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prefer virgins. However, he found this one strangely alluring in her innocence. Yes, he would certainly savor every moment of his combined victory: sexually initiating Ariana and, in the process, bringing Baxter to his knees, ruining his baby sister and thereby fulfilling one contemptuous accusation that, until now, had been false.
    At the memory, Trenton’s jaw clenched. Ruin Vanessa? Hardly.
    And yet she’d made that claim—repeatedly, as he recalled—on that final night … the last night of her life.
    Trenton could envision it as if it were yesterday, rather than six years before: the secluded shadows beneath the cliffs, the dark waters of the River Arunn mingling with the rough waves of the Channel, the foam slapping at their feet
    The rage that loomed in his heart as he’d faced her.
    Her eyes were strangely lit, not only by the lantern’s haunting glow but with a depth of despair that might have been pitiful enough to move him, had it been anyone but Vanessa.
    His fists knotted at his sides in an attempt to restrain himself.
    But to no avail.
    And when she began to taunt him, his fury was uncontainable, condemnation and hatred blazing in his eyes.
    He could still remember her plaintive cries as she begged him not to do this to her.
    Please … don’t … Trenton … don’t …
    Her pleas fell on deaf ears.
    He was out of control and he knew it. What was more, Vanessa knew it too.
    No … no … don’t … no …
    He didn’t flinch nor look back. He simply walked away, leaving behind him only a sudden silence and an extinguished lantern.
    Taking with him only an odd sense of relief …
    “Help me! Help!”
    Trenton’s eyes flew open, as it struck him that the scream he was hearing was no haunting voice of the past but a very real and fearful cry from somewhere in Osborne Bay.
    He leapt to his feet, scanning the choppy waters, which had grown significantly rougher during the hour he’d been lost in thought. The yachts had long since disappeared from view, and the sky looked menacing, the clouds low.
    “Help!”
    He heard it again, and this time his keen gaze located its source. Far out in the bay was a small rowboat, bobbing idly on the waves, devoid of occupants. Splashing frantically near the boat, yet not close enough to grab on, was a woman, whose head appeared intermittently, then sank beneath the water.
    Trenton wasted not a second. Simultaneously he kicked off his boots and tore off his shirt, flinging them to the sand. In three long strides he was deep enough to dive, then took hard, powerful strokes that carried him swiftly to the speck of color he recognized as the drowning woman.
    His arm locked about her waist, dragging her head above water along with his own. Ignoring the boat entirely, he swam forcefully for shore, uncertain of the woman’s state of consciousness, decidedly uneasy about her lack of coughing or movement.
    Her face was ashen when he lay her on the sand, blood trickling from an ugly gash on her forehead. Trenton paled as he recognized her. Not allowing himself to dwell on the devastating possibilities should his efforts fail, he proceeded to force the water from her lungs until her first shallow breaths evolved into a fit of gasping coughs.
    “Your Highness!” Hurried footsteps accompanied the shrill voice. “Oh, Lord!” The maid watched helplessly as Trenton soothed the young woman’s coughs, assisting her until her breathing was erratic but normal.
    “The Princess will be fine,” he assured the shaking servant, using his discarded shirt to wipe the blood from the princess’s forehead. “None the worse for her ambitious adventure.”
    “I must summon Her Majesty at once.” The slight, knock-kneed girl turned, then stopped. “Oh, thank you, Your Grace,” she breathed, well aware that Trenton was a frequent guest of the Queen’s. “Thank you ever so much.”
    Trenton glanced down at Princess Beatrice, who was now calming her gasps, shivering uncontrollably while