"I liked the first time better," he replied. "I've got a full day, so I'll call you tonight when I get home."

"I don't suppose you'd like to commute back to Egret Pointe?" she suggested.

"Yes, I would, but I won't. I've got early meetings Tuesday and Friday, and a breakfast meeting with a group of distributors on Wednesday. I'll see you Friday night, angel face. Now get your pretty ass up and start writing."

"Okay, okay," she responded. "Geez, I've never had an editor who was such a slave driver," Emily pretended to complain. "Or such a good lay."

Michael Devlin burst out laughing. "Get to work!" he told her, and rang off.

Smiling, Emily got out of bed, her fingers brushing the faint indent still in the pillow that his head had been upon. Then, dressing, she called down to Essie, "I'm up! Breakfast, please!"

"Up or down?" Essie called back.

"Up," Emily decided as she headed for her office. Just two more chapters to go. She ate the scrambled eggs with cheese that Essie produced, and drank her morning juice. Then she started to work. The last two chapters would almost cost Caroline Trahern her life, but her husband, the duke, would not only save her, but help her to attain the revenge she needed in order that the tragedy darkening her life could come to its final end. So that the duke and his defiant duchess could live happily ever after. It was not going to be an easy transition. And there would need to be one more very hot love scene at the conclusion in which both Justin and Caro would finally admit their love for each other. If it were only that simple, Emily thought wryly.

The passion that she and Devlin had shared last night had been different from any they had shared before. She knew it. And she knew he knew it too. From the moment he had picked her up at Kennedy there had been a new intimacy between them. The quiet time together they had shared. Fixing dinner. Eating before the fire, and watching an old movie afterward. He had been like a kid while she loaded the dishwasher, scraping the last crumbs from the glass pan that had held the apple Betty, and eating them with a grin on his face. And in bed afterward he had made love to her so tenderly. She had felt like a woman very cherished. And yet he still had not once uttered the word love. It was the only thing wrong with the picture.


***

Devlin returned that weekend for the Harvest Festival, which was set up in a farmer's field just outside of the village itself. They walked among the booths, and she bought him a knitted scarf, and he bought her a birdhouse. They ate corn dogs and drank cider, and he discovered that Emily had a fancy for pink cotton candy. He stood watching as she sat at a card table beneath an awning and signed books. They had spent so much time alone that he had never realized how charming she was with other people. She seemed to know everyone in the town, and they her.

He chuckled as a woman, obviously not a local, stood watching Emily for several minutes. Finally she walked up to the table. She put on her glasses and read the sign on the table that said, Best-selling Author Emilie Shann Will Sign Your Book for You. all proceeds of the sales go to egret pointe general hospital." The woman picked up a book and turned it over, reading the back cover copy.

"You write this?" she asked.

"Yes, I did," Emily said.

"I don't read these kinds of books," the woman remarked, replacing the book on its pile. "You write all of these?" She gestured at the other titles in their neat piles.

Emily nodded. "If you don't read romance," she said, "you might buy a copy for a friend or your local library. All the proceeds from the book sale are going to our local hospital. I live here. It's one of the ways I help the hospital."

"So it would be like a charity donation?" the woman asked.

"Yes, it would." Emily smiled.

"Could I get a receipt?" the woman wanted to know.

If he had been sitting there, Devlin thought, he would have strangled this bitch, but Emily just smiled again.

"Of course you can," she said. "I'll write it myself. Who would you like the book inscribed to, ma'am?"

"I'll think about it," the woman said. "You here all day?"

"No. Just a few more minutes," Emily murmured as the woman walked away.

"How do you keep so calm?" Devlin wanted to know. "I'd have killed the cow!"

Emily laughed. "All part and parcel of being an author who writes popular commercial fiction. There's no glory in it, Devlin. Look how well I did though. I got rid of all my copies of Vanessa and the Viscount, A Special Season, Marrying Miss Moneypenny, and The Vicar's Daughters. I imagine next year we'll do even better, as I have turned to the dark side," she teased him, and now it was his turn to laugh.

They ate dinner under the large tent set up for the meal. There was country ham, sweet potato casserole, creamed corn, cut green beans, rolls, and butter. For dessert, dishes of baked apples were brought to each place by the various church ladies and teenagers who helped. The apples swam in heavy cream, and were rich with brown sugar and cinnamon. There was coffee or tea.

"Decaf's in the pot with the green edge," Emily told him. "There's hot water if you want tea. But it's only Lipton's."

They sat with Dr. Sam and Rina, who introduced Michael Devlin to their neighbors on Ansley Court. And afterward Emily and Devlin drove home in the Healy with the top down beneath a large, almost-full moon.

"Is that the harvest moon?" he asked her.

"Nope. Harvest was September. This full moon will be the Hunter's Moon," she explained.

"But it was a Harvest festival," he said, puzzled.

"The Indians didn't celebrate until after the harvest was all in and everything set for the winter months to come," Emily said. "Then in October they hunted meat to be butchered, hung, or salted for the winter. Life was one long round of hard work back then. Still is, but, of course, the work is different. Did you like Rina's neighbors?"

"Yes," he said. "They're very nice. I thought Mrs. Buckley a bit mysterious, though. Pleasant, but standoffish."

"Oh, Nora Buckley. She's a widow. Her husband was divorcing her and taking everything. He had a hot girlfriend, but then Nora got sick. Long story short, he beat up the girlfriend, she filed charges, he was nasty with the judge, who denied bail, and he died of a coronary in jail that same night. Nora and her two children were saved from disaster. She works in a very elegant little antique shop on Main Street. The owner is extremely hunky too, and it's rumored he likes the ladies."

Devlin felt a bolt of jealousy shoot through him. "Would you like to fuck him now that you know how?" he asked her bluntly.

"Nope," Emily said calmly, but her heart was thumping with excitement. Yes, he loved her! Damn! Why couldn't he just say it, and be done with it? "He's not really my type, but I can appreciate that he's good-looking, just like you can appreciate a beautiful woman when you see her, Devlin." She smiled softly in the darkness.


***

He made love to her that night with a fierceness he had never before displayed. It was as if he were branding her with some mark that could be seen only by another man. They ate brunch at the inn with Rina and Sam the next day, and then Devlin drove back to the city. He called her later in the week to tell her he had to fly to Europe on business.

"You're still coming for Thanksgiving, aren't you?" she asked him.

"Yes, but I'm not certain I'll get out to see you before then," he answered her. "Everyone is excited about the sea change you've made. I know you don't like anyone looking at your work before it's finished, but I've shown the first three chapters to a couple of people. J.P. is suddenly ecstatic with what's she's read, and crowing that it was all her idea, and she just knew you could do it."

"You're why I can do it," Emily said softly.

"Let the bitch revel in her own glory, angel face," he replied. "You were a good writer to start with, and you're just getting better with new direction. They've decided to release The Defiant Duchess in April both here and in England. It's short notice. April was your pub date here, but we'll have to scramble to get it out in England at the same time with less than six months' lead time. And you know the English editions have different covers."

"I think the American cover would do nicely for both editions," Emily said to him. "It's beautiful, and other than the barest glimpse of bosom it's tasteful enough for England. Caro in her green riding outfit standing, with the duke in the background and the sea behind them. It's elegant. They could change the lettering to make it look different."

"It's a good idea. I'll see what they say," he told her. "Emily…" he hesitated.

He was going to say it! He was going to say it! Her heartbeat accelerated. "Yes, Devlin?" Say it! Hurry up and say it!

"Take care of yourself while I'm away, angel face. I'll call you when I can," Michael Devlin said. What the hell was the matter with him? He had wanted to tell her he loved her and he would miss her.

"Okay," she responded, disappointed. Why couldn't he say it?

"I'll miss you," he managed to get out.

"Me too," she said. "Good-bye, Devlin." No use dragging it out.

"Bye, angel face," he replied softly, and hung up.

Emily put down the phone with a sigh. This was getting ridiculous. Suddenly she started to cry, and when she finally stopped she picked up the phone again, called her cable company, and ordered the Channel. She needed a friend. Not Rina, who loved her like a mother. Or Savannah, who was far too wrapped up in her own life right now. She needed someone who would sympathize with her and comfort her. And maybe even help her to decide what she was going to do next. She wanted Michael Devlin for a husband, and she was getting damned tired of waiting for him to come around and say what she saw in his eyes every time he made love to her these past few weeks. Words she sensed on the tip of his tongue. Until he could say them she was going to be driven crazy wondering why. Sometimes love stank, Emily thought.

She finished up her work for the day, went downstairs, and had the supper that Essie had left for her. She took a bath, smiling at the lilac fragrance that perfumed the room. Then, sliding into a sleep shirt, she climbed into bed. When the clock in the hall struck nine p.m. Emily picked up the channel changer, pressed the on button, and then programmed in the Channel. Almost at once the duke's library came into view. She hit enter, and there he was waiting for her.

"Caro, my love!" he said, coming forward to take her into his embrace. Then he stopped. "What on earth are you wearing?"

"No, Trahern," she said firmly. "No Caro tonight, damn it! Emily tonight. It's a sleep shirt. I need a friend, and you are elected."

The Duke of Malincourt looked somewhat horrified by her words. "A friend? My dear girl, men are not friends with women," he told her.

"Maybe not in your century, but in mine it happens all the time. My mother and father were best friends. You know what almost ruined that friendship? Sex. Me. But Mama went on to become a gonzo lawyer who married a man who became a senator, and together they produced two children. As for dear old Dad, he became a pediatrician with a nice Irish wife and three kids. I was raised by my grandmothers."

"Dear girl, I don't understand half of what you are saying to me, but I can see you are wretchedly unhappy. How can I help you?" He motioned her to a chair by the blazing fire, sat down, and drew her onto his lap.

"It's your doppelganger," Emily said with a sigh.

"My what?"

"The guy in my reality who looks just like you, Trahern," she explained.

"What is his name?" the duke wanted to know.

"Michael Devlin," Emily answered him.

"Irish. The Irish are always trouble, dear girl. Dispense with whatever services he provides for you. 'Tis the best advice I can offer you."

"I'm in love with him, Trahern! I want to get married!" Emily wailed.

"Ahhh," the duke said as understanding dawned in his green eyes. "Has he said that he loves you, dear girl?"

"Not in so many words. Sometimes I think he's going to say it, and then he can't seem to get it out," Emily said. "What the hell is the matter with him? Everyone says he loves me. And I sure as hell love him!"