Since the notion was preposterous and in all likelihood she was the one who was going to get hurt, she simply kept her silence.

"I thought your brother might join us. Where is he?"

"I'm afraid I haven't seen him. Caleb has an annoying habit of disappearing."

"Yes, so I've noticed."

Luc took her arm and started toward the punch bowl. "As I said, I think I could use something to drink."

Grateful for the distraction, Lee let him lead her away.


While the guests enjoyed the picnic, Caleb managed to slip into several of the rooms, but his brief search turned up nothing. Later, after Gabriella and her party returned to the house, he joined a small gathering in the music room where Lee entertained on the harp. He was surprised by her skill. She plucked the chords so beautifully it made his chest feel tight. He watched until she quit playing, hoping to speak to her, but as soon as she finished, her usual throng of panting men swarmed around her and he walked away in disgust.

Little by little, the afternoon slipped into evening and the night's entertainments began. He hadn't spoken to Lee all day and he was beginning to feel restless as he watched her bantering with her admirers. Earlier, from a distance, he had seen her talking to Colonel Wingate and Sir Peter Peasley, had watched her in conversation with Major Sutton and even his brother Luc.

Now supper was over and the dancing had begun. Mondale stood beside Lee in the drawing room and the next thing he knew the two of them were slipping outside onto the terrace.

Caleb's senses went on alert. Entering the terrace from the opposite end, he watched the two of them together, saw the damnable rake sweep her into his arms. Mondale kissed her, and anger shot through him. He wanted to tear the man apart, wanted to put Lee over his knee and paddle her until she saw Andrew Mondale for the womanizing rake he was.

The only thing that kept him standing in the shadows was knowing that he would be forced to leave Parklands if he did either of those things and he couldn't afford for that to happen.

He watched her break away from Mondale, ending the kiss. They talked a little while longer, then finally returned to the house.

Caleb's anger didn't lessen.

Dammit, he had always been a little hot-tempered, but Lee drove him nearly mad. He felt possessive of her as he never had another woman. He found himself thinking about her at the oddest times, remembering her in the stable smiling up at old Arlie or galloping over the fields, red hair flying behind her like a gleaming ruby flag.

He wanted her. Constantly. Ached with wanting her.

It was madness, he knew. His life was the army. It was what he did and he was good at it. He was, in fact, a hero of sorts, a soldier who had made his father proud.

Still, as the evening progressed and he saw Lee make her way alone out into the garden, he found himself following her into the darkness, remembering that he had seen her in the shadows kissing Mondale, wondering if she planned a secret tryst with him.

He told himself to hang on to his temper and hoped to hell he would succeed.


Lee tipped her head back, resting it against the pale knotted bark of a birch tree, staring up through the leafy branches. Thank God, she'd finally been able to escape. Every night, the evening seemed to grow longer, more tedious. The house was stuffy. The rooms smelled of candle wax and the cloying scent of women's perfume. Encouraging the colonel last night had been a mistake, and Mondale—dear Lord, the man must have at least three sets of hands!

Lee looked up through the branches, into the darkness broken by the glitter of stars, and inhaled a cleansing breath. Out here it was cool and the soft night beckoned. Here in the garden, she was at peace, able to absorb the sound of the crickets in the grass, the distant clink of crystal, and the faint notes of music coming from inside the house.

The week was slipping past. She had continued to dig for information and tonight she thought she might have come up with something at last. She needed to speak to Caleb, but all evening she had only caught an occasional glimpse of him.

She wondered where he was, thought of Juliette Beauvoir, and felt the sharp burn of jealousy. Or perhaps he had disappeared from Parklands as he had before. Her stomach knotted at the thought and because it did, her temper inched up. She relaxed when she spotted a shadowy figure moving along the path in her direction and realized it was Caleb. Her heart kicked up and she cursed him for the ease with which he could affect her.

He stopped when he reached her and the usual scowl appeared on his face. "Surprised to see me?"

She tried not to think of Juliette Beauvoir. Being jealous of the woman was ridiculous. Caleb had rarely looked in her direction, and yet… "As a matter of fact, I am. You were missing all afternoon." She gave him a silky smile. "But perhaps you were otherwise entertained."

Caleb didn't seem to catch the inference. "I've been busy." A note of sarcasm crept into his voice. "But then you've been rather busy yourself."

"Exactly how would you know?"

"Because I saw you. Out on the terrace with Mondale. I saw you kissing him, Lee."

Damn. She thought she had been discreet.

"That's right… there you were on the terrace, behaving like a harlot, and Mondale was lapping it up."

Heat washed into her cheeks. He had a way of goading her, making her want to lash out at him, and she couldn't seem to stop herself from doing it again. "Actually, Caleb—I am a harlot. Your harlot. In case you have forgotten."

His eyes went dark. "I haven't forgotten anything about you. Not for a moment. I remember exactly the size of your breasts, the way your nipples tighten when I cup them in my hands. I remember what it's like to be inside you. It's you who seems to have trouble remembering." His dark eyes snapped with fire. "But perhaps I can remedy that."

He gripped her shoulders, dragged her toward him. She felt the heat of his mouth over hers as he claimed a hard, angry kiss. She should have pulled away, should have railed at him for believing the worst of her. She should have told him the truth about Andrew, that she had only been with him on the terrace because she was trying to help, but her nipples were already hard, her body begging him to continue.

He must have read her thoughts for a groan escaped his throat. The gown was low cut, not much of a barrier. Caleb shoved the shimmering fabric off her shoulders, baring her breasts, and captured the fullness in his hands. He palmed them, molded them, bent his dark head and took the weight of one into his mouth. Her nipple tightened, distended, sent a shaft of pleasure shooting through her. She swayed toward him, clutched his powerful shoulders to stay on her feet.

"Caleb…"

"That's right, sweetheart. This time, I want you to remember." His attack resumed, turned relentless. Deep, thorough kisses that stirred her blood and sent her arms up to twine around his neck. He kissed her as he shoved up her skirt, found her core, and began to stroke her. He knew exactly where to touch her, how to caress her, used his skillful hands until she was trembling, wet and ready, and begging him to take her, making soft little whimpering sounds in her throat.

One of his big hands worked the buttons on the front of his navy blue breeches and he freed himself. Caleb lifted her and she felt his hardness poised at the entrance to her passage. With one deep thrust, he buried himself to the hilt.

Oh, dear God. He was as hard as stone and so big he filled her completely. He eased himself out, then thrust back in. Deep strokes impaled her, rocked her against the trunk of the tree. He cupped her bottom, bracing her as he drove into her again and again. Pushing her skirt up out of the way, he wrapped her legs around his waist, began to drive deeper, faster, harder.

Her head fell back. Her body trembled, tightened. Pleasure rolled through her in powerful waves.

"That's it, sweeting. Let go." And she did, her body shaking, quivering, straining, the pleasure so intense she bit down on her lip to keep from crying out.

Caleb reached his release a few moments later, the muscles in his shoulders going taut as he spilled his seed. For long moments, he said nothing. Then his forehead dropped down, and rested against her own, and he just held her.

Reality began to drift in and her mind began to clear. She remembered where they were and that someone might stubble upon them, even out here in the farthest, darkest reaches of the garden. Caleb must have remembered as well, for he gently set her back on her feet.

He finished buttoning his breeches, then began to help her straighten her clothes. For a moment he paused, and she realized he was looking at the wine-colored, star-shaped mark on her left shoulder.

"I noticed this the last time we made love. What is it?"

She shrugged. "A birthmark. When I was little I prayed it would go away, but obviously it never did."

He traced the mark with his finger, looked down into her face. "I don't want you kissing Mondale."

Lee sighed. "Lord Andrew knows about the troop movements in Spain, Caleb. That is the reason I was kissing him."

"What are you talking about?"

"That's what we were doing on the terrace… talking about the war. I let him kiss me to take his mind off the conversation. I wanted to discover as much as I could."

"I don't believe this. You were kissing Mondale in order to get information? Dammit, I told you how dangerous that was." He wasn't happy, but she could tell he was relieved.

"Did Mondale say how he found out?"

"Apparently he received a letter from a friend in the army. I don't know if he is guilty of being a spy, but—"