"I want you to put me within you, Skye," he commanded her softly. "You do it, mon amour. Put my hardness within the honeyed sweetness of your luscious body."

Her body languid with his loving, her will mesmerized by his insistent voice, she obeyed his command, a marvelous feeling of relief overcoming her as she slipped his pulsing weapon easily within her. With a groan of pleasure Nicolas pushed himself as deep inside her as he might go, stopping a moment to allow her right sheath to accept him in comfort. "Ah, ma doucette" he murmured in her ear, and then he began a slow, rhythmic thrusting, going deep, drawing his length almost fully out, driving back into her again, and then again and again until she swooned.

He revived her with kisses and soft words, and she cried, "Ah, God, you are still within me!" and shuddered with the hot passion.

"You are mine!" he said fiercely. "Whatever has been before is gone, and only we two, now and in this time, exist!" His lean hips ground down upon her again, and Skye found herself lost in a world where only desire existed, desire without end. He pulled her arms above her head controlling her totally while he dominated their pleasure. Beneath him she writhed, panting frantically, her head thrashing from side to side, desperately seeking her rapture; but he sensed every nuance of her mood and held her in firm check until it pleased him to give her release. A disciple of sensuality, Nicolas St. Adrian meant to be master of this beautiful woman. Finally seeing that she could take no more of his teasing, he bent to kiss her lips, thrusting his tongue into her mouth in perfect rhythm with his lower body which thrust into her frantic form.

Her body arched sharply against him, and she sobbed a low cry that she could not contain. She felt as if she could soar like a gull, higher and higher, catching each new spiral of the wind until there was no beginning and no end. The feeling was like nothing she had ever experienced, but then with another cry she would tumble downward as quickly as she had soared up. Her beautiful body shook with each spasm, every tremor more violent than the one before until she felt as if she might be torn apart. She never felt him gain his own heaven, falling into a deep swoon as she found her own.

He too came as close to fainting as he had ever come. Rolling off her, he lay upon his back, his body wet with perspiration, his breath coming in short gasps that finally slowed to normal. When his head had finally cleared, he raised himself up on an elbow and looked down at her. She was still unconscious. Gently he began to stroke her face with the back of his hand, murmuring softly, "Doucette, doucette! Je t’aime! Je t’aime!”

She heard his impassioned voice, and knew that he hovered over her. How could she face him? Skye wondered. How could she excuse such wanton behavior on her part? Never had she behaved so with any man, allowing her body to control her mind.

"Open your eyes, doucette," he said gently, but she heard the command in his tone.

Ordinarily she would have rebelled at such a tone from anyone, but she felt weakened, drained and helpless before this man. She opened her eyes, and they slowly filled with tears that she was unable to control. Nicolas drew her back into his arms. "Cry!" he ordered her in a firm voice, and in his arms Skye wept out all the sadness that she had been bottling up since Elizabeth Tudor had sent her from England. Her piteous sobs were like a knife to his heart, and he tightened his arms about her, rubbing his face against her silken hair, murmuring soft, unintelligible sounds of comfort to her.

Skye cried so much she thought she could cry no more, and then she cried further, until her eyes were swollen with the salt of her tears. She was so very aware of him; his heart beneath her ear beating quietly and steadily, the smooth firm skin of his chest, and the warm male scent of him. Finally her weeping eased, then ceased altogether. She nesded very still against him, not wanting to raise her eyes to him, not wanting to face him, and he understood.

"You must not be ashamed, doucette," he said in a quiet voice. "When I first set eyes upon you I knew that this was to be the way of it between us."

His certainty irritated her, but before she might reply, Daisy was knocking frantically at her door, and calling to her, "M'lady! M'lady!"

Nicolas St. Adrian was quickly off the bed and gone, pulling the small door opposite her closed as he went. Not a moment too soon, Skye thought guiltily as she yanked the bedclothes smooth. The door between her bedchamber and her antechamber opened, and Daisy stuck her head in calling, "M'lady! Are you awake?"

"Hmmm? What?" Skye murmured sleepily, keeping herself well hidden beneath the bedclothes, and praying Daisy wouldn't come far enough into the room to discover her mistress's torn night rail on the floor and her mistress quite naked beneath the coverlet.

"'Tis the duc, m'lady! He's taken a turn for the worse."

"Go and waken M'sieur le Baron," Skye commanded, "and then find Edmond as well."

"Yes, m'lady." Daisy's head disappeared around the door, which was then pulled shut.

Skye leapt from the bed and ran to the trunk at its foot, to draw forth another night garment, kicking the shredded ruins beneath her bed as she did so. She then found her light, quilted velvet dressing gown amid the rumple of the bedclothes, and put it on, too. Hurrying to her dressing table she ran the brush through her tangled hair so that it had some measure of order to it. Barefoot, she opened the door next to the head of her bed and hurried through into her husband's bedchamber.

Père Henri was already there, as was the physician, Mathieu Dupont. She saw the priest administering the last rites to Fabron, and with huge eyes she looked at the doctor. "Docteur Dupont? What has happened to my husband?"

"Alas, madame, I feared this. It is another fit, this one fatal. I was amazed that the first one did not kill him, and he has been having small ones ever since. This, however, is his death blow. There is no doubt."

Skye moved to the side of her husband's bed. "I am here, mon mari," she said so he might hear.

Fabron de Beaumont's dark eyes opened, and his mouth twitched in a soft smile. With great effort he reached out to take her hand, and his, shrunken and feather-light, was chill with impending death. Skye fought back the urge to pull away. Suddenly to everyone's great surprise, the duc spoke haltingly, "Nicolas…"

"Where is M'sieur le Baron?" Skye demanded. "Fetch M'sieur le Baron!"

"I am here," Nicolas came forward from the shadows, a dark green velvet dressing gown wrapped about him.

For a long moment Fabron de Beaumont looked at his half-brother, and then he said, "It is good."

Quick tears sprang to Skye's eyes, and her husband, glancing at her, spoke a final time. Fixing Nicolas with a pleading glance, he said, “Take care… the boy… my wife… Edmond."

"I will care for them as tenderly as you would yourself, my brother," Nicolas vowed. “This I swear to you on the Blessed Virgin's love of her own family."

Fabron de Beaumont smiled weakly a final time, and then his eyes closed as he slipped once more into unconsciousness. As the early sun crept over the duchy of Beaumont de Jaspre, Fabron, its forty-fifth duc, died peacefully in his bed, surrounded by his wife, his half-brother and heir, his nephew, who had been found in the arms of a plump barmaid, his priest, and his physician.

Mathieu Dupont pronounced the Duc Fabron dead, and Père Henri fell to his knees in prayer. The rest joined him, and when he was through Skye spoke with quiet authority.

"You must anoint M'sieur le Baron immediately, mon père. There is no time to lose. Beaumont de Jaspre must not be without a duc for even a day. Though there can be no celebration while we mourn my husband."

The priest rose from his knees. "Madame la Duchesse is correct," he said. "It is not as if M'sieur le Baron were la Duc Fabron's son or nephew."

"Or legitimate brother," Nicolas finished quietly.

"Or legitimate brother," the priest echoed. "That is a fact, M'sieur le Baron, but you have His Holiness's blessing in this. No one will gainsay you your rights. Nonetheless I agree with Madame le Duchesse. I will anoint you as soon as you can dress." He smiled warmly at Nicolas. "There is no need to tempt the French needlessly, my son."

Nicolas turned to Skye, his eyes suddenly soft. "You will come?" he said.

"Of course, M'sieur le Baron," she answered. "Edmond and I will both come as your witnesses. In fact I think, mon père, that we should send for representatives of Beaumont's best families, even under these sad circumstances. It is not that I would make a festive occasion, but-"

"Yes," the priest nodded. "The more witnesses the better."

"I will see to it immediately," Edmond said. 'They will be in the castle chapel within the hour." He hurried from the room.

"We must have a mass," Skye said. "Will you come to my apartments, mon père? I would make my confession."

"Of course," Père Henri agreed, and then he turned to Nicolas. "Shall I also hear your confession, my son?"

Again Nicolas looked at Skye, this time his glance unreadable. "Yes, mon père, I will also make my confession," he said after a long moment. It was the hardest thing she had ever done, for the memory of the previous night burned into her consciousness like a brand. She felt terribly guilty, and yet she did not feel one whit guilty. She could not deny that she had wanted Nicolas, but had he not sought her out she certainly could have controlled her turbulent emotions. All this she honestly told the priest, slow tears trickling down her face. "This is what comes of marrying for expediency's sake instead of true love, mon père, but what could I do? I had to protect my children!''

The priest was silent for a few minutes while he thought over her confession. He had lived many years, and as a priest he had heard far worse than what she had just told him. He sighed and then said quietly, "You have indeed sinned, my daughter. There is no way around it. I can easily understand your weakness of the flesh in this particular incident, but you have broken one of God's laws, and so although I will give you absolution, I will also impose a penance upon you. For the next three nights you will keep a prayerful vigil with me in the chapel for the repose of your late husband's tortured soul."

Skye raised her head and gazed into the priest's face. "Merci, mon père! Merci vraiment!” She was relieved, if not repentant.

Her marvelous blue-green eyes shone like rain-washed jewels. As he blessed her Père Henri could not help thinking that if Beaumont de Jaspre's handsome young duc was anything like his late father- and judging from his quick seduction of Skye, he was-there could be a serious problem with these two living under the same roof. Blessed Virgin! There could even be a scandal! She was the most beautiful woman Père Henri had ever seen. What normal man could resist wanting her-indeed, taking her? He sighed, dreading the days ahead.

Leaving Skye to dress for the hasty ceremony, he moved on to the chambers of Nicolas St. Adrian. Nicolas was already dressed in black velvet, Paul fussing about him. The serving man was shooed out, and Nicolas knelt to make his confession. He readily admitted his seduction of Skye, and in a voice that led the priest to believe he was not one bit sorry. "Do you not feel guilty, my son," Père Henri demanded, "for leading this virtuous woman into sin?"

"I do not consider loving a woman to be a sin, mon père," came the disconcerting reply.

"She was your brother's wife. You have committed adultery!" was the stern answer.

"She was meant to belong to me," Nicolas returned stubbornly. "We will mourn the brother I did not know for one year's time, as is proper, and then, mon père, I intend to wed Skye."

"You cannot!” The priest was thunderstruck. "She was your brother's wife! The Church forbids such things!"

"Fabron de Beaumont was my half-brother, mon père. We never knew each other. A common father was our sole link, a link only acknowledged as a last resort. The Pope has upheld my tenuous claim to this duchy. I will ask him for a dispensation to wed my brother's widow. It is not an unusual request, and you know it."