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snaked through her. Fear? Or was it regret?
    No, something else, she decided.
    But then Kacey had all she could do to keep herself upright as she tottered over the rain-slick grass. Unused to the new boots she was wearing, she tripped painfully and often. Each time she bit her lip against the pain and forced herself forward into the rushing darkness.
    It couldn’t be more than five miles to town, after all. Her bus ride from the village had taken no more than fifteen minutes, surely.
    But in the night and the lashing rain, five miles seemed like the other side of the world.
    Which means you’d better get started, she thought. At least she would have the memory of the painting to warm her. Yes, that memory would last her for a very long time.
    Fifteen minutes later her hair was plastered to her ashen cheeks and her lips were blue-tinged, even though she hadn’t reached the bottom of the hill. The lightning was much closer now, her only beacon in the sullen darkness of the storm.
    She would be dangerously exposed out here in the middle ofthe sweeping lawns, Kacey realized. Soon she’d have to cut west, toward that dim line of beeches, silver against the darkness.
    She stumbled again and bit back a moan of pain, feeling her ankle swell.
    Surely no more than four miles to go, she told herself optimistically.
    Suddenly she stiffened, listening to the wind howl through the trees. Somewhere a branch ripped free and plummeted past her.
    She frowned, tugging her coat tighter over her head. She was just asking herself how she’d gotten into this mess when she heard the other sound.
    It came from nowhere and everywhere, and the hands were from the fabric of night itself, jerking her around and holding her rigid.
    Kacey screamed.
    His face was a cold mask of anger, etched by deep lines at his forehead and cheeks. But then Kacey saw something else—the buried traces of anxiety and concern. For her, in spite of what she’d done.
    For a wild instant, she felt a primal desire to brush the lines from that brooding face. To set the fires of passion aglow in those silver eyes once again.
    His fingers bit into her shivering shoulders. “Just where in the name of God do you think you’re going?” he growled, struggling to be heard against the wind.
    â€œBack to Alfriston,” she cried. “Back to sanity. Back to civilization. Anyplace that’s away from you! ”
    A muscle flashed at the granite line of his jaw. His fingers tightened. “It’s eight miles to the village. You’ll never make it in the dark.”
    â€œWhy not? I happen to like walking!”
    His smoldering eyes settled on her mud-stained boots. “Especially in those, no doubt,” he said disgustedly.
    â€œThen I’ll just have to take them off, won’t I?” Kacey jerkedfree and bent down to tug at her boots. One came free and went flying, hitting him in the knee. He winced, she noticed happily. A moment later, the other spun off, sailing into the darkness.
    Catching back an angry sob, she plunged forward toward a bleak cluster of yew trees, trying to ignore the paralyzing cold seeping into her bare feet.
    â€œYou crazy, headstrong—” With a ragged curse, Draycott seized her and swung her up over his shoulder.
    â€œLet me go! Put me down this instant, you bastard!”
    But the Englishman’s hard, pounding gait did not slacken. Her bag bouncing over the grass, he set off over the rolling lawns to the house.
    Gasping, Kacey hammered his sodden back, tugged at his hair, and lashed out with her bare feet, all without the slightest apparent effect.
    â€œPut me down!” she screamed. This time, her voice was ragged with fear.
    Draycott went absolutely still. “You promise not to bolt if I do?”
    Her heart thundering, Kacey considered her answer. She could lie, of course, but somehow she felt it necessary to meet him head on, with total honesty. “I won’t run. Not