He threw aside his shirt and drew her against him gently, so that the hair on his chest rasped slightly against her breasts. She put her arms around his neck in a gesture of abandon that seemed natural now.

She felt his hands at her waist, lifting her off her feet and raising her so that the distance in height between them was canceled, and it was she who looked down on him. She took his face between her hands and rained kisses on it, willing him not to delay any more. Her excitement was growing by the minute.

She didn't know when he'd moved to the bed, only that they were suddenly there and he was lowering her, tearing off the rest of his clothes, then lying beside her.

Her caressed her everywhere with his hands, his lips, until the sweet torment grew almost unbearable. She wanted to urge him on, yet at the same time she was content to leave this to him, because only an expert could bring those sensations into magical being.

She thought she knew her own body, but now she realized they'd been only casually acquainted. It had been something to be scrubbed down in the bath and toweled quickly to keep warm. Randolph was intent on revealing her to herself, a desirable woman, all the more desirable because of her response to his maleness.

There was a whole world between men and women that had been hidden from her. As she discovered it now she wondered how she'd lived so long in ignorance. Because he hadn't been there was the answer.

He slipped his knee between her legs, which parted for him easily so that he could move over her. The feel of him coming into her was almost shocking in its beauty and she drew a long breath, willing it to go on and on. This was the meaning of the obscure yearnings that had troubled her. All this time she'd wanted Randolph inside her, and nothing else would do. Now that she'd experienced him, she wondered how she'd endured the wait.

She moved back against him, claiming, releasing, instinctively in harmony. As if by a signal he tossed aside the last of restraint and drove into her vigorously and she cried out with the sharpness of her pleasure. And after that it grew stronger until it enveloped her completely and there was nothing left of her, except that she was reborn and found herself back in his arms, where she had always belonged.

Dottie awoke first and sat up gently so as not to disturb Randolph. That wasn't easy as his big body was sprawled all over the bed. In the night she'd discovered the true Randolph, not the disciplined person of the daylight, but some other man who could abandon himself heart and soul. He'd held nothing back, pleasing her and showing her how to please him, until they were both drained.

Just for now she wanted solitude, to come to terms with the new person she'd become, so she eased herself gently out of bed and looked around for her clothes. There was her dress, just as he'd removed it and tossed it away, too urgent in his desire for her to care if it was ruined. And it was ruined, she saw, noticing a small rent with delight. As she drew the dress against her body every silken movement felt like a caress, bringing memories flooding back. She smiled blissfully…

As he was still sleeping, she found her nightdress, pulled a robe over it and opened the French doors.

They led straight out into the garden, and now that it was daylight she saw for the first time how small a place this was. Not to her. After Wenford every where looked spacious, but to a man raised in palaces this was tiny. Yet it was his retreat, his refuge.

The house might have belonged to any solidly prosperous country gentleman. Outside was a small park with a pond on which ducks glided contentedly. She went down to the edge and at once they swam toward her, then away again, quacking with disgust because she was empty handed. She laughed and turned back to the house to find Randolph watching her. He opened his arms and she ran into them.

For a moment they held each other close, in silence. There was nothing to say. What had happened last night was too deep for words.

“I was afraid you wouldn't like this place,” he said after a long time.

“I love it. I want to stay here forever. If only we could.”

“If only.” He kissed her lightly. “Let me show you my home, and make it your home, too.”

Over breakfast he told her to wear casual clothes, which would once have been easy, but nothing in Dottie's wardrobe was really casual now. She compromised with a silk shirt and a pair of elegant tweed pants, but Randolph was in the authentic gear, shabby jeans and an old sweatshirt. After one look Dottie burst out laughing.

“I never wear anything else while I'm here,” he said.

Kellensee was a working farm, just large enough to be self-supporting. Randolph raised cattle and sheep, and although he had a manager it was clear he was closely involved.

“It belonged to my father,” he said as they wandered hand in hand through meadows filled with wild flowers and alive with butterflies. “He used to use it as a retreat for his less admissible hobbies. That's why he had his bed installed on the ground floor. He said it was easier to get to when you were legless. Of course, beer wasn't his only 'hobby.' There were various easygoing ladies, and he could let them in and out discreetly through the French windows.”

“What about your mother?”

“They were fond of each other, but they led their own lives. She didn't mind his friends, and he was discreet. I was only fourteen when she died, but I somehow knew the truth for a long time before that. What is it?” He'd seen a shadow come over her face.

She shook her head without answering and instead of pressing her he went on, “I'm afraid I was a disappointment to my father. His way of life shocked me a little. He thought I was very odd.”

“That's what royal marriages are like, though, aren't they?”

“Some of them. It wouldn't have suited me.”

“But,” she knew it was risky to pursue this but she didn't seem able to stop, “if you had to marry someone you didn't really want to, it would be forgivable, wouldn't it?”

“No it wouldn't,” he said, so forcefully that she jumped. “If you're hinting about lovers Dottie, let me warn you to forget it. I won't be a complaisant husband.”

“Don't be silly,” she said, coloring and trying to hide her pleasure. “Anyway, who says I was talking about me?”

“Didn't we agree to leave the baggage of the past behind? Don't do this Dottie, please.” He laid his fingertips across her mouth. “There are some subjects we should never mention.”

She longed to say, “What about Sophie?” but she couldn't get the words out in the face of his determination to silence her. And wasn't he right? If they could leave their awkward beginnings behind and start a new page, mightn't there be happiness that way?

Taking her hand, he led her deeper into the wood until they reached a place among the trees where the land sloped down then rose gently on the other side. The little valley was a mass of plants and small bushes, and on this side stood a small building made of heavy logs. He took her inside and Dottie looked around in delight.

“It's like a little cottage,” she said.

“It's a 'hide' where you can watch animals and birds. My father had it built. Our happiest times together were spent here. And since he died I've sometimes come here alone. It's quiet and blessedly peaceful, and the noise of the world can't touch you.” He indicated a rustic bed by the wall. “Sometimes I stay all night. The best time is in the dawn.”

There was a large window where watchers could sit in the shadows, and Dottie went to sit by one, looking out ecstatically at the quiet scene. Now and then a soft rustle in the undergrowth revealed the presence of an animal. Sometimes she actually saw one. Or a bird hopped close, never knowing itself to be watched.

“Time for supper,” Randolph murmured, close to her.

“It can't be, it's only…good heavens, we've been here hours.”

“Yes, that's how it is. This place casts its spell and you forget everything else…almost everything else.” He took her hand. “Come, let's go back to supper, and afterward, we will sit chastely holding hands.”

“You dare and you're dead.”

It was wonderful to hear his laughter echoing up into the branches, and see the flock of startled birds rise into the air.

The days passed in a haze of summer. Once it rained and they stayed indoors, leaving the French windows open, lying in bed, watching the shower. The nights merged into one night.

One morning she awoke in the early hours, and lay for a moment without opening her eyes. She was lying on her face and she could feel a slight chill on her back that told her the bedclothes had been removed. Fingertips were sliding softly across her skin, touching her so lightly that she could hardly feel them, but there was no doubt about the sensations they were creating. She gave a deep sigh of pleasurable content.

His fingers had reached her spine, moving down it in a leisurely, lingering fashion until they reached the small of her back. There they suddenly vanished, to be replaced by his lips, beginning the return journey. She shivered with delight and tried to turn over, but he prevented her.

“Keep still,” he whispered. “I haven't finished yet.”

“Just keep on as long as you like,” she murmured blissfully. “At least…no, I don't mean that, because sooner or later I want you to do something else.”

His lips were working on the back of her neck while his hands traced her spine down and cupped her behind.

“I've wanted to do this,” he said, “ever since the day I found you naked in the cupboard.” She gave a deep throated chuckle that shivered through him, straight to his loins and made him take a sharp breath.

“I remember that day,” she said. “You were so shocked.”

“Shocked at myself. You were so lovely. I tried not to notice, but I couldn't manage it. And now, here you are, and you're all mine.”

“Getting possessive, eh?”

“Any man, looking at you, would get possessive.”

She rolled onto her back so fast that she took him by surprise. “Men aren't the only ones who get possessive,” she said as her arms closed around him with a strength born of newly discovered passion. “Come here.”

“My darling-”

“I said come here.”

They had been married a week, just a few days, but long enough for her to change into a woman of fierce needs, determined to fulfill them. This was her lovemaking and with her words and her movements she let him know what she wanted. Having seized the initiative, she kept it. Randolph grinned, understanding perfectly, and not minding in the least when she said fiercely, “Now, now!”

Just as she'd learned about her own body she'd also learned about his and she put her knowledge to use, demanding the power and vigor of his loins for her exclusive pleasure.

“You're wrong,” she whispered mischievously. “It's you who are all mine.”

“Your Majesty's obedient servant,” he said, falling in with her mood.

“So I should hope. Oh Randolph. Randolph…”

Later, remembering that enchanted time, Dottie found that it wasn't only the passion that stayed in her mind.

For one thing, there was the dog.

He appeared one day in front of the hide where they were watching together, and turned a hopeful face on them. He was a tramp among dogs, scruffy, muddy and with no one part of him matching any other. Dottie was immediately won over by his goofy charm, but she could imagine Randolph's reaction to this disgraceful creature.

Then she heard a soft whistle and looked up to see him grinning. He whistled again and opened the door of the hide. There were still scraps from their meal on the table, and he proceeded to offer these to the visitor, who wolfed them down. Seeing her regarding him with raised eyebrows, Randolph colored and said self-consciously, “I had a dog like this when I was a child.”

“You? Like this?”

“Yes, he was a stray that I adopted, but only for five minutes. My mother didn't like dogs, said they were messy creatures, and made me get rid of it.”

“What did your father say?” Dottie demanded indignantly.

“Nothing. He never interfered in domestic matters. That was her price for turning a blind eye to the way he lived. He sent him to the stables where he probably had a happier life than he would have done in a palace.”

“Perhaps it was because it was a mongrel. Maybe a pedigree dog would have been better.”

“She disliked all dogs. But I wanted a mongrel. Everything around me was pedigreed. My friends were chosen for me from among the aristocracy. Some of them I liked well enough, but it's not the same as choosing for yourself. And 'royalty must keep a proper distance,' even from friends.”