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fallen forward over his forehead; gently Lucie pushed it back. Her touch had been feather light but even so his lashes fluttered and Seton said, 'Why aren't you asleep?' She didn't answer and he opened his eyes. 'You ought to be worn out.' Still she didn't speak and he sighed. 'You are an insatiable woman. At this rate I shall be a burnt-out shell by the time I'm forty.' But he smiled as he drew her to him and began to make love to her again. This time she slept for a while afterwards, but woke to find the room in complete darkness, the moonlight gone. Seton was deeply asleep, his breath even and regular. Lucre tried to work out how many times they'd made love since they'd known each other, but couldn't begin to count. It was possible to work out how many days they'd known each other so intimately, but they had made love more than once in a day so often—frequently even three times or more, as tonight—that it was impossible to say.
    But repetition had never staled their lovemaking. It had always been so good, so breathtaking. And the joy had always been shared; there had never been the slightest need of pretence at fulfillment, as some women she'd read about resorted to, and as some of her women friends had confided. With Seton the excitement had always been true and wonderful, both of them delighting the other, and their own pleasure the greater because of it. Their marriage was perfect in every way. Too perfect, perhaps. Lucie knew that Seton put her on a pedestal, that his love for her fell little short of adoration. It frightened her sometimes, the force and depth of his feelings. But that was only when she allowed herself to think about it; most of the time she was just full of heartfelt thanks for having met him, for his having fallen so hopelessly hi love with her.
    In return she tried to make then: marriage, their lives as happy and content as she possibly could. Whatever Seton had wanted she would have done; she would have devoted her life to him completely, but he'd insisted on her finishing her Open University course, and when she got an honours degree he'd encouraged her to find a job as a part-time teacher. Lucie had given that up when Sam was born, but hoped one day to go back to teaching art. Her life was perfect, the past buried deep—and LUCK knew that she would do anything to keep it that way. They went for a holiday to Norway, the first they'd taken abroad as a family, and it was a great success, Sam loving every minute. Lucie returned with a gorgeous tan, and the hope that she was pregnant again, which was a tremendous joy to them both.
    For a while it was to be their secret, until they were absolutely sure, but the knowledge increased Lucie's vivacity as the tan increased her beauty. At twenty seven she was in the prime of womanhood, her body slender but rounded, her pale gold hair a fitting frame for her lovely face and eyes so full of life and happiness. It was hardly any wonder that Seton looked at her with such pride of possession, even less wonder that he couldn't keep his hands off, that he made love to her at every opportunity.
    Shortly after they got back Lucie and half a dozen of her friends—those like herself with young children and who regularly got together for morning coffeedecided to have a day out by themselves. A day off from husbands, children and responsibilities. They would go to Ladies' Day at Ascot, have a champagne picnic, wear new outfits, outrageous hats, the lot.
    'I'm jealous,' Seton complained as he watched her try on her outfit the day before their outing. 'You'll be having a wonderful time while I'm stuck in a stuffy old court listening to a man who is clearly guilty try to lie his way out of paying a hefty settlement.' He was sitting on their bed, propped up against the headboard, still fascinated to watch her dress.
    'Tough,' Lucie answered. "They only have one Ladies' Day; you can go any time.'
    'But I really think I ought to be there to look after you. You look so