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

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

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

"What do you want?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"An admirable forethought," he commented.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her eyes widened. "No!" she whispered.

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

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

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

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

"Yes."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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While Henry and Eversleigh were deeply engrossed in their world of passion, a very weary set of twins were creeping through the grounds of the house toward the side entrance that they had left unlocked earlier in the evening. It was with great relief that they discovered that no one had detected the fact that the door was unlocked. Philip pushed the door open slowly, peered cautiously into the gloom to make sure that no one was close by, and beckoned Penelope inside. They tiptoed up the back staircase and stumbled thankfully into Penelope's room, closing the door behind them.

"Whew!" said Penelope, dragging off the boy's cap that she had worn and shaking out her long hair. "I did not really think we should get back safely."

"You did a really good job, Pen," her brother said admiringly. "It's a great pity that it's just not the thing for girls to become actresses."

"Well, I was scared they would grab me up at any moment and turn me over to the watch," Penelope said more practically. "I wish we might have taken Brutus.".

"How? With a black mask on? Don't be such a featherbrain, Pen," said Philip. "One look at him by either Henry or the toothpowder and the game would have been up."

"You are sure that Henry got away safely?" Penelope asked.

"If she did not, she does not have as much spirit as she used to have;" replied Philip. "I certainly kept old teeth off the trail for a while. Almost got m'self caught, too."

Penelope giggled. "I should like to have seen him when he ran full tilt into the waiter bearing a tray of drinks," she said. "It must have been priceless."

"I did not stay to watch the show," her brother said dryly. "But listen, Pen, I didn't like the way he was manhandling Henry. He was kissing her! You know that even his Grace does not kiss her out in public like that."

"We have to do something about it," said Penelope with a sense of drama that seemed to suit the time and the occasion.

"I don't know what," Philip replied, plucking at his lower lip while his brow furrowed in thought. "Manny keeps us busy most of the day."

"Should we tell her?" Penelope suggested.

Philip considered. "It might help," he admitted. "I don't think Manny will be of any real assistance-she goes off into a flap too easily. But I think she will want to help. At least she might let us keep a closer eye on Henry."

"We'll tell her the whole story at breakfast tomorrow, then," said Penelope, and yawned so loudly that her jaws cracked.

Chapter 10

Henry turned over in bed. She was only half-awake, but already the events of the night before had returned to her mind. She snuggled over to the side of the bed where Marius had held her in his arms after their lovemaking, only to find that he was no longer there.

Her eyes opened; she was instantly awake. It was light outside already, although the street sounds suggested that it was still early morning. Marius frequently rose early, she knew, to ride and refresh himself before going to the House for the morning business. She smiled smugly to herself and stretched luxuriously in the warm bed.

So this was what it felt like to be a wife, to be loved! She relived again, moment by moment, the whole of their lovemaking. Why had she always thought of physical contact as something repulsive? Last night had been wonderful. It had not been a case of the male taking and using her and making her feel like a weak woman with no worth beyond her sexual function. He had made her feel a partner in what had happened. She knew, inexperienced as she was, that he had taken the time to give pleasure to her as well as himself. And she knew that she had given him pleasure. There was that moment when he had murmured his release against her face.

If only he had not gone away so early… Henry would have liked to do again right then what they had done the night before. She felt a throbbing low in her womb at the very thought. Then she blushed with shame at her own desire. Maybe married people just did not do it that often!