" I doubt I am like her at all. I do wish to be alone now."

" I'll not stop you from leaving my company, if that be your wish, Nikita. I'm not that sort of man. What will you do if someone else tries to accost you? Sometimes thieves come to these soirees and wait in the gardens for unsuspecting females."

" Do they? " She supposed she shouldn't have sounded so hopeful She was thinking about her thief again.

Her thief! How irrational was that?

" That's a very old and valuable piece of jewellery you wear. Where did you come by it?"

She blinked as he raised his hand and touched the diamond drop that hung just at the hollow of her throat. She felt her pulses race at the slight brush of his gloved fingers on her bare skin, at the look in his eyes. What sort of heat might he inspire in her breast with a bared hand? Skin to skin?

" I borrowed this from my employer,' she managed. She did not castigate him for touching her person. She hadn't the words.

" What if. . ." His eyes were like green gems. Too light and smoky to be emeralds. Too full of light for jade. Peridot maybe. They seemed to consume her, draw her into their brilliance. ". . . you were to meet this thief. This jewel thief everyone is talking about."

" Black heart? " she whispered.

" Yes. Him. What would you do? "

I would kiss him, she thought.

As wildly and sweetly as the last time.

It was strange that he'd mention him. How very strange. What would he think of her if he knew? She told him a lie. " I'm a country girl. I know how to use my knee for the greatest advantage."

He winced. Then he grinned. She could feel those green eyes on her back as she walked away. Her knees were trembling.

He watched her walk away. The back was as gorgeous as the front. Beautiful, he thought. So goddamned beautiful. He liked everything about her looks, her wide shoulders, narrow waist, her narrow but gently rounded hips. He thought about her legs. Long, sleekly muscled. How would they feel wrapped around his back?

He thought about kissing her, about having his tongue in her mouth and her body pressed to his so closely a paper couldn't pass between them. He'd thought of nothing else the whole time he'd been near her. It was a good thing she'd slipped away so suddenly.

" Michael? "

Michael practically jumped out of his skin at the sound of the familiar voice. He, the man with no nerves to speak of, startled. Ridiculous. He felt like a schoolboy caught doing something wrong.

Dutchess Adrienne Wentwirth leaned on her ivory topped cane, her slender, narrow shouldered figure slightly stooped, but still regal. She was garbed in an ivory coloured gown, not of the latest mode, but obviously expensive and elegant. Clouds of soft russet hair liberally tinged with white wreathed her head beneath her fine lace cap.

" Hello, Dutchy," he gave her a wide smile. " Did you escape your jailer, Nurse Phipps? "

She laughed softly. " Yes, for now. Though I know she'll be soon looking for me. I couldn't sit in the corner and listen to the "on dits" for another second. Why aren't you dancing? "

" Hate it. I feel like a fool."

" You're a splendid dancer."

Michael shrugged.

" Abby will be angry again. The last ball we attended you didn't squire her to the floor."

" I made up for it, Dutchy."

" Ah, the necklace. Yes. Tis very fine. I don't think a boy like you needs to be so generous. In my day, all you'd have had to do would be to smile at me, Michaelagelo. I would have swooned at your Italian allure."

He smiled. It was a genuine one, not the phony one he cultivated for people. "I've no doubt you were lovely as a younger lady. I would have swept you off your feet. I'll dance with you now, if you like."

The dutchess laughed. " You do put me to the blush, lad. Alas, I am far to weary to dance. What are you doing here flirting with an old lady? You ought to be off looking for Abigail."

" I expect she's found a hundred fellows to be at her beck and call. Have you seen her? "

" I thought that I just saw her with you. Madeline and Paul are off somewhere. I think he's in the gambling salon. She was with that earl. The one with the pointy eyebrows "

" Claridge." Michael's jaw tightened.

" Yes. I forget names now. I could barely remember Sally Jersey's name. I have known the gel since she was in leading strings. Who was the girl with you, if it was not Abby? "

" Why don't you sit down, Dutchy. " He bent, taking her frail arm in his strong one, leading her to a settee in the corner. He sat down beside her, mindful of his coat tails. " I think you know her. You haven't met yet, but last week I overheard your conversation with Lady Madeline. She'd asked you if you knew what happened to Nicky's child? "

" Before I had the spell. Yes. So much slips my mind of late. Nicky's child. The girl. She is here? Now?" Her tone was agitated. Her eyes flitted from face to face in the crowd as if hoping to find her.

" Do you want to see her, Dutchy? "

" More than anything. I have never forgiven myself for what I did to her mother. Kitty. Her name was Kitty. What is the name of the gel? "

" Nikita."

Adrienne smiled sadly. " A combination of the two. Nicky and Kitty. I turned her away, you know. I had to. My husband would have none of his son marrying a vicar's daughter. He was ashamed. I tried to talk Nicky out of it. They married for love."

" No one in society marries for love. Who believes in love, anyway? It is all illusion, I think. Invented by fools. The body just has some sort of chemical reaction to the opposite sex. It soon fades and there is nothing left but a sense of ennui."

" What a thing to say! You don't believe in love! "

" Love is for poets and simpletons."

" You are a dangerous boy. I shouldn't let you near my granddaughter. "

She was right. " Which granddaughter? " he asked, leaning close and grinning.

She laughed. " Abby's still waiting, you know. For you to make it official. She's an impatient, flighty young gel. When will you approach Paul? "

" Soon."

" Please make it soon. I don't know how much time I have and I do want you in the family. I have come to love you, lad. And I am speaking neither as a poet or a simpleton. Three months and you're in my heart."

He leaned and kissed her papery cheek. She was flushed, but at the same time clammy.

" You're ill again? "

" No. Tired. That's all. If you could have seen me three months ago before you came to England. Making plans for my rose garden and flitting here and there. It started the week Maddie came home. I started to have the dizzy spells. That's when Nurse Phipps was hired. I've been drinking the special teas and seeing the doctor, but to no avail. Sometimes I feel almost human and then " She broke off, taking his gloved hand in hers. "I am going on too much. I am an old lady. I have to accept it." Her hands were shaking. " Will you bring her to me, Michaelangelo? "

" Anything. "

" You're such a beautiful boy. Sometimes I think that my spoiled, selfish granddaughter doesn't deserve you. Is Nikita like that? Temperamental? "

" No. Of course I don't know her. She seems decent. She's " He didn't know how to describe her. " She's like you, I guess. I like her. She's different than other women. I can tell that much without really knowing her."

" Oh, no. Different! Never that! " Adrienne laughed. She looked down at Michael's gloved hand.

" You're bleeding again. You didn't let the doctor look at that hand? "

" No. I thought it would heal without stitches." Blood soaked the white silk at apex of his thumb.

" Silly lad. How did you do it? "

" The stables. There was a nail. It's nothing."

Michael looked up. Nurse Phipps, Lady Madeline, in a gown so revealing it shocked even him and the lovely Abby, her daughter, walked toward them. " Here come the three bitches," he muttered.

" What did you say? "

He smiled down at Adrienne. " Stitches. You're quite right, Dutchy. I should have had stitches."

*******

Nikita walked slowly around the fountain, trying to breath, trying to think of something other than a French jewel thief with smouldering lips and hard, muscled thighs or the notorious Italian count with eyes that sparked green fire. Was she utterly mad to be so attracted to two such ineligible men? Rakes and robbers. Her grandfather would roll over in his grave, if he happened to be dead.

She put her hands up to her burning cheeks. The count was wicked. Had he really said that about Lady Caroline. She was a boring lover! What, in his estimation, qualified as a good one?

" Why did you bring that up to him, Nikita Wentwirth? Are you insane? "

Obviously he thought she was common. Did he know she was a virgin? A twenty-five year old virgin with no experience? Or did he assume she was a lightskirt because of this dress and the shocking things she blurted out?

" Think of something else."

She ought to find Lady Chloe and Lady Olivia. She was here to see to their needs. Even if it meant having her ear peeled off by some old lady with a hearing horn. Maybe it would be nice to listen to a heartfelt chat about dyspepsia, childbirth and bladder maladies.

" Research. I will think of research while I'm cooling off."

She'd think about the wicked Earl of Hardshaft and the lovely Penelope. How would he kill his next victim? A shooting? Or poison? Maybe she ought to turn the tables and poison the earl. Then Penelope could run off with the handsome highwayman who is really a fine gentleman in disguise.

" What to use? Lily of the valley? All parts are toxic, but bitter. Put it in wine? Symptoms might not be obvious enough. No twitching or spasms at the beginning. Just memory loss and clammy skin, a rash. Maybe the earl could sicken for weeks until his heart gave out at the exact right moment. Maybe Jimsonweed. I'll poison Penelope with Jimsonweed. She could be going blind "

What was he doing now? she wondered. What were they doing? Both of them. The thief. Had he perhaps decided to become and honest man since meeting her?

What about Michael? Was he in there dancing with Abigail? Rich, beautiful, titled Abigail.

Oh, she loved his name. Michaelangelo. The fallen angel. How perfect...

How did this happen? How did one go from indescribable boredom in her grandfather's house to this level of intensity? This feeling of aching want. She felt as if she was sitting on a hornet's nest.

A shrill voice broke into her thoughts. " Who in hell are you? "

Nikita whirled around on her heel. The girl everyone kept taking her for stood a few feet away. The first thing she noticed was that she looked hardly anything like this girl called Abby at close range. It was merely a passing resemblance.

Abby was far more a ton belle than she could ever hope to be. Her figure was rounder, shorter and more voluptuous. Her shoulders were fashionably narrow, her hips fuller. She had tiny feet. There were no freckles to mar her peaches and cream skin. Her nose was thinner, her lips a lush cupid's bow rather than wide like Nikita's own. Her eyes were like hard, clear diamonds. As cold as ice.

She was Nikita's junior by years, but Nikita decided that if she kept drinking champagne she'd soon look older. She was fairly gulping it out of a crystal flute.

She had most likely bought her dress in Paris. It had too many ruffles and lace for Nikita's taste, yet it was still shockingly sheer. The sour expression on her face didn't help matters. The girl looked like she'd rolled naked in a pile of handkerchiefs and swallowed an unripened persimmon.

" You look nothing like me. I am insulted beyond measure," Abigail Chesterfield pronounced in haughty tones.

" I was thinking the same, but I'm obviously more well-bred. I do not say such things aloud in fear of causing offence."

" You're huge."

Huge?

" Strapping. Like a peasant."

Nikita straightened her shoulders. No sense stooping. The girl was moving closer. Nikita's knees touched the back of the fountain. She thought of her grandfather's sermons. He who casts the first stone... Do unto others... Set a Christian example and turn the other cheek

" I insist that you leave. Now. Get out."

Nikita glared at her cousin. " You've no right to insist that I do anything."

" You have ruined my evening."

" When did you become the bloody queen of this ball?" Nikita said evenly.

" I want you to stay away from him." The girl narrowed her eyes. " I heard him say that you were beautiful. You have freckles like a spotted dog."

" Maybe he likes freckles. Which of your paramours are we talking about? "

Abby rounded on her.

" Stay away from him. He is mine." Abby pushed Nikita's shoulder with the flat of her dainty hand.

" I think you went a little too far there, coz." Nikita flicked the air like she was swatting a pesky gnat.

Abby screeched, threw down the champagne flute and shoved full force against Nikita's chest. Nikita could not keep her balance. Her slick shoes went out from under her. It took great presence of mind and superior strength to pull Abby into the fountain with her.

She had planned to hold the girl's head under the water for just long enough to put some sense into her crazy head when she looked up to see Michaelangelo da Francisini, an elderly woman and several others including her aunt and her two employers. Everyone looked horrified except for Michael. It almost seemed as if he was trying not to laugh.

" Perhaps you ought to let her up for air now? " Michael suggested calmly.

Nikita looked down in horror, then yanked her sputtering, choking cousin out of the water. The girl immediately launched herself at Nikita again, getting in a swing that bruised Nikita's jaw and brought stars to her eyes. It took another gentlemen and Michael to pull the two of them apart and out of the fountain.

Nikita struggled a little against Michael's arms. There was something vaguely familiar about having him hold her from behind like that, the feel of his rock hard arms wrapped around her waist, the warmth of his long body. " Please, let me go now. I'll not do anything else."

Michael did as he was bid. To Nikita it almost seemed he put her away from him too quickly, as if he was anxious to put a distance between them.

" Michael, she t-tried t-to kill me," the girl screeched. " I want you to call the Bow Street Runners to take her away. She ought to be locked up in Bedlam."

" She was only under the water for a few seconds," Nikita said. She was not about to say that the silly chit started it. No one would believe her anyway.

" I n-need a coat," Abby moaned. At least five gentlemen came forward with offers of coats for the sodden girl.

Nikita looked at the gathering crowd. Everyone was tittering behind fans and gloved hands. Of course she would be blamed. It only stood to reason. She met the eyes of Lady Chloe, who made a sympathetic face. Nikita sighed in misery.

Abby's mother, a tall, classically beautiful woman wearing a huge turban in a most unbecoming shade of purple was staring daggers at her. Her eyes were hell dark, almost back. Nikita wondered when she'd ever seen so cold a visage. She would be the most perfect villainess for a novel.

And was that a love bite on the woman's neck!

" She attacked me, Mama," cried Abigail. Nikita could tell that the girl wanted to launch herself into her mama's arms, but Madeline was having none of it. She held Abby off with an upraised hand. " She'd been uttering things about poison made from lily of the valley and someone called little Penelope. I heard her. She is a dangerous, evil "

" Perhaps we can discuss what happened later," said the woman Nikita assumed to be her grandmother, the dutchess. She was a regal looking woman, a trifle pale and thin. Perhaps the incident had appalled her so deeply that she was feeling faint.

Well, no matter, Nikita decided, as a dull pain began to throb in her jaw, she didn't want me anyway. Now she'll feel even more justified.

" Take her to the carriage, Madeline. I've already called for it for Dutchy. She's feeling ill again."

Madeline looked at her mother with something Nikita assumed was concern. Maybe it was pique, as if she was being put upon." Come then Mother" she said. " Why must you dawdle so? "

They'd been joined at this point by a man with white hair and a large, man with a full, florid face and red hair. Nikita assumed the white haired man was Lord Paul Northwood, her uncle by marriage.

" Go ahead," said the dutchess. " I want to speak for a moment to the gel."

" I was just going to leave," Nikita said.

" I know you're cold. I just wanted to look at you. You're so like my poor Nicky. So like him."

" I'm tall, like my mother," Nikita said. She'd hoped to make her voice cold but it just came out sounding lost.

" Yes," said the woman. " You are indeed like Kitty. But she was not such a spirited gel." The old lady suddenly seemed a little unsteady. Nikita reached her arm out to offer support but Michael was soon there enfolding the delicate old woman in his strong arms.

" There now, Dutchy. I think you've had enough excitement." Michael said gently.

He looked at Nikita over the old lady's head. His green eyes were twinkling with amusement and something else she could not name. They swept down her body, lingering at her chilled erect nipples and back up to her eyes. The way his beautiful lips parted as he looked at her made her shiver all the more.

Disgusting male peacock. If he thought she was interested in him, he was--

He seemed to read her mind and grinned. " If it's worth anything to you, Miss Wentworth, I really don't believe you're a murderess. Do put some ice on that jaw when you get home."

Nikita straightened her shoulders and raised her chin. She did not like at all the strange way he made her feel. It was terribly disconcerting. " I really do not care what you believe, sir. Good night."

She tried to walk away with as much dignity she could muster, given that she'd lost one shoe in the fountain.

********

At breakfast Mick laughed until there were tears pouring from his eyes. " You should have seen her." He pounded the table with the flat of his hand. Plates and cutlery jumped. " Oh, Miss Nikita. It was rich. You were so bloody wet. The coach seats are going to have to be recovered."

Nikita frowned. " I really don't think it was that funny."

" It is, really," said quiet Seymour. " All except the punch to the jaw. But it really doesn't look that bad. The purple will soon go away."

" Then it'll just be a sickly green," said Greg.

Nikita glared at them both in turn. Her jaw had ached all night.

" I've never heard of a fight in a fountain before," said George. " At court though there were a few fights. Pushes down the stairs by jealous females and all that. Sometimes I miss all that. "

" I gather you'll not be dismissed? " inquired Walter.

Nikita gingerly chewed her toast. " I don't think so. At least there was nothing said about it." It had surprised her that Lady Chloe and Lady Livvy were not overset. For some odd reason they'd been proud of her.

" I hope that O'Brien fellow, the Bow Street runner doesn't show up with a warrant for attempted murder," observed Mick.

" Mick! " admonished George. " The girl's got enough to worry about."

" Well, I heard bloody Princess Abby screamin' 'bout it. All the way to the carriage. And then that handsome toff threw her over his shoulder and tossed her into the carriage like a bloody sack of potatoes. That made her howl all the louder."

" What toff?" asked Belinda. She was grinning at Nikita.

" The Italian. The bloody count," said Mick. " Ah, he's got the finest clothes if ever seen. I'd like the name of the bloke's tailor. Can't be Weston. He's not fittin' trousers that way. Must be some Italian fellow what's dressed 'im. Elegant gent, he is, for a bleedin' foreigner."

" Watch the language, Mick," admonished George.

" Don't worry, Miss Nikita. No one will charge you with anything, " said Gail. " Did you actually meet him? This handsome count? "

" He's not that handsome," Nikita said. She could feel her face going hot. " He is tolerable, I suppose, if you like that type. I, personally, see nothing to recommend him, other than a very good sense of fashion and um fitness. He's a little too handsome for my taste."

Belinda guffawed then put a hand over her mouth. " Too handsome? That's like saying too well-endowed."

" He doesn't pad, then? " asked Greg. " His calves, I mean." This subject of who padded and who did not seemed to be of great importance to footmen, who themselves often wore wooden false calves in their stockings to fill them out. Seymour, it seemed, had broken a toe once trying to kick Greg.

" I don't think he does." She sipped her tea, thinking about the way he'd lifted her out of the fountain. The way his body had felt. Warm. Hard. No. There was no padding there.

There was no padding anywhere. It was all him.

The conversation turned to the thief as it usually did. It seemed no one had been struck in the last few days, a most disappointing development for the entire staff.

Nikita straightened out the morning room while the sisters napped. Lady Olivia had made a mess out of crewel wools again and it would be up to Nikita to sort them. She had hoped that she could write today. She had enough thoughts in her mind to fill pages and pages.

George came into the room looking agitated. " Miss, there are two gentlemen here to see you. They arrived at the same time. Both are insistent that they see you today."

" Gentlemen? "

" Yes. One wants to see you about an important personal matter. The other is that Bow street runner. The one with the messy hair." George raised a bushy brow. " I couldn't get rid of him."

Nikita swallowed. " What about the caller with the personal matter? "

George's lip quivered. " The Count of Napoli, miss."

" Oh, dear," giggled Belinda. " Might I go in and sneak a peak at him? "

" That's what I was thinking," Gail squealed.

Nikita took a deep breath. How was she going to live through this. " There will be no peeking. See them both in, George."

George ushered both men into the morning room. He asked if they would like refreshments. The count declined. O'Brien asked if he could get something to eat. Nikita looked from man to man. She had never seen such a contrasting pair. The count stood near the fire, resting a boot clad foot on the grate. O'Brien sat in a chair looking ill at ease.

O' Brien was even more rumpled than the last time she'd seen him. Count da Francisini was perfect, breathtaking. He seemed to have come from a ride, probably on Rotten Row. He was wearing a tan riding jacket and fawn doeskin breeches tucked into highly polished black and tan Hessians. His hair was tousled into loose, shiny curls that begged a woman's hand to straighten them. On his hands he wore leather gloves that he didn't bother to remove.

O Brien seemed intimidated and kept straightening his tie and clearing his throat.

" Gentlemen," Nikita said.

The count made a small bow of his head." Perhaps Constable O' Brien would like to get his questions out of the way, Miss Wentwirth? I think I know what this is about. Utter nonsense. "

O'Brien glared at him." I have to check all reports out. No matter that you deem them to be nonsense,"

" It is twaddle. Maybe you should be out trying to catch that thief."

" What is it about, Constable? " Nikita asked.

" Did you try to murder someone called little Penelope, miss? I have to ask." His face turned bright red.

" Yes, of course she bloody did, " Lord Michael hissed. " The body's in the attic."

With that George almost dropped the tea tray.

" Better not drink that, O'Brien," the count said, in a voice oozing with sarcasm. " This murdering girl had likely dosed it with What was it, Miss Wentwirth? Jimsonweed? "

******

Nikita returned from seeing the Bow Street runner out the door a half an hour later. Michael was standing by the birdcage watching a pair of finches flutter from perch to perch.

" So is he returning later to drag you off to Bedlam? Kicking and screaming. Protesting your innocence. I'm surprised he didn't ask to search your room. For poisons. And pistols hidden with your under things. Maybe you've recorded all your nefarious plans in a diary? "

She chewed her lip. " I do have a diary. I'd hate for anyone to see it. Is it precisely polite to mention under things? "

" I am never precisely polite. Anything about Never mind." He ran an agitated hand through his hair.

She just looked at him. Like a mother might look at an unruly child. It made his hackles rise further. She said: " You can be very scornful, my lord. My grandfather used to give long sermons about people like you."

" He's an idiot."

" My grandfather? "

" No. Bloody hell. The runner. He was here to see you. That's all. He's smitten with you."

She blushed. As if she had no idea how bloody beautiful she was. " Fustian, my lord. I hadn't noticed that at all."

" I did. It takes another man to notice such things."

" He's doing his job. While you, sir, are just being tedious."

" Tedious? I am tedious? " He was shocked.

" No one has ever indicated that to you? Perhaps you have some self-examining to do then. Are you sure that I can't get you some refreshments? "

He moved away from the birds. " I hate cages. How trapped these creatures must feel."

" I get the impression that you feel trapped at times, my lord. Like this room isn't large enough to allow you to prowl around. You remind me of a lion, you know. Or perhaps a wolf."

He gave her his most wolfish smile. " Do you always say whatever is on your mind?

" You get to say what ever is on your mind, don't you? Oh, but then you're a man. A count. You could open your mouth right now and tell me whatever you're thinking and I could say nothing to stop you."

" True. I do say whatever I am thinking. But I will not tell all. You might hit me."

" I would not hit you."

" You might, at the very least, swoon. The thoughts I've been having about you are not innocent in the least." He continued to pace. " A tedious lion. I think you're right. I will have to do some self-examination. Is that the full opinion? "

She frowned at him. She was making a horrible mess of the wool.

" Do you want to know what I'm thinking now?" he asked. He was thinking of kissing her. Of making love to her. Of laying her down on the carpet and slowly slipping her bodice down so that he might kiss her lovely breasts.

" I have no doubt you'll tell me."

" I was thinking that you look far different than you did last night, Miss Wentwirth. No silk and borrowed diamonds. You don't really need them at all." His voice was soft, rather husky.

" I know how I look. I know exactly what I am," she said softly. " Why are you here? Surely not to chat about me. I expect you have a reason."

" I came to talk about the dutchess. I hadn't expected the officer of the law to be here. " He took a deep breath. He had no idea why she made him feel this way. He never felt like this around women. He was a master manipulator of females, but she was immune to his charm. He knew he had charm in spades. She was totally insusceptible, damn her. " The dutchess would like you to visit her. She's going to be alone in her home for a week."

" Where will the others be? "

" They are taking the waters at Bath. Claridge has an estate there."

" You're not going? "

" I have no wish to go. He is not one of my friends." He is my enemy, Michael was thinking. How I long to tell--

" Lady Abigail must be disappointed." Her blue eyes were twinkling impishly. There was a small dimple peeping out near her wide mouth.

Michael ran a hand through his hair again. He wanted to take off his gloves but his hand was still wrapped." Would you see her? Your grandmother? "

" Will you be there? "

" Does that matter to you? "

" I don't know. Perhaps."

He stiffened. " I do not normally stay there. I have a place here in Mayfair"

" Good."

" Good? My not being there is good, I take it. You don't like me very much, do you? "

" I get the feeling that's something you don't often hear from ladies. That you are not held in high esteem."

" Not often. The opposite, in fact. What is my problem, exactly, besides being a tedious lion? "

" I find you a trifle controlling. I hadn't quite realised it when we met at the ball. I guess I was stunned by your superior looks. There is an aura of control and restraint you project, while something deep and impassioned is seething just below the surface. It is like you have a very dark secret you have no wish to share. It is rather lion-like, in a way. Lions are always in complete command before they spring. Of course, all that leashed in intensity would make anyone tedious and cranky, wouldn't it? "

His mouth almost fell open. He had to clamp down his back teeth. She had him to rights. She did not like him. There was no admiration in her voice. She had simply seen through him and stated the obvious.

He's been out of control that night he'd kissed her. He'd known it then. She'd taken him unawares. She'd liked him well enough then. Well enough to allow him to take her sweet mouth under his. If he'd had the time he could have taken her on the library floor. If she knew who he was she would be eager.

He could make her cry out with wanting him.

" Have I insulted you? You seem to be a man who likes the truth."

" I'm not insulted. Nor am I cranky. I have a lot on my mind. Business. Personal matters. I am worried about the dutchess. She's been ill. She wishes to know you."

" She could have known me years ago. I would have wanted it then. Now I am not so sure. Besides I have a position here."

" Lady Chloe and Lady Olivia are meeting their nephew at the Scottish border."

" I wasn't told that. They'll need me, I expect."

" They told me they wouldn't."

He stopped pacing and sat down on the settee beside her. He stilled her hand from the unravelling of the tapestry yarns. " She is one of the most singular people I have ever met. It would be a shame if you were not to know one another. Tell me that you would not regret it should something happen to her."

Nikita met his eyes. Hers were so blue it took his breath away. " I cannot promise..."

" I'll let you think on it. Tell me tomorrow," he said softly and then added as an afterthought. " Please, Miss Wentwirth. Don't do it for me. Or her. Do it for yourself. You will not be sorry."

*******

There was no use for it, Nikita thought, She would never sleep. Rain pinged against the window, a noise that usually soothed her. It could not make her lull herself to sleep this night. There were too many things to think about. Not stories that flitted in and out of her mind, but real things. Things she must deal with.

Nikita threw back the bedclothes and slipped into a wrapper. She lit the candle on the bedstead. Perhaps a book would help. Something dry to relax her mind and make her eyelids heavy. She looked at the clock. One-thirty. And she'd had only hours of sleep the night before. She was going to feel wretched tomorrow.

She picked up the candle and made her way quietly down the back stairs.

The house was quiet. The ladies were leaving early in the morn for the border to meet Lord Freddy. Belinda would go with them. They were taking another friend so there would not have been room for Nikita had she wanted to go along.

If only she could decide what to do.

Nikita opened the library door and set the candle on the desk. She peered up at the titles. She needed something really boring. She needed something that would drive all thoughts of those sardonic green orbs and that imperious stare out of her head. Nikita climbed barefoot onto the library steps to see the higher titles.

She reached for a red and gold bound book set rather high on the shelf.

" Don't fall, mon coeur," said a soft, husky voice from the corner.

She gasped. He was there. The thief of Mayfair was standing in the far corner of the dimly lit room, his arms crossed over his silk clad chest, his lips twisted in a wry smile.

" Have you changed your mind about stealing from us? " she murmured.

" No. I wanted to see you. I can't believe my good fortune. I didn't know which room was yours." He spoke in a low husky whisper. The French accent was pronounced. It made shivers traverse her spine. She could feel her legs quaking and grasped the edge of the shelf to steady herself.

He walked toward her. Before she could protest he was in front of the library stair, enclosing his strong hands about her waist. His face was at a level just below her breasts, where her ribs joined her sternum. He stood there for a moment just looking at her body, at her breasts, her tummy. His hands skimmed down her hips to the fronts of her thighs and back up again to circle her, his thumbs just below the curve of her breasts.

She felt her heart pulsate, the excited flutter in her tummy. Every nerve was madly, wildly vibrating. It felt like there was a scared bird, inside her, fluttering its wings. For a moment she thought he was going to lay his face against her body. She wanted him to do that. To press his cheek, his lips, against her softest most welcoming places. It was wicked but she longed for it. Her breasts were throbbing, something ached insistently between her legs, a need that begged to be satisfied.

She knew only his touch could do that.

Only him.

He lifted her down, his unusual nickname for her on his lips, allowing her body to skim slowly down the front of his. Her bare feet settled on the toes of his leather boots.

He was hard. Hot. Everywhere. It should have disturbed her, but it did not. He smelled like night rain. His clothes were damp with it.

" I've been thinking about you. For a fortnight. Only you," he whispered, drawing her closer against him. He pulled her closer, close enough that she could feel the words he spoke against her mouth.

She wanted his mouth, his smiling, beautiful mouth.

They were like nothing each other, she thought, this man and the count. This man did not sneer frown.

His mouth was warm, smiling.

For her.

Her hands slid up his arms to touch his neck. " Won't you take this off so that I might see you? " She peered into the shadows of his eyes beneath the black silk. She wanted to see them, to determine their colour, to watch the pupils dilate with desire. Were they heavy lidded? Intelligent? Did he have a hawk's eyes. Or a fox's. Maybe yellow, amber like a cat. She wanted to see his face. She wanted to see him melt as he looked at her. To see him as mad with wanting her as she was for him.

He grabbed her wrists, pulling them gently down to her sides. " Not yet. I can't reveal myself yet," he whispered. His mouth found hers. Sealing it with small nibbling kisses, light, erotic licks of his tongue. His hands found the opening of her wrapper. He had removed his gloves. His hands were cool from the night air, his fingers, strong, firm, and clever.

Nikita gasped as his hand found the hardened peeks of her breasts, caressing her nipples through the fabric of her gown while his mouth deepened the kiss. His tongue swept her mouth, sealing her fate with silvery, lush strokes.

She had never imagined anything this sweet. She felt almost drunk with it, her body spiralling up toward something she had never known before except in dreams. She heard his groan of longing, the insistent movement of a hard thigh, up between her legs. One hand found its way from her breast, down, to lift the cambric of her gown. She could feel the spines of the books in the case pressing against her back.

She felt the brush of his knuckles against the bare skin of her thigh. She gasped and then plunged her tongue into his mouth, digging her fingers into firm muscle and slippery, damp silk.

He groaned avidly at her boldness.

And then she heard the sound of Lady Livvy's terrier Horace scrabbling at the door, his insistent yapping bark.

" Damn," he said, tearing his mouth from hers. His hand was still splayed on her thigh. The wetness of his kiss cooled on her fevered lips. His breath, agitated, aroused, feathered her hair.

" I'll take him out to the back. I can be back here in seconds. We could go up to my--"

" I'll not be here. I can't risk it. This was a mistake and I'm a fool."

" No," she whispered. " I longed for you to come to me. Please, stay with me," she entreated, touching his lovely mouth with the tips of her fingers. The dog continued to yap.

" I can't risk coming here again. Go. See to the dog. I'll come to you again. I'll find you--"

Her face heated. Her heart seemed to sink in her chest. She knew he would be gone when she returned from seeing to the dog.

She came back. He was gone. The curtains at the window fluttered in the wind.

******

" You look as if you might fall asleep in your food, lass."

Nikita looked up. She felt bleary eyed. It had been hours before she'd fallen asleep and when she had, she'd dreamt of him. Of being in his arms. The dreams had been strange. Her lover's eyes had been the colour of sage, his hair russet tinged.

Lord Michael. The thief. As if they were one in the same. But that was impossible.

" I heard the dog fussing. He's afraid of the wind and the rain, " she said. She felt lost. If she didn't find something to hold onto she would drown. Her body tingled, reliving his touch, the magic of his kiss.

" Miss Nikita? " George was standing at the door. " Lord Michael is here. He's awaiting your answer.

She looked from Walter to George. Neither said a word.

She laid her head wearily in her arms.

" Miss? "

" Tell him yes. I know he won't go until I say it."

It was still raining. The drops pinged on the roof of the well sprung coach. It did not smell of moth balls and lavender perfume like the one she rode in with the sisters. It had taken her little time to pack with Gail's help. Even less time to dress on her modest muslin travelling dress, gray pelisse and chip straw bonnet. She felt too dowdy to be riding in such a sumptuous vehicle.

The small talk between them had lasted exactly ten minutes.

He was sprawled on the seat across from her, mesmerised by whatever he was seeing outside the coach. She took the opportunity to look at him, his bottle green coat, skin-tight buckskin inexpressibles, gleaming brown Hessians with tan leather tops, the way his cravat fell in a perfectly tied knot called The Waterfall.

His hair was damp from the rain. She noted that he didn't like hats. He always removed his hat and tapped it on his thigh. She studied his perfect profile, the way his mouth looked full and pouty from the side. What would it be like to kiss him? To have him kiss her the way--

He turned his head suddenly, as if she had spoken aloud. His eyes were very green, thickly lashed. He seemed dazed and then perturbed.

" Is she feeling better? "

" Pardon me? " He seemed to give himself a mental shake.

" The Dutchess. Is she better."

" Yes. She seems to be. The illness seems to wax and wane."

" It seems to me that " She broke off. He had returned his gaze to the window again, ignoring her completely. Nikita sighed and pulled her book and spectacles out of her reticule. She leaned back against the squabs to read.

It was some time later when she felt his hand on her shoulder. She'd been sleeping, dreaming of her lover again. She opened her eyes to his green ones.

" We're here, Kita. This is Amberleigh."

She didn't realise that he had called her Kita until she sat taking tea the next morning with her grandmother. Strange how it had sounded, low and husky, raw with something she could not fathom. It was a diminutive no one had ever used for her before. Strange that they would both say that, but men were strange. Her grandfather had called her 'gel'. Just that, never her name. Hearing a man utter her name was a curious thing indeed.

" What are you thinking of? " Mrs. Phipps had gone off after delivering the dutchess a drink in a special cup. Adrienne had waited for the woman to stumble off.

The dutchess turned to Nikita and said: " She drinks like a sot. I've seen to it that she has all she wants. Madeline won't allow it. She serves me this cat piss And then I pour it into the potted palm." She did just that. " Madeline usually stands over me and sees that I drink every drop."

Nikita laughed. She could not believe that her cold, cruel grandmama had made her laugh.

" I like that." Adrienne said. " He's right about you."

" Who is right about me? "

" Michael. He said that you were a breath of fresh air."

She felt herself flushing. She had been very hard on him that morning, telling him he was cranky. She'd been feeling a little guilty about it. " Really? Then why did he say only two things to me in the coach? "

" He is preoccupied. He has worries." The old woman sighed. " He doesn't like to share them. But sometimes he forgets and smiles or laughs and it's like the entire world just opened up. Do you know what I mean? "

She did. His smiles were rare, but utterly heart stopping. " You love him a great deal."

" I have only recently discovered that love is all there is in life. If I could have known that twenty -five years ago when other things seemed more important, I would be a happier woman. I would have had an extra laughing grandchild on my knee." She smiled. " Having you here has made me happy, child. It's as if I have known you forever. You are so like Nicky."

Nikita looked away, unsure of what to say. It would be hard to fall in love with her grandmother, only to be turned away when the others came back or if she died. Michael came at the moment through the morning room doors. She'd not seen him since yesterday.

He kissed Adrienne and nodded to Nikita, making small talk about the news in the times. There had been a row between the Whigs and the Torries in Parliament. The Earl of Broughton's daughter was betrothed to a duke's son.

The thief of Mayfair hadn't struck again. They were speculating, with great relish it seemed, as to when.

Nikita found herself wandering the portrait gallery while her grandmother rested. There had to be a hundred portraits in the great hall. All of them her ancestors but she knew nothing of them. It seemed blue eyes and blond hair had been prevalent in some ancient line.

She stopped at one she knew at once to be her father. He would have been around twenty, dressed in the ruffled, brocades of another decade. His hair and eyes were so like hers, his slender hand on the head of a large mastiff. The sight of him brought a lump to her throat and tears to her eyes. She went close to the painting, but she could not reach his face with her hand.

" Nikita? " Michael was standing beside her suddenly, his eyes warm with concern. It was fleeting, so fleeting she decided she had imagined it. " Are you alright? "

She nodded. She knew her eyes were red. She was so ugly when she cried. " This is him. This is my father."

" I know. You look like him."

She sighed. " It is so strange. I feel like he could speak to me. I wonder what he would say."

" Pleased to meet you, I expect."

She looked at him and laughed. It wasn't that funny but it was a change from his seriousness.. He grinned back at her. She said: " I expect he would say that very thing.. Do your parents still live? "

" My mother is dead. She died a few years ago." The amusement faded from his fine eyes. His jaw drew tight. " My father, I haven't seen in many years. I think I was sixteen when he went away."

" Went away? He did not die? "

" He disappeared. On a voyage. No one knows what happened to him."

" I'm sorry for that, Michael. Sixteen was very young to have assumed the duties of a count. Your mother must have been devastated."

" I doubt she gave a damn. They were estranged. My mother had many lovers. My father had his experiments, but he was good to me."

Nikita stared at him. She had never seen his eyes so cold, so devoid of life.

" His experiments? " she repeated. " Was he a scientist? "

He walked on to the next portrait. It depicted Lady Adrienne with two small children, the boys very blonde, the girl so dark. Nicky and Madeline, his older sister. The older boy's name had been Giles. The oldest son had died in a riding accident when he was thirty.

" My father dabbled in alchemy. It was his life's passion."

" Alchemy?" They had stopped before a portrait of Abby. It was recent. She looked like a temptress. The artist had been generous with his brush, Nikita thought. Is this how Michael sees her? Has he made love to her? She shook away the thought. " Alchemy? Do you mean making gold from dross? "

" Yes, something like that," He murmured. " So much in this world is dross made to look golden and desirable. People see what they want to see, don't they? "

She looked at him, thinking that it was a very strange thing to say. She could think of nothing to say in return. They just continued to silently look at the portraits until he gave her a curt bow and said that he would leave her as he had business to attend to elsewhere.

******

Nikita was seated at the tea table in the garden when Miss Phipps delivered tea. The cup of special brew for the dutchess was set at her place by the nurse. She appeared to Nikita to be quite soused. " See that she drinks this, miss. I'll be in me rooms. Where is she anyway? "

" Cutting a few roses."

Nikita waited for the nurse to leave, then she picked up the special tea. It had a very strong scent of lemon balm and mint leaves. Was it tainted in some way? Was someone, Madeline, her husband or even Lord Michael trying to poison the old woman?

She did not want to believe it of him but she could not help herself. He did have a vested interest. If the Dutchess were to die from what would be seen as a wasting disease, Abigail would be a rich woman. Very rich some day. He seemed a man who needed fine things.

His father was a chemist. Michael might know about slow acting poisons.

Nikita looked into the steaming cup. There was only one way. Doubtless it would make her ill. For a day or two, most likely. The dose could not be strong enough to kill a healthy, sizeable girl like Nikita, or the weakened and elderly Dutchess would be dead by now.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and drank half the cup. It was so sweet and strange tasting she almost could not keep it down.

She thought she was quite wrong until an hour before nuncheon when the pain in her head started. Her whole body felt on fire. Even her hair hurt. There was the strangest flush on her cheeks and her skin felt as clammy as if she'd just swum in a cold lake.

My, God, Nikita thought before she dropped onto her bed and fell asleep. I've poisoned myself. Well, at least if I do not die I'll be able to write about the effects of it.

********

" Nikita? " someone was saying. " Dearest child? "

She came out of it as though climbing up a long staircase through the fog. She opened her eyes. Her grandmother was hovering over her. She felt tired, as if she'd slept a week in one position, but quite a lot better. Her head did not ache. There was a dull residual soreness in her bones and muscles. Her mouth felt as though it was full of cotton wool.

" Child? You've been asleep all day. You even slept through dinner. Shall I call for the doctor? Do you have pain anywhere? "

" No. I haven't. I'll be fine, I think. I'm never sick." She sat up in bed. " I'm fine. How are you? "

"Aside from being worried about you, never better."

" You didn't tell Nurse Phipps I wasn't well?"

" I said nothing."

" Don't. Don't take anything she gives you by mouth. And tell the cook she's not to come into the kitchen. I think you ought to fire her, Grandma." She explained what she had done, what she now suspected. " But don't tell Madeline. Or Michael. Do not tell him."

" But Michael is a darling "

She grabbed her grandmother's soft wrinkled hand. " How well do you know, him, Grandma. Just how well? "

******

Michael looked at his reflection in the mirror. I wonder, he thought, if it is possible to be jealous of one's self. He knew it was possible to hate one's self. He had felt that emotion many times. But envy? It was rather ridiculous.

She did not like him. She gave him those quick, uninterested looks or she did not look at him at all.

There was nothing to be done about it. He could not have her as Lord Michael. But he could have her as the black clad thief of Mayfair, the man with a heart as black as coal. The man he really was. She wanted him, too. With the same intensity as he wanted her. It almost scared him.

Two days, he said to himself. Two days and this longing will pass. He would go to the men's club and punch something. Maybe practice his fencing. Take a long hard ride. Beat it out of his system.

Two days. That ought to be satisfactory. He would not think of her long, slender body and her shapley legs or her blue eyes or the low sultry quality of her sighs. She was a virgin, most likely, for all her eagerness and he did not usually feel attracted to untried girls.

He knew that her want of the man he pretended to be was not love. She was seeking something. Experience? Danger. A way to escape the monotony of her life. Simple lust. His physique, the clothes, his low whispers in heavily accented French, the overtures he'd made, even the stories about the carnal thief that he had helped to create, brought that out in her. All woman had such fantasies. She didn't know who he was. How could she? They did not know each other well enough and his disguise was good. He rarely spoke above a whisper.

She did not know.

He wouldn't go to her.

He would put her quite out of his mind.

******

It was late. Her long sleep and the slight illness had drained her but she was left restless that night. Everyone in her grandmother's home was sleeping. She had walked the endless halls in search of something to quell this feeling of uncertainty.

Michael. She would not think of him.

The other. She would definitely not think of him.

She stopped in the portrait hall, staring up at her father's gentle face. Looking at him eased her mind somewhat. She raised the skirts of her gown and made her way back though the empty halls to her room.

A breeze blew at the curtains of the French doors that led out to the balcony. She had not left the window open. She would not call for the maid. She undressed herself, quickly, dropping dress and chemise, stockings and slippers on the chair. She washed at the pitcher, using the tepid water left by the maid. She let a clean gown fall over her shoulders.

It was odd. Her body was tingling with acute awareness as if someone watched her from the shadows.

Nikita looked over at the bed, turned down by the maid. It was cool in the room. She decided to close the doors against the chill.

She had her hand on the knob when she though she heard something.

A sigh? Perhaps it was just the wind whispering through the ornamental birch trees in the garden below. Nikita ran a brush though her hair, gazing out into the night. The scent of roses and night blooming stocks filled her nostrils.

And then he was there.

She let the brush fall from numb fingers as an elegant hand clamped over her mouth. A silk scarf slithered across her face. She breathed in the scent of his skin, of soap and pine, night mist and horse, of faint, clean man-sweat. She could feel his hard, virile body against her. His breath came in harsh rasps from his chest, vibrating through her back.

She could almost feel the blood flowing hot in his veins, the pound of his heart. Loud, wild staccato pounding like hers.

I'll come to you. I'll find you.

His lips were warm against her ear. " Quiet? Oui, ma cherie? "

She nodded.

" Trust me." He released his hand. It was bare. She could still taste salt and saddle leather against her lips from his hard, slightly calloused palm. She closed her eyes. Her body trembled and ached. A strange dampness came with the pulse that throbbed between her legs. " Close your eyes for me," he said.

For you. Anything.

He raised the silk scarf. It slid over her hair, the wanton whisper of it so loud in her ears. Everything was more intense. Every feeling. Her eyes closed. She could feel him tying it over her eyes. Blackness. Dark, silken blackness.

Only sensation.

" I cannot let you see me, my love." His lips fell to her neck, cool and smooth, his tongue hot, by contrast, licking like sweet fire. His bearded cheek and chin rasped gently against her soft skin. It was delicious, sinfully good. She imagined his face against her breasts. She wanted that so much.

So hot, wet. His mouth. His beautiful soft mouth. She raised her hand and touched his head. Hair like satin. Loosely curled. His ears were flat, small, the lobes perfect. Velvety as down.

His hands snaked round her, releasing the ties of her night gown. His knuckles brushed against her erect nipples. He sighed against her neck and slowly slipped the gown down in a puddle of fabric at her feet. " So beautiful...ma femme..." he sighed against her nape. She shivered and cried out softly as his hands covered her breasts. " Do you want this?"

" It's a little late for asking that, isn't it? "

" Sometimes I take before asking. I wanted only to see you. If you wish me to leave "

" I do not wish it."

Her hand found his lean cheek, the rasp of several days growth of beard like sandpaper against her fingers. He turned her in his arms. Like a strange game of blind man's bluff. He led her to the bed, walking her there, his hands at her waist, his mouth against hers. He laid her down. " Wait..."

She opened her eyes against the black silk ... listening. Thunk. A boot tossed on the carpeted floor. Thunk. The voluptuous slither of his shirt against smooth skin, hard planes and valleys of sweat-slick muscle. The slight scrape of skin tight breeches over hard thighs and buttocks.

She gasped as the bed moved, at the feeling of him looming over her. She reached up in the darkness to touch his face. Lean. Eyes, large and deep set. Brows shapely, curving. Nose, bold and large, perhaps. Not too large for his face. Deep divot below his nose. Lips, smiling, bracketed by intriguing hollows. His cheekbones were high.

" You're so beautiful," she whispered, letting her fingers trail down his lower lip. Her fingers caught on the dew slick-inner skin there causing her to moan, just as he did. Down her fingers trailed, over his firm, slightly cleft chin to his smooth throat, his collar bones, his rock hard chest. His chest was beautiful. So wide her spread hands could not span its breadth. Solid smooth muscle. Only a little soft hair in the deep center valley. Flat, small nipples. She touched him there, felt his shuddering sigh.

Down her hands moved. Over rigid ribs and convoluted muscle. Her fingers slid into the indentation of his navel, over to his sides. Bunching muscles quivered against her fingers. She felt the hard, bony curve of pelvic bones and hip. Taut, rippling belly.

And there. Hot and hard. Huge. She felt her breath catch, her eyes widen beneath the silk.

Hesitation filled her. Swallows snagged in a dry throat.

" Yes." He sighed above her. His body tautened in desire. " Touch me, Kita."

His rigid length filled her hand with plenty to spare. It scared her silly. Maybe it was because she couldn't see it. It was nice, softer than anything she'd ever touched before. Powdery and smooth like a baby's cheek. But powerful and hot, like velvet covered steel. Fear skittered up her spine for a second. It was a good kind of fear, she thought, if that were possible.

" It's lucky I'm a big girl because you seem very large down there. "

She heard his soft chuckle, felt him lower himself so that the scary but interesting part of him rested against her soft thigh. " Don't be scared. I'm told that I'm good at it."

How truthful. " I've never I hear it hurts the first time."

" Hush. I know. Try not to worry. " He lowered his mouth to hers, tasting teasing, taking her lower lip between gentle teeth, speaking the words against her mouth. " Now it's my turn to touch you, to please you," he whispered. " Don't do anything but feel, my heart. Just feel."

He kissed her for a long time, his hand at her breast, the other tangled in her hair, holding her face to his. His kisses were far more potent than that drug she had taken, sweet and as heady as wine. His passion drew her out of herself, made her forget that she was so new to this. He made her want to give as much as she took.

She moaned as his mouth left hers to trail down her shoulder, across her chest until he found the curve of her breast. The intense sensation of his tongue and lips against her nipples made her want to fly out of her skin. He spent what seemed like hours loving, laving each one it turn, his rough cheek abrading, his tongue soothing the tender flesh.

He kissed his way down her torso, his hands bracketing her hips, arching her up slightly as his tongue tickled and licked her ribs and tummy. And then his mouth was down there. There, where she was crying for his touch. She wanted to protest but the liquid fire had already rushed in honeyed waves all through her body the second his tongue touched her. She was seeing red sparks behind the black silk.

It's too much, she was thinking, wildly. I think I'm dying. I feel too much. He makes me feel too much. " Oh, God...Oh, God...."

She could barely draw breath as waves of sheer joy engulfed her. Her hand strayed to the blindfold, but he grasped it quickly, his fingers tightening like a vise around her wrist, holding her arm above her head where it sank into the pillow. His mouth was on hers again. His kisses were fervent. Fierce.

Pleasure. Darkness. His mouth like black velvet, tasting like her body.

" Now," he whispered. He parted her thighs with his knee and slid into her. It hurt. She gasped and bucked. He grasped her hip and held himself still until the pain was gone. She heard his long intake of breath. " I'm sorry, ma vie "

" No. I do not care. I love you. I love you," she said. She knew it was the truth.

*******

What had she said?

She loved him.

Oh, my beautiful girl, he thought. No one has ever said that to me and meant it. You don't know what you say.

Her hand pressed up against his side. Her lips found his shoulder. Oh, Kita, he thought, madly. What have I done to you?

Her soft little cries, her words, seemed to hurtle him over the edge. He wrapped her long legs over his back.

Once. Twice. Home. Home into the tight welcoming cradle of her body. His body went stiff, his muscles heaved and shuddered. It was perfect. She was perfect. His woman.

Ma femme. . .

It had never been like that. Never. He could feel tears burning in his eyes, damming his throat.

I love you, Kita...love you...love you.

He collapsed against her, sighing her name, his face in the crook of her neck, his body a heavy weight upon her. He knew she didn't care that he was heavy. She buried her fingers in his hair, stroking the nape of his neck. He raised his hand to touch her face.

She fell asleep like that. There. Holding him.

He did not want to leave her.

" Michael..." she sighed. She was asleep.

******

Nikita woke in a panic not knowing where she was. It was the poison she'd ingested still in her system. She'd been sleeping like the dead. She'd had such dreams last night

No. Not dreams. She sat up, looking down at the pillow beside her.

Oh, God. A black silk scarf lay tangled amidst the bedclothes. She was naked. She never slept without a gown. Her chest and breasts were covered with a faint rash. Like minute, fine scratches. It hurt a little between her legs when she moved. She rose from the bed. There were blood stains on the sheets.

The door rattled. Nikita grabbed her gown and covered herself, her face flaming. It was Ellen, the upstairs maid with her tea and hot water.

" Morning, miss. Tis a lovely day out. Lady Adrienne is in fine fettle this morning. She's been up tending to her roses. Only you and Lord Michael are slug-a-beds today."

" Lord Michael? " she whispered. It was all too obvious all of a sudden. " When did he come here? "

" Late last night I think, miss. Least that's what Matthew said at breakfast. His horse was in the stables. Said he'd been ridden hard. "

" Where does he stay when he's here? Does he have a room? "

" The jade room, miss. The last at the end of this hall. I think he's still abed "

" He thinks I'm a fool," she muttered. " He thinks me a bloody fool." She raced to the chair and began to slip on her clothes from the day before, yanking them on like a mad woman.

" Miss. I can help. Perhaps a bath "

" No. And if you hear screaming, ignore it "

" Miss? "

Nikita raced down the hall, her hair flying out from her head, her dress half open down the back. She did not care. She yanked on the doors to his chamber, letting them fly open.

He was standing in the middle of the room. His hair was dishevelled. He was naked.

Totally naked. And beautiful. She looked at his long legs, his torso, his heavily muscled arms. His- That part of him. She gulped almost losing her resolve. Her anger. He just stared at her as if expecting this.

" How could you? " she hissed. She picked up an urn from a small table near the door and hurled it at his head. He ducked. The urn hit the bed post and exploded. A shard of porcelain hit his cheek. He barely winced.

" What? How could I what? "

Leave me like that, she was thinking. Just take what you wanted and leave. You have made me love you and I do not want to do that.

" Kita, please "

" I do not want you to call me that. You liar. You bloody liar."

" Will you let me put on my robe? I have an idea "

" Poisoner. Filthy prevaricator. Fornicating, nasty beast. . . Thief! " She watched as a bead of blood trickled down his face. Like a tear.

He said not a word.

She marched towards him, grabbed the silk robe from the end of his bed and tossed it in his handsome face. " I hate you. Let me see your hand."

" Nikita "

She grabbed it, turning it palm up. Across the pad of his thumb was a livid red scar. She pushed his hand away then rounded on him, slapping his face, the side of his neck, his shoulder. He let her do it until her hands hurt, until he was covered in red weal marks. Until she was horrified at herself.

Almost sorry.

" You want her money, don't you. So you can marry my cousin and have it all. And maybe if she doesn't work out, you thought you'd have me? What you steal in jewels is not enough. Who are you? Why have you done this? Why have you poisoned her? "

His eyes blazed green fire. " Why in God's name are you talking about poison? Nikita, I do not blame you for your anger, but what the hell do you mean? Who was poisoned? I have hurt no one. "

" Someone has been poisoning her. The Dutchess. Nurse has been dismissed. She insisted that the tea was not her idea. The doctor had given it to her straight from the chemist, so she said. She would not blame Madeline and so I though it might be you. Your father was a chemist. Why wouldn't you know of poisons "

" My father makes fake gem stones. Not poisons. Listen. Please "

" No. I know you want this place, her money. You are such a phony bastard. So kind to poor Dutchy. You are nothing but a thief. To think I was so stupid and romantic. To think that you might actually love me."

" I think I do love you."

She wanted to scream. The words washed over her like waves.

She was empty now.

Lies. No one had ever loved her. No one ever would.

He did not mean the words. He would say anything. He had used her. It had been manipulation. Just sex. She did not know him. She did not know who he was. She clenched her fists, pounding them against her sides.

He pulled her toward him. " Don't do that, Kita. Plant me a facer if you want, but don't--."

" I don't care. I do not love you. I bloody don't. I never did. I loved a dream. A stupid dream, a stupid made up, foolish girl's dream of a handsome thief who came in the night to steal my empty heart. You filled it with lies. Oh, you do have a black heart. I think mine is just as black now."

" Not yours, Kita. Your heart will never be barren."

" I shall tell O'Brien everything and they'll hang you." As soon as the words were out she regretted them. She had this picture of his body, broken, swinging.

" Please, Kita. I am not finished with Black Heart yet. It is imperative that you keep my secret. Don't go running to turn me in to O'Brien."

" Why shouldn't I? "

" Because I know that you won't."

" Why shouldn't I get a pistol and kill you right now? "

" I wish you would."

His hair was hanging around his handsome face. He looked boyish. So innocent. His eyes were soft and sad reflecting the jade hangings around the bed. God, what a sweet liar he was.

How could a face like that belong to such a blackguard?

Her eyes widened as he came closer. She could hardly breathe. She could smell him. It was almost as if he still carried the essence of their coupling. He slipped his robe on. Over the lovely wide shoulders and chest she'd only recently touched and kissed.

" Why are you doing this to me? " she whispered.

" I cannot say yet. I took a stupid chance last night. I wanted you so much."

She averted her eyes from him. " You won't have me again."

" I know. You hate me. Just let me finish what I have to do. Then I will go. You'll never see me again. I'll hurt no one you love. I can't bear that I've hurt you."

She stepped away from him. Her body was trembling, her legs barely holding her. She nodded, turned her back and shut the doors to his room behind her.

It turned out to be a bad day for one the maid had announced as lovely. She did not meet Michael again. She found out he had left from one of the grooms. Nikita told herself firmly that what she felt was not disappointment.

Nikita shuddered when she thought about the way she had thrown the urn at him. Another inch and that shard of porcelain may have blinded him. He'd allowed her to hit him as if he deserved it.

He did deserve it, the treacherous blackguard.

Why had he calmly agreed with her when she'd talked about shooting him?

She would not think of the self loathing in his eyes. The twist of his lips.

To think she'd once thought him desirable. It was just the mysterious black mask. The element of danger. Well, she'd learned her lesson. Mild little fellows like Percy Snow might be boring but they did not lie or break one's heart.

That afternoon, to add to her misery, Lord Claridge's carriage pulled up in the drive. Nikita watched as her relatives and the balding, florid earl exited.

If Madeline was disappointed to see Nikita, she did not show it. Madeline welcomed Nikita in a hug redolent of Shalimar Her eyes were cold but her modulated voice was welcoming, her smile sweet. She hugged Dutchy as well and made happy noises about her return of health.

The Dutchess informed her daughter at nuncheon that Nurse had been dismissed for drinking. Paul Northwood was the one who seemed to sit up and frown. Nikita reminded herself to keep an eye on him. Nikita had already told the old woman that she should not let on about her suspicions and that she should not ingest anything unless it came directly from the chef from the same food source as the others ate from. When the old woman had scoffed at that, Nikita had sighed. She didn't want to hurt her grandmother just yet by inferring that the poisoning was not merely the result of a bumbling, drunken nurse.

She knew that her grandmother treasured her daughter and her family, even if it was undeserved.

Abby acted as if Nikita did not exist. At least until they were alone and then she waylaid her in the hall and began to pepper her with insulting questions. The girl was dressed in the latest fashions but the look on her face would have soured milk. Nikita just said; " I want nothing to do with your "count". I wish you luck."

It was by accident and partly because she was hiding, that Nikita happened to be in the library that afternoon. She had found a seat in the corner window, pulling her legs up into the window seat and drawing the curtains. Dutchy was safe, napping and Nikita felt restless, so reading had seemed a good idea.

Actually she'd been about to fall asleep when Madeline and Perry Bauer came into the room. Nikita could hear the rustle of clothes, Bauer's disgusting guttural moans and terrible slurping noises. She wanted to cover her ears and run screaming out the room but she did not dare.

" Ah, Madeline," said Bauer after a time. " Your mouth was meant to please me."

The hackles on the back of Nikita's neck rose. God! How disgusting, she thought. She pictured Bauer. She could not imagine touching such a revolting pig like him that way. He was horrible. Yet, if it were Michael's body. If he had asked

Good, lord. She had to stop thinking about him that way!

It seemed Perry Bauer was now gifting Nikita's aunt with something for her efforts. " I hope you like it, my love."

" Is this one of the fakes? " she hissed.

" Never, my darling. I know Michel's fakes are perfect, but no, I would never think of tricking you. Take it to a jeweller if you must."

" You know damned well that a jeweller can't tell the fakes from the real thing. Damn you, Perry. I want a fur next time. Russian sable."

" I will drape furs over your naked body when we are together. Darling, put the pearls on. Lower your bodice so I might see those luscious breasts. Have you ever heard of the other kind of pearl necklace? "

" Sometimes you're a bloody pig, Perry. I need to talk. You told me that Michel was ill. The rheumatism in his hands. How long will he be able to keep the supplies maintained."

" For a while. He has almost finished training Rodney in the secret process."

" Rodney will never be the sorcerer or the artist that Michel Coeurnoir is. Have you considered this thief of Mayfair? What interest he might have in all this? It seems too much a coincidence to me that he only strikes those customers to whom our phony broker has sold the fake pieces. It is far too much of a coincidence. I think I am right in believing that this thief knows our secret. That these jewels are just amazing fakes cooked up by a master alchemist. Do you know ? I sometimes do not believe that Coeurnoir's son died that night at all."

" He was dead. I saw his body. He was burnt to a crisp. Don't be ridiculous."

" And Coeurnoir has worked like a slave for you all these years under the threat of knowing that his darling son Michel is alive and vulnerable to attack by you if he should try to escape."

" He was a most devoted father. He still is. So sad that the love of his life, Simone, betrayed him. He has never gotten over it."

" I still don't like it."

Bauer sighed. " Well, one good thing. At least that bloody, snoopy little count isn't here."

" Little? I hardly think so. I'd like to see what he has between his thighs. And don't say you wouldn't either. I know you have those desires. A prize stud like that." Madeline sighed. " That bloody count is going to take that little bitch of a daughter off my hands. Has your man come up with the forgeries of dear Mama's will yet? "

Perry laughed. " Soon. First we have to find another way of bumping the old duck off. I told you that bloody, drunken cow couldn't do a decent job of it. I think we should see to getting rid of Paul first, don't you? That's the plan I had in the beginning. "

" Maybe that would be better. We should leave some time between the deaths. It would seen more natural that way. " Nikita supposed that Madeline had smiled at this point.

From her place behind the curtains Nikita heard more chuckling. More rustling of silk. A lot of grunting. And rubbing.

" Perry don't get it in my hair! " Madeline cried. " It dries like glue! "

Nikita gagged.

Much later Madeline said: " These are perfect, darling. Thank you. I shall wear them to your masked ball next Friday. It shall be so much fun. I think Paul might meet with a little accident? What do you think? "

" Ah, yes."

" The girl. Have you considered what to do about her, yet? "

"So many people to get rid of." Madeline sighed. " I really think this planning is beginning to bore me."

" Do you really think the count is a stud in the bedchamber? " Perry Bauer speculated. " Do you think he's got any interest in having men? "

At that point Nikita did put her hands over her ears. It was another hour before Nikita escaped her hiding place.

*****

" Do you think he can make this carriage go any faster? " Nikita asked her grandmother.