Not as much as Michael thought; she would merely tell the truth, that Colin had died suddenly. But it was true that the perils of her deception loomed much larger now that she was on the island. "That might not happen. My grandfather seems to prefer my cousin. I wonder what the mysterious Clive is like? Mr. Harwell said nothing critical, but I had the sense that he wasn't enthusiastic about the fellow."

A knock heralded two maids with coppers of steaming water. Michael let them in, then said, "I think I'll go up to the battlements for some fresh air. I'll be back in half an hour or so. That will leave enough time for me to bathe before dinner."

Catherine nodded, concealing her relief. The thought of being naked in the same room with Michael made her feel hot and confused, even though she would be safely behind the screen.

Safe? There would be no safety until this charade was over.

Mrs. Tregaron was right about the view from the battlements, even at night A few lights were visible, most clustered in the nearby village. Because the castle stood on the highest point of the island, Michael could see beyond the shadowy fields to limitless expanses of moon-kissed sea. The irregular liquid beat of waves murmured in the distance. There would be no place on the island out of sound of the ocean.

The air on the battlements was blessedly cool, easing his tension. He sighed and braced his hands on the stone wall. A shared bedroom. Wonderful. It only needed that.

Though Catherine might think her grandfather inclined to choose her cousin as heir, Michael disagreed. No man was proof against her warmth and intelligence, and the laird was already beginning to soften. She would receive her legacy, as long as her pretend husband did not antagonize her grandfather. He should not have snapped at the old man. Still, no damage had been done. The laird seemed to like a bit of spirit in those around him, though real opposition would probably infuriate him.

He stared at the distant sea and tried not to think of Catherine washing herself in the hip bath. Soap sliding over her smooth, pale skin. Warm water trickling between her full breasts. His body tightened as his imagination pictured her in excruciating detail. Dear Lord, but it had been a long time since he had lain with a woman.

Yet, in a sense, it didn't matter how much time had passed. Even if he had spent the spring bedding every courtesan in London, he still would crave Catherine with painful intensity.

When half an hour had passed, he went down to their room. He found Catherine curled on her side on the bed, fast asleep. She had bathed and donned a blue evening gown, though her hair fell unbound over her shoulders. She looked exhausted. He would let her rest as long as possible.

Fresh hot water was waiting by the tub. He bathed quickly and changed into evening clothing, then went to wake Catherine.

Before he did, he studied her sleeping face. Nothing could make her bone structure less than exquisite, but there were shadows under her eyes. She must be weary of carrying all of the responsibility for her family. Colin wouldn't be much help.

Michael's gaze drifted downward. The evening gown was modest, but it could not conceal the lushness of her figure. The gentle rise and fall of her breasts riveted him. And the alluring curve of ear visible beneath the dark silk of her hair…

He took a slow breath. "Catherine, it's time to get up."

She sighed and rolled onto her back, but didn't wake.

He put a gentle hand on her shoulder and said more loudly, "Catherine, dinner will be served soon."

"M-m-m." She smiled a little and turned her head sleepily into his hand, her eyes still closed. Her mouth pressed against his fingers. Her lips were warm and luxuriantly soft.

Desire flared, hot, red, and bunding. He jerked his hand back as if he had been scalded. Dammit, remember that she's a married woman! Sharply he said, "Catherine, wake up! It's almost dinnertime."

Her dark lashes swept upward. She stared at him with shock, and something that was almost fear in the depths of her eyes. Guessing that she was disoriented, he said, "We're in Skoal, and about to go for dinner with your alarming grandfather."

Her eyes cleared and she pushed herself upright with one hand. "I only meant to lie down for a few minutes, but I went out like a drowned candle."

"It's been a long day. Unfortunately, it isn't over yet."

"My grandfather must think that putting us through our paces when we're exhausted will reveal our true natures.He's probably right." She slid from the bed and went for her hairbrush. With a few swift strokes, she untangled the dark, glossy mass. Then she twisted it into a knot on her nape. Simplicity merely emphasized the graceful line of her slim throat.

A knock sounded and a shy voice called, "Sir, ma'am,I'm here to take you down to the salon."

Michael said quietly, "Ready for the next act?"

She raised her chin. "As ready as I'll ever be."

He opened the door and ushered her out. Sharing the intimacy of a married couple with Catherine was proving even more difficult than he had expected.

Catherine took Michael's arm as they followed the parlor maid down through the house, but she kept her eyes cast downward. She was still unnerved by the moment when she had woken to find his face above hers. She had been drifting in a marvelous dream, where she was normal, Michael was her husband, and they were looking forward to the birth of their first child. For a paralyzed instant, the dream had carried over into reality. Then it vanished, leaving only anguished regret.

The salon was in a newer section of the house. As Catherine and Michael entered, five pairs of curious eyes stared at them. The laird was in a wheelchair with a blanket tucked around his legs. Also present were Davin Penrose and a pretty blond who must be his wife, and an older couple.

The laird accepted her greeting with a nod. "You've met the constable already. This is his wife, Glynis, and the Reverend and Mrs. Matthews." He gave a rusty chuckle. "Obviously Skoalan society doesn't glitter."

"How fortunate. I've found that glitter doesn't wear nearly as well as good sense and a good heart." Catherine gave a warm smile to her grandfather's guests, most of whom were regarding her with a certain wariness.

Determined to start on the right foot with people who might soon be her tenants and neighbors, Catherine accepted a glass of sherry and set out to put everyone at ease. Conversation flowed easily, but she wondered where her cousin Clive might be.

The sherry glasses were empty when the door opened again. "Please excuse my lateness, Uncle Torquil," a smooth, familiar tenor voice said. "What is this surprise you promised me?"

The hair had prickled on the back of Catherine's neck when she heard the voice. No, it couldn't possibly be…

A gleam of malicious amusement showed in the laird's eyes. "It's about time, Clive. Come meet my granddaughter, Catherine, and her husband, Captain Melbourne."

Catherine braced herself and turned to the newcomer. She had not mistaken the voice. Lord Haldoran, the languid, inscrutable gentleman who had flirted with her during the hectic spring in Brussels, was her own cousin.

Chapter 22

Catherine thought frantically as Haldoran crossed the room. Had he ever met Michael, who had escorted her so often in Belgium? Or Colin? She couldn't remember. But if he had, her deception would be exposed on the spot, and she had seen enough of her grandfather to know he would not be amused.

She thought her heart would stop when an odd expression-shock?-flickered in Haldoran's eyes at the sight of Michael. It vanished so quickly that she might have imagined it. He said genially, "How delightful to meet you again, Mrs. Melbourne."

He bowed to her, then offered his hand to Michael. "I believe I saw you with your wife at a number of those crushes in Brussels, but we were never properly introduced. I'm Haldoran."

Catherine did her best to conceal her relief as the men shook hands. It was ironic that Michael's consideration in escorting her now reinforced their charade.

The laird frowned. "You already know each other?"

"We met in Belgium last spring," Catherine replied. "When it seemed that Brussels might be overrun by the French, Lord Haldoran very kindly conveyed my daughter and the family who shared our billet to Antwerp."

"I'm glad you didn't turn tail and run," her grandfather said approvingly. "Being a woman is no excuse for cowardice."

"Au contraire," Haldoran said with a hint of mockery. "Your granddaughter was known throughout the army for her bravery. She earned the nickname Saint Catherine for her nursing work."

"I'd heard that," the laird said. "It made me think she might be strong enough to rule Skoal, even though she's female."

Catherine disliked being spoken of as if she were not present. Luckily, Michael caught her grandfather's attention by saying, "From what I've read, the islanders trace their ancestry to the Vikings and Celts, whose women were known for courage and independence. With such blood in her veins, it's not surprising that Catherine dared the battlefields."

"You're interested in history?" Not waiting for a reply, the laird began expounding his opinions about early Britain while Michael listened with apparent interest.

Catherine gave Haldoran a quizzical glance. "I haven't gotten over my surprise at finding you here. Did you know last spring that we were cousins?"