able to invoke so easily now. She hated her own body which was betraying her to this man whose touch was so delightful. "Nicholas, please -- " she gasped. "I would be happy to please you, my dear Lady Foxbridge," he whispered in her ear. "Whenever you wish, I would be very happy to teach you of the pleasures you are denying us so foolishly." "No! Stop!" Fiercely, she tugged away from him. "How many times am I going to have to tell you that I am not interested in what you are offering me?" "Until the time before you tell me yes." With a smile, he took her hand and led her to a door. He swung it open with a grand gesture. "Here is where you will sleep, my chaste bride." Cautiously, she entered. As she gazed at the second room of the suite, her mouth became a circle. Her eyes regarded the massive tester bed. The headboard was taller than her own head and was carved with an intricate scene of the hunt. A heavy coverlet in the light green which was present everywhere covered it. Against one wall waited a dressing table with a large mirror and a gold trimmed chair. The russet rug beneath her feet was luxurious. "This is for me?" He laughed. "This is Lady Foxbridge's room when she does not sleep with her husband. Perhaps this is where Sybill entertained her Spanish lover while her stupid husband slept alone here." He walked across her room to a second door. Curiosity spurred her feet forward. Beyond the door was a room very unlike this feminine chamber. All

of the colors were darker, and the bed was made of oak nearly black with age. It was clearly a man's room. She saw nothing more before he closed it and twisted a key in the door. Nicholas put his arm around her shoulders and turned her smoothly to face him. Putting a finger under her chin, he tilted it so he could look into her confused eyes. He would have to have been obtuse not to note her softening toward him since her recovery from the sickness. "My dear Rebecca, anytime you wish to join me in there, I will be happy to have your company." There was regret in her voice as she said, "I can't." "I know." He picked up her hand and pressed the iron key into it. "You have it. I will let you decide when you will use it to open the door again." Bending, he kissed her forehead. "Rest, Rebecca. We will be having dinner later. I'll send someone to help you dress." She watched in astonished silence as he left. Holding up the key, she gazed at it. Anytime had been what Nicholas had said. Anytime she wanted she could join him. She laughed humorlessly. He had no idea how tempting that idea was becoming. The more time she spent in his company, the more she knew he was not the beast she had first imagined him to be. The key she held was another sign of the kindness he had been showing her from the time they met a second time. She wondered if any other man would have controlled his desires for the woman he was married to in order not to hurt her. It was almost as if he loved her. Angrily, Rebecca shook her head. Nicholas Wythe did not love her. He had told her that the day he ruined her wedding. For some reason, he needed to be married to her. It was for that reason that he had wrecked her life. Instead of being in this huge house with a mother-in-law who despised her and a husband who blatantly displayed his lust, she could have been wrapped happily in Keith's arms. Going to the dressing table she opened a drawer. As she had expected, the staff had unpacked for her while she had been suffering through the intolerable interview with Lady Margaret. She pulled out a length of ribbon and slipped it through the top of the heavy key. Unbuttoning her bodice, she tied the ribbon to the strap of her camisole and let the iron key drop behind it to rest against her skin. She would not risk Nicholas changing his mind about their arrangements and finding the key. She explored her room that was spacious by the standards she was used to, but small for the Cloister. It was clear that most of the previous Ladies Foxbridge had slept with their husbands and had used this room as a private haven. One door led to a small closet where her two dresses hung. The last door led to an alcove where her bath and other necessities were stored. It was a lovely room, and it made her unhappier than she had been in her whole life. Rebecca stretched out on the thick mattress to stare at the engraved wooden canopy over her head. The fox hunt was in full motion across the planks over her head. The poor vixen was being run to ground by the silently baying hounds followed by the master of the hunt and the other riders. She closed her eyes. The house would be her home until autumn came to change the hues of the leaves from green to orange and yellow. She wondered how the seasons turned in this unknown part of the world. In Connecticut, she had known how to gauge the passing of time by the signs that told of the onslaught of winter snows and the blessing of summer rain. A wave of homesickness buffeted her as strongly as the storm had beaten on the Prize. If the beginning of her visit at Foxbridge Cloister was an omen of what was to come, she wished that Keith would arrive before the end of summer. Lady Margaret despised her because Nicholas had not

married the woman named Clarisse. Briefly, she wondered if her mother-in-law was superstitious and had seen in her son's wife the strong resemblance to the Lady Foxbridge who seemed to be admired and hated in this house of strong individuals. She could not guess how Eliza felt about her sister-in-law. Only Nicholas was her friend in the house, and she knew he wished to be far more than a friend. Rolling over onto her stomach, she pulled the key from under her dress. She looked from it to the door that led to Nicholas's room. Silently, she replaced it next to her skin. It was not right for her to go to him and tell him how delicious his kisses were. Her craving that his touch set afire with the same intensity as the black blaze in his eyes must be kept a secret. How long could she resist him? How long could her desire to be faithful to Keith override her desire to be loved by Nicholas? She could no longer trust her heart which urged her to throw aside caution and learn more of what she had sampled in his arms. Burying her head in her arms, she fought to untangle the disastrous maze that her life had become. She had to steer a course through waters far more treacherous than the storm-swept madness of the ocean. *** *** *** A hesitant knock roused Rebecca. She had no idea how long she had slept, but it was ebony black in her room. Recalling Nicholas telling her he would send someone to help her prepare for dinner, she called, "I'm coming." She bumped into several items before she managed to find the door. When she opened it, she saw a woman. "Lady Foxbridge, I'm Collette," chirped the woman with a curtsy. "I will be helping you with your clothes and personal toilette." "Oh!" she gasped as she stared at Collette who was plump and several years older than her. Raven black hair was piled imaginatively on her head, and her uniform was as black with a finely starched apron over the full skirt. Although her voice still carried the tint of her French birth, she spoke English perfectly. "May I come in, my lady?" Recovering from her shock at the idea of having a lady's maid, Rebecca replied, "Of course. Please, come in, Collette. Be careful. It's dark, and I don't know where the candles are." Laughing lightly, the maid entered the room with easy assurance. She went to the fireplace and opened a box which was visible in the light from the sitting room. Efficiently, she lit a candle from the box and set it in a holder on the dressing table. She did the same with several more and placed them elsewhere around the room. "You needn't light so many," Rebecca urged, appalled by the waste of the lovely wax candles. "It's no problem, Lady Foxbridge. There are many more in the storage room." With a broadening smile, she explained, "Lord Foxbridge has told us that you are to have every luxury." Collette did not add that the staff had been briefed already by the returning lord. He had explained bluntly that his wife would find life in the Cloister a very new and odd experience. Quickly, he had given them an overview of how his lady had lived until he had brought to England with him. He had ordered them to cooperate with Rebecca in every possible way and to help her learn what she needed to be the premier lady of the Cloister. Many of the servants had caught a glimpse of the new lady while Lord Foxbridge had been bringing her upstairs to rest after their astonishing arrival. They agreed that Lord Foxbridge had chosen well. Only a beautiful, spirited lady would be the appropriate mate for Nicholas Wythe.

Collette chattered to cover her thoughts, carefully gauging what Lady Foxbridge knew of the Cloister. When she opened the closet, she tried not to show her dismay. Only two dresses hung there. Another had been sent to be cleaned, so with the one Lady Foxbridge was wearing, it meant her wardrobe consisted of only four frocks. In Lady Eliza's armoire there were at least two dozen gowns for morning calls alone. Keeping her voice calm, she asked, "My lady, which do you wish to wear for dinner?" "I don't know!" Rebecca said, frankly. Her garrulous maid overwhelmed her as she tried to escape the clinging strands of sleep. "I have never had to change for dinner unless I was soiled from planting." The maid laughed. "My lady, let me warn you not to make comments like that in the presence of other ladies. They won't understand why Lady Foxbridge would be working in the fields of her family farm." "It's nothing to be ashamed of! It's honest labor, and I helped my brother keep our farm from folding while he was in the army." "I know that, my lady. There's nothing shameful about manual labor. I know that. You know that, but many of the people whom you will be associating with socially would be aghast at the thought of dirtying their hands at something as menial as work." Rebecca understood that Collette meant to help her. "I will remember that," she said with a smile of gratitude. "Thank you." "You are welcome. Now which dress do you want?" "Which do you suggest?" Unerringly, Collette chose the blue silk dress. The other with its homespun material and plain design would never do. "It must be this one, my lady." Rebecca reached out to caress the soft material which had been the realization of all her hopes. The dress Collette had selected was the one she had worn so briefly as Keith's bride. She was going to tell the maid to put it away, but hesitated. That wedding had been ruined. The next one she had would be far different. "All right, Collette. If you could give me any suggestions on know to get through this meal with my in-laws, I would appreciate it. You have helped me already." The maid laughed her bright laugh once more. She knew she was going to like working for this Lady Foxbridge. Without the snobby airs of many of the aristocracy, she was treating her maid like a person. "Well, my lady, the first thing you should do is. . ." It was an hour later when Rebecca descended the stairs. At the base of the stairs was the man she recognized as the butler who had admitted them. Remembering his name from the list Collette had given her, she said, pleasantly, "Good evening, Brody." He bowed respectfully. Although he was not young, he moved with the ease of a man half his age. "Good evening to you, Lady Foxbridge. I trust you are settling in comfortably at Foxbridge Cloister."

Her smile was impish. "Brody, I can find my way from my rooms to the stairs. Beyond that, I know nothing. I would appreciate if you could point me in the direction of the dining room." "I would be glad to give you a tour tomorrow at your leisure and introduce you to the staff." He smiled, appearing very different from the stiff martinet of seconds ago. Graciously she thanked him. She was warmed to know that already she had two allies in this strange household. Collette had taken the opportunity while she dressed Rebecca's hair to give her many hints on how to handle the Wythes. Now Brody was set to help her learn what she must to take her place in Foxbridge Cloister. When he volunteered to take her to the dining room, she listened as he told her about the various pieces of furniture and how each was meant to be used. He spent most of the time while they walked to the dining room situated beyond the solarium telling her of how ladies called upon one another. Because of the rank she had acquired upon marrying Nicholas, the others would be responsible for calling on her first, but she had to follow the traditions of returning those calls. She soon was laughing over his very droll impressions of the errors that the lesser ladies of the gentry had made when they had tried to call at Foxbridge Cloister during his long tenure. He left her at the doorway, and she thanked him once again for his assistance. She added that she would be ready for the tour whenever it was convenient for him. Her smile faded as she stepped into the dining room and saw the disapproving expression on Lady Margaret's face. She did not need to be told that to speak to a servant as an equal was not proper. Anger swelled through her. She had not asked to be brought to this house with its well-established system of protocol. Nor did she intend to stay, so it did not matter whom she offended. "Ah, here you are, Rebecca!" came a deep voice from behind her. "I went upstairs to look for you, but Collette said you had come down already." Remembering her promise to act as his loving wife, she turned to greet Nicholas. "Good evening, darling," she said, astounded how easily she spoke the endearment. "I found my way with Brody's help." She held up her cheek. When he paused as he was about to kiss her and stared at her in surprise, she asked, "Is something wrong?" "Nothing," he replied in a taut voice. "I'm just astonished to see how lovely you look in that dress tonight." Her eyes went to his confused face. She had become so involved in the conversation with Brody that she had forgotten what she wore. Did he think she had worn this to hurt him by reminding him what he had done to her? She was afraid the answer was yes. If they were to be believable in the game they were playing, they must learn to trust one another even this slightly. She gracefully put her hand on his arm. "I know it is wrinkled from the trip, but it is the best dress I own. I did so want to look fine for our homecoming. I wanted you to be as proud of me as I am of you." He saw the sincerity on her face. Rebecca had sensed his unease with seeing her dressed in her wedding gown. He knew she was beginning to care for him far more than she wanted. A flush of warmth started to undo the threads of cynicism around his hardened heart. That she could come to care for him when he had hurt her so horribly was a testament to the sweetness of this woman who could be as unbending as granite and as pliant as a spring blade of grass teased by the wind.

Forgetting dinner, forgetting his family, remembering only the touch of her body, he put his hands on her cheeks and tilted her mouth under his. When he felt her arms go around his shoulders, he feared their charade was not the one they had planned to play out for the denizens of Foxbridge Cloister. Instead of pretending for others that they were in love with each other, they were making believe for themselves that they still hated one another. The caress of her fingers against the worsted of his coat belied her heated words when they had arrived at the Cloister. He lifted his lips from hers to gaze into her passion-softened face. "Sweetheart," he whispered, "I'm glad you are here for this most special homecoming." When he bent to kiss her again, a voice invaded the gentle haze of their ecstasy. "Nicholas, I don't know if you recall it after your years away, but we try to eat before midnight." Displeasure was vivid in Lady Margaret's voice. Laughing, he offered his arm to Rebecca. As he walked with her into the formal room, he asked, "Do you have no romance left in your soul? A man has been a prisoner for many years and comes home to find his lady fair waiting. Sounds like a tale out of Childe Rowland or Blondel, don't you think?" His teasing faded as he saw the stranger standing next to his sister. His keen eyes noticed that behind the fullness of Eliza's skirt, their fingers were entwined. If Lady Margaret had no romance in her heart tonight, she was the only one. It appeared his sister had found a beau in his absence. Critically, he viewed this man. He was nearly as tall as Nicholas, but his hair was a sandy blond which contrasted sharply with Eliza's dusky curls. The sharp line of his clothes and the full lace of his sleeves which were nearly as ornate as Eliza's announced that he was a London dandy. Yet his clear, brown eyes were filled with an intelligence that Nicholas did not usually associate with that breed of parasite which attached their meager fortunes to someone of greater social standing in an effort to advance themselves. "Sir, I don't believe we have met," he said graciously. The manners which once had been so natural had been nearly forgotten in his years of rough living. "I'm Nicholas Wythe, and this is my wife Rebecca." The man replied in a pleasant voice, "I am honored to meet you, my lord, my lady." He bowed his head to his host before picking up Rebecca's slender fingers and raising them politely to his lips. His smile focused on her as he added, "My name is Curtis Langston. I hope you can forgive me for intruding on your homecoming this evening." Eliza seconded quickly, "I had -- I mean, Mother and I had invited him before we knew you would be home tonight, Nicholas." "Don't act as if it is such an imposition," he said, with a laugh. "It's always a pleasure to have guests at our table." He was sincere. Having Langston join them, although he was obviously no stranger to Foxbridge Cloister, would silence his mother's cruel comments to her new daughter-in-law. Curtis continued, "Forgive me for staring, Lady Foxbridge -- " "Rebecca," she corrected. She tried to keep her voice calm as she wondered why she could not halt the quivers racing through her when Nicholas was near. Her fickle heart was determined to prove that she cared for him. Speaking to the light-haired man, she hid her feelings from herself. "As Eliza's friend, it would be far easier for you to call me by my given name." Again he took her fingers, but simply bowed over them. His eyes narrowed as he noticed that her left

hand wore no wedding band. That was most unusual. He would have thought that the Lord Foxbridge he had heard so much about would have wanted everyone to know that this vision in light blue was his alone. Remembering his place, he said, "I am honored, Rebecca. As I was saying, I beg your forgiveness for staring, but you remind me of someone. Eliza was saying the same thing. Neither of us can guess who it is." When Nicholas laughed, Rebecca blushed. She was not pleased to call to mind their most controversial female ancestor. Putting his arm around his wife, he said, "Think of the portrait in the drawing room, Eliza." "Sybill?" Her eyes narrowed. "That's who it is! You look so much like her, Rebecca." "Let's hope she doesn't resemble her in other ways," interjected Lady Margaret tartly. "Shall we sit down before the soup is cold?" The hot feeling of her blush became ice cold as Rebecca heard the cruel words. She bit her lip to keep in her retort. Anything she said would make Lady Margaret only hate her more. She had saved her son's life, but it seemed that was not enough to atone for the crime of marrying Nicholas. When she felt Nicholas's hand take hers, she numbly let him lead her to a chair and seat her. Then he moved to push in his mother's chair. The soup bowl in front of her on the mahogany table blurred as tears of frustration filled her eyes. She did not look up. She heard the others pick up their spoons to begin to eat, but she paused. Except for the time when they had been on the ship, she had never sat down for a meal without saying grace. Folding her hands in her lap, she silently began to say the prayer which had started every supper in her home. Unaware of what she was doing, Nicholas asked, "Rebecca, what's wrong?" In the middle of a word, she paused. Meeting his eyes, she flushed and answered, "Nothing, Nicholas. It's just -- just -- " The four at the table were regarding her with curiosity. Suddenly, she vowed that they would not make her ashamed of her past life or the parts of it she wanted to bring with her into this one. Clearly, she continued, "I was saying my thanks to the Lord for this fine meal." "Will you share it with us?" he asked gently as he took her folded hands between his. "With you?" "Please, Rebecca. It's a habit I'm afraid the Wythes have forgotten. We certainly have enough to be thankful for tonight. We are together at last." With a smile, she lowered her head over her folded hands. From the beginning, she said the Lord's Prayer that Aunt Dena always had favored. More than once, her aunt had told them she could think of no better way to start a meal than on the tail of those words. "Amen," she finished fervently. "Amen," echoed her husband. She raised her face to see shock on the other three faces. Glancing at Nicholas, she saw he was smiling darkly. He knew the reason for the astounded expressions, although he made no effort to explain to her. Calmly, he began to chat with Curtis about the trip from London. Rebecca hesitated, then began to eat her soup which was incredibly delicious.

Abruptly, Eliza gasped, "You are a Calvinist, Rebecca?" It took her a moment to realize what her sister-in-law was asking. Then she nodded. "I was baptized in the Congregationalist church, if that is what you mean." Lady Margaret rose and flung her napkin on the table. "Tell Deborah I will take the rest of my meal in my room. I have accepted about as much today as I can. I do not think I want to hear the next thing this woman will be telling us. Good night!" Eliza glared at the baffled woman with her spoon halfway between her bowl and her mouth before following her mother out of the dining room without a word. As Rebecca stared at the two men, Curtis rose with a rueful smile. "Excuse me," he said. "Perhaps I can soothe them. I'm sure I will see you again in more pleasant circumstances." Rebecca shoved her own soup bowl away and lowered her face into her hands as her elbows rested on the tabletop. When Nicholas put out a hand to comfort her, he saw her shoulders were shaking. Only when she looked at him as he touched her did he see she was not crying. She was laughing. "Rebecca?" he asked uncertainly. Rising, she sashayed away from the table. "I guess I do not have to worry about impressing your mother. No matter what I say or do it is the wrong thing, isn't it?" She dipped in a curtsy to an imaginary Lady Margaret. "Oh, yes," she said in a mockery of herself, "that is right, dear mother-in-law, I admit it. I'm a patriot, not a member of the Church of England, and perhaps worst of all, I have had to work during my life. See, these hands are not the lily-white of a lady born with a household full of servants to answer her call." "Enough, Rebecca!" Nicholas stood and grasped her shoulders. Twisting her to him, he held her when she struggled to get away from him. "Let me go!" "I know she is acting abominably, but that isn't your fault. Don't be ashamed for what you are." Her eyes sparked with blue lightning. Coldly, she stated, "I am not ashamed of myself or any of the Norths. Nothing anyone says will ever make me ashamed of my family. If you are, that is your problem. I just won't sit here and listen to her belittle my family night after night!" He enfolded her in his arms tenderly. He did not kiss or caress her. Simply, he held her until he could feel the stiffness of her outrage fade into the soft sounds of sobs as she cried out all her unhappiness and homesickness for the world she had left behind in Connecticut. "I apologize for the way my family is treating you." He tilted her tear covered face up to meet his sympathetic eyes. "Dear Rebecca, I'm not ashamed of you or of your family whom I have met so briefly. You are a right to be hurt by my mother's attitude. Come, sweetheart, and sit down. I'm sure Esther has prepared a fine meal. Sit with me, and we will forget the smallness of others while we enjoy each other's company." In a soft voice, she said, "I can be nothing but what I am, Nicholas."

"I know, and I would have you no other way than the way you are. Shall we?" With a watery smile, she nodded. He took her hand and seated her again at the large table that somehow seemed more cozy than when the others had been present. Nicholas was his most charming as he entertained her with stories of his mishaps after joining the army and being transformed from a leisure-loving member of the gentry to a hardened soldier commanding twelve men who knew more about combat than he could have learned in a lifetime. He did not tell her that it was those men who had sacrificed their lives when his foolish commander had sent them directly into an ambush. They had given their lives to protect their captain who had nearly died despite their efforts. His stories were only of the amusing parts of soldiering. As she ate, Rebecca relaxed. It was like a dream to be sitting in this beautiful room lit by candles in a crystal chandelier and drinking wine from goblets made of the same material. When dessert was served, she picked up the cup placed by her plate and took a sip. "Tea!" she exclaimed. "Oh, I haven't tasted this in years!" He chuckled. "I hope it does not offend your patriotic sensibilities, sweetheart." Before she answered, she took another sip of the steaming beverage. She shook her head. "No, it doesn't, for I used to love tea before the blockade made it impossible to get it. Sometimes we had something called tea made from roots but it didn't taste like this." She smiled broadly as she saw his amusement. "After all, as you have reminded me more than once, Nicholas, the war is over." Taking her slender hand, he helped her to her feet. He picked up her cup and handed it to her. "Let's finish this upstairs. We can relax in the sitting room of our suite while I discuss some things with you that must be gone over even before the morning. If you haven't guessed, there will be an onslaught by the curious once our neighbors learn I am home and have brought a bride with me. There are certain things which will be expected from Lady Foxbridge." She sighed. "Very well. I guess it's time for me to go back to school. It will be strange being a student again after being a teacher so long." "Teacher?" he asked as they walked along the hall. "Yes, I was the teacher in the village school at the church once Hart returned from the army and was able to take over the duties on the farm." When she saw the shock on his face, she asked, "What's wrong with that? Teaching is a most honorable profession." "No one will argue with that, my dear. It is just that I realized that I know so little about you." He paused on the steps so that she stood one riser above him. Their eyes were nearly level. "I don't know your favorite color, what you love to eat, or if you like to dance and sing." "Blue, apples in the fall and strawberries in the spring, and I love anything to do with music," she replied with a smile. "Anything else that you need to know before my tea grows cold, Nicholas?" He bent forward and kissed her uptilted lips. "I will take my time learning of you. Come on, Professor Wythe, and take your lessons now." He put his arm around her waist and led her merrily to the rooms they would share for the short time they planned to live together as husband and wife.

Chapter Seven Rebecca was coming down the front steps the next morning when she saw Nicholas walking toward her from what she guessed were the stables. He waved and motioned for her to join him before turning at the sound of hoofbeats approaching along the driveway. The horse was racing at top speed. It came to a stop just in front of Nicholas. The rider slid off quickly and threw her arms around the man. Even from across the lawn where she stood, Rebecca could see the intensity of the kiss the red-haired woman gave Nicholas. Swallowing the surprising surge of jealousy, she strode toward the two. She wanted to meet this woman who was kissing her husband with such familiarity. She suspected she knew exactly who the woman was. Nicholas gently was breaking the grip the woman had around his neck. He pushed her away without any regret. "Good morning, Clarisse." She purred a greeting, as her green eyes roved over him with obvious appreciation. Clarisse Beckwith was a beautiful woman, and she knew it. Her auburn hair was thick and curled perfectly around the alabaster purity of her skin. The riding habit she wore accented the lush curves of her body which had known Nicholas's touch too long ago. With him home at Foxbridge Cloister, she would be able to forget the rage and shock she had felt the morning she had discovered that he had left without telling her good-bye. For months, she had been waiting for this homecoming with eager delight. Nicholas had become Lord Foxbridge, a title he had deserved far more than his brother had. Ready to assume the rigors of running the estate, he would need a woman eager and able to help him as his lady. Clarisse knew of no one better than herself to fulfill that rôle. She had been visiting Foxbridge Cloister since Brad's death to convince Lady Margaret that she was the perfect choice for Nicholas's Lady Foxbridge. She did not think it would be difficult to bring Nicholas around to that opinion as well. He had been so fond of her six years before. In a blatant invitation, she ran her fingers that glistened with gemmed rings along the front of his shirt. With a pretty pout, she regarded him from under her thick lashes. "It has been so lonely without your company around here, Nicholas. I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to return. Now you have had your adventure in far-off America, and you can settle down here at Foxbridge." "That is exactly what I have planned to do." He turned to smile at a woman who was approaching. Clarisse appraised the stranger. She nearly snickered at the low quality of the woman's dress. It looked like something her mother would have worn with its plain skirt split in the front to show the embroidered petticoat and with laces closing the top of the bodice. When the woman came closer, she lost all desire to smile. The dress did not detract from her loveliness. She wondered who the woman was. Even the

servants at Foxbridge Cloister dressed better. For a moment, she feared that Nicholas had found some cheap harlot to bed and had brought her to Foxbridge Cloister. If that was so, Clarisse would see that she was gone soon. No one else was going to have this man. She had waited too many years and turned down too many wealthy admirers' offers of matrimony so she could be waiting when Nicholas came home. She was not going to have her place usurped by a whore who did not have to sense to dress to fit her place as the mistress of a lord. "There you are, Rebecca. Come, and meet our neighbor." Nicholas held out his hand. "Rebecca, this is Clarisse Beckwith, who lives at Beckwith Grange, about a mile south along the shore road. Clarisse, this is Rebecca Wythe, the new Lady Foxbridge I'm sure you have heard about by this time." "Lady Foxbridge?" gasped the startled woman. She had not heard the gossip, for she had spent the whole morning readying herself for her expected reunion with the man she wanted. It had taken hours to choose the right perfume and clothes so that, when Nicholas took her to his bed, as she had thought he would be eager to do, she would be more alluring than ever. The staff at Beckwith Grange would not have dared to give her the news that Nicholas had come home with a wife. They feared her awesome wrath. Rebecca smiled coolly. She was not deceived. This was the Clarisse who Eliza had said thought she had an understanding with Nicholas. That explained the kiss that she had given him. Rebecca wondered if this woman had been her husband's lover in the past. It would not have surprised her. That would explain the possessive gleam in the red- haired lady's eyes which were filled with astonishment that was rapidly changing to hate. "Welcome to Foxbridge Cloister, Miss Beckwith," she said graciously. Nicholas smiled. Rebecca, with her usual insight, had perceived that Clarisse intended on resuming the relationship they had shared six years ago. He would not have been interested in doing so, even if he had not brought Rebecca back to Foxbridge. The idea of letting Clarisse get her eager claws into him or his title did not appeal to him. Recovering her aplomb, Clarisse managed to ask, "How are you, Lady Foxbridge?" "Please, as we are neighbors, you should call me Rebecca." She smiled with genuine amusement. "I'm afraid I am not used to the grand title. I must admit it came as quite a shock when Nicholas told me that I was the recipient of such a grandiose name." Nicholas kept his wry comments to himself. The way Rebecca told it, there had been nothing unusual about either their courtship or their marriage. He was not surprised she was reacting this way to Clarisse. Although she was not sharing his bed, Rebecca had no intentions of Clarisse doing so while she slept on the far side of the connecting door. There were very few people that Rebecca did not like, but Clarisse would be one of those. The redhead smiled, but seethed underneath. She had been spending the last six years getting used to the sound of that name for herself. Who was this child who had spirited away Nicholas's heart? Next to her freshness, Clarisse knew she appeared an overripe spinster. With barely concealed barbs, she asked, "Nicholas, where did you meet your wife?" "We met in America. She saved my life, so how can a man resist that?" He placed his arm around Rebecca's slender shoulders, not missing the narrowing of Clarisse's green eyes at the motion.

"Oh, you worked in the army camp or some such thing?" Rebecca could not disregard the insult. With icy rage, she said, "Despite your insinuation, Miss Beckwith, I was not a camp follower. I'm afraid I come from a worse background than that. I'm one of those unspeakably horrid Patriots. Ironic, isn't it? A professed Yankee married to an English lord!" Without a change of tone, she added, "It has been most interesting meeting you, Miss Beckwith. I'm sure we will have the pleasure again soon." "Good day," Nicholas said, trying to hide his pride in his wife for handling the situation so adroitly, but failing. His grin would further enrage the woman who wanted to resume her place in his bed and the way she had once controlled his life, but he did not care. There had been many changes in Nicholas Wythe in the years since they had last met. No woman was going to direct his life, especially Clarisse Beckwith who loved the idea of his title and wealth more than she cared for him. "Thank you for stopping by to welcome us home, Clarisse." The spurned woman glared at them, then turned and mounted her horse. With a flash of her handheld whip on the horse's flank, she was gone in a cloud of dust toward the main gate. Even as she rode at full speed, she was trying to think of a way to pay back the chit who had dared to steal the title of Lady Foxbridge. "You certainly handled her well, Rebecca." Her eyebrows arched in an easy mockery of his most irreverent expression. "I don't think it is normal even in liberal England for a woman to welcome her husband's mistresses. See her if you must, Nicholas, but not at Foxbridge Cloister. If you want to maintain an appearance of marital bliss, don't entertain that woman in our rooms." He drew her into his arms. "Believe me when I say that I have no desire to do any such thing with Clarisse. What we once shared is in the distant past. If I had wanted to have her as a permanent fixture, it would have been simple to arrange. You are the one I want, Rebecca. How did you sleep last night?" "Fine." She lowered her eyes, so he would not see the truth. She did not want him to know that she had listened for his footsteps in the other room, and, until she had heard them, she had been unable to sleep. "I have made an appointment for you with Mademoiselle Pacquette, Eliza's dressmaker. My sister thinks it is imperative that you have a new wardrobe as soon as possible." He teasingly kissed the tip of her nose. "I agree, sweetheart. Now that we are home, we must do some entertaining." He laughed loudly at her grimace. "All our neighbors, not just Clarisse." "My mind is full with the rules of etiquette you tried to teach me last night. I think I remember them all." She smiled, but the glitter of anger remained in her eyes. "I promise I will use them on the next caller at Foxbridge Cloister." He held out his hand. "How about going for a ride with me, Rebecca? I was just about to have my horse Donar saddled when I saw you coming out of the house." Lowering her eyes, she said, "I can't. I don't know how to ride." "You don't know how to ride?" he asked in shock. Riding was so much a part of life in the country that all children were taught at the same time they learned to walk. He could not remember not knowing how

to ride or loving a race along the moorlands on horseback. "I have never had a need to know how to ride. Father and Hart took our horses when they went to join the army. I know how to drive a wagon, but I have never ridden. If I needed to go somewhere, I walked. If I had something heavy to carry, I put it in the wagon. It was that simple." "Then it is time you learn. Are you ready for your first lesson on horseback?" "Now?" "Why not, sweetheart? Come with me, and we'll find you a suitable mount." Rebecca kept her hand in his as she walked with him to the stables. The long, low building was made of the same stone of the rest of the house. She saw the lovely carriage that had brought them from the village as well as numerous other vehicles. Her eyes widened as she saw the more than three dozen horses in the paddock near the stable doors. Nicholas was not looking at them as he put his fingers to his lips and whistled sharply two notes. He waited a second, then repeated what appeared to be a signal. At his side, Rebecca gasped and stepped back as a strange creature appeared around the corner of the stable. Its speed was faster than the carriage. She wanted to race away, but it would catch her before she reached safety. Straight to them, it came, its legs a blur across the cobblestones of the stableyard. When it stopped directly in front of Nicholas, she gasped. It was a dog, but she had never seen one like it. Full chested, its body narrowed dramatically toward its well-muscled rear legs. Short cropped fur of grey mixed with brown covered it from its long, pointed, black nose to the tip of its wagging tail. Nicholas knelt and patted its narrow head. "Hermes, you remembered!" he exclaimed. "I told you he was the smartest dog you would ever see!" came a voice filled with laughter. When she looked from where she had hidden behind her husband as the creature had raced toward them, Rebecca saw the coachman whose name she recalled was Sims. The two men were delighted with the fact that the dog had answered the call that it had not heard in so long. "What -- what is it?" she whispered. Nicholas stood, his smile broadening. "It is Hermes." "What is Hermes?" "In addition to the messenger of the Greek gods, he is this fine greyhound." "Greyhound?" She nodded, her fear vanishing as the dog regarded her with large, brown eyes. Its tongue lolled out its mouth as it panted enthusiastically. Although Hermes had a wide mouth, he did not appear interested in biting her. "I'd heard of them, but I never imagined they looked like this." Nicholas patted the dog again. "Hermes is a fine courser. We will have to get you your riding lessons quickly, Rebecca, so you can ride with us to the hunt. He can run down any fox or rabbit." "I'm sure."

"Why don't you pet him?" Glancing from his smile to the one on Sims's face, she asked uneasily, "He won't bite a stranger, will he?" "Hermes, this is Rebecca." With a laugh, he added, "There you have been introduced, so you are no longer strangers." Rebecca hesitated, then put out her fingers to the dog's head. She was startled at how silken the fur was. She had expected it to be as hard as the muscles visible under its skin. "How lovely," she murmured. "Just keep telling him that. Greyhounds are the vainest creatures on earth." With a grimace and a glance at the gate where Clarisse had disappeared, he mused as if to himself, "Or almost the vainest creatures on earth." Unsure how to reply, she listened as Nicholas spoke to the carriage driver. While he laughed with Sims, she discovered a side of her husband she had never seen. Among the people he was most comfortable with, he seemed to feel no need to be the cold man he presented to others. He chuckled easily with Sims as if they were members of the same family. With a flush of warmth, she realized that Nicholas treated her with the same openness. Few would ever have seen not only his kindness but the darker emotions he let loose so slightly in her company. In a way, it showed how much he truly cared for her. Rebecca savored that feeling all through the day as she met the horse she would be using to learn to ride. It was a docile mare named Blossom who would be willing to excuse her mistakes as she learned. Later that day she spent long, boring hours being measured by Mademoiselle Pacquette who chattered in French to Collette while she worked. She used the time to think of how hard it was to deny the feelings she had for her husband. Her stay at Foxbridge Cloister would not be a long one, but there was no sense in having it be unhappy. She and Nicholas had enjoyed an odd friendship both in Connecticut and on the Prize. There was no reason why they could not be friends again. She could not deny that she felt happiest when she was with him. As she spoke with the seamstress and Collette about designs and colors, she did not give any credence to the idea that she might be falling in love with the man she had married. *** *** *** Rebecca slowly became adjusted to her new life. She enjoyed her riding lessons with Sims teaching and Nicholas supervising. Every morning, she worked with Brody in the house as he taught her to supervise the staff. He showed her the kitchens and storerooms were located and introduced her to Esther, the cook who oversaw those basement regions. He took her from room to room and explained its use or history. Like her, he was fascinated with the oldest sections which were seldom used by the family. She had spent hours by herself examining the many bare cells where the monks had lived before being turned out into the world by the dissolution of the monasteries when King Henry VIII had assumed his position as head of the Church of England. She experienced an undeniable sense of awe when she entered the chapel which was still used for special family services. A shiver had run along her spine as Brody told her it last had been used two years ago when Lord Foxbridge had been buried. The more Rebecca learned of the huge house and its many servants, the more she knew she would have to learn. Many of the members of the gentry were at a party at a house which was called Avelet Court

and owned by the Carter family, so she was spared the immediate need of entertaining. One night, almost two weeks after her arrival, she was speaking with the butler in the front hall about a question she had about the stillroom and what medicines were available when Nicholas came down the stairs for dinner. She turned with a smile as she heard him approaching. "What do you think?" she asked as she twirled about so that the full skirts of her new gown whirled in a wide circle around her slender ankles. Mademoiselle Pacquette, after innumerable, interminable fittings, finally had delivered the clothes Nicholas had ordered. Very seriously, he walked to her. Her smile faded as he came toward her, but it returned as she saw the twinkle in his eyes. He could fool her with that stern attitude no longer. She had learned much of her husband's inherent tenderness in the last twelve days. They had made the after dinner chat in their sitting room a habit that they both had come to look forward to with pleasure. Every night, he would kiss her longingly before she went into her own bedroom to sleep alone. Often he would go downstairs to work during the quiet hours in his study. Those nights, she would lie awake until she knew he was in his room. As he walked through his adjoining room, her imagination supplied the scenes of him getting ready for bed. An ache filled her until she yearned to run to the door, unlock it, and pour out the longings of her lonely heart. A vow to a man she knew she had not loved as much as she was beginning to love Nicholas kept her from doing as she wanted to do. She was starting to wonder what she would do when Keith came for her. Would she go home or stay with the man she had wed? Such thoughts were not in her mind as she regarded Nicholas's handsome face as he pretended to be scrutinizing her new gown. "This is the latest style?" he growled. "That's what they tell me." She stroked the fine material and smiled. "Do you like it?" He drew her so close to him that her wide skirt billowed out behind her, showing the multitude of starched petticoats. "If I say your new gown is beautiful, it is because you are the one who makes it so, my dear wife." His arms tightened around her silk clad form as his mouth reacquainted itself with hers. Brody, with a smile, left to give his lord and his lovely lady a bit of the privacy which was so hard for them to find in the big house. He approved heartily of his lord's choice for many reasons, but the primary one was that they seemed to love each other so much. Love of any kind was a rarity in an upper class marriage, but for Lord and Lady Foxbridge, even after five years of marriage, they acted as if they were in the first, warm flush of their courtship. The butler would have been startled to realize how close to the truth he was. "I was sorry I missed your riding lesson this morning, sweetheart," Nicholas said as they walked to the dining room. "I had some business to attend to on one of the tenant farms. A disagreement over payments due and who should be paid what. It was settled quickly, but I was all morning dealing with it." She smiled. "You would have been proud of me. I did not fall off once today. I actually got Blossom up to a fast walk." The old horse had a tendency to go everywhere at the slowest imaginable speed. "I must get you a better horse. I'll have Sims spread the word through the area stables that we are interested in a fine mare for you." "That is not necessary. I can ride one of the horses in the Cloister stables while I am here." She bit her lip

as her voice trailed away into silence. As she reminded Nicholas that she did not intend to stay, she felt his hand tighten over hers. Coldly, he said, "I said I will buy you a horse, Rebecca, and I plan to do so." Once more the barriers had dropped between them to destroy the happiness they more frequently shared. As much as they wished to pretend that this was going to continue forever, both knew that when the fall came, Rebecca would be leaving. Not until they reached the dining room did either speak. Rebecca was surprised to see Curtis standing next to Eliza. She had not known that he had arrived back from London. He must be staying in town, for his friends whom he had stayed with on his last visit had closed their house for a fortnight to call on other friends. "Good evening, Curtis," she said, trying to mask the sorrow caused by her unthinking words. "How good to see you again!" She smiled briefly. For some reason, she could not warm up to Eliza's suitor. She did not understand why because he was always so kind. Even when Eliza was supporting Lady Margaret in her continual, cruel comments to Rebecca, he would try to say something to offset the nastiness. It was something about the way he seemed to watch the Wythes, especially Nicholas, as if there was something else on his mind than what he was speaking of at that moment. As she had before, she told herself sharply to stop being foolish. Curtis must be interested in cultivating Nicholas's friendship if he wished to marry Eliza. It was clear she was captivated by him, but they would need Nicholas's permission to wed. Despite that, she could not dismiss the expression in his eyes when he did not know that she was watching him. He was like the huntsman deciding when to move in on the stag to best capture the prize. His calculated manner made icy fingers along her spine. As they sat down for dinner, they listened to Curtis tell of the latest news from London. There was the usual selection of scandals, duels, and marriages for this time of year. The tempo of society's good and dark sides would not pick up until the winter season which would be a continuous round of formal dances and morning calls, clandestine affairs and men dying for the woman they wanted to impress. After the meal, the men stayed in the room to talk about some business matters on which Curtis wanted Nicholas's opinion. Lady Margaret went to her rooms to avoid having to spend time with her detested daughter-in-law. That left Eliza and Rebecca to retire to the solarium which was their favorite room. Trying to reach past the wall that had been forced between them by Lady Margaret's insistence of keeping them apart, Rebecca said, as soon as they entered the room, "You must be so happy to have Curtis here again, Eliza." She smiled joyously. "Don't you think he's wonderful? I know you love Nicholas and all that, but don't you think that Curtis is nice?" "He's very nice," she said, wishing she could be more sincere. "I know you care for him very much." Taking Rebecca's hand, she pulled her down to sit with her on the settee. Their wide skirts covered most of it. Eliza looked with pleading into the Rebecca's eyes. "Tell me, for I need to know. What does it feel like to know that you are so in love with a man that you want to marry him? How do you know it isn't infatuation like with other suitors? I mean, I have thought I was in love before, but soon I would forget that one and fall in love with the next. How did you know that Nicholas was the man for you?"

Rebecca stared at her in shock. She could not reveal the truth that she had not loved Nicholas when she had married him and that she did not love him even now. No, she told herself firmly, as a stray thought filled her mind. She could not love him. She would not love him. Trying to equivocate, she replied, "It's really very hard to explain, Eliza." "I know about why you married Nicholas. I know, too, that he interrupted your wedding to another man." In shock, she gasped, "He told you that?" "I asked him, and he told me. I had been confused as to why you had not tried to contact us for all this time, so he explained that you knew nothing of us." She frowned at her own thoughts, then smiled again weakly. "That's why I thought you would be the best one to ask about this. How did you know that Nicholas was the one you wanted to be with and not this other man?" "He is my husband, Eliza." "I know that, but, if you had refused to go with him, Nicholas would not have made you come to Foxbridge Cloister. Anyone can see that he dotes on you. He is anxious to give you everything you want, and he takes such pride in showing you off to his friends when we go out for rides in the carriage." She sighed. She could not explain the bargain she had made with Nicholas. Instead she said, "I guess you know that you want to spend your whole life with a man when you cannot imagine spending the rest of your life without him. It's as simple as that." Eliza was silent as she tried to assimilate the advice. She was so enrapt in her own thoughts that she did not notice the expression on the face of her sister-in-law. Rebecca was thinking of her own words. Was that what love truly was? A true, lasting love? If so, it must be a nascent love she felt for Nicholas. The thought of leaving him and Foxbridge Cloister sent a pain deep into her soul. She did not want to love him. She did not want to love the man who had hurt her to satisfy his own needs without caring for hers. Immediately her heart refuted her words. Nicholas cared for her. He cared very much as he had from the very beginning. "Excuse me, Eliza," she said, shakily, as she rose. "Do you feel poorly?" She waved her hand weakly. She did not want to stay and explain. Only in the haven of her room could she sort out the strange thoughts bombarding her brain. "I'm fine. Just tired. Please tell Curtis I will see him tomorrow and explain to Nicholas that I decided to go to bed early." As quickly as she could in her bulky gown, Rebecca ran along the hallway. She did not want to meet the men coming out of the dining room. She did not know what she possibly could say to Nicholas when her heart was in such an uproar. Up she went past the huge, stained glass window and into their suite. Collette looked up in shock that Lady Foxbridge would be returning from dinner so early. She did not say anything as she saw the distress on her lady's face. All she did was put out one of the new nightdresses which had been delivered with the

gowns and other apparel. Wishing her lady a good night, she left the room quietly, unsure if Lady Foxbridge had seen her from the depths of her misery. Rebecca refused to think of anything as she put her nightgown on and brushed her hair as she did each night. Although she was not tired, she got into bed and rested her head on her pillow. Tears dripped onto its muslin cover as she tried to deny that this could be love she felt for Nicholas. She would not let it be love. If she could choose any man in the world to love, it would not be the egotistical, self-confident Nicholas Wythe. That was all true. Yet, if it was all true, why did her heart leap in joy at the sound of his voice and threaten to break when she considered her trip home to Keith and her family? To the dark of the room, she whispered, "I do not want to love you, Nicholas! I do not!" She buried her face in the pillows as she wept for the love she had lost and the one she did not want to find.

Chapter Eight "Brody," Rebecca asked as she descended the stairs the following Sunday morning, "would you please have the carriage brought around?" "Yes, my lady," he answered. He sent a lad running to the stable with the message. Turning back to her, he watched as she adjusted her gloves and settled her bonnet more securely on her dark hair. "If my lord should ask, whom shall I tell him you are calling on this morning?" With a chuckle, she said, "For your and Nicholas's information, I'm going to church." He nodded, hiding his surprise. The only church in town belonged to the Church of England. That Lady Foxbridge had practiced the rites of a different sect had been well circulated throughout the house with almost as much interest as if it had been announced she believed in witchcraft. He did not say anything of that as she waved lightly and went out the door. Thanking Sims for holding the carriage door, Rebecca entered the carriage. It seemed so empty without Nicholas with her, but she needed to get away from Foxbridge Cloister and the sweet ties which were urging her never to leave. Perhaps in the quiet of the church, she would be able to think her problems through and find the answer which had eluded her so far. The problem had been plaguing her since her discussion with Eliza. Lost in her thoughts, the journey went quickly down the hill and into the village. Heads twisted at the

strange sight of the Wythes' carriage coming into the small village which was simply called Foxbridge. Whether it had been in existence before the monastery or had grown up in the shadow of its walls, no one seemed to know. The two were so interconnected that they were inseparable. "I shall wait for you, my lady, if you wish," said Sims as he helped her from the coach. "That isn't necessary. Go over to the Three Georges, if you want," she said with a smile as she pointed at the rickety tavern at the edge of the green. Not wishing to offend any of the last three kings, the owner of the local taproom had named his place for all of them. It was the gathering place for after work and long into the night on the men's few days off. The men who had started drinking draughts last night would be sleeping off their bouts in the chairs and on the tables. A few hardy souls would still be bending their elbows as they leaned on the bar that Rebecca would never see. No ladies of respectable mien would enter. He nodded. "That's kind of you, my lady. When church is over, send one of the lads for me. The vicar tends to be long winded some Sundays." As she started to walk toward the church, he added, "By the way, my lady, if no one mentioned it, the Wythes' pew is the first one on the right side of the church." "Thank you," she said sincerely. Without her friends at Foxbridge Cloister, she certainly would have made too many unforgivable errors already. The system of etiquette was so much stricter than the one she had known. Many strictures were put on her, and she had learned that her title brought her only less freedom. The church was as plain on the inside as on the outside. It appeared that none of the stained glass windows at the Cloister had been used in the building of the church which had replaced it as a place of worship. Even if Sims had not told her which pew belonged to the Wythes, she would have guessed. It was the only one with a door and cushions on the seats. When the sexton saw who was entering the church, he leapt from his post at the back of the sanctuary to hurry down the aisle to unlock the special pew which had not been opened in years. At one time, the lord and his lady had attended every Christmastide and Michaelmas, but that tradition, like many others revered by the peasants, had disappeared. He could not remember the last time one of the Wythes had attended services at this church. He was not the only one who reacted with astonishment as the churchgoers turned to see why he was unlocking the pew. Eyes widened in disbelief as they saw the young woman coming alone into the church. In her light pink gown with its flounces and bows, she could have been one of the angels in the treasured Bible on the altar. Like the sexton, they immediately identified the lady. Few newcomers came to Foxbridge on the wild, west coast, so each one was noted carefully. Nobody knew quite what to make of Lord Foxbridge's wife, for she was an American, and everyone admitted that they were a most strange breed. By nature cautious, they were waiting to see why she had crossed the invisible class lines that divided the village from the Cloister. When the last Lord Foxbridge had deigned to interfere in their lives, it had meant only trouble. They were anxious to see what this new lord and his odd lady intended to make of Foxbridge. Rebecca was aware of the consternation, but believed it would best if she acted unconcerned. She thanked the man who unlatched the pew. Flustered by her warm smile, he scuttled away to his usual seat in the last pew. She wished every eye in the church was not glued directly to her back. If she made a mistake during the service, it would be evident to everyone. She sighed, silently. There was nothing she

could do about it. She could not get up and walk out before the service started. When the minister came along the aisle to the altar, he stopped to welcome her. From his lack of surprise, she surmised that he had been informed of her presence. It showed Rebecca more than anything else in her experiences at Foxbridge Cloister that everything she did was subject to public scrutiny and opinion. As the wife of Lord Foxbridge, her life in a large way was no longer hers alone. If all the lands belonged to the lord of the Cloister, Lord Foxbridge and his family belonged to these people. It was just another way in which the bonds which had been formed and tempered for centuries enmeshed them. "It is lovely to see you here, my lady." His face above his ecclesiastical collar and frock was handsome. He was a young man with intelligent, blue eyes not so different from her own. His light brown hair was tied back sedately at his nape. "Thank you, Reverend." She was careful to hide her amusement. This poor man must be of interest to the mothers with marriageable daughters. Such good looks combined with a living in the parish made him extremely desirable to any maiden looking to better herself. "I have been anxious to attend your services. I have missed attending church." He smiled before he continued to the altar. The service was a very enthralling one with the music Rebecca enjoyed so much. She sang well and had helped with the small choir in her own church. She avidly sang the songs which were ones she was familiar with. By carefully listening to the words spoken from the altar, she was able to make her way through the differences in the service without making any gross mistakes. Only at the end, when the minister left the church after the final benediction, did she err. When she saw no one departing, she tarried also until she realized that they were waiting for her to leave first. Rebecca hurried along the aisle, glad her bonnet shaded her cheeks which must be a brighter rose than her gown. At the door, she greeted the minister. "I'm afraid I am the cause of the delay for your parishioners leaving, Reverend. I don't know all of the traditions of this title I possess yet." "It's no problem, Lady Foxbridge," he said with a laugh as his eyes sparkled with boyish good will. "Any excuse to get them to stay longer in church is always a good one." He bowed over her hand, startling her, for she had not expected such an action from a man of the cloth. "My name is John Middleton, my lady." "Reverend Middleton, I enjoyed the service very much. I hope my arrival will not be so disruptive next week." He hid his surprise that she intended to attend regularly at his small church. When he had been sent to Foxbridge a year ago, he had been informed quickly by his flock that the gentry did not come to this church. "We will be glad to see you whenever you wish to join us, my lady." "Thank you. Good day." She stepped down the stairs to see Sims sitting on the ground by the carriage. That surprised her, for she had thought he was going to wait at the Georges. When she walked out onto the road toward where the coach was parked, she understood why he was nearby. In a half circle on the green across from where the fine vehicle sat, a group of men were ogling her with open admiration. She did not have to be close enough to smell the alcohol on their breaths to guess these were the men who had been patronizing the pub all night. One of them started to move toward her, but paused as he saw Sims step out from behind the carriage.

As if he had not seen the men, the carriage driver opened the door. He tipped his cap to her, but out of view of the others, he winked. She felt her lips twitch, but was able to control them long enough to wait until he had closed the door before she began to giggle. She wondered what Sims had heard at the pub that had warned him that the village men were interested in meeting Lady Foxbridge face-to-face. She was sure she never would get used to the curiosity of these people. The ride back to Foxbridge Cloister was lovely with the light taste of sea in the indolent breeze. It was a summer day made to order for picnics and poets. When the carriage stopped at the door, she alit, but did not go into the house. Instead she walked toward the side of the house which overlooked the ocean. The formal gardens seemed to go on forever, but eventually she left them behind. Knowing that she was a good distance from the house, she untied her bonnet and bent to unbuckle her shoes. Pulling her shoes and stockings off, she dropped them into the depths of her bonnet which she tied over her arm as if it were a bag. Once again, she was Rebecca North, running in her bare feet through the summer grasses on her way to the fields or school at the church in the village. She twirled in the warm sunshine and felt the fine silk of her gown whirl around her. For the first time since she had come to England, she was herself and not someone named Lady Foxbridge. Gathering wildflowers, she wandered through the meadows that were steadily sloping toward the shore. The pulse of the waters could be heard in the distance as the waves beat themselves to nonexistence on the shore. She took a deep breath of the fresh air which was one of the few things here that she found more delightful than Connecticut. She had discovered the sea and wanted to be near it always. She sighed as she realized it was too far to go. By the way the sun was climbing in the sky, it soon would be time for luncheon. Lady Margaret had made her displeasure with her so clear that she did not want to do anything to alienate her mother-in-law further. Already it was so late, that she would have to hurry if she wanted to get to the house before the meal was served. Swinging her bonnet in her hands, she strolled toward the main house. When she reached a small copse, she hesitated going through it in her fine dress. Then, when she thought of the ridicule she would face at Lady Margaret's hands if she arrived windblown and late for luncheon, she did not pause any longer. Tipping her bonnet onto the ground, she pulled her stockings on again and redid her shoes that reached above her ankles. She retied her bonnet under her chin. Too many lectures she had heard already from Nicholas's mother on how a lady was never seen outside without something on her head. She folded her dress and petticoats tight to her legs. It was bulky, but this way she could get through this thicket without snagging the material of her gown. Wishing she had not gone so far and made herself late, she plunged into the wood. Rebecca had no warning as she set her foot on what had been forgotten for more years than she had lived. When the deadly thing had been hidden, no one would recall, but it had remembered its purpose despite years of lying in wait in the heat of summer and beneath the winter snows. Her light step was enough to trigger it. When the trap encircled her leg, it threw her to the ground so hard that a burst of pain was the only thing lighting the darkness which soon swallowed even her agony into its maw of nothingness. *** *** *** Nicholas glowered as he came into the dining room. At the table were sitting his mother and sister. He

knew Curtis would be by later in the afternoon to take Eliza on their regular Sunday afternoon drive. All in all, the scene was a peaceful one, but he did not feel like enjoying it. "Good afternoon, son." He did not return the greeting as he asked, bluntly, "Have you seen Rebecca today?" "I haven't been looking for her," replied his mother with a sniff. "Where was she bound when you last saw her?" He paused before he nearly blurted that he had not seen his wife. It would be unusual for a man not to see his wife upon awakening in the morning. He had not talked to Rebecca since she had gone to her room last night after they had enjoyed a pleasant chat in their sitting room. He evaded the question by saying, "It was very early." "Well, she isn't here, as you can see, Nicholas." Lady Margaret picked up her cup of tea. "Heaven alone knows where her strange fancy might have taken her today." "This isn't the time for snide comments!" he stated firmly. "Eliza, did she mention anything about plans today?" She thought for a moment, then answered with a bright smile, "Rebecca said nothing to me, but Brody told me that she wanted to see me when she got back. He must know where she went." "Thanks," he replied as he grinned at her. Despite his mother's efforts to separate the two young women, they were becoming friends. "Go ahead, and eat. I'll eat with Rebecca." He left quickly to avoid the insult he knew his mother would make. The butler told him that Lady Foxbridge had gone into the village to attend church, but she should have been back at least an hour ago. It had been Sims who had taken her into the village in the family carriage. Nicholas went directly to the stable. Sims was found and came to speak to Lord Foxbridge with his napkin from his Sunday luncheon still in his hand. He listened to the questions. "Aye, my lord. I took her to church. I waited for her and brought her home. Must be over an hour ago we came back. She didn't go into the house, but, instead, she said she was going to go for a walk in the gardens to get some fresh air." "Which gardens?" he demanded with growing frustration. He had not anticipated a puzzle when he sought his wife. "The ones on the west side of the house. What's wrong, my lord?" He did not hesitate as he explained that Rebecca had not returned. Sims did not hesitate either. Quickly, he said he would gather a group of the men together to search out the gardens to see if they could discover where Lady Foxbridge had gone. "Keep it quiet for now. I do not want to alarm Lady Margaret and Lady Eliza." He did not add that he was not prepared to deal with incriminations from the former and hysterics from the latter if they learned that Rebecca was missing instead of simply late. "First, have Donar saddled for me."

Nicholas did not believe they would find Rebecca in the gardens. He was sure she had sought some less tamed horizon to explore. More than once, he had seen her looking longingly toward the sea. He hoped she had not tried to reach it. There were few places along the sharply dropping cliffs which allowed access to the sand and water below. If she had attempted to climb down, she could have been hurt or killed. He forced the thought of her lying motionless on the strand from his mind. Certainly, she was only delayed or lost on the massive grounds. There was no reason to believe there had been a calamity simply because she was late for luncheon. Settling securely in the saddle of his bay horse, he whistled. Hermes burst from the stable in answer to the call. Although Nicholas doubted if the dog would be much good in hunting Rebecca, for greyhounds used sight instead of scent to capture their quarry, he wanted his dog's company while he found his wife. Turning the horse's head toward the west, Nicholas was racing across the garden before Sims had the other men organized. Donar easily cleared the shrubs in a single bound that did not break his stride. By his side, Hermes traveled easily. They did not slow until they reached the wild fields past the cultivated lawns. Nicholas looked for a clue to determine if Rebecca had even come in this direction. He was a mile from the house when he saw the bit of pink fluff hooked on the side of a tall thistle. Stopping his horse, he dismounted. It was a silk flower from a lady's bonnet. Although he did not know what outfit she was wearing, he knew Rebecca had a hat with decorations like this. She must have come this way. He looked at the dog which was sitting patiently by the horse. "Hermes!" Instantly the dog rose and looked expectantly at him. Flinging out his hand, he ordered, "Rebecca! Find Rebecca!" The dog wagged his tail and obediently trotted off a short distance in the direction he had pointed. He barked twice which was a signal Nicholas had taught him when there was no game to be found. Nicholas swore viciously as the dog returned to sit by the horse again. It was not Hermes's fault that he could not track by scent. If only there was some clue he could give the dog, he was sure Hermes would take him directly to Rebecca. They seldom had been unsuccessful when they hunted together. Surveying the empty fields stretching to the horizon, he called out his wife's name. All that came back was the sound of the sea and the screech of the seabirds he had disturbed. Turning to his left, he shouted her name again. He did the same to his right. For two, eternal minutes, he waited for a response that was not forthcoming. Either Rebecca had gone somewhere else or she could not answer him. He prayed it was the first. He turned to look back at Foxbridge Cloister. From this location, only its tall chimneys and the dormers of the attics were visible. Between him and the house was a windbreak of trees which obscured the view. He smiled. In sudden inspiration, he knew that she would have taken the shortest route to the house. She had come this way. She might have gone back by way of the copse. Perhaps there was a clue there to her whereabouts. Leaping on his horse, he set it racing again toward the small wood. He looped the reins over a briar as he called out again for Rebecca. Again he got no answer. He glanced down at the dog. "Rebecca?" Hermes's ears rose at the command he was trying to understand. Suddenly he barked a single time.

Nicholas could not restrain his excitement as he heard the dog give the signal that he was ready to flush out his prey. The greyhound must perceive something in the copse he could not. Pushing his way through the thick branches of the overgrown area, he looked for clues to her passage. It did not take him more than a dozen paces to traverse the thicket, but there were no signs that she had passed through. By the time, he had renegotiated back through to where Donar and Hermes waited, he was swearing loudly. His clothes were ripped, he was scratched, but most of his frustration was with not discovering anything about Rebecca's location. He remounted. Shouting an order to the dog, he started to ride. When he realized the dog was not with him, he called over his shoulder. Again Hermes barked once. "She's not there!" Nicholas snapped. A third time the greyhound barked. "She's not there! Why am I arguing with a damned dog?" he growled to himself. "Hermes, come!" The dog hesitated, but followed as Nicholas headed toward the house. Perhaps she had returned safely while he had been out looking for her. Those hopes were dashed immediately. There was no news of Rebecca. It was time to start a full search. It had been two hours since she last had been seen. If she was unhurt, she would have come back to Foxbridge Cloister by this time. Nicholas went into the house to gather more help. He ordered Brody tersely to send every available house-servant out to the barn to aid in the search. "And tell Mother and Eliza, if you would," he shouted over his shoulder. "I don't have time to deal with them now. When Mr. Langston gets here, send him out to the stable as well. We need everyone." "Good luck, sir." He did not reply as he went out to search toward the west on a slightly different tangent. Sims would have the others do an inch by inch search of the grounds starting at the house and expanding out until they discovered what had happened to Lady Foxbridge. Hour after hour, the search continued fruitlessly. Too soon, even the late light of summer was beginning to fade into twilight. The seekers were becoming fatigued, but no one dared to stop until Lord Foxbridge called off the quest. Those waiting in the Cloister were finding the hours moving far too slowly. Upstairs in the master suite, Collette was weeping inconsolably. In the solarium, Eliza was fighting the urge to do the same. She waited alone. Lady Margaret had shut herself away in her rooms, and Curtis was involved in the search. Although she held her petit point canvas, she had not sewn a stitch all afternoon. She had spent the hours walking between the tall windows leading onto the terrace and the hearth. As soon as there was news, she would be informed. She began to pray that the news would not come too soon, for she feared it would be only bad. At the sea cliffs, Nicholas was a silhouette against the last red rays of the sunset, staring as the sun sank into the western sea. In the land where the sun still was shining was Rebecca's well-loved home. He feared that he had taken her from where she had been happy to bring her to the Cloister to be involved in some horrible tragedy which had taken her life. Although he should have left her in America, he had been compelled by his own desire to possess her. He had not expected that compulsion to end in her death.

"No!" he shouted to the water and the sky. He refused to believe that she was dead. His heart could not accept that fact. Picking up the reins of his horse, he mounted and headed back to the house. There had been no further signs of Rebecca in the sea marshes. He paused as he was about to ride past the wood once again. Looking at Hermes, he asked as he had so frequently, "Rebecca?" The dog's ears perked at the command. As before, he barked once. Nicholas smiled grimly, for Hermes's opinion mirrored his own. He could not shake his feeling that she had come this way. It would be so like Rebecca to push through the copse instead of taking the time to go around it. He would not be able to rest until he checked the briar-filled underbrush one more time. If he wanted to do that tonight, he had to do it immediately. Although it was still twilight in the open, among the trees, it would soon be nighttime black. He sought a different tangent through the bushes, but again he had no luck. With a sigh of regret, he turned back. He could not believe both his intuition and Hermes's keen sight were wrong. Shoving on the thick brush, he swore as briars tangled in his hair. He pulled sharply and left the tie holding the dark strands at the back of his collar. Absently he shoved the hair back from his face. He could not think of the irritating hair when he must figure out where Rebecca could be. As he neared the edge of the copse, he heard Hermes barking excitedly. Perhaps he had put too much credibility into a beast's skills. Sorrow slowed him, and he was not two steps from the edge when his eyes were caught by the glare of white on the ground. Something was bright in the moonlight. Pushing aside some of the stubborn bushes, he saw he had found Rebecca. He must have passed within inches of her on his previous excursions through the wood. As he tried to break the briars to reach her, he called out her name. She did not answer, and he doubled his efforts to reach her, paying no attention to the blood which dripped from the scratches on his hands. Kneeling, he did not move her, for it was clear that something had injured her. She did not respond to her name or his hand shaking her gently. At first, he could not tell what had caused her senselessness. It was only when he ran his hands along her to check for broken bones that he discovered what had delayed her. Nicholas cursed as he felt the jaws of the trap that had closed upon her upper leg. He had thought there were no more of these on Foxbridge Cloister lands. Although other landowners used these man sized traps to keep poachers away from their hunting lands, for the past two generations none had been used at the Cloister. It appeared that one had been forgotten. If it had not been so old and rusty, it would have severed Rebecca's leg. Her thick dress might have saved her leg. How badly she was hurt, he had no idea. Although he hated to do so, he left her on the ground. All of his efforts to revive her had been useless. He had to have help to get her back to the house. Ordering Hermes to remain by the copse, he rode at top speed back to the Cloister. Nicholas did not wait to dismount as he entered the stableyard that was brilliantly lit with torches. Looking about for Sims, he signaled to the man directing the search. "My lord?"

"I've found her." "What -- ?" Impatiently Nicholas stated, "No time. Hitch the wagon. Bring it to the copse to the west of the house. We need blankets. Get them! Fast!" "Yes, my lord." "Send someone for the doctor." Sims replied, "The doctor is away visiting family." "Go, then, Sims, and get the next closest one. Rebecca is going to need a doctor." The coachman paused only long enough to ask, "My lord, the doctor will want to know if he should bring anything special." "Tell him Lady Foxbridge has been caught by an ancient mantrap which somehow got left in the copse. Hurry, man, hurry!" His face as pale as the moon's ghostly visage, Sims did as ordered. By the time the wagon was heading across the gardens, the coach was careening wildly down the drive to find a doctor. Although Lord Foxbridge had not elaborated, every man knew the damage such an instrument could cause to the soft body of a small person like Lady Foxbridge. Brody stood on the steps by the front door with a torch in his hand. As he rode past, Nicholas shouted, "We have found her. Get her bed ready." The butler nodded and rushed inside. Efficiently, he prepared for the worst. He did not know what had happened, but it was clear that Lady Foxbridge was in a bad way. Going upstairs, he went to the master suite. Lord Foxbridge had said he wanted her in her bed, so he must have meant the lady's room of the suite. Collette calmed as she learned that Lady Foxbridge had been found. She set to work immediately to have everything ready when she was returned to her room. Soon the room would be swarming with staff and family, so she tried to anticipate every need before chaos hit. In the copse, Nicholas went unerringly to where Rebecca had not moved. It took three men to open the trap enough to remove her snared leg. The jaws moved very sluggishly, but that is what had saved Rebecca's life. If it had worked as it had been designed, she would have bled to death. As carefully as they could, they lifted her onto a blanket and carried her to the wagon. Nicholas left Donar and the greyhound in the hands of one of the undergrooms as he climbed into the back of the wagon to ride with the still silent woman. During the slow, bumpy ride, he gazed at her face which was lifeless in the glare of the moon. He had checked her pulse at her throat more than once. Although it was faint, it was steady. She seemed to be only sleeping, but he hoped in the light, there was the chance they would find the reason for this senseless state. Brody ordered everyone away as the men carried the woman upstairs. Eliza ran forward to follow her brother up the stairs, but he motioned her back.

"Not yet, Eliza. Wait here with Curtis for the doctor. There's nothing you can do. Where's Mother?" "In her rooms." Nicholas's jaw tightened in rage. "Would you tell her that Rebecca has been found, but is unconscious?" He did not trust himself to speak to his mother. She had made it clear that she did not care what happened to her daughter-in-law. Once Rebecca was well, he intended to rectify this ridiculous situation. When he went into the room where the men had placed her on the clean, white sheets of her bed, he paid no attention to Collette and Gilmore, his valet, who hovered to one side. Nicholas bent and untied the ribbons of her ruined bonnet. Her hair cascaded to the pillow. For a second, he smiled. He knew what Rebecca had been doing. She had been seeking the freedom she could not have as Lady Foxbridge. When he tenderly removed her shoes and stockings, he saw dirt on the bottom of her feet. She had reached for the life she had known across the ocean and had nearly lost the one she had with him. The bunched up skirt came apart reluctantly. On her right leg, he could see the rips where the teeth of the trap had torn into the material. It was then that he saw blood and knew Rebecca had not escaped unscathed from the instrument of torture. He did not dare to probe any farther because he feared he would injure her worse. His eyes rose from the bright red on the pink dress to meet the frightened eyes of the two who served them most intimately. Only these two knew that Rebecca did not share his bed each night. They had kept that secret well, mainly because they cared so much for the woman lying so still on the bed. Gilmore dampened his lips and murmured, tritely, "She will be fine, my lord." "Oui, mon seigneur," echoed Collette. In her distress, she reverted to her native language. She added, in English, "My lady will recover completely, my lord." "I hope so," he said, softly. Shaking the seductive fingers of despair from him, he asked in a much more normal tone of voice, "Gilmore, can you get me a cup of tea and some toast? I have skipped two meals, and I have a feeling it may be a very long night." "Of course, my lord. Anything for -- ?" He paused, unsure if he should continue. Nicholas shook his head. "Let's wait to see what the doctor says. Sims should be able to find a doctor within an hour of here. Perhaps she will be awake by then." His optimistic words did not prove to be prophetic. When the doctor arrived nearly two hours after she had been found, Rebecca was still unconscious. The cup of tea sat half-finished on the dressing table and the toast untouched. Nicholas had pulled the chair by the bed and had spent most of unending hours holding Rebecca's hand. Every few minutes, he would call her name softly. Gilmore and Collette waited stoically in the room. Neither dared to voice their fears. The sight of the strong man forced to his knees by his love for his wife nearly caused the tears in their eyes to brim over to roll along their faces. When the doctor was announced, all three looked expectantly toward the man. He was a fine boned

young man who introduced himself as Dr. Geoffrey Scott. "I understand Lady Foxbridge was caught by a mantrap, my lord." There was disgust in his voice. It was clear that he considered it was nearly justifiable that the one of those who had planted the barbarous devices in the ground deserved to be the victim. Nicholas did not care what the man thought of him and his family, but he did not want the doctor's influenced negatively toward Rebecca. Quietly, he replied, "Yes, Dr. Scott. No one suspected any remained on the grounds. My grandfather ordered them all removed years ago when my father and his siblings were youngsters. This one must have been overlooked. It was so old and rusted, it could not close properly." "Fortunately for Lady Foxbridge." Dr. Scott lost his belligerence. He could have compassion for his patient if she was innocent of the crime of trying so sadistically to keep starving men from providing food for their families. "Yes," Nicholas seconded, "fortunately for her. She's over here." He liked the brash man who could be no older than himself. "She is unconscious, and it's obvious that she has been cut by the jaws of the trap which were around her right leg when we found her." He walked to the bed. "Everyone will please leave while I examine her, except you." He pointed to Collette. "I shall need your help." "Now, see here -- " began Nicholas. Dr. Scott faced him as he slipped his black coat off. "My lord, please leave. You are delaying her examination. I will report as soon as I know what is causing this problem." The light eyes of the doctor met the anguished eyes of the taller man, and, for once, Nicholas was the first to back down. Signaling to his valet, they went to the door. In the sitting room of the suite, others waited. As the doctor had dismissed him, Nicholas ordered everyone else from the room. He did not want the staff to witness to his disintegration into agony. Only Eliza ignored his order. Curtis had left Foxbridge Cloister after the search ended. He would come back in the morning when he would not be in the way. She had appreciated his kindness. She sat on a settee and did not say anything, so Nicholas paid her no mind. She watched as he went to the windows in the wall opposite the fireplace. He opened one and looked out toward the ocean. In the extraordinary quiet of the house this evening, Nicholas could hear the far-off sound of the sea which did not cease its motion even though disaster had struck Foxbridge Cloister. He leaned on his elbows and hid his face in his hands. What he had feared had come to pass. He had brought Rebecca to his home only to add more sorrow into her life. He had wanted to give her love, but continued to provide only misery for her. He wondered if he ever would have a chance to atone for his crime of wanting her too much. She must wake again. If she did not. . .He groaned as his hands fisted against his forehead. She must wake. She must.

Chapter Nine "My lord? Lord Foxbridge?" Nicholas turned at Collette's impatient call. "Is the doctor done so soon?" He could not keep from thinking this meant the worst. "No, my lord." She smiled to ease his distress. "It's Lady Foxbridge. She is awake, and she won't cooperate until she sees you." He grinned as he stepped through the door. His eyes went to the bed where finally the blue eyes in the peaked face were open. As she met his gaze, he affixed a false scowl on his lips to match the mock anger in his voice. "I hear you are refusing to cooperate with the doctor, Rebecca. This is hardly the time for your Yankee stubbornness." His smile returned as she laughed softly. She winced as the sound hurt her aching skull. "You had better be glad," she said, in a hoarse whisper, "that I have that thick head you've accused me of having. The doctor said I took quite a bump." "Sit over there, Lord Foxbridge," ordered the doctor, although he was smiling also. "Now, my lady, you have seen your husband. Will you allow me to continue?" "Yes," she murmured. She closed her eyes and sank back into the pillows. If the truth must be known, she felt awful. The last thing she could remember, before awaking moments ago, was the sharp pain pulsating in her right leg. She did not dare to ask what had happened, unsure if she wanted to know. Quickly and competently, the doctor cut away her ruined gown. He frowned as he saw the row of toothmarks across her thigh. With the freshly boiled water he had ordered, he washed the dirt and dried blood from the injured area. He saw the lady's hands grasp the sheets, but she did not utter a sound. Most of his patients screamed during this process. His respect for her increased. He hated having to do what he must next. "My lord, I need a bottle of whiskey." At the shock on the man's face, he added, "Not for me, but for your lady." Nicholas nodded and sent Collette to fetch it. While they waited for her to return, he went to the other side of the bed. He picked up Rebecca's clenched fingers. Stroking her forehead, he asked, "How are you doing, sweetheart?" She grimaced. "I may not be dancing for a while." The doctor reassured her, "Only for a short time, my lady. It isn't as serious as it could have been. You

were very lucky." "This is lucky? What do you British consider bad luck?" Both men laughed at her ironic words. None of Rebecca's sense of humor had been bruised. Nicholas was pleased, for she would need it in the days of recovery ahead. Collette returned with a bottle and a cup. She knew what the doctor intended to do, so she had brought what he needed. Dr. Scott poured a large serving into the cup and handed it to Rebecca. "Drink, my lady." "I don't drink this," she said in surprise. "I never have." "All the better. You will need less if you aren't used to it. It's to dull the pain, my lady. Perhaps someday we will have something better to help, but for now this is the best I can offer you." When she hesitated, he ordered again, "Drink it all, but not too fast." The first sip burned all the way to her stomach and brought tears to her eyes. No one laughed as she choked with the bitter taste of the whiskey. She looked into Nicholas's eyes and saw his pain. His expression told her of the torment he had known as he had searched for her. Taking courage from him, she tried a second drink. As she slowly drained the cup, it no longer seemed to taste so horrible. A warmth from her center enveloped her in a haze that ruffled the edges of her vision. She found it easier to close her eyes and be rocked on the gentle sway of the bed. Dr. Scott took the cup from her fingers as she settled deeper into the pillows. He smiled grimly. "She's right. She must not drink at all, if this small bit of whiskey incapacitates her out so quickly. Collette, I need that bottle back. Pour more into the cup in case she needs it. Good. Give me the bottle." Taking a deep breath, he tilted the bottle so the clear, amber liquid flowed into the deep cuts. As he had expected, the woman came awake with a scream of agony. He swore as her convulsive motion knocked the bottle from his hand. "Hold her down, my lord. I must put salve on these wounds and sew them shut. She must be kept still." "I will do my best." Nicholas's face was grey beneath his deep tan. It hurt him to see her in such anguish. He concentrated on keeping her motionless. Collette helped also. From Rebecca's lips came mumbles of pain-wracked phrases that made no sense. It seemed forever until the doctor ordered them to release her. Across her badly swollen leg was a swath of medicine and bloodstained bandages. The doctor motioned for Nicholas to follow him after ordering the maid to dress Lady Foxbridge in her nightgown. "If possible, don't move her leg. If you must, move it as little as you can." Eliza came forward as they closed the door to the bedroom. Quickly, Nicholas introduced her to the doctor. Both listened as the doctor spoke of his findings. "As I told her, Lord Foxbridge, she was very lucky. The cuts are deep, but I don't think there is any permanent damage. She must stay in bed at least a week, more likely two. The swelling in that leg must go down before she puts any weight on it. If she strains it at all, infection might spread through it, and it would mean amputating her leg." "No! Not Rebecca!" cried Eliza. She could not imagine that happening to her sister-in-law.

"Hush, Eliza," said Nicholas. "The doctor said that all we must do is keep her in bed. All?" He chuckled, much relieved with Rebecca's near miraculous escape from death. "We may have to tie her down to keep her in bed, Dr. Scott, but she will follow your orders. I trust you will be checking her regularly. Of course, our carriage is available for your convenience for calls here and to help you make your calls on your other patients." "That is very gracious of you, Lord Foxbridge. Keep her quiet tonight. It might not be a bad idea if you can get her to drink more whiskey to dull the pain. I can assure you she will be in misery for the next few days." Nicholas asserted, "She will be a very stoic patient. Rebecca is brave about everything. Impatience with her injury is something else altogether, but we will deal with that when we get to that." Dr. Scott rose and picked up his bag. "Very good. I will be back by midmorning at the latest. I have several patients I must check first. By ten, at the latest, I will be back to change the bandages. Don't touch them before then even if they get blood-soaked. Just slip cloths under her leg if you are worried about the mess." "That doesn't concern me. All I want is for Rebecca to be well again." He held out his hand, for the first time noticing the multitude of scratches on the palm. Dried blood had etched a bas-relief design into his skin. Worried for Rebecca, he had ignored the slight pain. He continued to do so. "Thank you for coming so promptly. We will see you in the morning, Dr. Scott." "My pleasure," he said as he shook the proffered hand. "If I may say so, Lord Foxbridge, both you and your sister should get some rest tonight if possible. It won't be a short recovery, and you don't need to get ill also." "I understand." Brody was waiting patiently in the hallway to take the doctor back to the front door. When he saw the smile on Lord Foxbridge's face, he sighed with relief. AS the two men walked away, Nicholas turned to Eliza. "You heard Dr. Scott, sister. Go to bed. I will need your help tomorrow." She hugged him and kissed his cheek. "You rest, too, Nicholas. Let Collette watch Rebecca for a few hours." "Yes," he lied, "I'll do that. Good night. Oh, Eliza, you can tell Mother that Rebecca is going to be all right." Bitterly, he added, "I'm sure she will be overjoyed to hear that." His sister said nothing. Neither could understand Lady Margaret's continuing enmity toward Rebecca. It was ripping the family apart. Nicholas sided with his wife, and poor Eliza was not caught in the middle. She did not want to choose. She liked Rebecca, but she did not want to hurt her mother, whom she loved, by showing that friendship. Nicholas went back to the bedroom. Tersely, he told Collette to get something to eat and a few hours sleep. He would call her later if he needed her. She did not dare to argue, for no one would convince Lord Foxbridge to leave his lady's side tonight. Sitting on the chair next to the bed, he looked at Rebecca with a critical eye. A lump rose from her forehead where she must have struck the ground. Her hands were scratched also from hitting the briars when she had been caught unaware by the trap. It was her injured leg that drew his attention. Collette

had cut one of Rebecca's nightdresses shorter so that the ragged hem was above the line of bandages. The strips of cloth continued to turn a deeper red as the cuts oozed her lifeblood from her body. The leg was a grotesque copy of the slender one next to it. When her eyes opened a slit, her lips tilted in a smile. "Nicholas!" "Yes, sweetheart, I am here with you." "Don't leave me alone this time," she whispered as her fingers slid over his. Shame filled him as he recalled how he had been so angry with her on the Prize that he had left her to recover on her own. That angry, jealous man seemed to be a part of someone else's life. He could not imagine being away from Rebecca when she needed him. Since those first, hate-filled days, they had learned to care for each other. Perhaps not love, but it was no longer hate. He leaned forward to kiss her colorless lips. "I will be here as much as you want, Rebecca. You must be a good patient so you can get better as quickly as possible." When she did not reply, he saw she had drifted away into a sleep which would help cure her weakened body. There was no use being irate that he had not found her when he had gone through the copse earlier. She had been found. No one had had to tell him that to spend the night in the grip of that snare would have been fatal to her. *** *** *** As Nicholas had predicted, Rebecca was a model patient for the first few days. She did not complain once of her pain, although her suffering was revealed by the whiteness of her pinched features. When Dr. Scott changed the bandages, she simply closed her eyes and fisted her fingers as she made no sound to show how much it hurt. The only time Nicholas left her side was when he had to attend to business which could not be postponed. He had had a pallet brought in so he could sleep on the floor next to her. He did not want her to awaken in the night and be alone. When she had joked about them sharing a room, he had been pleased, for it showed that she was accepting her slow recuperation as well as could be expected. The trouble began when the sharpest pains passed, and Rebecca became bored with her confinement. He could offer her books to read and needlework to do, but that soon was not enough. Eliza was the only other one who visited her. Lady Margaret had called once to fulfill her obligation to her injured daughter-in-law, but had not returned. Although Curtis sent his wishes for a quick recovery, it would not have been proper for him to visit when Rebecca was dressed simply in a cut-off nightgown and robe. Two weeks after the accident, Nicholas was sitting in the room with her when he threw down his quill onto the dressing table he had been using as a desk. "That's it!" he shouted, angrily. "I am tired of it, Rebecca! I have heard enough complaints." Her eyes filled with tears. "Don't yell at me. I'm tired of it, too. I hate being stuck in this room all the time." He said nothing as he went to her closet. Grabbing out one of her dresses, he tossed it on the bed. From the bottom of the cupboard, he pulled a pair of shoes. He put one back with a sigh. Although most of the swelling had left her right leg, her foot would not fit into one of her shoes. She would have to wear a satin

slipper on that foot. As he drew a pair of stockings and clean lingerie from her dresser, she asked, "What are you doing?" "It's Sunday. I thought you might like to go to church." "Church?" she gasped. "I can go out? When did the doctor say that?" "Yes, yes, and he told me to delay it as long as possible," he replied with a smile. "I think if I had heard one more complaint, I would have done something wild like this." He leaned over the bed and pulled her into his arms. Her lips beneath his sent a warm glow of desire through him. Slowly he released her. Even the gentle kisses and touching he wanted to share with her might injure her more, and he would not do anything to risk this sweet lady. Softly, as he stared into her love glazed eyes, he said, "I will send Collette in to help you dress, sweetheart. While I'm changing, I'll have Sims bring the carriage around. I shall be back in about ten minutes. Is that time enough to get dressed?" She nodded, not trusting her voice. All she wanted now was to bring those delightful lips back over hers. She would be content to stay in this bed if he would share it with her. As he strode out of the room, she was glad he had not been looking at her when that thought came into her head. The longing to be Nicholas's wife in more than name haunted her, but she must remember the promise that bound her to another man. Collette twittered happily as she came into the room. She helped Rebecca get dressed in record time. There was no time for doing her hair, so they simply brushed it back and tied it with a ribbon. When Nicholas returned, he smiled as he saw her dressed normally again. "You look lovely, sweetheart." "My hair -- " "Is perfect." He winked broadly at Collette as, stooping, he picked Rebecca up from the bed with no sign of strain. The maid ran ahead to open the doors. He went through each carefully. With Collette and Brody's help, he was able to get down the stairs without worrying about missing one of the steps. When they stepped out into the sunshine, Rebecca's smile widened. Nicholas knew the delight she was feeling, for he had known the same sense of liberation when he had emerged from his wartime prison to see that the sun still shone and the clouds still blew across the sky on the breeze. He sat her on the seat and joined her in the lovely vehicle. As soon as Sims had closed the door and had started it down the driveway, she threw her arms around him. "Thank you," she whispered against his chest. "Thank you for what, sweetheart?" he asked as he rubbed her back. It seemed so wonderful to be able to hold her again. If he had lost Rebecca, he was sure he would have lost his mind also. She was becoming as much a part of his life as breathing. "For everything," she answered. "For putting up with me, most of all. This is the second time you have had to help me recover." He laughed. "If we are keeping score, I am willing to let the game be over. I don't want you hurt so ever

again." On the ride into the village, she leaned her head on him and propped up her leg on his which was balanced on the opposite seat. Her own legs were too short to reach the other bench without straining the abused muscles. When the vehicle hit an unavoidable bump, she winced, but did not complain. She was so happy to have escaped her bedroom prison, she was willing to put up with some additional pain. As two weeks before, all heads turned as the sexton ran forward. A rumble of whispered asides filled the sanctuary when Lord Foxbridge came into the church with his lady in his arms. He thanked the sexton for opening their pew as if it were the most ordinary thing for them to be attending the services. Although Rebecca could not stand for the hymns, she joined in the singing enthusiastically. Her joy spilled over into her lovely voice. Reverend Middleton was as pleased as Rebecca when he came over to the carriage to talk to her before the Wythes went back to Foxbridge Cloister. When he had heard of her terrible accident, he had been miserable. He had called at Foxbridge Cloister, but had been told that Lady Foxbridge could receive no callers. "Thank you for your kind concern, Reverend," she said. "I was told you had called, but, for several days, I was in no condition to talk to anyone." "A full recovery is expected?" he asked, hoping he was not being too nosy. She did not seem to mind. "Dr. Scott is very optimistic that soon I will be dancing at the local balls." She laughed. "Of course, I have to be invited to one first." He joined in her laughter. Lady Foxbridge was very candid, and he enjoyed her company so much he had not been able to get her out of his mind for the past two weeks. He did not examine his own feelings of why he had thought more of this lovely lady than was proper. "That is wonderful, my lady. If it isn't too presumptuous of me at this early point in your recovery, I was wondering if you would be interested in being involved in our church fair coming up in a month." "Church fair?" "Yes, my lady. We are trying to raise money to replace the steeple that was burnt by a lightning strike last summer." He pointed to where a charred spot showed on the roof of the building. "We were lucky we did not lose our whole church, yet we miss the dignity it had before. It's our hope to rebuild it someday and have a bell to toll the holy days." Rebecca knew he hoped she would put the name of Lady Foxbridge behind this project to bring the support of the other wealthy families in the area. "What could I possibly do?" She laughed. "Nothing that requires two feet at this point, I am afraid." He wondered why her laughter was sweeter than the sound of his imagined church bell. It felt as if a heavy weight were on his chest as his breath quickened just by being near her. Unable to control the rapid beat of his heart, he said, "I have heard how lovely you sing, my lady. Would you be willing to teach the youngsters some songs to sing at the fair? It is something that you can do without straining yourself. The children can come here or out to the Cloister whichever is more convenient for you, if you are willing." Knowing that having the village youngsters at the Cloister would cause more trouble with Lady Margaret,

she told him she would be glad to help at the church. If he would inform her of the best time for rehearsal, she would help. It was something she could do easily, for working with children always had been a joy for her. He thanked her profusely and vowed to have the details to her by Tuesday at the latest. When he wished her a good day, he went to talk to her husband who had been speaking with his tenants. They had taken the opportunity to present their landlord with problems on their farms. He listened and made appointments to see most of them early in the week. Some of the complaints he dismissed as too petty for his concern. Nicholas expected his people to be self-sufficient and only come to him when the problems involved two or more farms. When he spoke to the minister, he thanked him for coming to see Rebecca after the news of the accident had circulated through the shire. "I think you can expect that she will be coming to church regularly, Reverend." "And you, Lord Foxbridge?" he asked, impressing himself with his audacity in approaching the man so openly. Nicholas grinned, once again reminding the onlookers of the fallen angel. "Don't ask too much from an old sinner too quickly, Reverend. Perhaps when the demands of Foxbridge Cloister have lessened slightly, you will see me more often. Good day, Reverend." "Good day, my lord." He stepped backward as the man moved past him. Although his face was blank, Reverend Middleton wondered how the sweetly vibrant Rebecca Wythe could have married this dark man who stirred awe in the dullest of his people. Many marriages were arranged, so it might not have been a love match between Lord Foxbridge and his lady. He was very sorry for Lady Foxbridge if that was the truth, for he did not think her cold husband would have much compassion for his wife. Normally astute at deciphering the intricacies of human nature, Reverend Middleton did not realize his error. It came from the fact he had fallen in love with the lady he had met only twice. His idea to ask her to become involved in the church fair had nothing to do with her title. He just wanted to be sure he would have opportunities to see Rebecca more often. Foolishly, the minister was letting his heart rule his head in regard to the one woman who should have been off limits to him, for her husband controlled the living of the vicarage. When Nicholas entered the carriage, he sighed. Rebecca glanced at him and saw there was a smile on his face. She took his hand in hers. "Are you as happy as you look or as sad as you sound?" "Happy, Rebecca. Happy because you are well. Happy because you are happy now as I am." He drew her head down to rest against his chest. "I am finding it quite a surprise to discover how much I am enjoying all this business of being Lord Foxbridge. Years ago, I would have raced away if it had been suggested that I would be interested in solving tenant disputes and arranging the planting schedules." He chuckled. "I now am so wrapped up in all of it that even an outing to church with you becomes a business meeting." She smiled. "That's all right, Nicholas. I have been asked to become involved in a project of my own, so you need not worry about paying less attention to me. Reverend Middleton asked me to help with the church fair."

"I'm sure he understood when you told him that you would not be able to do it. There always are other good works you can be involved in." Sitting straighter, she looked into his dark eyes. "What are you talking about? I told him I would be glad to help, of course." His eyes narrowed. "My dear Rebecca, you can't walk. How are you going to do work at the church? Don't be silly and ruin your recovery that has gone so well this far." "Are you saying that I cannot do it?" "Yes!" he said sharply. "If you want it in a nutshell, Rebecca, I am saying you cannot do it!" Rage like he had not seen on her face since they had arrived at Foxbridge Court brightened her snapping eyes. She drew away from him. Although she could not help wincing as she moved her leg, she ignored it. Coldly, she said, "You have failed to understand our agreement, Nicholas. I'm pretending to be your wife. My life still belongs solely to me. If I want to work at the church fair, it isn't your place to tell me what to do or not to do. As far as I am concerned, I don't need your permission to do what I wish." He grasped her face in his hands. "You are my wife, Rebecca! Until the annulment, you belong to me. What I tell you to do, you will do! It is clear that you are too stubborn to see that this plan will hurt you more. You won't be involved in this church fair." He released her. "Do you understand?" As she rubbed her face where his fingers had bit into her skin, she said, "I understand how you feel completely. What you don't understand is that you are going to have to lock me in my room to keep me from going to the church to help with the children's choir." "Children's choir?" he repeated. All the wrath left his face as he began to laugh heartily. When he could control his own amusement enough to speak, he said, "All right, Rebecca, you win. Go, and work with those youngsters. It may teach you the sense you won't listen to." He knew enough about the village urchins to guess that any attempt to mold them into any sort of formal group was doomed to failure. They ran wild while their parents worked in the fields or in the cottages. Some of them were headed for real trouble, for there had been too much laxity with no Lord Foxbridge present to give authority to the lazy, craven constable. If Rebecca wanted to try this, she soon would discover it was useless. Then she would be home where she belonged, recovering quietly as she should. Although she did not know why he had relented so suddenly, Rebecca was not going to question him. She would not strain herself. When Hart had returned after being mustered out after he was injured at the battle of Monmouth in the summer of 1778, he had had to depend on a cane to get around the farm. She had helped him learn to use it. She would use those lessons for herself. In a much calmer voice, she said, "I will know by Tuesday when rehearsals will be. I would guess it will take up two or three hours a week." She looked into his sparkling eyes. "I promise I will do nothing to delay my recovery." "I'm sure you will keep that promise," he replied with a smug expression. One visit with those untamed children would convince her that her place was at Foxbridge Cloister. Nicholas would not have been so sure of his own estimation of the situation if he had had more time to learn about his wife. He was not aware that he was the one about to be taught a lesson.

Chapter Ten Sims insisted on carrying Rebecca into the church, although she assured him that she could manage on her own. For once, the coachman refused to listen to her. He made it clear that if she did not let him help, he would close the door and drive her back to Foxbridge Cloister. With a smile, she concurred. Reverend Middleton had sent his message to Rebecca early Monday morning. The children would be waiting for her at the church Tuesday afternoon. She had had Collette search the attics to find a cane for her to use, had bid Nicholas good-bye and noted the sparkle of amusement in his eyes once more, and had arrived at exactly the requested time. When Sims put her down at the back of the sanctuary, she told him she would send for him when she needed him. He looked at the group of rascals racing through the church and was tempted to stay to help her, despite his promise to Lord Foxbridge that he would let Lady Foxbridge do this all herself. The coachman sensed that his lord was expecting his wife to fail in this enterprise. That had surprised Sims, for he had thought Lord Foxbridge would be pleased to see his wife involved in a project like this. "Thank you, Sims," Rebecca said as her eyes took in the raggedly-dressed children who were playing with no regard to the sanctity of the building. "I will see you in two hours." "Yes, my lady." He paused as he started for the door. "If you need me -- " "I won't," she answered calmly. After he left, Rebecca watched the youngsters for a moment longer. The youngest could be no more than four, while the oldest must be about twelve. Such a disparate group, and they obviously felt no need to behave in church. She raised her cane and sharply hit the back of a pew twice. At the sound, they froze instantly. When the frightened faces turned toward her, she saw they were not malicious children. They just were being children freed from the drudgery of their lives for a brief afternoon of fun. "Good afternoon." She used the cane to point to two pews next to her. "If you would please be seated, we can get to work on this project." One of the younger ones spoke a phrase which was most out of place in the church. Expectantly, the children waited for Lady Foxbridge's outraged reaction. Coolly, she asked, "Is that so, young man? If you think you can shock me with those words, let me tell you that I have heard them used before and far more imaginatively. Now that you have stated your opinion, would you kindly sit as I have asked?" Awed by her lack of astonishment, the youngsters started to move toward the pews. The child who had

cursed so loudly hesitated, but one of the bigger boys shoved him forward, so that he joined the parade to the bare benches. When they were seated, Rebecca said, "I'm sure you know that I am Rebecca Wythe, Lord Foxbridge's wife. It will take me a little longer to learn all your names, so please bear with me. I'm sure that you know, too, why I am here this afternoon. You, young lady, why are you here? Tell me your name, please." Rebecca purposely had singled out a young girl who had been one of the few behaving themselves by the altar. With a smile of pride that she had been acknowledged by the lady, the child rose. Her heavy, blonde braids bounced as she did. "My name is Brigit, my lady. I'm here because Ma told me to come." She laughed at the little girl's forthright answer. "That's the reason I'm sure all of you are here today. That's fine for today, but next time I want you to come only if you want to have fun singing here and at the church fair." "Fun?" cried a towheaded boy. "It won't be fun to learn stuffy church songs and to stand straight and still while everybody listens." Slowly Rebecca sat. She did not want to preach to the youngsters. She wanted them to see this as a lark. When a spasm of pain flashed across her face, the children shared guilty expressions as they recalled how they had heard that Lady Foxbridge had been hurt very badly just a short while ago. It impressed them that she was willing to come to work with them. "I agree," she said when she had smoothed her skirt over her aching leg. She had to remember to be careful, for she had been on her feet only during the past twenty-four hours. "Standing still and singing boring songs is no fun. That is why we won't do that. I shall make you an offer, my young friends. Will you tell me when what we are doing isn't fun? If I tell you to stand straight, I want you to tell me that isn't important. What we are going to do here is for you. Not for your parents and families, but for you." The tall, dark-haired boy who had subdued the troublemaker said, "Lady Foxbridge, that sounds like a good to me. My name is Greggy, my lady," he added, quickly. "Greggy, you know your friends better than I. Will you have them line up in front of the altar?" Letting her eyes rove over all of them, she stated, "Children, I don't care how you line up. Just be in two rows. Stand next to whomever you want. If the littlest ones want to stand in the back, fine. Just decide where you want to be, and remember it, so you can stand in the same place next time." Rebecca watched with a half-smile as they surged to the front of the room again. Despite her words, most of the shortest ones stood in front and the taller ones behind them. She was not surprised that the girls were primarily on one side, the boys on the other. If she had told them to line up that way, they would have grumbled. By doing it themselves, they felt like they were controlling the situation. "Wonderful!" she called, clapping her hands. The children looked smug at her praise. She wanted them to long to hear the sound of applause for that would give them the impetus to work harder to impress their elders. She called them back to the pews and had them line up again as if it were a game to remember where they had been standing. They responded perfectly. After they were sitting once more, she talked with them about what they would like to sing. They were very impressed that she would ask their opinion. When they had discussed the three types of song they would like to sing, Rebecca had let them think they

had chosen exactly what she had been planning on doing from the beginning. Quickly she discovered the children had few choices and fewer expectations. They were sure their futures would be identical to their parents' lives. How different from the youngsters in America! There, every farm child hoped to grow to own more than his parents or to become something grand. When she dismissed the youngsters after an hour, for she knew she had to keep them from becoming bored, she told them that if they wanted to learn the songs to be back on Thursday at the same time. Reverend Middleton rose from his pew at the back of the church as the children exuberantly ran out into the sunshine. He watched as several paused to speak to Lady Foxbridge. She listened to each one as if she were deeply interested in their young thoughts. Catching the door before it could crash closed, he shut out it more slowly to keep out the summer heat. "I think you are going to do very well with these children, Lady Foxbridge," he said with a grin as he sat in the pew in front of her. His eyes took in her happy smile which lit her pretty face even brighter than it appeared in his dreams. "They are fine children." She laughed. "I think we will do wonderfully together, Reverend." "Please, my lady, if you would call me John, I would appreciate it. We will be working closely on this fair, and I know 'Reverend Middleton' is a mouthful." When she started to speak, he added, "I shall continue to call you 'my lady,'so I do not get into habits that might be hard to break." Rebecca's blue eyes twinkled with mischief. "I didn't know that ministers had bad habits." "We are human, too." He held out his hand to her. "And, right now, this human is thirsty. Would you care for a cup of tea before you return to the Cloister? You must be thirsty as well after all that discussion with the children." She placed her fingers in his palm and leaned on him and her cane as she rose cautiously. Intent on her effort, she did not see his expression of delight as he felt her slender hand in his. He transferred her hand to his arm as they walked out of the church very slowly. When her body slanted against his as they went down the steps, he was able to control his smile with only the full force of his self will. In public he could not show anyone how he felt about the beautiful Lady Foxbridge. He could allow no one to see until he knew how she felt about her husband. Even if she despised Lord Foxbridge, there was no hope for a relationship between them, for she was bound to her husband for all her life. He tried to ignore that fact. The vicarage was a small house, but it was decorated well and seemed very comfortable. Opening the door onto a hall which led directly to the kitchen at the back of the house, he assisted her into the parlor which was filled with many book shelves and his desk. "Excuse me while I put on the pot for tea, my lady. My housekeeper Mrs. Martin is out today. Please sit on the settee, my lady. I will be back in a moment." Gratefully she sank down onto the faded material of the once fine piece of furniture. The day had strained her, but she dared to mention that to no one. If she even hinted that she had pushed herself too far, Nicholas would refuse to let her continue. She wanted to see if she could teach those rascals to be a choir. They were delightful, enthusiastic children, and she was sure they would have fun together. She had to discover the words to one of the songs they wanted to sing so they could learn it correctly.

Undoubtedly one of the servants at Foxbridge Cloister would know it. "Here we are, Lady Foxbridge." She looked up to see her host returning. He had removed his coat, for summer had burst upon the shire, but still wore his church collar under his waistcoat and shirt. Setting the tray in front of her, he handed her a cup of the tea and offered her her choice from a plate of cakes. "Thank you, John. You are a wonderful host. You didn't need to go to all this trouble." With a chuckle, he sat next to her. "It's no trouble at all. Anyone who can accomplish what you have with the youngsters so quickly deserves to be fêted." His admiration embarrassed her. To change the subject away from her small success, she asked him more about the fair and what they planned. He told her of the storm the previous year which had disrupted the fair that had been held to raise money for a bell to replace the one cracked years before. Instead of raising money, they had witnessed their church nearly burning to the ground when lightning reached out of the sky to turn the steeple into a tower of flames. The hard rain more than their feeble efforts had saved the church. As he spoke of his hopes for this backward parish, Rebecca listened intently. Much of what John discussed were things she would like to see happen. She forgot that she did not intend to stay in Foxbridge. When she heard him talk of a school for the children and medical care for their families, she realized how little had been provided for those who looked to the Cloister for aid. She vowed to see if Nicholas was planning on changing this slow fall behind the rest of the world. Rebecca paid no attention to the passing time. The minister was interested in the New World, so she told him about the bits she had seen. Many of his questions she could not answer, for she had no more knowledge than he of the circumstances in the other former colonies. All of her world had been centered on a few square miles in northern Connecticut. The chiming of the mantel clock brought her back to her senses. "Oh, my, look at the time!" she gasped. "I was supposed to return to Foxbridge Cloister two hours ago. Nicholas will be furious!" "My dear Lady Foxbridge," he said, quickly, taking her words literally, "tell your husband it was my fault that you were delayed. I shouldn't have presumed to take so much of your time." "Nonsense," Rebecca replied. "I have plenty of free time. I certainly enjoyed our talk, John. I'll see you on Thursday, if Nicholas allows me to come back." She smiled at her small joke. The minister did not find it humorous that the new lord of Foxbridge Cloister was dictating his will on this beautiful woman. Again Reverend Middleton's common sense was blinded by his powerful attraction to Rebecca. He wanted to believe that her husband was the demon he resembled, so he did not feel guilty about his longing to pull this married woman into his arms and kiss her with the fire of his desire. Sitting next to her for the past three hours, listening to her lyrical voice, watching her intelligent face as she heard him spin out his dreams for his poor parish, he had fallen even deeper in love with Rebecca Wythe. "I will see you on Thursday," he said somewhat breathlessly. "Let me help you out to your carriage, my lady." He intended to take advantage of any opportunity to hold her close. "Thank you." Rebecca did not suspect the true reason behind his offer to help her. She placed her hand

in his. As she rose, she swayed slightly while she tried to regain her sometimes precarious balance. He immediately put his arms around her to keep her from falling. His hold tightened as he felt her soft curves pressed so intimately to him. He gazed down into her face which was turned in profile to him. She was so beautiful, but he did not dare to kiss her cheek as his aching heart urged. When she was steady again, he reluctantly released her. He did not want to, but he could cause more trouble for her if he revealed how he felt. "Thank you, again," she said softly as she leaned on her cane. "I hope this dizziness isn't permanent. Dr. Scott tells me it is because I have not been on my feet for so long. I hope he's right when he says it will disappear." Concerned by the breathlessness in her voice, he urged her to sit. Not bothering to put on his coat, he raced across the green to where the carriage waited. He called out to her driver. Sims rounded the back of the carriage and saw the expression on the minister's face. He had guessed Lady Foxbridge was at the vicarage when she was not in the church when he returned. Although, as the time had gone on, he had become worried, he did not go looking for her. It would not do to show that Lady Foxbridge was considered incapable of looking after herself. "What is it, Reverend?" he asked, anxiously. "Lady Foxbridge is very tired. I think you should bring the carriage over to the vicarage, so she doesn't have to walk so far." He nodded and climbed into the seat. Competently he turned the large vehicle so that he could drive it close to the steps of the house. Middleton followed more slowly. Both men were shocked to see Rebecca standing on the porch. She laughed lightly. "You worry too much, John. I'm fine. Oh, thank you, Sims," she added as he opened the door. It was nearly at the same level as the porch, so she was able to get into the carriage easily. When the door was closed, she waved out the window as it went toward the Cloister. Behind her, the man watched as the coach drove out of sight along the twists of the road leading up to the imposing house ruling over all of the countryside. Thursday, when he would see her again, seemed eons away. He almost dreaded he her next visit, for he was unsure how long he could keep from letting her see his true feelings. Even as he climbed the steps to his small house, he knew that on Thursday he would arrange for Mrs. Martin to be busy elsewhere, so he could entertain Rebecca once again alone. The explosion Rebecca anticipated came as soon as she stepped into the suite she shared with Nicholas. Standing in the middle of the sitting room with his arms crossed over his chest, he watched as she limped toward him. His eyes noted the fatigue etched into her face and the more pronounced weakness in her right leg. As he had guessed, she had pushed herself too hard. "I thought to see you home hours ago, Rebecca," he stated without a drop of emotion to color his voice. Pulling off her bonnet, she dropped it and her gloves on the table. Although every bit of her body ached, her right leg most of all, she perversely straightened. "I was delayed, Nicholas." "You should have been home two hours ago." "So I'm late. Is that such a crime? I stopped to have tea with John after the children's practice. We got to

talking about the church fair, and the time just sped past." She could not contain a tired sigh. "John?" he demanded viciously. Startled by the rage in his voice, she finally looked directly at his arrogant face. That anger was vivid on his features as well. Quietly, she answered, "Reverend Middleton. He asked me to call him 'John.' He's a very pleasant man, and we had a nice conversation." She closed her eyes as she swayed. "For goodness's sake, Nicholas, don't act the jealous husband. He's a man of the cloth." He scooped her up in his arms as he saw she was about to fall. When he heard her soft gasp of pain, he knew he inadvertently had hurt her. "Rebecca?" he asked in a more tender voice. "Yes?" She opened her eyes as she leaned her head against the strength of his shoulder. In Nicholas's arms, she felt no desire to show that she was tough and capable of anything. She wanted only to be cuddled sweetly. "Sweetheart, remember that, although the good reverend is a man of the cloth, he is a man first. Don't put yourself in a position that will bring you unhappiness." Startled by the way he had expressed his concerns, she asked, "Me? How about your happiness?" The fiendish sound returned in his sharp laugh. "You know very well what would happen to any man, cleric or not, who tries to seduce you from me, Rebecca." He had to say no more. His threat was clear. If she chose a lover, that man would soon be dead by her husband's hand. It revealed the violence which simmered beneath his suave exterior. He carried her into her bedroom and placed her on her bed. When he pulled back her skirts, she began to protest. She realized quickly that he was interested only in checking her leg. When she saw that it was slightly swollen, she was not surprised. It felt horrible, and so did she. As she leaned back into the pillows he had plumped for her, she answered his questions about how the children's choir practice had gone. She saw he was shocked that things had taken place so smoothly. Her smile was triumphant as she told him how the youngsters had been cooperative and excited about the next practice. "You don't have to look so surprised, Nicholas!" she retorted tartly as he helped her unbutton her shoes and remove her stockings. "You expected this to go horribly, didn't you? That's why you agreed for me to go to the church today." Instead of replying, he bent and kissed her lightly. "Rest, darling. I think it would be a good idea if you took your supper here tonight. Shall I have it brought up on a tray for us?" "That sounds lovely." Telling her he would be back in a few minutes, he closed the door. Rebecca rested her head on the pillows and stared at the hounds racing along the top of her bed. She always was glad that the vixen was outdistancing her pursuers in the frozen tableau. It seemed that she had outfoxed Nicholas today. That he would not admit he falsely had foreseen that she would fail told her those had been his exact thoughts. She would not fail. In four weeks, the youngsters would show everyone that they were could rise above their poverty and lack of education to shine like gleaming starlets born in the summer sky. She closed her eyes to enjoy her thoughts. When he came back minutes later, Nicholas was not surprised Rebecca was asleep. She had had a long

day, and, by the expression on her face, she had had a very happy day. He felt a surge of jealousy race through him as he thought of her with Middleton. That it was entirely innocent, he did not doubt, for she would have allowed nothing else. It did not keep the tainted tentacles of fury from teasing him with images of Rebecca in another man's arms. He let her sleep as he ate his dinner alone in the sitting room. When Collette entered, he told her not to disturb Rebecca. She asked if Lady Foxbridge had had fun on her day in Foxbridge, and he controlled his uneven emotions enough to reply pleasantly. When she left, she asked him to tell Lady Foxbridge to ring if she wanted her when she woke. Although he checked Rebecca several times more during the evening and before he retired for the night, she remained asleep. Like the sweet angel he had first imagined her to be, she slept in oblivion of the darkness inhabiting his heart. If she had known of his pain, she would have laughed it away with the humor which helped her survive all her own anguish. Kissing her lips which breathed lightly in sleep, he tiptoed out of the room to go to his own bed. . .which begged for his wife's warmth to bring happiness to its wide softness. He was beginning to fear it never would.

Chapter Eleven Rebecca was careful not to overdo again as she had that first day. She let the children know that she depended on them to help by disciplining themselves. At their first true rehearsal, she was not surprised to see more children than the first day. Soon their sweet, treble voices were learning the words to the songs for the fair. Also she let them sing other songs just for fun. Reverend Middleton always was present for part of each rehearsal. He continued to let Rebecca and the children know how proud he was of their music which soon sounded as fine as he pretended it had at the beginning. He had not repeated the invitation for Rebecca to visit at his home. Instead, if he had something he wanted to discuss, he did it in the church where there was no chance he would forget himself. A week before the church fair, he had come, as usual, to listen to the youngsters. Rebecca was holding the rehearsal an hour earlier than usual, saying only that she had plans for later in the afternoon. She did not explain that Curtis and Eliza had invited her and Nicholas to join them and some friends for a picnic on the beach past the gardens of Foxbridge Cloister. She thought of the cool air longingly, for it was an extremely hot and humid day with no hint of breeze in the village. The children were uncooperative, so she dismissed them early. They laughed as she told them to cool themselves off with a swim. She accepted the moist kisses many of the children gave her each time they were together.

"Those little ones certainly love you, my lady," said the minister as he rose. "They are lovely youngsters. They work so hard." "To please you." He smiled as he took his accustomed seat in front of her. "I think they will be the most remembered part of this fair." She laughed. "Whether they do well or their songs are a disaster, it will be memorable. I wanted to tell you that I will be willing to work at the drink booth, if you still need someone, John. Nicholas has some appointments that will keep him busy all day, so I can work here the whole day without being missed at Foxbridge Cloister." "You are being so generous with your time, my lady." She smiled as she reached for her bonnet. "I'm having such a grand time with the children and you, I don't wish it to stop." If Rebecca had realized how her words would affect the minister, she would have phrased them differently. It was only when he reached past his pew and took her shoulders to bring her slowly to her feet that she discovered how unthinkingly silly her words had been. "My sweet Rebecca, there is no reason for these times to stop." His fingers caressed her arms tenderly. Her hands shook as she reached up and removed his hands from her. "That isn't what I meant. You forget that I'm married." "I can't forget anything about you." He drew her into his arms again. When he leaned forward to kiss her, she turned her head away. A confused expression furrowed his forehead. "What is this? I thought you didn't love your husband. You act so afraid of him." "Me? Afraid of Nicholas?" She laughed lightly. "No, John, I'm not afraid of my husband." She ignored his other words. How she felt about Nicholas was not something she wanted to discuss. . .because was not sure of anything. "Please. I think it would be a good idea if you would release me." "I think so as well." The very calm of the deep voice reverberated through the empty church like the nonexistent bell tolling the coming of Doom. Rebecca whirled away from the man whose face had become pasty white. She looked from Nicholas who did not show the rage she knew he was feeling to John who realized that he had overstepped himself dangerously. Gripping the sides of the pews to help herself walk to where her husband stood motionlessly, she put her hand out to him. Immediately he took it and pulled her to him slowly enough so she would not trip without her cane. She had been able to walk short distances without it, but in these stressful circumstances, she felt as weak as the first time she had tried to stand. Tilting her chin up, Nicholas said, "I warned you what would happen." Her face paled. When he saw how she reacted, Middleton interjected, "She isn't at fault, my lord. It was totally my fault." "I have no doubts of that, Reverend," he replied tersely as he regarded the frightened man. "None

whatsoever." "Nicholas, please be sensible about this," interjected Rebecca. "Nothing has happened. Nothing will happen. John and I are friends. No more and no less." Slowly a smile spread across his lips. "I know, my dear. Come, for we are going to be late for our picnic." He turned and walked with her toward the doors. He paused and looked back at the man still standing in the aisle. "Rebecca will be back as usual on Thursday, but I trust there will be no repetition of this incident. I believe every man is due one mistake. You have made yours, Reverend Middleton." When they had gone outside and the door closed, Middleton dropped into a pew. Perhaps Rebecca was not in awe of her husband, but she must be the only one. He realized how lucky he had been. Lord Foxbridge had been willing to forgive him this transgression, but, if he tried to hold Rebecca again, his clerical collar would not keep the lord from obtaining his revenge from the minister who dared to trifle with his wife. He sighed. More than Lord Foxbridge's warning, Rebecca's words had told him that she was devoted to her fear-inspiring spouse. His own yearnings to have her care for him had made him unable to see the truth. Bowing his head over his clasped hands, he sought the peace to deal with the temptation to be disloyal to everything which had given meaning to his life. He could not blame Rebecca, for she had done nothing wrong. He had mistaken kindness for more. Rebecca said nothing as Nicholas lifted her in his arms to carry her down the steps. She had left her cane in the church. Calmly, he ordered Sims to retrieve it. "Knock before you go in, so you do not disturb Reverend Middleton," Nicholas suggested. His coachman gave him a startled glance, but only nodded. Sitting beside her in the carriage, he waited until Sims returned. He ordered them driven to the beach where the picnic would be held. Then Nicholas relaxed back against the cushions. He slipped his arm around Rebecca's stiff shoulders, but did not pull her closer. His fingers under her chin tilted it toward him. "Rebecca, don't be so upset. I'm not angry with you." "You sounded as if you were," she whispered. He touched her lips briefly with his. "I know you aren't cuckolding me with any man. You hold so tightly to your vows and would never betray them. You will not share my bed because of a promise to Bennett. You have become my loving wife in public in accordance with our little bargain. Your only fault is being so beautiful and warm that no man can resist you." With a sob, she turned to hide her face against his chest. How she longed to empty her heart's secrets to him, to confess of a love she knew she could not stop from growing with the power of a summer storm. He had not retaliated against John only because she considered him a friend. Any other man who tried to seduce her would feel Lord Foxbridge's awesome wrath. "Hush, sweetheart," he murmured against her hair. "It's over. Reverend Middleton won't forget himself again and try to compromise you and his own vows. Cheer up, Rebecca. We have our picnic by the shore. You don't want everyone to see you arriving with red eyes. They will think that you have been beaten by your husband who apparently inspires such fear in you." Nicholas laughed loudly as she blushed.

Softly she asked, "You heard that? How long were you there?" "Long enough to learn that you take the vows we share to heart." When he captured her mouth again, there was nothing gentle about his kiss. His arm drew her back against the cushions. Being careful not to hurt her nearly healed leg, he leaned over her and allowed his mouth to explore the small amount of skin bared by her modest dress. Although he yearned to unhook her gown and remove it to make love with her in the carriage, she was not well enough yet for such delightful antics. Instead, he listened to her soft breaths against his ear as his tongue etched its fire into her throat. Her small hands wrapped around his shoulders to hold him to her. As the carriage slowed for the steep descent to the shore, he drew away regretfully. If he did not convince Rebecca to join him in his bed soon, he feared he would not be able to wait for her to come to him willingly. No woman had ever stirred his blood as his wife did with her loveliness and the seductiveness that was innate in every motion when he held her in his arms. "We are nearly there," he said with a laugh as she brought his lips back over hers again. Asking himself why he was holding back when she wanted only to continue what he did not want to stop, he pulled her up to sit on his lap. She nestled against him as she felt his lips press against her temple. Her fingers caressed his chest where his shirt was open at the collar. When he began to stroke her as gently, she lifted her lips for his demanding kiss. She knew what it was that he was asking her to give to him. He wanted her. It was that simple. It should have been so simple to give her love to Nicholas who drove her to the very edge of the reason with his touch. All such thoughts vanished from her mind as she was washed away into ecstasy. Only the lure of his mouth tantalizing hers and his fingers playing a magic melody of passion across her body had reality. Everything else disappeared. Laughter and other voices brought her back to reality. She gazed up into Nicholas's strikingly handsome face which was as bemused as hers by their rapture. His fingers teased the muted angles of her face as he bent for one final, lingering kiss before they joined the others on the sand. As the coach halted, he lifted her off his lap and reached for the door. Jumping to the hard-packed sand, he turned to take her hand. His eyes widened as he saw the slender line of her legs as she was removing her footwear. Even though he had viewed her limbs while she was recovering from her accident, it had not lessened his appreciation of them. Only when she had kilted her skirt as she had when they sailed with the Prize did she allow Nicholas to help her from the carriage. With her hand in his, she leaned against him instead of her cane which she left in the carriage. Soon she hoped to be rid of the cumbersome thing which had been at one time so beloved as her means of escape from the confinement of her room. Walking slowly, she could manage quite well on the sand. It still made her skin crawl when she recalled the doctor telling her husband when they had thought that she was asleep that if she had been the height of a normal man, the jaws of the trap would have crushed her knee and she never would have been able to use that leg again. Another accident like hers was unlikely to happen again on the grounds of Foxbridge Cloister. The staff had been sent on a second quest with the instructions to look for any other mantraps which might have escaped notice years ago. Although they had searched the grounds, no more snares had been turned up.

The picnickers came forward to greet them. It was a small group. In addition to Eliza and Curtis, there was Clarisse Beckwith and a man introduced to Rebecca as Jackson Edwards, a friend of Curtis who had come to Foxbridge to meet the lady Curtis seemed to love so deeply. The narrow strand of sand and rocks was poised between the ocean waters and the sheer cliffs which were pitted with the violent scars of past storms. Blankets had been spread on the uneven ground so they could eat more comfortably, but everyone was too busy enjoying the fresh ocean breeze and the rare chance to play in the cold waters. Like Rebecca, they had removed their footwear. When Eliza saw how her sister-in-law had raised her skirts to keep them out of the heavy, wet sand, she did the same. Rebecca wondered why Clarisse had been chosen to even up the group. Eliza explained as soon as she could that she had not invited the redhead, but that Clarisse had badgered Curtis into an invitation. Having her with them was a guarantee of trouble, but they could not retract the invitation Curtis had extended to their neighbor. Rebecca sat on a blanket and watched as the others enjoyed the water and played games along the edge of the splashing waves. At first, Nicholas sat next to her, but she urged him to join the others. She chuckled as they acted like giant children. She guessed it was just a matter of time before Curtis and Eliza approached Nicholas asking for his permission to wed. As the two of them embracing with open delight, she wondered why she could not be so free with her feelings for her husband. Whenever she was close to him, she felt as if she were cheating a man she could no longer love, but was bound to as tightly as she was bound to Nicholas. Her eyes narrowed as she saw Clarisse moving toward Nicholas with her intent clear to his wife. She carried something in her hands. Although Rebecca could not tell what it was, when Clarisse dropped it down the back of Nicholas's shirt before running away down the beach, he reacted in shock. He pulled it out and started to chase her with what was obviously some type of marine creature. Rebecca closed her eyes and put her head down on her drawn-up knee as the two disappeared to a part of the beach blocked by the carriage. She could not help the pang racing through her. Clarisse had made it clear from the beginning that she intended to win back Nicholas. Rebecca wondered how she could compete with a woman who once had been his beloved mistress. When Clarisse decided there was enough space between them and the others, she slowed to let Nicholas catch her. By this time, he was only a pace behind her. "You devil," he said with a laugh. "Here is your dead fish, Clarisse." With a mighty heave, he tossed it out to be swallowed by the unceasing movement of the waves. "Maybe I should do the same with you." He reached out to tease her. The second he touched her arms, he realized he was being no brighter than Reverend Middleton had been earlier. In an instant, Clarisse had her arms around him and was pressing her lips to his. Six years had not dulled the memories of this woman's easy sensuality which had taught him much of satisfying and being satisfied by a woman. At one time, he had thought the gratification he knew in her arms was the total of what love consisted of between a man and a woman. He had learned differently. Trying not to show his change of heart, he smiled as he took her hands from around him and held them. "Come, Clarisse. The others will be wondering where we have gone." "They won't be wondering," she whispered as she stepped so near that the lushness of her curvaceous

body teased him with the remembrance of his mouth against it. "They will know we are on the beach." He did not want to hurt her by telling her he was no longer interested in her invitation, but she was making it difficult not to speak the truth. Placing her hand on his arm, he began to walk back toward the carriage. With a jerk, she yanked her hand away. Turning, she shouted, "It's not the others! It's Rebecca! You can't stand being away from her for a minute, can you?" "She is my wife, Clarisse," he said, reasonably. "Your wife who has a rendezvous with the minister twice a week in his church. Oh, I know she goes there ostensibly to teach those urchins to sing for the fair, but they leave long before she and Reverend Middleton come out." She laughed as she walked her fingers along his arm. "Your Rebecca is cuckolding you with the parish's minister, and yet you slobber after her like a dog after a bitch in heat." Nicholas pushed her hand away. Cruelly, he asked, "Must you judge everyone by your promiscuous standards? I know about their friendship. I know that I need not worry if my wife is sleeping with another. That's the one thing that's the same about you and Rebecca. I didn't need to worry about that with you either because you always found someone to share your bed if I was not there." While she sputtered in rage that he dared to speak to her like this, he walked away. Nicholas had been changed by his trip to America. Before he had left, she had needed only to crook her finger, and he would come running to do her bidding. Then she realized that the Nicholas Wythe she had controlled so easily had been a boy enjoying the adventures in her bed. He had become a man who wanted more than a woman whom he could tumble whenever he was in the mood. As she stood with her hands on her hips, she wondered what he saw in meek Rebecca. The simple fact that she had saved Nicholas's life could not be the basis of this strong devotion. She had not thought that a man like Nicholas Wythe would fall in love to a woman like Rebecca. It was clear it was love. The way his black eyes glowed like embers of coal when he gazed at his wife made his feelings obvious. Her fury increased when she returned and saw he was sitting next to his wife with his arm around her as he whispered in her ear. Rebecca's light laugh drifted across the sand to Clarisse, and she gritted her teeth. She would pay back this little colonial tramp for daring to steal Nicholas from the one who should have him. Rebecca looked up to meet the green eyes which glowed in the late afternoon sunshine like a cat's in the night. She could not mistake Clarisse's malice. The owner of Beckwith Grange had been interested in offering Nicholas the same thing John had wanted to offer to her at the church. Her eyes moved from the loathing to her husband's face. Everyone was willing to share with them what they could not share with each other. "Sweetheart," he asked when he saw her disquiet, "how about a walk along the water? Do you think you are well enough?" "If you help me, Nicholas, I would be glad to go with you." He took her hand to help her to her feet. "Ouch!" she cried, involuntarily. When she saw the expression on his face, she laughed. "No, not my leg. When I was greeting to Curtis, the signet ring he wears scratched my hand." She held it up to show him the red line across it.

"Did you ever consider you might be accident prone, Rebecca?" He chuckled when she made an amusing face. His smile did not fade as he aided her to her feet. By now, she should know that he was happy for any excuse to hold her enchanting form close. Her arm slipped around his waist as they moved slowly through the foam bubbling on the sand. Clarisse was not the only one who watched as they wandered along the beach. Other eyes were not as open with the emotions felt inside, but there was a sense of impending events building up to detonate although neither Nicholas nor Rebecca were aware of it. Lost in the wonder of their burgeoning love, they could not feel the hate growing to overshadow it and smother it. By the time they had returned to share the contents of the picnic hampers, the evil feelings had been masked behind pleasant laughter. Clarisse was deciding to keep the evening from being a total loss by flirting blatantly with Curtis's friend Jackson. The man did not seem averse to her obvious invitation. It was no surprise that when the party broke up as the moon was high in the sky, he left with the auburnhaired woman. Rebecca glanced across the water. The reflection of the moon made a white path on the waves which seemed to lead to the west and the land she had left behind so reluctantly. She did not wish that her feet could walk on that trail of moonlight back to America. If she returned to Connecticut, her heart would remain in Foxbridge Cloister. She yearned to stay with her heart and the man it adored. "Did you have a good time?" Nicholas whispered as they rode home sleepy from the sun and the food. "I always have a good time when you are with me." His reply was without words, but she did not have to guess what his lips were trying to tell her as he held her to him all the way home to the Cloister. She only wished she knew how she could answer him with the truth and still be true to the vow she made to Keith.

Chapter Twelve "Good day, Lady Foxbridge." Rebecca glanced up from her duties pouring the punch for the multitude of children who came with their pennies. Her eyes met the steady grey ones of a man she recognized from her trips about the area, but she could not name him. She smiled. "It's a good day, isn't it, sir? Are you buying a cup of juice?" "That would be pleasant, my lady." He took the cup and handed her a gold coin.

In dismay, she looked at it. "Oh, sir, I don't have enough pennies to give you change." With a laugh, he said, "This is for the church to raise money for the new belfry, isn't it? Consider it a donation, or if you wish, give these youngsters free glasses until the money is depleted." He took the cup she handed him. "By the way, my name is Richard Carter. I'm your neighbor to the north." "At Avelet Court?" "That's right." He watched as she continued to serve the children as she spoke. When one of the youngsters tipped his mug, she had a piece of linen ready immediately to clean the child's clothes. Before the little one could pucker up, she had another cup for him. With an admiring laugh, he said, "You're very competent at that, Lady Foxbridge." Glancing up from where she knelt by the child, she said, "When you have served at as many church fundraisers as I have, Mr. Carter, you learn to be prepared for every emergency. There, you are fine, Timmy. Go play, but be back for the songfest." While he sipped the cold liquid, Richard continued to chat. He was astonished at how well the youngsters from the village and the cottages obeyed her quiet orders to wait patiently to be served. Even more impressed was he by the fact that she called each one by name. When the crowd of children thinned momentarily, he drew another coin from his pocket and placed it on the table. "Another cup, Mr. Carter?" "Richard, if you please, my lady. No, I wish to purchase one for the hard-working lady who has charmed these children so completely." She laughed and wiped her hand against her forehead. It was a very hot day. The heavy air clamping her clothes to her body had muted the celebrations only slightly. There was a good turnout. Perhaps they would be able to raise a good portion of the money for the new belfry and the bell she hoped would hang there again one day. "Thank you. I would be pleased to take your donation and a cup of this cool juice. Why don't you call me Rebecca?" He bowed his head in her direction. "I'm honored, Rebecca." "Tell me about what else you have seen on the carnival grounds." She smiled wryly. "I have been stuck here since before the fair opened." He laughed at her enthusiasm. He had been attending these village events every summer since he had outgrown swaddling clothes. His family had summered in Avelet Court, far from the heat and congestion of London for generations. Before that, they had been well-established country gentry living year round in the drafty expanses of the house. Every year, there was a fair on the church grounds in an effort to finance some repair on the lovely building or an addition that the parishioners desired. In all those years, it was the first time he could recall the aristocracy ever being involved to the extent that Lady Foxbridge was. Dressed in her simple cotton frock with a plain apron over it, she almost could have been one of the village lasses herself. By the bright rose of her cheeks and the sparkle in her blue eyes, he could tell she was enjoying herself as much as the youngest child discovering the convivial

atmosphere for the first time. He leaned on the table and talked with her until he saw her eyes narrow before they turned away to look at the large bucket of juice. Involuntarily, he looked over his shoulder. He smiled as he saw Clarisse Beckwith walking toward the table. He long had admired the pretty lady who was dressed in a pale green silk gown which had cost more than would be raised by the efforts of the churchmembers. More than once, he had called on her, but he had seen quickly that she still harbored her longing for Nicholas Wythe. He knew Clarisse could often be shallow and hurtful, but he thought it was because of her broken heart. "Good day, Rebecca," she purred as she tilted her lacy parasol. "I must say, you are looking quite unusual today." Rebecca glanced from her stained, spotted work dress to her rival's splendid gown. She knew her face was dirtied from lovingly offered, sugar coated kisses given by the youngsters who had surrounded her from the second she arrived. Her hair had fallen out of its braids to hang in wavy strands around her face in a dark aurora. Coolly, she said, "I am sure I do look unusual to you, Clarisse. As you aren't used to doing anything but the monumental task of making yourself up each day, you probably would not recognize the sweat of honest labor." She laughed Rebecca's insult away lightly. "You're right. I intend to continue this way. You wouldn't see me wasting my time for these shiftless people." Seeing the youngsters listening to Clarisse's condescending tone, Rebecca struggled to control her outrage. She wondered how Clarisse dared to speak so nastily of these good, deeply caring people who had not had the fortune to be born into wealth as she had. "Clarisse, do you want to purchase a glass? If not, please move on, for you are blocking others who are interested in quenching their thirsts." She did not raise her voice, but all listening could tell she was enraged. "Yes, my dear Lady Foxbridge, pour me a cupful like a good lass." Taking it distastefully in her finely laced gloves, she dropped a coin disdainfully on the table. She sniffed the contents of the tin cup and poured it on the ground. "Here, Rebecca, serve this swill to those who do not have the palate to appreciate anything better." She draped her hand on the arm of the man who had been watching the exchange with an unhappy expression. "Richard, why don't you take me for a stroll around the grounds of this quaint, little fair? Rebecca can handle this quite well on her own. It would seem that she has finally found something in her background that she can use as Lady Foxbridge." Richard shot an apologetic glance toward the dark-haired lady, before turning away with Clarisse. He was sure the best thing he could do for Rebecca was to take the redhead elsewhere. Rebecca watched with ill-concealed anger as the two walked toward the other booths. When she saw the concern on the up-turned faces of her young customers, she forced a smile and poured the crystal drink into their cups. She listened to their childish attempts to try to atone for the cruelty of Clarisse's words. Soon their kindness cooled the fury inside her. The hours of the fair passed quickly, but she did not become fatigued as she served more cups of the lemonade than she could have counted. When Reverend Middleton came over to tell her that it was time for the children's performance, she gratefully turned over her booth to one of the other church ladies.

After the incident when Nicholas had discovered him holding Rebecca, John Middleton wisely had acted as if the whole episode had not taken place. Knowing that Rebecca loved her husband, he had resumed his friendship with her. Although the situation was strained between them at first, they were becoming friends again. With the innate knowledge that children possessed, they discovered Lady Foxbridge was looking for them. Quickly they lined up with a minimum of shoving and none of the cursing that she had insisted was unacceptable for a cherub's choir. While they were getting in place, Rebecca washed her face in lukewarm water from a bucket near the porch of the church. She undid her hair and tied it back in a loose fall along her back. There was no time to waste redoing it. "Stage nerves, sweetheart?" She glanced up to see Nicholas standing on the bottom step. With a chuckle, she said, "No, just a dirty face. I told all the children they had to be neat. I didn't think I should be less." She stepped down next to him. "I'm so glad you could be here, Nicholas. They are so proud of themselves, and I know they will be especially pleased to show off for you." He stroked her damp face. "You didn't think I would miss this chance to see the results of what you have worked so hard at for so long." "I knew you were going to be busy today." "Solicitors can wait, darling. I wanted to handle the most important business first." She was astonished at the warmth which filled her had nothing to do with the summer temperatures. When he bent to kiss her cheek for luck, she smiled and ran her fingers lovingly along his arm before rushing to the center of the green where the children and their families were waiting. Nicholas followed more slowly. When he saw the vicar, he signaled to the man. He was pleased that Middleton acted naturally with him. Until the episode with Rebecca, he had been very pleased with the minister's performance in the parish. He would hate to ask Middleton to leave when he was doing so many good things. They spoke quietly as Rebecca whispered final instructions to the children. Everyone became quiet as she motioned for little Timmy to step forward. Even the distant rumble of thunder did not distract the audience when the child opened his mouth to sing in a childish soprano the first verse of the hymn Rebecca had learned herself as a child. So sweetly did he sing that a murmur of appreciation circled the green. At the motion from Rebecca, the other children began to join in slowly, a few at a time. It was not long before the open area was filled with the sound of heartfelt singing. If a few flat notes or missed words marred the perfection, no one noticed. When the last chord drifted away on the fitful breeze, silence settled on the green. In an explosion, applause erupted. The children grinned in pride, but did not move. They watched Rebecca intently. When the clapping stopped, she nodded her head for them to begin. This time they sang a folk song which was native to western England. Only Nicholas knew that his wife had hounded the staff at Foxbridge Cloister until she could find someone familiar with all the words to the complicated rhyming song. The youngsters had no trouble dealing with the madrigal tunes which wove together and apart like dancers performing the minuet.

The applause was more enthusiastic at the end of the second song. Although every parent in the village had heard a bit of the music for the past month, no one had been able to hear the whole. They were astonished that the children had this much talent. There was always time for music in this land so controlled by the rhythms of the sea and wind, so it was an especially great joy to hear the children in such an organized chorus. Rebecca paused as she saw Reverend Middleton wave to get her attention. When he walked out to stand beside her, he said, "Please allow me to interrupt this joyous noise unto the Lord to make an announcement. Today, through the efforts and generosity of everyone in Foxbridge, we have raised enough money to buy the materials to rebuild the church steeple. We -- " A cheer interrupted him, for soon the men would be spending their few leisure hours working to raise the proud structure on the church roof once more. He raised his hands. "I have another announcement to make before the children sing their last song for you. Not only will we have our steeple, but the kind donation from Lord and Lady Foxbridge will enable us to have a bell for it." A gasp of surprise erupted from Rebecca as the crowd clapped enthusiastically again. Her eyes settled easily on Nicholas who smiled. She bit her lip to keep it from trembling like the tears of happiness on her eyelashes. He had known how important this project was to her. All the time when she had been concerned that he would be angry because she was working with the youngsters, he had been planning this wonderful gift to his tenants. She had no words to thank him. In front of this crowd, she could not run to him and thank him wordlessly. She shook John's hand as he expressed his gratitude, but she did not know what she said. As she turned to the children, she saw their broad grins. "All right," she whispered. "This is the last number. Make me as proud of you as you have so far." Rebecca need not have worried. The youngsters performed the song with even better than they had in practice. The hand motions and play-acting it required went without a hitch. Never had she seen them perform so faultlessly. When they finished, she was the first to begin to applaud for their efforts as she faced their audience. "As you can see, your children have worked long and hard to entertain you. I am sure you will be pleased to know that they plan to continue their choir which Reverend Middleton has agreed will be a part of the church service once a month. Thank you very much." "No, we ain't done!" called out a voice as the adults started to disperse. "We have one more song to sing." Rebecca whirled and gasped in astonishment, "Greggy, that is all we have." The tall boy who had been one of the most enthusiastic proponents of the choir from its onset shook his head. He bowed smoothly. "If you please, my lady." He took her hand and led her to stand by Nicholas. Standing in front of the others as she had been doing, he counted off the tempo of the tune in the air before them in an accurate imitation of Rebecca. She felt her husband's arm go around her shoulders and looked up at him. At the question in his eyes, she shrugged. She had no idea what the youngsters had planned. Greggy said without looking at his audience, "We have practiced one final song by ourselves after our regular practice. We want to sing especially for Lady Foxbridge who has done so much for us. Remember it's for her alone."

A soft swell of shock murmured through the fairgoers as a trio of children stepped forward. In a slow tempo that did not make it sound like the taunt it originally had been, they began to sing in close harmony the all too familiar words of Yankee Doodle. As the rest of the children joined in, nobody was surprised to see tears of joy rolling along Lady Foxbridge's cheeks. She made no effort to brush them away as she listened to the love that had nothing to do with the silly words of the song that symbolized the spirit of revolution in America more than any other. She knew they had chosen it for her because, like her, it was from the New World. Although the children had been prepared for protests from their parents, there was none. When they finished, there was silence as they looked at Rebecca for her reaction. "Thank you," she whispered in heartfelt gratitude. "That was the loveliest version I have ever heard." Immediately the green was alive with cheers. It had been a successful fair which ended on a happy note. Many of the children rushed over to hug Rebecca before rejoining their parents and friends. "That was wonderful, Rebecca," said Nicholas, as he watched the last youngster run off to the candy booth. She smiled. "They did beautifully, didn't they?" "You did beautifully." He turned her in his arms to face him. "You have worked so hard, and the effort shows. I am so proud of you." "But 'twas you who gave the money for the bell. Soon we shall hear the chiming when it's time for services." He replied, "That was only money, sweetheart. What you have given of yourself is far more valuable. Do you think they would prefer the cold clang of a bell or the sweet sounds of their children's voices?" His arms drew her to him, and he brought her lips up to his. Not caring about the crowd, he kissed her with all his desire. He had never thought he would be as pleased to be linked with this lady as he was today. He had expected her to fail in her effort, but she had succeeded superbly. What she had done had nothing to do with her incredible beauty, but with her warm heart. Only a flash of lightning followed in a few seconds by the lazy sound of still distant thunder separated them. With a smile, she told him she had to get her bonnet from over by the table where she had been working. "I'll have the carriage brought around," he answered. When she turned toward the lemonade table, he captured her arm. She looked at him, and he ordered in a husky voice, "Don't be gone long, sweetheart." "I'll be but a moment." She stepped back from him, unsure if she could escape the warm bonds of his eyes. Weaving through the crowds taking apart the booths and hurrying to get home before the downpour began, she pulled her plain, straw bonnet out that she had worn when she left Foxbridge Cloister. She tied it under her chin. Her trip back to Nicholas was slowed by being stopped by villagers thanking her graciously for the music she had brought to them. She understood that they felt more comfortable approaching her than her husband who represented the long-time, separate attitude of the Wythes. As he had told her, there was

more gratitude for the children's choir than for the extravagant gift. She moved to the church porch where Nicholas was waiting for her. As she slowly climbed the steps, she tried to keep dismay from her face as she saw Clarisse beside him. She wondered where Richard Carter was, but knew it did not matter. Once Nicholas arrived, Clarisse would have noticed no one else. Because they stood at the far end of the porch, the sounds of the dismantling of the fair and the oncoming storm masked her approach. Her eyes widened as she saw Clarisse step close to Nicholas and slip her arms around him. The red-haired woman put her long nailed fingers against the back of his head as she raised her lips toward his. "Enough, Clarisse," she heard Nicholas state firmly. "I have told you before that I'm not interested." Clarisse's seductive voice murmured, "Come now, Nicholas, don't be so silly. That little Yankee Doodle can't satisfy you as I can. Come to me, darling, and I will help you what we shared before you were so foolish as to go away to America and marry a child." "Rebecca is my wife. Not you. I told you many years ago that when I took such vows there could be no other for my wife or myself. That was when I asked you in a moment of romantic fervor to be mine." "You never asked me to marry you!" she argued. He laughed with a hard edge to the humorless sound. "You did not believe me. You thought I was joking when we went on that picnic with your friends up from Bristol. How coldly you told me that you never would marry me, Clarisse. Now it seems you were right." "Divorce her, Nicholas. It wouldn't be that difficult. She hasn't given you an heir. You know that I would be willing to do so." "You pregnant, Clarisse?" He chuckled. "I can't imagine that! You would never shut yourself away when your body grew heavy with a child who would remind everyone that you were no longer the carefree woman you once were. I am married to Rebecca, and that is how I want it to be. She is the type of woman I long ago decided I wanted to be married to. She is sweetly sensual, beautiful, and so intelligent I cannot help but care for her." Her hand rose to slap his face. Viciously, she spat, "And I am none of those things?" He caught her wrist as she was set to strike him again. There was a hatred in his voice that Rebecca had never heard. It made any anger he had directed at her seem insipid by comparison. "What you are I wouldn't say in the churchyard, Clarisse. You have broken more hearts and destroyed more marriages than any one woman has a right to do. You won't destroy mine. Once I was set to offer you my heart like the fool that I was. Now it has been placed in the safekeeping of another woman who will not betray it just to cause misery to everyone she meets." Before Clarisse could snarl the insults she was thinking, a voice intruded. She heard the vicar call, "Lady Foxbridge?" Both Clarisse and Nicholas turned to see the man hurrying to speak to the woman who stood not a dozen paces from them. Clarisse knew that Rebecca had heard every humiliating word her husband had uttered.

Rebecca said nothing as she smiled at the minister. Again she accepted his thanks. For a second, as she looked into his warm eyes, she saw the apology he had never spoken as they tried to forget that he had fallen in love with her. "I had a lovely time, John," she said softly. "I'm glad, my lady. I hope we will see you tomorrow at the service. You and Lord Foxbridge had best hurry home before the storm breaks." Wishing her a good evening, he scurried away to his own snug cottage on the opposite side of the green. The warm feeling of Nicholas's hands settled on her shoulders. He bent and whispered in her ear. "Are you ready to go home, my dear?" he asked gently, knowing she was embarrassed by her accidental eavesdropping. Taking her hand, he walked with her toward the carriage. The first drops of rain were falling as he helped her into it. She could not keep from looking back at the church, but Clarisse had disappeared. Inside, she sat uncomfortably on the edge of the seat as she stared at the green. It had become a tattered painting of litter and empty tables growing wet in the storm. "There will be another one next year, Rebecca," Nicholas murmured. "This is an annual event." "But I won't be here next year." Her voice was mournful. He twisted her to look into his eyes. "That is and always has been your decision to make, sweetheart. I have never seen you as happy as you have been the last few weeks. Even Mother's nasty comments have rolled off you like water on eider. You are happy here with me, aren't you?" She closed her eyes and nodded. "I have never been happier." "But?" he prompted when she paused."You know the 'but,'" she said softly. "I promised I would stay until fall. Then I have to go home." His hands on her face tilted it back so he could look into her pain-filled eyes. "Silly Rebecca! You are so obstinate that you won't see your own heart is becoming entwined with the life in Foxbridge Cloister. What awaits you if you go back to Connecticut? A life with a man who has not kept his promise to come for you." "He will," she said, but without conviction. "If he had loved you, Rebecca, he would not have let you go. If the situation had been reversed, and it was Bennett who was interrupting our wedding, do you think I would have allowed him to take you from me? Do you think I will if he dares to show up at Foxbridge Cloister, although it isn't likely to happen?" Her eyes searched his face and saw the truth. Nicholas would never let her go to another man. He had had no intentions from the beginning of letting her return to America. His farcical bargain had been simply a way to ease her into Foxbridge Cloister and to keep her from becoming desolate in her sorrow and homesickness. As he had told Clarisse, he took the vows he had spoken with Rebecca seriously. She was his until death parted them. Weeks ago, those thoughts would have sent terror spinning through her, but it was joy which filled her. Although he had not said the words aloud, she was beginning to believe Nicholas loved her. Her fingers traced the varied planes of his face before slipping to entangle in his hair. This invitation to kiss eager, soft lips Nicholas did not ignore. Thirsting for the satisfaction of the desire

driving him mad, he took her mouth with unfettered yearning. When his mouth explored the responsive skin of her neck, she moaned softly and pressed the curves of her slender body close to him. His fingers moved along her to discover once again the body filling his dreams night after night until he woke in agony to stare at the door which was all standing between him and the woman who should be sleeping by his side. As he touched the sweet roundness of her breast, he could feel her delight though her thin dress. A knock on the carriage door forced him to pause as he was about to reach for hooks at the back of her dress. "My lord?" came Sims's voice, as if he had not seen the passionately embracing couple. "We are at the Cloister." With his irreverent grin, Nicholas said, "Thank you, Sims." He smoothed Rebecca's dress back into place with a caress as sweet as the ones she had enjoyed moments before. "Ready to run in the rain, sweetheart? I think we should consider building a porte cochere on this old house to keep the new lord and his lady dry." "You aren't made of sugar, Nicholas. You won't melt if you get wet." He laughed as he lifted her from the carriage. Taking her hand, he led her quickly up the steps. "No, I'm not made of sugar, and neither are you. I would guess you were created out of the tartest green apples which look so tasty but are dangerous to the one who dares to overindulge in enjoying them." "I don't think that was a compliment!" she retorted. They hurried through the door Brody held open. Nicholas paid no attention to the butler as he kissed his wife lightly. "That's where you are wrong. I think you are perfect the way you are." He was about to add more, but looked past her head as the clock gonged the hour. He groaned in emoted anguish. "I have to leave you now, sweetheart. I was supposed to be back to meet with the solicitors half an hour ago. I may see you at dinner, if we can get some of the details squared away by then." "Is there a problem?" "Nothing you need concern yourself with." He tweaked her nose playfully. "I just have to convince my tight-fisted solicitors to part with enough money to buy a bell for the church." Rebecca laughed as she ran up the stairs. She rang for Collette and ordered a bath. After the long, hot hours at the fair, she was ready to soak for a while. Stripping off her filthy dress, she tossed it on the floor. It was so disgustingly dirty and stained, she did not want to put it on a chair. She pulled on a robe as she went out to the main room to get her needlework. It would keep her fingers busy while the bath was being filled. When the door opened, she glanced up to greet Collette. She gasped as she saw it was not her maid, but was Curtis Langston. Lady Margaret had invited him to stay at the house to show her pleasure with the relationship that had developed since he had become Eliza's steady escort in London during the previous season. Clutching the neckline of her robe closer to her chin, Rebecca was aware of how little she wore in the presence of this man who remained little more than an acquaintance. "Excuse me," he said calmly, as his eyes swept over her body outlined by the thin material. He noted her bare feet and smiled in a way which made her more uncomfortable. "I was looking for Nicholas." "He's with his solicitors in the study. Unless it's extremely important, I would suggest you wait, Curtis. What they are doing is very complicated."

Instead of leaving as she had expected, he closed the door. "How was the village fair?" he asked. "It was fine," she answered tersely, wishing he would leave. "We raised enough money to replace the steeple, and Nicholas donated the money to buy a bell." "He did? How generous of him!" He walked smoothly toward her as he spoke. Stepping backward in tempo with his paces, she said, "I would be glad to tell you all about it at dinner. If you will excuse me, I must get cleaned up." He nodded. His smile broadened as his eyes wandered over her once more. "I understand, Rebecca. I will look forward to hearing all about it. Have a pleasant bath. I will talk to Nicholas later." Before she could react, he had opened the door and was gone. She was still standing in the center of the room when Collette came in moments later. As she watched the hip bath being filled, Rebecca told herself she must have imagined the expression in Curtis's eyes as he had backed her toward the wall. He loved Eliza. Why would he look at her with lust? She forced the thought from her mind as she sank into the warm water. Telling Collette to come back in fifteen minutes, she scrubbed the heat of the day from her skin and hair. Climbing out, she wrapped one thick towel around her head and put her robe over her dried body while she went to her closet to see which dress she would wear tonight. With all the clothes Nicholas had ordered for her, it was a pleasant decision. Her fingers reached for a gold dress, then settled for a ivory gown she had worn only once before. If Nicholas brought his business associates in for supper, she wanted to look lovely so he would be proud of her. She went to sit at her dressing table to brush out her damp hair. On top of it was a small chest with a note with her name printed on the outside of it. Curiously, she opened the page. My dear Rebecca, These rightfully belong to you. They have been at the solicitors' in London, but I requested they be brought to Foxbridge Cloister for you to enjoy. Some of the pieces may be antiquated, sweetheart, but wear whatever you like. They are yours. There was no signature, but only one person could have written the letter. Putting it aside, she opened the box. She gasped as she saw the collection of jewelry inside. Gems of every color were set in bracelets, pendants, rings, and earbobs. A single stone could have purchased her family's farm in Connecticut. She had known that the Wythes were far from poor, but she had had no idea they owned such wealth. She glanced up as Collette opened the door. The maid's eyes widened as she saw the jewelry box. Feeling a need to explain, Rebecca said, "This was waiting when I finished bathing." The maid chuckled. Lady Foxbridge clearly was embarrassed by this sudden show of Foxbridge riches. "They are lovely, my lady. What do you wish to wear? How about these?" She lifted out a pair of earrings and a necklace made of slender strands of gold with sapphires set in a designs like flower blossoms. "With your ivory gown, these will be perfect, my lady."

"I think you are right." She smiled. "I just can't imagine me wearing something so valuable." Collette hooked it around Rebecca's neck. "There. Now you are wearing it, and it looks as if it was made especially for you. If I may say so, my lady, you must learn to enjoy luxuries. Don't accept the burdens and reject the pleasant parts. Come, and I will help you dress." An hour later, Rebecca descended the stairs feeling very different from the ragged, stained woman who had gone up after the fair. She noticed Brody was not at his usual post by the door. That unusual circumstance did not bother her. She suspected he was dealing with providing accommodations for the solicitors who would be staying overnight. The butler was so efficient that her duties were minimal and enjoyable. Knowing she was early for dinner, she went into the drawing room to look at the portrait of the woman who had come to fascinate her as much as she did her many times great-grandson Nicholas. The more she looked at the painting, the more she saw that she did not resemble that woman more than superficially. She wished she could reach back in time to speak to Sybill and learn the truth about the most notorious Lady Foxbridge. "You like her, don't you?" Rebecca turned to see Eliza watching her with a baffled expression. "I think I feel sorry for her, more than anything else." "Sorry for her?" Feeling sympathy for Sybill Wythe was an astounding idea for Eliza. "Yes, for she must have been very unhappy. She was married to a man she obviously did not love. Whether she took a lover or not, she has been scorned for centuries for that faithlessness." She added, "I don't understand why you Wythes have kept her portrait in the most public room of the house if you hate her and what she was." Familiar laughter filled the room as Nicholas joined them. "Don't you understand us yet, Rebecca? Her crime, whether it was committed or not, is the shame all Wythes must bear. Instead of hiding the past in the dark recesses of the attic as other families do, we indulge in self-flagellation to prove to everyone that we can arise above such crimes as lust and infidelity." "Nicholas, that's awful!" scolded Eliza with a chuckle. "But you must admit it's true." "You are probably right, brother dear. Have you finished with your business so you may join us for dinner?" Her question was unnecessary, for Nicholas had changed into formal clothes. "We'll finish in the morning. If I had to look at one more legal form written in Doyle's handwriting, I think it would have to have been one to order me declared insane. Will you go ahead, Eliza? I have something I want to discuss alone with Rebecca." His sister looked startled, but went out into the hall. Nicholas closed the double doors and flipped the latch that locked them before coming over to stand by his wife. "What is wrong, Nicholas?"

He smiled as his eyes devoured the body his fingers longed to learn. "Only that the carriage arrived home too quickly." He swept her into his arms and leaned her back over one arm to kiss her deeply. Scooping her up into his arms, he moved to the settee. He sat with her on his lap, her full skirts flowing over him to cover his legs as well as hers. Unlike the dress she had worn to the church fair, this one dipped deep to give him an enticing view of her bosom accented by the fine jewels he had given her. His fingers picked up the necklace while at the same time caressing the skin beneath it. "This looks lovely," he whispered into her hair. She breathed a wordless answer as he continued to touch her. When his head bent to place flame hot kisses along the bared skin at the neckline of her gown, she clutched his shoulders to contain her longing to surrender. It would be so easy to beg him to make love to her. From deep inside her a steamy fire filled her with the urge to feel his body moving with hers in a rhythm she had yet to learn. He regarded her lovely face softened by the passion she no longer tried to hide. He ran his hand along her body and saw her pleasured reaction. Although she wanted him as desperately as he longed to have her in his bed, she would not come to him willingly until she was sure Bennett no longer wanted her. Her vow made in distress was creating more torment for her. Sadly, he said, "I hear Brody announcing dinner, sweetheart." He lifted her to her feet and held her as she swayed on weakened knees. A stronger swell of desire surged through him as he knew that it was his loving that sapped her strength. She was so sure on her wounded leg that she had stopped using her cane. "If he doesn't come in another few weeks, you can be sure he isn't coming." Rebecca did not need clarification of his words. Like him, whenever she was ready to give in to her desire to be his, Keith invaded her thoughts. Her voice was very subdued as she said, "I think you are right. I almost wish I knew he wasn't coming." "Do you want to stay with me? There's no reason for you to go back with Bennett if he was to come here. I know you don't love him now. If you want to stay here, stay." She laughed, shortly. "Why wouldn't I want to stay? You have given me everything I could desire." "Everything, but the one thing I truly want to give you." He raised her fingers to his lips. "Why can you accept everything I have offered but my heart and my life?" Lowering her head, she fought to keep tears from dripping from her rapidly blinking eyes. She could speak only the same trite reason she had told him over and over. The same trite reason that was a lie. She did not want to go back to Connecticut to satisfy a vow made by a different woman who had not discovered the bliss of real love. "All right," he said gently. "Let's go in for supper. I do not want to ruin your most wonderful day by making you miserable. I just wish you would let me make you happier." "I am doing the best I can, Nicholas." "When have you done anything else?" He smiled suddenly. "Are you ready for the ball at Marchwood Hall on Saturday?"

She nodded. "My gown is nearly done. Mademoiselle Pacquette is outdoing herself. I even should be able to dance, if you wish." "Of course, we will dance. I will want to show off the most beautiful woman ever to grace that house." He twirled her around so her full skirts brushed the furniture. He laughed as he opened the door and led her to the dining room where the others waited for Lord Foxbridge and his lady.

Chapter Thirteen Nicholas smiled brightly as he entered his mother's sitting room. "Good morning, Mother," he said pleasantly. He kissed the cheek she held up. "I was told you wished to speak to me about an hour ago. Have you been waiting all this time? I'm sorry it has taken so long, but there is always something that demands being done." "Sit down, son." Lady Margaret had a grim expression on her face. When Nicholas was seated, she said, "I think we should talk about what being Lord Foxbridge should mean to you, Nicholas. You have been home for a while now, so you must becoming aware of what the responsibilities of Lord Foxbridge should be." "What it should be?" he queried. His brows drew together, for he knew that his mother was going to use this new tact to defame Rebecca. "Let me put this bluntly, son. Have you considered having your marriage to that woman annulled?" "That woman is my wife, and I don't wish to change that." He nearly laughed aloud. If she only knew the truth. Rebecca wished the same thing or had. A flush of pleasure filled him as he thought of how eager she was for his kisses and to share his life. "I'm very fond of Rebecca. I have told you this before." Lady Margaret smiled mirthlessly. "I know you think you love her, but have you considered what it will be like when we return to London? Rebecca will not fit in there. She is a bumpkin, not suited for the rôle of the wife of Lord Foxbridge. Divorce her, Nicholas. It isn't that difficult. Use your need for an heir as the excuse. Keep her as your mistress, if you wish. She is a cute thing, so I can understand the physical attraction you have for her. Just dissolve your marriage, and remarry someone capable of handling the duties of Lady Foxbridge." Softly, Nicholas asked, "Are you done? Let me tell you my opinion. I think you are letting your hatred for Rebecca blind you. She is not part of the peerage, I admit, but she is trying to learn. She will do well in London. I won't divorce her nor seek an annulment." He shrugged with studied nonchalance. "We were married by an army chaplain. I have no idea how to go about such a course of action, even if I was interested."

"Army chaplain?" She smiled. "That might make it easier to dissolve this marriage. You were injured, so you could not have been cognizant of what you were doing when you decided to marry a girl who had been so kind to you. Yes, it could be worked if it was handled correctly." Nicholas stood. "Forget it, Mother. I shan't divorce Rebecca." He grinned with the fire of rage in his black eyes. "I anticipated your desire to see me rid of my wife. That's why I had Doyle and his associates out from London. You were mightily curious as to what we were doing, weren't you? You knew I did not bring them here simply to deliver the jewelry that now belongs to Rebecca." "I thought if you wanted me to know you would tell me," she said stiffly. "I want you to know now. I formalized all the paperwork that makes Rebecca North Wythe and her progeny my heirs. Whether we are married or not, the day I die, all of my assets, including this estate and our holdings elsewhere are hers." "That's insane!" she cried. "You will give everything to that woman and nothing to your sister?" He laughed stiffly. "Don't worry. If something happened to me today, Rebecca would see that you and Eliza were well taken care of. Could I have trusted you to do the same for her? Hardly." He paused, then his demonic smile widened. "This discussion, Mother, has raised some points that I have heard too often from others overly interested in my marital relationship. I think it might not be a bad idea if Rebecca and I were remarried. Let everyone see that I am sincere in my devotion to my wife." "No!" she stated. "I won't allow it! You are not going to make Foxbridge Cloister into a joke, Nicholas, by wedding that ignorant wench here. It's bad enough that you shamed us all by bringing her here in the first place. Now you have shown that you are so under her control that you give her everything your family has worked for for the centuries. I shan't allow this idiocy to take place." Nicholas did not raise his voice. The decision had been made. She could abide by it or not as she wished. "I am Lord Foxbridge, as you are so fond of reminding me. I will do as I see fit to insure the best for Foxbridge Cloister. I have said that I wish to set everyone's tongues to rest. If you do not want to attend, I can arrange for the house in London to be opened for your use. There's no need for you to be involved if you do not wish." He turned and walked to the door. "Good day, Mother." The door slammed loudly. Lady Margaret scowled at the heavy panel. Her son was besotted with his backwoods wife. If Nicholas would not listen to reason, perhaps she could convince his wife to do so. With a sly smile, she sent for Rebecca. There always was more than one way to solve a problem. Although Rebecca was surprised at the request from her mother-in-law, she answered it quickly. She did not dare to hope that Lady Margaret was ready to accept her. When she knocked, she was told very graciously to enter. That instantly warned her of impending trouble. "Come in, my dear," Lady Margaret said. She asked the young woman to sit in the chair that Nicholas had evacuated such a short time before. "Good morning. Is there some problem?" Rebecca could think of no other reason why she would be summoned. She was sure she would hear the latest complaint of her activities. Picking up a cup of tea, Lady Margaret handed it to her daughter-in-law. "Nothing's wrong. I thought we should have a talk."

"All right," she said suspiciously. "About what?" Lady Margaret hid her displeasure behind her cup. The little harlot was not fooled. It appeared she had some intelligence. "I have been receiving reports on your progress in your duties at Foxbridge Cloister. It seems that you are being quite enthusiastic in your new rôle." "I'm trying. Nicholas has been pleased." "I'm sure Nicholas is pleased with everything you do, my dear." Her slight stress on the word everything brought a blush to Rebecca's face. She knew Lady Margaret did not intend to patch over their differences. She was trying to put an end to them by telling Rebecca once more that she was unfit to be Lady Foxbridge. That she wanted Nicholas to marry Clarisse was a well-known fact. Coolly, she asked, "And, Lady Margaret?" "And what?" "Why don't you stop pretending and tell me outright what you called me here to tell me?" Like her husband, Rebecca did not raise her voice. Putting her teacup on the tray on the table separating them, Lady Margaret said, "Very well, Rebecca. I will tell you the truth. I want you gone from Foxbridge Cloister." "Isn't that Nicholas's decision to make?" With a sniff, she rose. Walking across the room, she put as much space as she could between them. "Nicholas is blinded with love for with you, as you well know. What are you going to do for him, but drag him down to your level? Can you imagine the laughingstock he will be in London? The fine Lord Foxbridge with a wife who has her maid teach her how to dress. How many errors will you make before he is so shamed that he cannot show his face again?" "You needn't worry about me shaming Nicholas in London this fall!" she averred. "I shan't be there!" She pounced on the words. "What do you mean? Can it be that you are thinking of leaving Nicholas?" Rebecca gasped as she realized what she almost had divulged. If the truth of her marriage with Nicholas was discovered by his mother, in no time, everyone would learn that Lady Foxbridge kept her husband from her bed. Coolly, she thought of the one lie she could use. "I mean only that if Nicholas and I are lucky, you will be announcing around that time the anticipated birth of your first grandchild, Lady Margaret." Smiling at the aghast expression on her mother-in-law's face, she said, "I wish you a good day." Rebecca was proud of her self-control which kept her from slamming the door. Blindly, she sought her own room. Going in, for the first time, she ordered Collette from her room. Although the maid was shocked by Lady Foxbridge's action, she left quickly as she wondered where Lord Foxbridge might be found at this time of day. She threw herself on the bed and began to cry out her frustration with her mother-in-law's continual hatred. How hopeful she had been when she had received the invitation to visit Lady Margaret! How quickly those hopes had been dashed!

When comforting hands rubbed her back tenderly, she looked up to see Nicholas regarding her with sympathy. "Hold me, Nicholas, please," she begged. "Anytime, my love, anytime." He did not kiss her as he held her close to his body. Feeling the quivers of distress wracking her, he wondered what had hurt her so. When he had seen her earlier, she had been happy as she chatted about her excitement over the ball at Marchwood Hall that evening. "Do you want to talk about it, Rebecca?" She shook her head. With a watery smile, she said, "Not really. There is nothing that serious wrong." Recalling similar incidents, he knew that his mother had tried to hurt Rebecca again. She had not succeeded with him, so she had attempted to drive a wedge between them by attacking his wife. Although he hated to do it, to protect Rebecca from this torture, he was going to have issue an ultimatum to his mother. Either she would have to treat his wife decently, or she would be banished from the Cloister. Trying to make light of the weighty problem, he said, "If you say there's nothing wrong, I believe you. Collette was upset, and she thought you might want me." "I do want you, Nicholas." She buried her face in his damp shirt front. "Smile, for I have told you over and over that with you is where I want to be also. Come on." She watched as he stood and held out his hand. "Where are we going?" Nicholas laughed in a much lightened tone. "How about a ride? You have been back on Blossom for a week now. How about that ride you have been promising me as soon as we both have a free moment? I am not busy, and you don't need to spend anymore time in your room!" "That sounds wonderful." She rang for Collette. "I will meet you in ten minutes at the stable, Nicholas." "Five, sweetheart. I don't wish to be away from you any longer." He drew her to him and kissed her with the promise that this ride would be an excuse to escape the many eyes at the Cloister to share the sweetness of the touching which sent lightning racing through their souls. In a whisper, she gazed up at him. "Five it will be." Suddenly even that seemed too long. *** *** *** Nicholas was waiting at the base of the main staircase when Rebecca descended the stairs after her many hours of preparation for the formal affair at Marchwood Hall. When Collette had finished helping her dress in the lovely teal silk dress whose satin underskirt was nearly a midnight blue and had done her hair, the reflection in the mirror had been a stranger. Never before had Rebecca dressed so fancily. The jewelry setting off her dress was crusted with pearls. Yet what drew her eyes most was the powder in her onetime dark hair. To see the ornate curls on her head dusted all in white was queer. Suddenly she seemed like some cold, high ranking lady whose heart should not have been beating so hard with the excitement of the upcoming ball. As she saw her husband in the hall below, her eyes widened. Like her, he had had his hair powdered in the prerequisite style. It was tied back with a navy velvet ribbon which matched the material of his dress coat. Fine lace at his throat and wide sleeves made him look so different from the man who wore casual

clothes while working on the grounds of Foxbridge Cloister. For the first time, he appeared to be Lord Foxbridge and not her dearly beloved Nicholas. His eyes met hers, and she smiled broadly. She saw his humor. He was far too aware of the difference between their appearance tonight and what they normally wore. This was like a joke. Neither of these dressed up dolls were their real selves. They were more comfortable in the things they had worn so long ago on the never to be forgotten shores of the New World. When she reached the bottom, he took her hand and bowed over it most formally. Opening the fan attached to a band at her wrist, she gazed coquettishly at him over it. "My dear Lord Foxbridge, I would guess." Her tone was a copy of the overly obsequious ladies who had begun to call on her. "Your intelligence is only second to your beauty, my dear Lady Foxbridge." His dark eyes twinkled beneath the raven eyebrows which seemed even more sinister in contrast with his white hair. Rebecca could not refrain from laughing merrily. His normal satirical humor would make the evening a delight even if it was otherwise boring. She had dreaded the gala all week and would be happy when it was over, although at the same time she had been thrilled with the idea of attending a fancy ball like those she had heard of from Eliza. "I feel so odd dressed like this," she said. "You look beautiful, sweetheart." He kissed her cheek. His eyes swept her slender form accented by the wide shape of her skirt. The gown dipped off her shoulders to display her soft skin. His fingers could not resist caressing it eagerly. He swallowed a moan of unsated desire which urged him to take her back upstairs and teach her the dance unlike the minuets they would dance later. Huskily, he asked, "Are you ready to go?" She nodded carefully, not wanting to disturb the multitude of curls on top of her head. By keeping her eyes lowered, she was able to prevent him from seeing the light glowing in her eyes as he touched her with such obvious longing. Nicholas took her cape from Brody who had been watching them with his normal tranquil expression although he had not missed a nuance of the love that bound the two of them together. Placing it over her shoulders, he tied the satin ribbons as his passion filled eyes held hers. His own, he folded on his arm, for it was still warm. Holding out his other arm, he bid a good evening to the butler who held the door open. At the base of the steps, the carriage waited. Sims waited patiently as Nicholas aided his lady into the plush interior. When they were seated comfortably, the vehicle started on the ten mile drive to Marchwood Hall, the home of Sir Alec Carrollton. During the long ride, Rebecca listened as Nicholas discussed the progress of the harvest. She was pleased that he treated her as a partner. Although he made all decisions publicly, often he would talk about some problem during the quiet evenings they enjoyed in the privacy of their suite's sitting room. Usually she had no advice to offer him because she did not know much about what he talked about, but she knew it helped simply to have someone to listen. Lately those discussions had turned into far warmer methods of communication. It was useless to fight her desire for Nicholas any longer. She could not deny what she felt was love. She must let go of promises which had no meaning and fantasies with no substance. Her dreams centered on the life she was living by Nicholas's side.

When they approached the gates to Marchwood Hall, torches burned on the gateposts. All along the road to the house, candles had been inserted onto posts to light their way. The country house glittered with the glow of hundreds of lights. It was a lovely house, matching Rebecca's image of what Foxbridge Cloister might be. The stone walls were not as stained with sea salt as where the Wythes lived, but the house must be at least a century old. The windows were wider and not set so deeply in the walls. It was a home built for peacetime luxury, not for the protection of ravaging enemies from the sea. Sims drove the carriage under a porte cochere much like Nicholas joked about building at Foxbridge Cloister. At the top of the steps, a pair of liveried doormen stood like twin statues. They only moved to open the double doors as Nicholas and Rebecca approached. This elegance was on a scale which added to her discomfort. "Try to enjoy yourself, Rebecca," came a whisper in her ear. She looked up to see Nicholas's dark eyes admiring her openly. If she was beautiful tonight for her husband and he was pleased to be with her, then nothing else should matter. "I hope to have a lovely time," she said as quietly. A quick smile flashed across his face as he turned to hand their invitation to the man standing at the door of the ballroom. Without glancing at it, he turned to the man beside him and intoned, "Sir Alec Carrollton, my Lord and Lady Foxbridge." Their host was a middle-aged man whose hair was white by nature, not by powder. He was short, not much taller than Rebecca, and appeared as round as he was tall. The gold buttons on his waistcoat strained to hold the garment closed. Nicholas had informed her that she should not be fooled by his pleasant, grandfatherly appearance. He had warned her that Sir Alec had a reputation for a fondness for lovely, young ladies which had made him unwelcome in several households in London. Even without that foreknowledge, Rebecca would have sensed the truth when she was introduced. His eyes candidly regarded her with open admiration. When he raised her gloved fingers to his lips, he squeezed them in an obvious invitation. She pretended not to understand what he intended by his eager looks and moist kisses. Her voice was icily correct as she said, "We were pleased to be invited to your fête this evening, Sir Alec." "You honor me with your lovely presence this evening, my lady. You and your husband are doing this house a great honor by attending our simple entertainment." Her lips twitched at the pompous little man's attempt to impress them. If this party was simple, she wondered what Marchwood Hall would present as a formal affair. She opened her fan to hide her smile under the pretense of using it to cool herself. When she felt Nicholas's hand on her arm, she agreeably went with him to the main part of the room. The orchestra had completed its preparations and played a lyrical tune by one of the new European composers who were writing so many lovely melodies. Rebecca could not guess which one it was. About the room, many people were gathered, talking easily about the latest gossip and political news. The colors worn by the guests made the room appear as if it was filled with a multitude of silk butterflies. Rebecca felt a warm sense of self satisfaction when she saw that her gown was as fine as any of the others. Never before had she been vain, and it was not vanity that made her compare herself favorably with the others. She simply wanted to make Nicholas proud of her. She wanted to see that sweet light of love in his eyes which had been there when he had congratulated her on the success of her children's

choir. "Get set, Rebecca," he said, with a laugh. "Here we go." "Excuse me?" she asked in sudden confusion. He did not have a chance to answer as the guests noticed who had arrived and swarmed around them to bask in the reflected glory of the rank possessed by the Wythes. It did not take her long to understand his amused warning. There was no doubt that everyone wanted a chance to meet the new Lady Foxbridge and try to impress her imposing, influential husband. Smoothly, he steered her through the circle which formed around them on every step. When he knew it was useless, he stopped and spoke to those intent on fawning over them. Watching him, Rebecca learned quickly the needs of being politic. She smiled and allowed the men to kiss her fingers as they bowed to her. Sternly she controlled her shock when the ladies dipped in a brief curtsy when she was introduced to them. Nicholas's arm slipped around her shoulders. To the man he was speaking to, he said, "Excuse me, Lambert, for I hear the orchestra getting ready for the next dance. Rebecca, would you like to dance?" "Yes, I would, thank you," she answered calmly. Only in her eyes could he see her relief that the many questions would be halted, at least for a short time. He kept his arm around her as they walked to where the dancing would be. "You are doing beautifully under the most horrible circumstances. I don't know why all of these people seem compelled to try to impress us. Before I left six years ago, I saw Brad going through the same gauntlet each time he entered a room. I didn't realize then how ridiculous this whole situation is. It will calm down when the season reopens in London. We will no longer be the latest topic of gossip." "Let's dance," she urged. "If you feel any strain on your leg, you must drop out immediately. We will be attending other dances." When she promised, he led her out to the dance floor. She was glad that it was a very simple minuet so that she could follow the steps easily. Her smile was lovely as she held her husband's hands and twirled gracefully through the pattern of the dance. When they switched partners, she recognized the man but could not remember his name. It was fortunate that he was willing to carry the majority of the conversation. Once again her plan of simply listening with a pleasant expression worked well. She dipped in a curtsy as the dance demanded and took the fingers of the next man along the line. Her blue eyes narrowed as she looked into the face of her newest partner. She did not know him, but the way he ogled her gave her a sensation as if some insect were crawling along her skin. He held her fingers too tightly so he could draw her closer than necessary. When his arm went around her waist very briefly, she could feel his fingers stroking her audaciously through the fine silk of her gown. Outraged, she twirled away. When she broke the pattern of the dance, the others stopped to regard her. Rancor burned in her eyes as she stared at the unknown man. A hand on her arm made her spin about forcefully. "Lady Foxbridge, is there some problem?" She regarded the face of her host who was clearly upset with the disruption. When Nicholas pushed through the other dancers, she was spared having to lie. In a frigid voice, he stated, "My dear Carrollton,

you may have forgotten that unfortunate incident when Rebecca was injured, but you needn't confront my wife in this ungracious manner. If she doesn't want to dance, she can step out at any time." "It is all right," she said quickly. "Please, may I sit down? I don't feel like dancing now." All eyes centered on them as he took her hand and placed it on his arm before leading her to a small room which was little more than an alcove off the main room. He sat her on one of the padded benches. "Are you hurt, sweetheart?" His voice was gentle with his concern. "I'm fine. It is just that I'm not used to being pawed while dancing, and I didn't like it. I don't know your English customs, Nicholas, but if that is one of them, I do not wish to dance anymore." His eyes grew black with fury. "'Tis a custom that no gentleman would practice. Who was so crass, my love?" She sighed and stroked the curve of his cheek. "Don't worry about it. I'm not hurt. There is nothing you can do to change what happened. I don't know the man, but I will avoid him from now on." "You must learn that society here is far less puritanical than in America, sweetheart. It is not unusual for a beautiful woman like yourself to have a whole court of admirers and lovers surrounding herself." "I don't want that!" she vowed. Nicholas framed her face with his hands and drew her face close as he kissed her hungrily. His fingers caressed her cheeks where the rose color had deepened when his tongue had wheedled her lips to part so he could savor the varied textures of her mouth. "My Rebecca, I wouldn't want you to have any lovers but me," he whispered as his lips brushed hers. She felt her body melting against his as the flame in her soul burned outward to bring the blossom of her love for her husband into full flower. Her hands slipped beneath his coat to feel his virile body through the silk of his shirt and waistcoat. He chuckled lightly in her ear. "This isn't the time or the place, darling. I think we should remember that we are far from alone here." He kissed her swiftly, but there was no lack of desire in the slight touch. "A glass of champagne?" "That would be very nice," she replied quietly. She was still overwhelmed by the opulence of the sensations she experienced in his arms. Perhaps a glass of the cooled wine would take the heat from her face. He kissed her cheek. "Wait here. I will be back in just a few minutes." Rebecca's eyes followed him as he crossed the salon to where the champagne was being served from a fountain by the edge of one of the many gardens. When he disappeared among the crowd, she closed her eyes and savored the fantasy of joining her husband in his bed. If she could have guessed that hell was waiting for her, she would have clutched more tightly to her dreams of heaven.

Chapter Fourteen Content with her dreams of love, Rebecca gazed at the other guests at Sir Alec's party. No longer the center of attention, she could stare without anyone realizing she was watching them. The men were dressed as ornately as the women with brocade coats which rivaled the hues of the gowns. It appeared as if there were a contest to see who could pile their powdered hair higher. Rolls of false hair and pinned on curls augmented the hairstyles taller than her Aunt Dena's best hat and, in Rebecca's opinion, just as silly. She looked at her gown which had seemed too ornate when Eliza had helped choose it. She was dressed plainer than most of the other guests, although the material of her gown was as fine as any in the room. Only the servants in their livery were dressed more drabbily than she was. She was not concerned, for she had no desire to mimic the outrageous clothes. From her early years, when times were most lean, she had been taught that the changing fancies of style were only for those who had no sense of self worth. She did not know if that was true, but she had learned that the personage of Lady Foxbridge commanded enough respect that she would not be censured for not following the dictates of the haute monde. With the orchestra playing again, some of the guests were dancing, but most were talking. What they spoke of, she had no knowledge. The well-established parameters of polite conversation remained a mystery to her. She did not understand the rules of what was flirting and what was cause for her husband to call out her admirer. Eliza had tried to teach her some of the rules, but she found them incomprehensible. "My dear Lady Foxbridge!" She frowned as she saw her host approaching her haven. It added further to her discomfort that by marrying Nicholas she had assumed a rank above most of these people. In a country where title was only secondary to wealth, she had wed a husband who possessed both and had gained the same level of prestige instantly. Struggling for something to say to this man reputed to be a lecher, she smiled. "This is a lovely party, Sir Alec." "Far more lovely because of your ladyship's presence," he replied smoothly, as he bent over her fingers. His lips lingered in an obvious question on her hand. She blushed before she pulled her hand away. "Thank you, sir, for your kindness." Disappointment shone in his eyes as he accepted that she was not intrigued by his invitation for a dalliance. Carrollton had not expected Lady Foxbridge would be interested in him when she had her dashing husband who clearly was as devoted to her. There had been no stories of the re-emergence of the love

affair between him and Clarisse Beckwith. If Lord Foxbridge was keeping a mistress, it was a secret. As he gazed at the loveliness of the lord's wife, he doubted if Foxbridge would desire anyone else. His thoughts were interrupted by a man clearing his throat, and he recalled the promise he had been forced to make. As he stepped to one side, another man entered the small room. "Allow me to introduce my friend Lord Halsey Royce. Royce, Lady Foxbridge, Rebecca Wythe." Rebecca gasped as she saw the man who had dared to caress her in the midst of the minuet. Her gaze flew past him, but Nicholas was nowhere in sight. She could not know that he was being delayed seemingly innocently by one of the baron's friends at the far side of the ballroom. Royce lifted her fingers to his lips. She raised her eyes as he did not release her hand. He was not a handsome man for his face was pitted with scars from the pox. Like all the men at the ball, he wore his hair powdered so she had no idea of its color, but his eyes were a lighter blue than hers. "How do you do, Lord Royce?" she asked coldly. "Very well, my lady. I'm sorry your accident kept us from completing our portion of the dance." He smiled as she drew her gloved fingers away in obvious disgust that he would dare to remind her of his boldness. "I have been anxious to meet you since your arrival with Lord Foxbridge. I had no idea that his lordship had decided to take a bride so suddenly." Her eyebrows arched in derision. She did not like this oily and falsely submissive man. "Our wedding wasn't sudden, sir. We will be celebrating our fifth wedding anniversary next month." "Excuse me," said their host, suddenly. Refusing to meet Rebecca's shocked eyes as she heard the urgency in his voice, he added, "I fear duty calls. I trust I will see you later, my lady." He bowed again before he left her alone with the despicable man. Royce did not seem in a hurry to leave. "Five years, Lady Foxbridge? I swear his lordship must have robbed the cradle to find a bride of such tender years." "That, sir, is none of your business," she declared stoutly. Deciding he would not be brushed off by coldness, she rose. "If you will excuse me, my lord." "No, I don't think so, my lady," he said in a totally different tone of voice. All courtesy vanished to be replaced by a threatening stance. "Excuse me?" she asked, astonished by the sudden change. He grasped her arm and twirled her through a door at the back of the room. It led to the gardens which had been left purposely dark for those who wished a rendezvous far from the eyes of the gossiping gentry and suspicious spouses. She cried out for him to release her, but he did not pause until he reached an arbor deep in the gardens. He was not worried that anyone would hear her, for the music from the orchestra and conversation would drown out her terrified calls for help. Putting his fingers on her cheeks, he turned her face from side to side so he could view it in the moonlight. She tried to pull his hands away, but he paid her flailing hands no attention. Quietly, he said, "So you are the souvenir Nicholas brought back from America. They told me how beautiful you are, but I didn't believe them. I admit I was wrong."

"Will you let me go? I don't understand why you have dragged me out here, and I shan't stay to listen to your apology!" Royce chuckled with ill-humor. "You are very much the backwoods provincial, aren't you, my lady? Why do you think I brought you here? Don't you Americans, as you call yourselves now, deal in flirtations?" "I don't want any kind of flirtation with you, Lord Royce." She looked past him, hoping to see a shadowed form moving through the thick shrubs. No one came into sight. Her voice trembled as she asked, "Do you forget I am a married woman?" As an answer, he captured her mouth with his. Although her fists pounded against his back, he ignored them as he pressed her backward toward the ground. His fingers pulled the pins from her hair so it fell into a white cloud. As she struggled to escape, the powder billowed out like pale smoke around them. She screamed as she felt her dress rip, but the sound was muted by his mouth. When she slipped to the ground, she could feel the dampness of the evening dew seeping into the fine material. His hand was placed over her mouth as his lips moved to discover the planes of her face. Royce looked down into her wide, blue eyes and laughed in honest delight. "I met many women on my sojourn in America, my so-called Lady Foxbridge. You are all good for only one occupation. It was interesting how many daughters of patriots were willing to play the harlot for their hated masters. Did you do it for money, or is it that your Yankee Doodle lovers make you crave for the touch of a real Englishman? You are no different. You just captured yourself a man with a title." She shrieked as she felt his fingers examining her body with leisurely interest. By this time, Nicholas should have returned to where she was supposed to be waiting. When she was missing, surely he would look for her. Her heart sank as she realized he would have no reason to search in the garden. The man continued to taunt her. "How old were you when you married, Lady Foxbridge? You could have been no more than fourteen or fifteen, but whores learn very young how to market their wares, don't they?" In sudden rage, she clamped her teeth on one of his thick fingers. His cry filled the night. While he pulled back from the unexpected attack, she rolled from beneath him. Forgetting her slipper which had come off when he had pushed her to the ground, she ran back to the well-lighted house. As she stepped into the ballroom, she heard a woman gasp and point at her. For a moment, she stared at the other guests. Then, from the depths of her tortured soul, she screamed, "Nicholas!" Instantly the whole room hushed. Even the orchestra halted in the middle of a chord which blew away in disharmony. Everyone turned to see the disheveled remains of lovely Lady Foxbridge. From the edge of the crowd, Sir Alec waddled toward her. She backed away in fear from the man had introduced her to that beast Royce. She was sure they had contrived the attack together. "Stay away from me!" she whispered. Scanning the room, she raised her voice over the murmurs and cried out once more, "Nicholas! Nicholas, where are you?" The crowd parted reluctantly to let the dark-haired man through. Nicholas shoved aside those who did not move quick enough, for from an upper landing he had heard the anguished sound of his wife's voice and had come racing back to the ballroom. He had been on his way upstairs to look for her when she

had not been waiting when he returned with two glasses of champagne. He paused in the middle of a step as he saw her. "Rebecca! What happened to you?" She could not reply as she ran to him. He pulled her into his arms and held her close to his heart which beat rapidly with his fear for her. Although dozens of questions were being fired from every direction, he did not listen. All he cared about was the woman who obviously had