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project because of the way he had treated her. She was uneasily aware that her own conduct had not been above reproach, and that her complaints against him might indeed sound rather thin—as he had implied, damn him! She could—oh God—just imagine her father's reaction to her story…
    No, the best, most dignified thing was to pretend it had never happened—wipe it from her mind completely, although that wouldn't be so easy when she had to face him again eventually at Atayahuanco. Although then she would have Evan beside her, she thought. Even if he had gone off on some crazy hunt for Inca gold, he surely intended to return.
    Suddenly she felt cold. She lay back again, tucking the covers round her. If only Evan hadn't gone off like that, without a word. Why hadn't he mentioned what he intended in his last letter? If he had stayed at the camp for just a few days longer, he would have got her message. He would have been here with her in Lima, planning their wedding. He might even have been with her now, in this bed, holding her so that she would never be cold or frightened again.
    Leigh shifted restlessly. Except that she had never really believed in pre-marital sex. If she wore white for her wedding, she wanted it to mean something, and Evan had acceded to her wishes, with wry resignation.
    'You're a mass of contradictions, do you know that?' he had whispered to her, when she had withdrawn gently but firmly from a situation that seemed likely to carry them both away. 'You're always so confident, darling, so sure of your place in the world. But underneath it all, you're really old-fashioned, aren't you?'
    At the time, she had been delighted with his understanding. It had emphasised, she thought, how right they were for each other. But now she wished she hadn't been so uptight in her attitude.
    It should have been Evan's mouth scorching hers in fierce, sensual demand. It should have been Evan's hands caressing her naked breasts for the first time. It was Evan's lovemaking which should have drawn that unquenchable shiver of response from her and not Rourke Martinez' cynical advances.
    Oh, Evan, she thought miserably. Where are you, now that I need you?
    She turned over on to her stomach, pillowing her head on her folded arms. Well, let Doctor Rourke Martinez gloat over his sordid little victory. The campagn was not yet over, and somehow—somehow, she was going to Atayahuanco to find Evan.
    She could expect no help from Peruvian Quest, she knew, either here or in Cuzco. But she wasn't short of cash, or initiative. She would take one of the organised tours up to Machu Picchu, then hire someone to take her the rest of the way. Jeep, she remembered the girl Juanita had said, and mule. She grimaced in the darkness. It sounded like hell, but if Rourke Martinez could manage it, she could too. And it would give her the utmost pleasure to see the look on his face when she made it into camp at Atayahuanco.
    On that thought, and against all the odds, she fell asleep, smiling.
    The mule's name was Rosita, and she was said to be a family pet, but Leigh didn't believe a word of it. She was a scrawny animal, with a drooping ear, and a malignant expression in her eyes, and if she had had a choice, Leigh would have wanted no part of her. Only choices, she had discovered over the past few days, were pretty thin on the ground.
    The first buoyancy which had started her off on her journey had begun to evaporate rapidly under the sheer pressure of the difficulties she had encountered.
    There had been no problem in joining an organised tour. The hotel had been happy to arrange it for her, and equally pleased to retain her suite until she returned, because, as she had explained, her plans were fluid.
    And although the trip to Cuzco and Machu Picchu had simply been a means to an end, she had to admit she wouldn't have missed if for the world.
    Nothing she had read, no photographs had prepared her for the scale and majesty of the ruins under their