Michael stopped a friend, an officer of the Household Guards who was about to leave the ball. "What has happened?"

"The duke says the army will march in the morning," was the terse reply. "I'm on my way to my regiment now. Luck to you."

Time was running out. Perhaps it was self-indulgent to come to the ball, but Michael had wanted to see Catherine one last time. He halted by a flower-twined pillar and scanned the crowd.

She was not hard to find. Because her clothing budget and jewelry were modest, she dressed with relative simplicity, maintaining a stylish appearance by expertly changing the trimming of her few gowns. As a result, no one looked at Catherine Melbourne and remarked on the splendor of her costume or the sumptuousness of her ornaments. What they saw and remembered was her heart-stopping beauty.

Tonight she wore ice-white satin and lustrous pearls that set off her dark glossy hair and flawless complexion to perfection. In a room full of brilliantly colored uniforms, she stood out like an angel on loan from heaven.

Colin stood next to her, a proprietary hand on her elbow. It was obvious from his smug expression that he was aware of how other men envied him for possessing the most beautiful woman in a room full of beautiful women.

Face set, Michael began working his way through the crowded ballroom. After paying his respects to his hostess, he went to Catherine. Colin had moved away, but the Mowbrys had joined her.

Her eyes lit as he approached. "I'm glad you could come, Michael. I thought perhaps you had already been called away."

"I was delayed, but I would never miss such a splendid occasion." As-the music began, he said, "May I have this dance with you, Anne, and the one after with you, Catherine?"

Both women agreed, and Anne gave him her hand. There was strain in her eyes as he led her onto the floor, but years as an army wife had taught her control.

As they took their places for a reel, he said, "You look very fine in that gown, Anne. This isn't too tiring?" She smiled and shook her auburn curls. "I shall bubble with energy for another six or eight weeks, until I become the size and shape of a carriage."

They kept up an easy stream of talk as the pattern of the dance drew them together and apart. Yet as soon as he returned Anne to Charles, she forgot everything but her husband. Gazes locked, they moved together onto the floor. Michael uttered a silent prayer that Charles would survive the coming campaign; a love as strong and true as theirs deserved to last.

He turned to. Catherine and gave, her a formal bow. "I believe this is my dance, my lady?"

She smiled and swept a graceful curtsy. "It is, my lord."

He did not realize that he had claimed a waltz until the first bars of music were played. He had deliberately avoided the intimacy of waltzing at previous functions, but tonight it seemed right, for this would likely be their last dance. She came into his arms as if they, had waltzed a thousand times before. Together they flowed into the music, her eyes drifting half shut. She followed his lead as lightly as the angel he had thought her, yet he was intensely aware that she was a woman, a creature of the earth, not the heavens.

Dark tendrils of hair clung damply to her temples as they circled the floor without speaking. The pulse in her slim throat was beating rapidly from exertion. He wanted to press his lips to it. The delicate curve of ear showing below her upswept hair was an invitation to dalliance, and the tantalizing swells of her breasts would haunt his dreams for as long as he lived.

More than anything on earth, he wanted to sweep her into his arms and take her to the fairyland beyond the rainbow where they could be alone, and there would be no tormenting issues of war and honor. Instead, he had a bare handful of moments that were spilling away like cascading grains of sand.

Too soon, the music came to an end. As he let her go, her long lashes swept upward. Her expression was stark. "Is it time for you to go?" she said huskily.

"I'm afraid so." He looked away, fearing that his yearning must be showing. Across the room, Wellington caught his eye and gave a faint nod. Michael continued, "The duke wants to speak with me. By the time you return home, I will probably be gone."

She caught her breath. "Please-be careful."

"Don't worry-I'm cautious to a fault."

She tried to smile. "Who knows? This may all be a false alarm and everyone will be back in our billet by next week."

"Perhaps." He hesitated before adding, "But if my luck runs out, I have a favor to ask. In the top drawer of the dresser in my room, I've left letters to several of my closest friends. If I don't make it through the campaign, please post them for me."

She bit her lip. Tears were sparkling in her aqua eyes, making them seem even larger. "If… if the worst happens, do you want me to write to your family?"

"They will learn all they need to know from the casualty lists." He lifted her hand and kissed her gloved fingertips. "Good-bye, Catherine. God bless and keep you and your family."

"Vaya con Dios." Her fingers tightened convulsively. Then she released his hand a fraction of an inch at a time.

Wrenching his gaze from hers, he turned and crossed the ballroom. It was warming to know that she cared for him. The pleasure of that was not diminished by the knowledge that she also cared for Charles and Kenneth and other men. It was her capacity for caring that made her so special.

Wellington had abandoned his sofa to talk to his officers one at a time. To Michael, he said tersely, "Napoleon has humbugged me, by God. The French have captured Charleroi."

Jarred out of his reverie, Michael exclaimed, "Damnation! Charleroi isn't much more than thirty miles away."

"It could have been worse," the duke said with a wintry smile. "The road from Charleroi to Brussels was virtually undefended. If it hadn't been for damned good luck and a first-rate show put on by Prince Bernhard and his troops at Quatre-Bras, Marshal Ney could have marched straight into the city."

As Michael swore under his breath, Wellington said, "Tell me, Kenyon, will those green troops of yours stand?"

A fortnight before, Michael would not have known how to answer. Now he could say, "They may not be the fastest shots or the best at maneuvering, but put them in a line or square with veterans nearby and they will stand."

"I hope to God you're right. We're going to need every soldier we've got." The duke rapped out several orders, then turned his gimlet gaze on the crowd to collect another officer.

Before Michael left, his gaze sought out Catherine one last time. It was easy to find her with the ranks of guests thinning so rapidly. She was on the far side of the room with her husband, who was speaking excitedly. The Mowbrys joined them and both couples turned to leave.

His breath coming with great effort, Michael went out into the warm night. She was not for him, he reminded himself bleakly. She would never be for him.

Michael glanced across his horse's back. "Bradley, did you pack my greatcoat? It was in the back hallway."

The batman flushed. "No, sir. I'll go get it."

Michael bit off an oath. Though the boy wasn't as well organized as an officer's servant should be, he tried hard. "Be quick about it. We need to be off."

As Bradley left the stable, Colin Melbourne entered. Michael said, "Are you and Charles heading out to your regiment now?"

Melbourne nodded, his eyes shining. "You heard that Boney is at Charleroi? By God, we'll see some excitement now!"

"I don't doubt it." Michael was about to lead his horse out when he saw that Melbourne was saddling a nondescript cavalry hack rather than Caesar, his usual mount. Casually he said, "You're going to lead Caesar to keep him fresh?"

"No, I'm leaving him here. I'll ride Uno and keep Duo for reserve." Melbourne indicated a bay gelding as unimpressive as the one he was saddling.

Michael stared at him. "You're not riding your best horse into battle?"

"I don't want to risk him," Melbourne replied. "Besides the fact that I'm devilishly fond of the beast, if he were to be killed, the amount paid by the government compensation fund wouldn't begin to cover his value."

"For God's sake, man, it's folly to try to save a few pounds at the risk of your life!" Michael exclaimed. "In battle, a horse's stamina can be the difference between surviving and being speared like a rabbit."

"It may seem like only a few pounds to you," the other man said tartly. "Not all of us have your financial resources."

Michael bit back an oath. Melbourne was acting like an idiot and deserved whatever he would get. Yet for Catherine's sake, Michael must try to prevent the other man's folly. "If money is the issue, take Thor." He stroked the chestnut's sleek neck. "His stamina is outstanding, and I've given him cavalry training so he'll be able to do whatever is needed."

Melbourne's jaw dropped. "I can't possibly take your horse. You'll need him yourself." He gazed at Thor longingly. "If he were killed, I'd never be able to replace him."

"A horse isn't as critical in the infantry as the cavalry. My other mount will do well enough. I hope Thor comes through safely, but if not, I'll settle for whatever you receive in compensation." Michael unbuckled his saddle. "If all goes well, you can return him to me in Paris. If I don't come through, he's yours."

"You make it impossible to refuse." Melbourne smiled boyishly. "You're a good fellow, Kenyon."