How would Marius react if he found out? Henry had mental images of his scorn. She could picture him sweeping her from head to toe with his quizzing glass. She imagined him sending her away to one of his more remote estates, perhaps even divorcing her. She would never be able to appear in society again if that happened. Not that she would care, she tried to convince herself. She would persuade Peter to send her back to Roedean and she would spend the rest of her days there, where she had always been happiest.

But she could not fool herself. It was true that she loved Roedean, true that she could live quite happily there without the distractions of high-society life, but she could no longer live happily without Marius. She wanted his good opinion, his friendship, his love. But she had effectively cut herself off from any of these. For one wild moment she considered going to him next morning in his library and confessing the whole. But she knew she could not. She could not bear to think of the look of disappointment or anger that she would bring to his face. And, most of all, she could not break her promise to Giles. Somehow she was going to have to get herself out of this mess.

Henry had been unseeingly regarding her own darkened image in the mirror while the brush moved mechanically through her hair. But suddenly her eyes focused on the faintly moonlit reflection of the wing chair behind her that stood beside the empty fireplace. The brush dropped with a clatter to the dressing-table top, and she spun around on the stool, eyes wide.

"How long have you been sitting there?" she demanded.

Eversleigh considered. "Since about a half-hour before your return, my love," he replied affably.

"What do you want?"

"Partly to know that you are safe," he said. "But I see that you are." He rose leisurely to his feet and proceeded to light the branched candles that stood on the mantelpiece.

"Marius, you are supposed to be playing cards tonight," Henry accused, her voice trembling slightly. "I did not expect you to return much before morning."

"Did you not, my love?" he replied, giving her a long, hard look.

Henry rose to her feet and gave her husband a bright smile. "Well," she said, "now that you know I am safely home, you need not wait up. Good night, Marius."

Eversleigh lowered himself into the wing chair again and looked maddeningly at his ease, clad in a blue velvet dressing gown and slippers. "Did you enjoy your music tonight, my love?" he asked conversationally.

Henry opened her mouth to reply, looked into his half-closed eyes, and shut it again. She looked down at her hands. "You know I was not there, do you not?" she said.

"You did not miss much," he assured her. "Signora Ratelli was somewhat off-key tonight, I believe. Though, of course, I am no connoisseur of music.

Henry did not reply. She continued to stare at her hands.

"Where were you, Henry?" he asked softly.

She looked up at him. "I went to the masquerade at the opera house," she said, and then added with a defiant tilt to her chin, "with Oliver."

"Ah, quite so," he said, still with his maddening air of nonchalance. "And did you enjoy yourself?"

"Yes, I did, very much," she lied.

"You are home early," he observed, "for one who was enjoying herself.

"I was supposed to be at the concert," she replied defiantly. "I did not wish to arouse suspicion by returning home late."

"An admirable forethought," he commented.

Henry could stand his amiability no longer. "Marius," she cried, "if you are angry, say something or do something. Don't play cat and mouse with me!"

"My love," he said, eyebrows raised in surprise, "what should I have to say or do? You have made it abundantly clear in the past that my wishes and my feelings mean nothing to you. All that is left for me to do is to try to ensure your safety."

"Oh, that is not true," she flared. "I do care for your feelings and wishes."

"Do you, my love?" he asked gently. "Forgive me. I must have misinterpreted everything you have said to me and done since our marriage."

Eversleigh rose to his feet and came toward her. Henry stood her ground, though she swallowed nervously.

"Henry," he asked softly, "do you love Oliver Cranshawe?"

Her eyes widened. "No!" she whispered.

"Because if you do, and if he can convince me that he truly loves you," he continued, "much as I distrust him, I shall release you. We can still have an annulment, you know."

"I do not want an annulment," she said.

"Do you not?" His eyes focused suddenly on her mouth and remained there. He reached out a hand to cup her chin, and with a very gentle thumb drew down her lower lip so that the torn skin where Cranshawe had pressed the flesh against her teeth was visible. He closed her mouth again and kept his thumb lightly on her lips.

"He has been kissing you," he said. It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes."

He looked deeply into her eyes for several uncomfortable moments. "Has he been making love to you, Henry?" Ike asked gently. "Have you been to bed with him?"

"No," she whispered, her eyes wide with horror. And then the unspeakable happened. His face suddenly blurred before her eyes and she felt hot tears on her cheeks.

His hands warmly framed her face and his thumbs brushed aside the tears. She was still gazing into his eyes.

"Henry," he said softly, "don't cry, my love."

As the first sob shook her, his mouth covered hers, open, warm, moist, and infinitely gentle. He avoided putting pressure on her bruised lips. But his tongue lightly traced them and passed over the cuts inside, soothing and comforting. Henry felt more sobs and more tears coming. There was such a wonderful feeling of safety and rightness about the moment. She, who had always fought against any man's dominance, welcomed now the strong arms that encircled her and the warm, strong body against which site leaned.

Henry was not sure how or when the kiss changed course. She was only hazily aware after a few minutes that her arms were around his neck, one hand thrust into his hair, and that her body was arched tautly into his, eagerly responding to its heat. His tongue was now plunging deeply into her mouth, boldly exploring its surfaces and fencing with her own tongue. One hand was undoing the buttonholes that extended down the front of her nightdress to the navel and was reaching inside to cup first one breast and then the other.

She did not resist when Eversleigh drew the lawn material away from her shoulders and let the nightgown fall into a heap on the floor. She did not struggle when he lifted her and set her down on the cool white sheets of the bed. She watched him wide-eyed as he shrugged out of his own dressing gown and nightshirt. She received his weight on top of her with a sort of wild relief.

And then sensation took control. Marius' taut male body was heavy on her, his hands first on her breasts, coaxing the nipples to an almost-unbearable hardness and then moving up over her shoulders and down her back until he clasped the lower half of her body ever closer to his. His mouth covered hers again and moved down to caress her throat, her shoulders, and finally, her breasts.

Henry felt completely surrounded by the man she loved and wanted, but she still lay with muscles taut, in an agony of unfulfillment. She waited feverishly for she knew not what. And then he was in her, too, the shock and pain completely depriving her of breath for a moment. She was sobbing again without realizing it, holding herself steady against his entry in total disregard of that momentary stab of pain. And then he was moving in her, deeply and surely taking her to that unknown destination.

Henry became vaguely aware that someone in the room was alternately moaning and gasping, and sometimes saying his name. She knew, without shame, that it was her own voice that she heard. She heard him murmuring soothing words against her ear, but could not translate the sounds into any everyday meaning.

And finally it was coming, that total sense of giving and belonging that she had fought against for so long and that she now craved with all her being. The thrust of his body was slowing and her own inner being was opening and relaxing against him, allowing him to penetrate the deepest secrets of her womanhood. She bit down on her lower lip as it happened, stifling a cry of wonder and delight. Her fingernails dug into the strong muscles of his back. He sighed aloud against her face and relaxed all his weight onto her unresisting body. They lay thus for several minutes, united, man and wife.

Finally, Eversleigh withdrew from her and moved to her side. He gathered her damp, relaxed body into his arms and gently kissed first one closed eyelid and then the other.

"Henry," he murmured, "did I hurt you, my love?"

She smiled drowsily into the warmth of his shoulder. No, she answered silently, you did not hurt me at all, my love.

"Did you know that that is what was to happen?" he asked against her ear.

No, her mind replied as she slid happily into a deep sleep.

Eversleigh lay staring upward at the shadows thrown on the bed's canopy by the candles that still burned. One hand absently caressed his wife's shoulder. Her failure to answer either of his questions had halted his own descent into sleep. He deliberately thought back over each moment of their lovemaking, reassessing her reactions. Had lie merely assumed that she was responding with a passion to equal his own?

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