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the drawstring, then tugged the nightdress lower.
    And lower. Soon it was a discarded heap on the floor.
    Wordlessly, wonderingly, he held out his handsand helped the lithe beauty into his bed. They said not a single word as they began to caress each other.
    No word need be said, for it was as if he had waited all his life for her to be in his arms. Guided only by her soft breathing and low moans, he gave pleasure, and received it.
    Never before or since had he felt as worthy and desirable and irresistible as Verity Escombe made him feel that night. No act of love had ever been as exciting, or as sweet.
    When she parted her legs for him, he gently pushed into her with barely suppressed urgency, until he encountered the barrier of her maidenhead.
    Suddenly uncertain, he hesitated—until she pulled him closer and wrapped her legs around him, drawing him further inside.
    He needed no more reassurance or encouragement. Moving as if they were one body, their panting breaths mingling, the climax was not long delayed.
    Afterward, when he was sweat slicked, sated and satisfied beyond measure, she lay still beneath him, breathing softly.
    Enveloped by a tenderness he had not known he possessed, he whispered her name and reached out for her.
    Only to have her scramble from the bed. She tugged on her nightgown and ran from the room.
    Despite his pleas to tell him what was the matter, she had left him.
    As if he carried the plague.
    For ten years, he had wondered what had brought her to his bedroom and into his arms.
    For ten years, he had tried to convince himself it didn’t matter. He had commanded himself to forget what had happened and told himself his act of love had no serious consequences, for either of them.
    He knew better now, and this time, he would not let Verity run away without an explanation.
     
    “Mama?”
    Verity sat up. Jocelyn stood uncertainly on the threshold of the doorway between their bedchambers.
    “What is it?” Verity asked softly.
    She sucked in her breath when her bare feet touched the cold parquet floor, then hurried to Jocelyn. Crouching down to her level, she put her arms around her daughter. “Are you ill? Did you have a bad dream?”
    For weeks after Daniel’s death, Jocelyn had had nightmares. She had not been so troubled for some time, but perhaps the upheaval of travel had brought them back—another good reason to return home.
    Jocelyn shook her head. “I woke up when you came to bed and now I can’t get back to sleep.”
    “Oh.” Verity took her daughter’s hand and led her to her huge bed with its heavy curtains and slippery satin sheets. “Were you cold?”
    “A little.”
    “Climb up and snuggle with me, then,” Verity said, cuddling under the expensive coverings beside her daughter. “There. Is this not better?”
    Jocelyn nodded.
    “You will sleep well again when we’re back home.”
    “Will you sing to me, Mama?”
    “Gladly, little girl, gladly,” she answered with a smile full of love.
    “The one about the three ships, Mama,” Jocelyn replied with a yawn.
    Quietly Verity sang her daughter’s favorite song until her eyes closed and the slow rising and falling of her chest told her she was asleep.
    How young Jocelyn looked when she slept, more like a toddler again, with her damp curls and dark eyelashes fanning on her smooth cheeks!
    Did the duke look young when he slept, too? Verity wondered. Somehow, she thought he would, and that perhaps in sleep she would see even more of a resemblance between her daughter and her natural father.
    That thought made her more determined to fleethan ever, before anybody else noticed how much Jocelyn looked like the duke.
    She decided she should carry Jocelyn back to her own bed, or Nancy would be shocked into a panic when she awoke and found her charge’s bed empty.
    Verity got up, slipped on her shoes and again regarded her innocent child, the living memory of her passionate night with a man she barely knew. As always, she felt