Sophia remained frozen, staring at Ross's huge, dark form. The tense silence was fractured by the sounds of partygoers giggling as they scurried through the house in search of concealment.

"What happened?" Ross asked quietly.

She opened her mouth to tell him the truth, but suddenly a chilling thought occurred to her. Matthew Cannon had just given her the perfect excuse to break things off between herself and Ross. Cleanly. Completely. If Ross believed she had tried to seduce his brother, he would entertain no further interest in her. He would let her go without a second glance. And that would be infinitely easier than the alternative--the arguments, the confessions about the past and how she had planned to ruin him, the pain in Ross's face as he realized that he had sent her brother to his death. Perhaps it would be best to make him think that he had never really known her, that she was unworthy of affection or trust. That he was fortunate to be rid of her.

Summoning all her strength, Sophia made her voice cool and steady. "Your brother just told you."

"You tried to seduce him?" Ross asked incredulously.

"Yes."

"Like hell you did!" He grabbed her much as his brother had, his hand closing around her nape, the other seizing the back of her dress. "What is going on? I don't play games, and I won't tolerate them from you."

She hung helpless in his grasp, her face turned away. "Let me go. It doesn't matter what you believe. The truth is that I don't want you! Now take your hands off me!" She shoved against the muscular bulk of his shoulders, then realized that she had pressed the site of his injury. Ross grunted with discomfort but did not loosen his grip. His wine-scented breath burned her like steam.

"Someone will come in here," she gasped.

Ross didn't seem to care. His hand urged her head back, exposing the white length of her neck. As their bodies crushed together, Sophia felt the hard thrust of his erection even through the heavy weight of her skirts. He licked at her lips, then sealed his over hers and consumed her with a blatantly lustful kiss. The pleasure of it engulfed her in a hot tide. A whimper rose in her throat, and she writhed against him helplessly.

Ross cupped her breast over the tight bodice of her gown. "You can't lie to me," he muttered against her ear. "I know you too well. Tell me the truth, Sophia."

Sophia sagged against him in despair, utterly lost. She was no longer in control of her words or actions. Emotion came crashing over her, breaking over her soul until it was washed as clean as a sand-scoured beach. "I can't," she said, her voice shattered. "Because the truth will make you hate me, and I couldn't bear that."

"Hate you?" he asked thickly. "Good Lord, how could you think that? Sophia--"

Ross stopped and inhaled sharply as he saw the tears pooling in her eyes. Suddenly his mouth was on hers, hard and demanding, and he fumbled with her clothes as if wanting to rip away every layer between them. She succumbed to his lips and hands, drowning in sensation, all thought submerged in an ecstasy of surrender. He drew her tongue inside his mouth, playing with the silky underside. Losing her balance, Sophia clung harder to his neck. He was the only solid thing in a world that had become volatile and unstable. Suddenly she felt the carpeted floor against her back, and she realized what he meant to do. "Oh, no," she whispered, but he silenced her with another of those sweet, shocking kisses while his large body settled over hers.

He pulled the front of her gown up to her waist and tugged at her drawers. Sophia writhed as she felt Ross's hand close on the top of her leg, above the tightly cinched garter. His thumb stroked the thin, hot skin, moving higher and higher until it reached the thatch of crisp, curly hair.

Somewhere in the house, a woman squealed in pretend fright as the murderer made his rounds. The little shriek caused a round of smothered laughter from the game-players.

"They'll find us," Sophia said, wriggling frantically beneath him. "Don't, you mustn't..."

His fingers slid tenderly into the cleft between her thighs, the pad of his thumb drawing upward to circle the hood of her sex. She groaned and trembled while his fingers entered her with gentle skill, and his mouth consumed hers with desperate fervor.

"We can't," Sophia moaned. "Not here--"

He hushed her with his mouth and caught her head in the crook of his arm. His fingers withdrew, and she felt him opening the front of his trousers. He mounted her, using his thighs to widen the angle between her legs. Turning her face against the bulging muscle of his upper arm, Sophia breathed in shallow pants, her body rigid with anticipation.

His large hand slipped beneath her bottom. "Relax," he whispered. "I'll be gentle. Just open to me. That's it...yes..." And he began to enter her with exquisite care, stretching her, filling her with silk and heat and impossible sensation.

Footsteps hastened past the door...the sounds of gleeful laughter...guests searching for new places to hide.

They were going to be caught. Sophia reared upward in panic, fighting wildly in a sudden effort to free herself. Ross withdrew from her, the weight of his erection sliding wetly from her body. Panting hard, he pinned her wrists to the carpet. "Hush," he breathed in her ear. "...shall we try in here?" a female asked as she paused just outside the door.

"No," came an answering male voice. "Too obvious. Let's go down the hall..."

Their footsteps retreated from the threshold, and Sophia rolled away from Ross the moment he released her wrists. She staggered to her feet and jerked at her clothes to rearrange them. Her face burned as she bent to tug her drawers upward and tie the dangling tapes at her waist. Her limbs were shaking from nerves and fear. Her body ached with unspent passion. She had never known such need, an unquenchable fire that burned with maddening ferocity.

Ross fastened his trousers and approached her from behind. The gentle clasp of his fingers on her shoulders made her flinch. She wanted to seize his hands and pull them to her breasts and beg him to give her the relief she craved. Instead she stood as stiffly as a statue while he nuzzled into her disheveled hair.

"Obviously I haven't done this for a while." Irony washed through his voice. "My sense of timing used to be much better."

"We shouldn't have gone so far," she said through lips that felt swollen. "It was f-fortunate that we were not able to finish."

His hands tightened on her shoulders. "I'm going to finish it soon, by God. I'll come to your room later."

"No," she said instantly. "My door will be locked. I-I don't want to discuss this, ever. As far as I'm concerned, it never happened."

"Sophia," he murmured, "there is only one thing you can do to keep me from your bed--and that is to tell me that you don't want me."

Ross waited with calculated patience while Sophia struggled until her chest felt as if it would burst. Every time she tried to speak, her throat closed, and her shoulders quivered within the supportive frame of his hands. "Please," she finally whispered, although she had no idea what she was asking him for.

His palm slid across her collarbone and pressed to the center of her chest, where her heartbeat could be felt through the thick fabric of her gown. "We'll have our reckoning soon," he said gently. "There is nothing to be afraid of, Sophia."

She pulled away from him with a sharp jerk. "There is," she said hoarsely, striding away from him. "You just don't know it yet."

CHAPTER 10

Sophia fled to her room and tried to restore herself. She washed with cold water, scrubbing her face until it was pink. After brushing her hair and pinning it in an excruciatingly tight coil, she returned to her duties, feeling dazed and frantic.

The murder game was soon declared over, and the guests proceeded to entertain themselves with a guessing game in which they gave imitations of classical statuary. Howls of laughter greeted each effort. Having received no education in art history, Sophia could not understand why the company seemed to find the game so uproarious. Absently she bade the footmen to clear away the tea dishes and port glasses. The kitchen scullery was crowded with maids washing flatware, crystal, and hundreds of plates. Thankfully, the other servants seemed too busy to notice Sophia's distracted manner.

As the hour of two o'clock approached, most of the guests retired for the evening, heading to their rooms where valets and ladies' maids waited to assist them.

Exhausted, Sophia supervised the cleanup of the common rooms, and praised the servants for a job well done. She finally went to her room, carrying a tinplate lantern fashioned in the shape of a cup with a pattern of punched holes. Although she was outwardly calm, her hand shook until the lantern caused brilliant dots to flutter across the wall like a cloud of fireflies.

When she reached her room, she closed the door and carefully set the lantern on the small rustic table in the corner. Only now, in the privacy of the bedroom, could she allow her tightly suppressed emotions to escape. Clutching the edge of the table for support, she bowed her head and sighed shakily. She stared at the tear-blurred light before her, reliving the moments of rapturous intimacy in Ross's arms.

"Ross," she whispered, "how can I leave you?"

A voice came from the shadows. "I will never let you leave me."

She whirled around, a cry caught in her throat. The uncertain light from the tinplate lantern played over the hard contours of Ross's face. He lounged on the small bed, so still and quiet that she had not seen him when she entered the room.