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small inheritance snatched by her stepson has been a terrible shock. The dastard even threatened his little half-sister, and then attempted to rape Marguerite," Madame Renée explained.
    "I only want to see her," the duke replied. "Come with me, Renée, and show me. If she is sleeping, she will never know I spied on her. If she is awake, I will not enter her chamber. Is that not a fair agreement?" He smiled winningly at his hostess.
    "Ohh, César, I never could resist you," Renée finally agreed. "Come along, but only you . Your American must remain here."
    "Beau is deep in conversation with Monsieur de Eustache," the duke noted. "Two men of business in a courtesan's home discussing banking, slaves, and crop yields," he chuckled. "I despair of my cousin, chérie. These Americans are as bad as the English."
    She laughed as she led him up two flights of stairs to the fourth floor, and down the corridor to Marguerite's bedroom. In her hand she carried a taperstick that lit their way in the dark hall. She put a finger to her lips, and then she slowly opened the chamber door. As they softly stepped inside, they could hear the sounds of the young woman's breathing.
    "Hold the candle up," the duke whispered low.
    Renée raised the light to shine over her face.
    Marguerite lay upon her back, one arm across her torso, the other sprawled above her head. Her dark curls tumbled from beneath her dainty nightcap. Her pale skin was almost translucent in the candlelight. Her closed eyelids were shadowed in violet, her thick eyelashes spread across her pale cheeks like open-winged moths. Beneath her modest night attire her bosom rose and fell rhythmically.
    César d'Aubert leaned down, drew the quilt aside, and gently pulled the ribbons holding Marguerite's garment closed. They unfastened easily. Reaching out, he drew the halves of the fabric aside, baring her breasts to his gaze. They were full, and round like the ripest peaches.
    "Exquisite," he murmured. Then he turned abruptly, and left the bedchamber.
    Renée quickly drew the coverlet up, not bothering to attempt to retie the pink ribbons on her niece's nightgown. Then she hurried from the room, and downstairs. On the landing below the fourth floor she found the duke awaiting her.
    "How soon?" he demanded.
    "I must have time," she began, but he waved her excuse aside.
    "A week, madame . You have one week to prepare her for me. I will wait no longer." He took Renée's hand and led her back down to her salon. After he had seated her, César d'Aubert said, "Tell me about her."
    "I sent her to school in England when she was six," Renée began. "Her guardians were the Duke and Duchess of Sedgwick."
    "How did you know an English milord?" He was curious.
    "The duke and his friends amused themselves during the revolution rescuing aristocrats, and others unfairly singled out for a visit with Madame la Guillotine. I helped them. Remember, César, not every noble family was as foresighted as was your papa, removing his family out of France before the Terror. When I needed to get Marguerite to England, he arranged it. He and his wife treated her as one of their own daughters. They gave her a season in London just before she was seventeen. It was there she met Charles Abbott. He was a widower, many years her senior. He fell in love with her, and sought my permission to marry her. I was honest with him, but it made no difference. It was a happy marriage but for the son of his first union, who hated Marguerite. That is why they came back to France to live. She may tell you about it if you become friends.
    "But she was a wife, César. You know what that means. She yielded dutifully to her husband's wishes, but never allowed herself to feel desire, having been taught it was not ladylike. For her, the only purpose of copulation is to produce children. My niece, while beautiful and desirable, has never felt passion. She admits to it. She has never been awakened, César. Now she thinks to follow in my