ROMANTIC VENTURE

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Beneath the soft white winter sun, the Warbrooke coach rolled along the snowy landscape that crunched soothingly beneath its wheels. Inside the coach, Maurette and Kitty snuggled beneath fur robes and sang Christmas tunes. Geoffrey and Ben, who had been invited along, joined them in their jubilant high spirits. The exultant joy inside the coach was in contrast to the serenity of the snow-laden countryside over which they traveled. Deer, munching leisurely at exposed grasses, pricked their ears as the glee-filled carriage passed by and coveys of game birds scattered in accelerated flight from their cozy thickets at the noisy merriment that moved through their quiet winter life.

Maurette and Dominic had found a certain peace between them. The terrible night that he had treated her so cruelly was never spoken of. Lucius had not appeared again, and Lydia had kept to her rooms and, Maurette assumed, to her chapel. Through the month of November the servants, with Maurette's guidance, had begun the arduous task of cleaning at least the lower floor of the castle. As they had perceived it was to be a task that would be both tedious and time-consuming. Dominic had surprised Maurette with word of this thrilling holiday on the first of December, and they had been traveling nearly a month when the fanciful little palace appeared before them.

The gilded clock tower chimed the hour of four. "Oh," Kitty rhapsodized, "we are just in time for tea." Everyone laughed, and Geoffrey assured Kitty that in a royal palace every hour of the day was tea-time if one wished it to be.

They all stepped thankfully from the coach and entered the palace's great hall. Servants bustled among the milling guest and courtiers. Kitty hugged herself at the splendor she saw before her, and her eyes was a shimmer as she passed through the sumptuously decorated room. Even Maurette, who had seen much grandeur in her life, found herself tingling with excitement in the hurly-burly of the festive atmosphere.

The great hall was festooned with Christmas greenery, and garlands hung from curving rafters. Four huge Christmas trees, one set against each wall, sparkled with crystal ornaments. Columns and buttresses were swathed with red and green velvet ribbons. Though the great room was warmed by two blazing fireplaces at opposite ends of the hall and by the heat of hundreds of bodies, Maurette noted with a smile that Ben drew his shawl up over his ears as he was led to his chamber. Maurette pulled her fox fur cloak tighter around her shoulders and moved through the bustle of people toward the hearth.

"Oh, Maurette," she heard a feminine voice squeal, "you are here." Maurette felt a pair of arms entwine around her neck and had just enough time to realize that it was Imogene before she returned the embrace. She held her little sister back from her and looked in wonder at her plump and healthy figure. They embraced once more before Dominic took their arms and led them behind an overburdened servant to his and Maurette's chambers. Dominic excused himself to allow the two young women some private time together.

Imogene helped Maurette out of her cloak, admiring the luxurious silver fur. " 'Tis absolutely the most glorious cloak that I have ever seen," she breathed as she rubbed her palm over the garment.

Maurette regarded her sister fondly. The girl's skin was shinning with health and apparent happiness. Her lovely curls shimmered, and her blue, blue eyes sparkled.

"He is very rich, is he not, Maurette?" she said looking up. Bemused by her sister's perusal, Imogene cocked a questioning brow. "What is it, Maurette?" she said in puzzlement.

Maurette smiled deeply. " 'Tis nothing, Imogene, except that you are so beautiful."

Imogene ran to her and embraced her fiercely, "And you, Maurette. Oh, how I have missed you," she cried. Her curls bounced vivaciously as she crossed to the standing mirror at one end of the room. "Have you noticed anything?"

"Only that you have never looked so healthy," said Maurette. She watched her sister pose before the mirror, and awareness dawned as Imogene turned sideways and scrutinized her form. "A babe?" she breathed. "Oh, Imogene, a babe, already?"

" 'Tis true, Maurette," she giggled as she ran back to her older sister. "If my calculations are correct, he should be born in August.

"He?" asked Maurette arching an eyebrow.

"He," Imogene nodded. "If Gregory and Mama have anything to say about it, 'twill be a boy. Gregory wants a boy, and Mama said that girls are to hard to raise," Both girls dissolved into gales of laughter. "At any rate," said Imogene when their hilarity had been contained; "I shall love it no matter what it turns out to be. But do you know what, Maurette?" she said confidentially. "I have been praying for a little girl." Maurette nodded her understanding.

" 'Tis your right, Imogene," she said. "There are so few rights that we have," she went on pensively, "we can at least have our prayers."

Imogene eyes her sister curiously. "Your affianced is every bit as handsome as I remember him to be," she said finally.

Maurette turned a discerning glance upon Imogene. She could fool no one with her guileless eyes and her open face that manifested every nuance of her thoughts. "He is, Imogene," Maurette said evenly. Then she added, "Am I that transparent?"

Imogene looked up from the gown that she had been folding. "Whatever do you mean?" she asked, wide-eyes.

"Is that sadness that I fell-the disappointment with my life-so obvious?"

Imogene nodded slowly. "I knew it the moment you entered the hall. I put it to the long journey from Ravenshead, but in truth I knew better."

Both women were silent for a long moment. Then, though guided by some unseen force, they moved to embrace each other. Tear came to Maurette's eyes. Her mind was a jumble of unfocused sadness. Imogene stoked her and murmured soothing sounds.

Kitty came into the chamber carrying a large tray of cakes with a pot of tea. After setting down the tray, she moved to her mistress. Maurette introduced Imogene to her new tiring woman.

"Kitty is my only solace at Ravenshead," she said through a shimmer of tears.

Kitty smiled. "You sister had been most generous with her time. She has taught m e to read and to speak as a high-born lady and to dress the way a lady ought to dress." She stood and twirled for the benefit of the other two girls. "If not for my lady," she added with a twinkle of merriment. "I should not be now residing in a fourth-floor chamber of the queen's palace and," she paused, "I should not be waiting the attentions of a most practiced suitor, for your sister has taught me also how to flirt." The three women laughed. Kitty continued in mock seriousness. "Of all her teachings, this last seems to have been most useful." Kitty moved to pour the tea. "I shall leave you now," she said gently, bringing cups for Maurette and Imogene. "This is what you truly need. I am a poor substitute for a loving sister, I fear." Maurette protested, but Kitty was adamant. "I shall be up to dress you for dinner, my lady," she said and left the women alone.

"I like her," said Imogene as they sipped at their tea.

"She is truly my only friend at Ravenshead," Maurette nodded.

"But what of Lord Warbrooke?" Imogene said breathlessly. "Is he not your friend?"

"I know not, dear Imogene. I know that he loves me but…" her voice trailed off.

Imogene nodded understandingly. " 'Tis not enough is it?" She stood and set down her cup on a nearby table. "For me," she said, "'tis different. I never loved Greg, and I sincerely doubt that it was love-the kind of love that you share with Dominic-that led him to take me to wife. Oh he is 'in love' with me, he imagines, but there could never be the substantive spiritual unification of our souls that makes for true sharing. For you that is a possibility, and so you are dissatisfied with anything less. For me, what I have in Greg is enough. I have no illusions, you see, no false hopes. Eventually," Imogene went on philosophically "something will grow. between us. As we grow older, Greg and I will come to some spiritual communication. For now," she gave a slight shrug, 'tis the babe. I am treated very well. I know 'tis only a surface emotion that guides my marriage but, for now, 'tis enough." She turned back to her sister. "But for you, dear Maurette," she said consolingly, "there must be so much more." She sat down beside Maurette and touched the hand that lay quietly in her lap.

Maurette looked up into Imogene's soft eyes. "Has Greg never said he loves you?"

Imogene's laughter tinkled out. "Of course he has, Silly." she said. "Gregory is a most facile phrasemaker. He is perfectly eloquent within the confines of our tester. But as you remember, Maurette," she went on seriously. "we were not matched with great romantic expectations. Rather, we were like two fine young yearlings." She paused. "The thrust of my telling you this is simply to remind you that I had no expectations of a glorious romantic liaison with Greg. We are plain people, Maurette, who expect nothing out of life beyond a modicum of comfort. Do you remember our childhood fancies? We spoke of quiet afternoons in quiet gardens, our children all around us and our men off on some business or other? We spoke of sipping tea and attending each other with gossip and stories of household happenings?"

Imogene's voice had become muted and soothing. Maurette remembered all that they had envisioned and now deemed it not so terrible. In truth, Imogene's rendering of the silly childhood imaginings made them seem almost Utopian by the standards of Maurette's own life. They seemed, as her sister spoke, a state to be strived for.

"This is, in truth, my life," Imogene continued. " I really do live that way. Here at court, I meet with the ladies every afternoon for tea and stitching. There are children everywhere, and soon my own babe will be among them. The ladies talk of woman things such as how to handle their husbands," she put her fingers to her lips and grinned broadly. "Please do not tell Gregg that he is being 'handled,'" she giggled. "I do not believe that he would appreciate such blatant manipulation on the part of his wife. In truth, I think he knows it though. I am sure husbands know such things."

She became serious after a while and gazed into her sister's limpid lavender eyes.

"But for you and Dominic, such a mundane existence would be a waste. All that will ever really come for Greg and me is complacency. Once you and Dominic Warbrooke have explored the heights and depths of each other's souls, you will have so much more. You shall have true love, Maurette." Imogene's face was alight with excitement and the thrill of romance, imagined but not truly sought.

"Sometimes, dear Imogene," Maurette murmured, smiling softly, "I would have some of that complacency you speak of."

"I do not care how you pooh-pooh my romantic dreams for you, Maurette," Imogene said with uncharacteristic boldness, "You deserve better that the ordinary stuff of life. "You," she said, leaning into Maurette, "deserve the full measure of a man's passion."

"Passion is it;" said Maurette, piquantly, "'Twould seem that my little sister has learned a great deal of life in the short time of her marriage."

"That she has, Maurette," Imogene said, tossing her curls. "I have told you that Greg is a facile phrasemaker. I have learned all there is to know of love But in my case, 'tis only phrases-words-to which I have had access. But they have taught me something," she said. Her smile was sad. "I have learned what love can be. If my Greg meant half the things he speaks to me, I should be the most beloved woman that ever lived." She took both Maurette's hands in hers. "As you must be, dear sister. Please be it for me. Do not accept of life less than you deserve."

Maurette gazed down on her little Imogene. How sad, she thought, that one is bound by one's own realities. The pictures we create of another's life seem so much more alluring than they, in truth, are. Imogene would have another view altogether, if she could trade places with Maurette for but one day. For now Maurette saw Imogene's quiet life, exempt from any real pain or any real pleasure, as deeply desirable. Maurette smiled and sighed.

The sound covered the scrape of the heavy door to her chamber. She knew when she saw Imogene's eyes widen that someone had entered. Turning, she realized the reason for her little sister's awe. Dominic stood at the entrance. His massive frame blocked the doorway, and his raven presence filled the room. Everything about him spoke of strength and nobility. His heavy cloak hung to the floor from broad shoulders, and his bronzed hand rested on the golden hilt of his sword. Maurette could understand her sister's rapture. Dominic's silver gaze rested upon the two women and he allowed a small smile to form upon his firmly etched lips.

"I am sorry to interrupt," he said in a low seductive voice.

Imogene drew herself quickly up. She bobbed a deep curtsy. "Oh, sir," she said nervously, "you must not be sorry. On the contrary, 'tis I who am in need of your forgiveness. I have stayed far too long."

"Please do not depart on my account, Imogene," he said laughingly, smiling broadly at her apprehension.

"Oh, but I must, Lord Warbrooke. We shall speak again, dear Maurette," she said, brushing her sister's cheek with a brisk kiss. Like a sprite, she fluttered from the room. Maurette allowed a small smile to cross her lips. The couple watched the intimidated Imogene scurry from the chamber.

"I am sorry, Maurette," Dominic said softly. "I did not mean to overawe your little sister."

"You do not mean to frighten," said Maurette gently, "but you do, my lord." She had not truly been alone with Dominic in several weeks. He had kept his promise of staying from her company until they had worked out all that had happened between them, and now Maurette felt uncomfortable in his presence. She turned to one of her chests and opened it to begin her unpacking.

"Are your apartments satisfactory?" he said advancing into the room.

"Quite, my lord."

"Where is Kit?" he asked.

"She excused herself, my lord. I can manage."

Dominic eyed her keenly. "'Twould seem 'tis your intent to 'my lord' me to death, little one," he said tranquilly.

Maurette plucked another gown from the chest and moved to the wardrobe with it. "Forgive me, my-Dominic," she said. She knew that she was probing the recesses of Dominic's patience, that she had been doing so for many weeks.

In the silence that ensued, she recalled the time they had spent in the chapel and Dominic's explanation of his hatred for Lucius Hamilton. She remembered how profoundly she had been touched by his vulnerability where that young man was concerned. Dominic had left her chamber door that night and though she had forgiven him for his cruel use of her, he had sensed a reticence in Maurette. He had vowed once again that he would not impose himself upon her until such time as she was ready to accept him. He had left her then, and an uneasy peace had materialized between them. They had been friendly but guarded with each other. When he had surprised her with this holiday, she had been genuinely touched by his thoughtfulness. He had gifted her with the fur cloak, for their journey, but not once had he attempted to take advantage of her warm feelings toward him. He had remained humbly grateful for her expressions of affection.

She regarded him now, standing so proudly and so regally in this regal chamber. How difficult the past weeks must have been for him, for he was not a humble man. She felt a warmth flood through her at his touching restraint.

Two liveried footmen appeared at her door with platters of food and wine. They conveyed them into the room and, at Dominic's curt nod, they placed them on a low table before the fire. Maurette took the time to contemplate her chamber. The windows, draperies swagged, allowed the soft purple blush of the setting sun to warm the room. Gilt carvings arched the windows and the doorways. Carpets covered the stone flooring and pearl-set velvets draped the furniture and tables. A small virginal made of glass stood in one corner of the room, and in another corner there was an ebony and silver backgammon board equipped with dice of solid silver.

"You have been given the west corner," Dominic said after ushering the two footmen from the chamber. "Methinks Her Majesty approves our liaison."

"I cannot Imagine your meaning, Dominic," said Maurette. She noted that Kitty was standing shyly at the doorway. "Kit," she said happily, relieved. "Come in and help me unpack."

"Leave us," said Dominic. There was no questioning the authority in his voice. With a worried glance toward her mistress and a peremptory curtsy to Dominic, Kitty left the room.

"'Twas cruel of you, Dominic, to dismiss Kit that way," Maurette blurted. She instantly placed her fingertips to her mouth. "Forgive me, Dominic,". she said in a small voice. "I did not mean to speak to you thus."

He advanced toward her and gazed down into her startled eyes. "I find your sweet reluctance to understand my lustful jest of a moment ago much to my liking," he said huskily. "And this deference with which you treat our servants is another of your many sweet attributes that charm and delight me." He chuckled low in his throat. "I shall apologize to our Kit," he said.

Maurette matched his determined advance with her own slow retreat. Her heavily lashed eyes were wide, and her lips parted. "Is your vow revoked?" she whispered.

His brow arched and a flash of anger bared his strong teeth. Then, just as suddenly, it was gone. He stood before her, contemplating the fear that crossed her pale face at his sudden anger. As she had pointed out, he did not mean to frighten, but he did.

"Have I lost your love?" he said, cupping her small chin in his hand.

Maurette was hard pressed to answer. She had not stopped loving him. She knew that she would always love him, but he had ceased to be her friend. She had ceased to trust him. He had taken her away from her family and had become himself her family, and then, it seemed, he had abandoned her. Maurette had loved the Silver Raven in her childhood fantasies, the duke of Ravenshead of her birthday ball, and Dominic Warbrooke of Islington and sailing Raven but somehow, some inexplicable 'how,' that man had disappeared. That man had been replaced by a cold unjustifiable heartless stranger. Maurette had not stop loving Dominic Warbrooke. But she had ceased to care for him in that way her woman's heart longed to care for the man she loved.

Maurette lowered her eyes. She shook her head slowly. He had asked her a question. His soul was in his eyes. He deserved an answer.

"No, Dominic," she said ever softly, "you have not lost my love.

She had answered him, but they both knew it was not a complete answer. They both knew there was so much more to say. Maurette squared her shoulders and lifted her eyes to face him fully.

"How could we stop loving? Even in the most shallow moments of our life together, we have shared deeper feelings than most of our fellow human beings ever know. For those feelings-good and bad-I thank G-d. I have known heaven and hell with you, Dominic. Imogene made an observation concerning you and me. She spoke of her and Greg's eventual complacency toward their marriage. We have never known complacency, nor will we, and for that I am grateful. But this deep well of emotion that has been granted us is treacherously double-edged. In time, Dominic, if we do not nurture these deep feelings, if we do not give as we get, we are in great danger. Love is to hate as laughter is to tears. So close are they and so fragile. The great and glorious treasure of our love must be protected by both of us." Maurette raised her hand to brush her fingertips over his cheek. "You have not lost my love, but for a time I have feared the loss of yours."

"Nay, Maurette," he said so softly that the words could have been a breath. His eyes had turned to liquid silver.

"I have feared that your treatment of me announced some profound change in your feelings toward me," she went on.. "I have feared that I would come to resent you and that you would come to despise my resentment I have feared that we would lose each other."

Dominic smiled down on her. "'Tis ever a woman so blessed with the powers of understanding." Then his smile vanished, and his proud shoulders slumped. "I wish to acknowledge penitence," he said softly. Maurette withheld the urge to move toward him. That was what was needed. She did not know exactly how to respond to his demeanor or his words. She knew that righteous indignation would be out of order; she had every right to feel affronted. She did not wish him to be humbled, and yet humility was what he must feel. They both needed to know that he truly sought the forgiveness that he had received from her but not requested. Men did not ask forgiveness of their wives as they did not ask forgiveness of their horse or hound. But Maurette knew in her heart that, if ever their souls were truly to be united, Dominic must uncover his own humility.

He lowered his eyes and then as quickly raised them. He was prepared for whatever she would offer him. "I offer an apology," he said.

"May I ask for what action you seek absolution?" Maurette regarded him solemnly.

"Why for all," he said in real consternation.

Maurette raised her lovely brows. "All?"

"Yes," Dominic said, and his low voice rumbled in his throat, "for all that I have done, I apologize."

Maurette turned to face the low fire and moved toward the glowing hearth. The light from the window had paled to a cool gray, and it illuminated her bare shoulders and the shimmering curls at her nape. Dominic suppressed an aching urge to go to her and press her to him. She turned to face him. The fire seethed behind her, enveloping her in a halo of golden light. Dominic could barely see her face, but the cool gray twilight shimmered in her great violet eyes.

"You seek forgiveness, my lord, and for exactly what deeds?" she said.

Dominic had not expected this to be easy, but his gentle Maurette seemed now to be drawing every shred of his confidence from him. He sighed audibly "I ask forgiveness because the past weeks have been intolerable for me. I ask forgiveness for acting the rutting boar and for taking you with unkind intent. I ask forgiveness for humiliating you before my nephew in an attempt to prove to him that you are none but my own." He kept his gaze on her though he desperately desired to turn away. "Most of all, I ask forgiveness for any pain that my actions have inflicted upon you."

He squared his broad shoulders. His tone became more conversational, but his passion was as intense.

"The loneliness that I have. felt without your attendance has told me that I need you, Maurette. "'Twas my intent to take you away from the scene of your humiliation in the hope of winning back your confidence in me. I thought to wait a few days ere I attempted a reconciliation, but I could not wait. Now that Ravenshead is physically far away, I put-my trust in your forgiving nature. When we return, I pray that you will once more put your trust in me. In the meantime, 'tis my prayer that we may find some ground on which to rediscover that deep wealth of love that we once shared."

His voice stopped so suddenly that Maurette was taken aback. The rush of words had carried her along on a tide of emotion so strong as to lift her beyond the shadowed room in which they stood. Jolted back to reality by the sudden silence in the chamber, Maurette realized the import of what had happened. Dominic was placing her on an equal footing with himself. She could forgive him or not; that was her power. She could say him nay and destroy whatever confidence he had managed to employ for this occasion. She wondered ruefully if this confidence had simply been a product of his male pride. Was his genuine concern for her feelings and their love that guided him or merely the presumption of her devotion? He had mentioned trust. Dominic waited patiently for her to answer. Her words, when they came, were a deep prayer that all he had said was true.

"I do love you, Dominic, but I must for this occasion assess your feelings. Do you care, as you say you do?"

"I do not blame your hesitancy, Maurette," he said huskily.

"Do you not?" she asked softly. He wanted desperately to sweep her in his arms to prove his love, but he knew that was not what this conversation was about.

"I do not," he said simply. "You have every right to be wary of me. I tell you this," he paused to give weight to his simple words. "I do care."

Maurette looked a long moment into his eyes. "I believe you," she said finally. "I believe you because I need to believe you, Dominic."

Dominic's aspect lightened. This was what he had prayed for. To see the veil of uncertainty and doubt lifting from Maurette's eyes was for him a treasured gift.

"All that I have told you is the truth, my beautiful Maurette. 'Tis hard to accept such seeming change in a man, but the change is not change but the shedding of deceit." He held up his hand when she would have spoken.

"I should have told you of Lucius from the beginning and of my sister's secret. I know now how valuable you are to me, and I know, too, that I cannot shut you out of any part of my life. I excused myself, saying that I was protecting you. In fact, I was protecting myself. I believed you would think less of me if you knew the truth. And, he added, lowering his eyes, "I was not certain that I was capable of entrusting you with the secrets of my soul."

"To consign to you such deep trust would be to commit myself to you forever. I had not the courage for that, Maurette. But now…"

"Hold, my love," said Maurette gently. "I do not need the promise of marriage from you. I have gained what I have needed. There is time for the other when we are both sure of what we can yield."

They were both silent for a long moment. The only sound in the room was the soft crack of the. fire. Shadows had filled the room, and in the lavender darkness, they moved together, seeking each other's nearness. Embraced by an eternity of warming love, they stood holding each other. They knew that the well of feeling from which they drew their love could never again be disturbed.

"Do you imagine that Elizabeth will take offense if we are late for her holiday ball?" Maurette spoke very softly, and her eyes scanned the room -to rest on the small inner chamber where a fur-draped four-poster resided.

Dominic looked down at her in surprise and delight. Then, throwing back his head in laughter, he swept Maurette into his strong arms and carried her to the indicated piece of furniture. He laid her gently into its thick folds.

"The queen is a true romantic, I am told," he said, brushing Maurette's soft cheek with his fingertips.

"The queen, I am told," said Maurette in feigned distress, "is most jealous where it concerns the affections of her courtiers."

"Ah, yes," said Dominic matching her tone. "'Twould never do to offend Her Majesty. I have heard, however, that when she is secure in her own romances, she is a most generous and expansive matchmaker. "Take my word, little one," he said fondly, "now that Francis, Duke of Alencon plays at court his courtly games, we are in no danger of the royal wrath."

He sat down on the bed next to Maurette. He lifted her to him, cradling the back of her head in one muscled hand. "When Elizabeth is in love, we must all be so," he said lightly. She insists upon it." He looked down into Maurette's trusting eyes. "In all events; my love, no danger exists or will ever exist in our loving." He took her soft, ready lips in a tender kiss. He could not help but be aware of her slight apprehension. He was both tender and bold. He was confident of the persuasion of his manly prowess. And he was confident, too, in the sincerity of her response. He caressed her throat and shoulders with his breath and sensed her uncertainty slipping away.

With practiced fingers, he gently slipped her bodice off her shoulders and down her arms, revealing the silken flesh beneath. Her breasts strained against the fine woven threads of her lacy chemise. Her eyes were closed and her lips moist and invitingly parted in her passion.

Dominic lovingly removed the rest of her clothing. Then he removed his own and lay down beside her.

He brushed the perfection of her skin with one hand and teased her eager flesh with his lips and tongue. Her arms entwined around his neck, and her fingers were in his raven curls. Separating her thighs, he allowed his fingers to roam and to explore the core of her budding hunger. The warm, moist depths of her desire flowed it pulsating little palpitations, and Dominic knew that her eager young flesh was ready for his manhood. He drew himself on top of her and entered her gently at first, and then, as her response deepened, he thrust with unstrained force into her willing flesh.

Their souls came together as never before and soared above the earth in a heightened cascade of feeling and response. Together they merged and cried out their mutual exhilaration. Together they descended through cloud banks of rapture into the reality of the quiet room where they lay, exhausted and content, in the thick comfort of the furry counterpane that they had not bothered to withdraw.

In the cozy twilight of the afterglow of their rapture, they touched and caressed each other and created a silken world of contentment and peace. They relaxed in each other's arms for a long time until it was time to face the evening's entertainment.

Dominic raised himself on one arm. He could not believe his sweet fortune as he gazed down on Maurette nestled in his embrace. He was, by all accounts, a rogue. Much of his past he knew Maurette would learn through gossip here at court. Tongues wagged and stories grew to incredible proportions in this sequestered environment. His own reputation had grown and become impossibly fantastical on the flighty tongues of the bored matrons who took their tea and languished about the court on long afternoons Dominic's raven eyebrows fused and formed a wrinkle of consternation on his forehead.

"My lord is discontent," said Maurette when, upon opening her eyes, she found his troubled aspect. She smoothed his forehead with gentle fingers.

"Not discontented, little one," he said. "'Tis only that I fear certain rhapsodic creations of the ladies here at court in respect to my past life you may hear these tales and, taking them for truth, decide that I am more the rakehell than you originally perceived me to be." He smiled and brushed her smooth cheek with his thumb. "Court life offers much opportunity for word painting, Maurette. And castle building of the most fantastic sort helps pass the time. Some here would have it that I have bedded more than half the household and instigated duels with the other half."

"Am I instructed not to believe such tales, my lord?" Maurette slanted him a piquant glance.

"The duels and the bedding are flights of romantic fancy;" he said. "For the most part," he added roguishly.

Maurette bolted up and away from him. Discovering her lacy chemise at the bottom of the bed, she flung it in his direction. It floated down to lie like a feather web on his bronzed chest. He regarded the silken white garment with a twinkle of amusement in his pewter eyes. Maurette turned away from him. The sight of his muscular flesh and glistening raven fur beneath her gossamer undergarment excited her in ways that she did not understand. She colored with embarrassment and swung her well-shaped legs over the edge of the bed. Dominic's arm snaked out to encircle her waist. He dragged her gently back into his embrace.

Supporting himself with one muscular arm, he hovered over her, his lips inches from her own. She lay there looking up into his tender smile. She sensed that she had pleased him in some way and accepted his consuming kiss. They were lifted once more to the heights of rapture to melt into each other's passionate hunger. Again, they soared and floated in that enchanted world that existed for them alone.