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sharply focused on the woman beside him. As her gaze darted to other patrons around the room, she drummed long, tapered fingers on the scarred table, then fingered the gold cross around her neck—
    Phillip again. The obscure, demented feeling that he is watching.
    Was she thinking of Phillip, too? Remembering what might have been? It had been only eighteen months— perhaps she still mourned him.
    Bloody marvelous. It had been and was Julian's grave misfortune to want her, more than he had a right to. More than common sense could justify, even now. Yet he desired her, completely and miserably, and although he knew she would never be his when Phillip lived, he could not bear to see her make the dreadful, irrevocable mistake of shackling herself to Phillip. For all of Claudia's sophistication, she was an innocent. She had no way of knowing that if she agreed to Phillip's suit she would be marrying a drunkard facing staggering debt and certain ruin.
    So Julian had felt compelled to go to Claudia and explain that Phillip was not the sort of man for her. He had done it for her sake
. . .
he was certain he had done it for her sake. Claudia, however, had not exactly thanked him for his advice. Actually, she had come dangerously close to hitting him, and Julian was not anxious to resurrect that memory.
    He waited until the wine had been brought, and as he filled her goblet, he remarked, "I had occasion to visit the Jardin du Luxembourg while I was in Paris and happened upon one of the finest displays of roses I have ever seen."
    Immediately, Claudia shot him a look of suspicion. "Roses?"
    "It brought to mind a garden that once boasted England's finest roses. Not as brilliant, perhaps, but nonetheless quite pleasing to the eye and rather well thought upon by residents of that particular parish." He smiled and handed her the goblet of wine.
    Her eyes narrowed. "And?"
    Very deliberately, Julian poured wine for himself. "And, I was reminded of its unfortunate demise." He lifted his glass and touched the rim of hers with it. "All for the sake of an imaginary castle. You were incur-rigible, Claudia."
    The memory danced across her eyes. "I beg your pardon, you are mistaken," she said politely. "It was not for the sake of an imaginary castle, but the castle's imaginary bailey, where the imaginary knights housed their steeds. And by the bye, I was not incorrigible, I was creative. You, on the other hand, were quite rigid."
    "Rigid? Me?" He chuckled, lifted the goblet, and sipped. "Do not confuse discipline with austerity. I assure you, instilling a little discipline into five young girls was not an easy task. I am quite certain you recall the rainbow incident? No doubt you thought me rigid, but I should have taken a switch to all five backsides for running off like that, and at the very least to yours."
    Claudia almost sputtered her wine. "You think
I
was responsible? I'll have you know that it was all Genie's idea to find the end of the rainbow. I merely claimed it was my doing to protect her from your wrath, as I was often forced to do."
    Now that made him laugh. "You would have me believe that? Should I take it then that Eugenie chopped down the rosebushes? Or frightened poor Sophie nearly to death?"
    "It was hardly my fault that you coddled Sophie so shamelessly," she said, trying to hide an impudent smile behind her goblet.
    "I hardly coddled her. But when an eight-year-old girl climbs into one's bed, and clings to one's nightshirt with the grip of ten men because she is frightened out of her wits, one is inclined to allow her to stay."
    Claudia actually laughed at him. "All right, I shall concede that point," she said cheerfully. "But I was only twelve! And it really wasn't such a terribly scary story!"
    But it wasn't a very scary story! For a brief moment, Julian was transported back in time to where the twelve-year-old Claudia stood before him in his study, her little hands fisted at her sides, her chin raised defiantly, Eugenie and