Sophy went through the ritual of preparing for bed but she knew she could not possibly sleep tonight. After Mary said good night, Sophy stood staring out her window and wondered if Julian would be making arrangements for her funeral within a few short hours.

Perhaps she would only be wounded, she told herself, her imagination running wild with gory scenes. Perhaps her death would be a long and lingering one from a raging fever caused by a gunshot wound.

Or perhaps it would be Charlotte Featherstone who died.

The thought of killing another human being left Sophy abruptly sick to her stomach. She swallowed heavily and wondered if her nerves would hold out until she had satisfied the requirements of honor. She dared not prepare a tonic for herself because it might slow her reactions at dawn.

Sophy tried to brace herself by deciding that with any luck at all, either she or Charlotte would merely be wounded. Or, perhaps, both she and her opponent would miss their mark and neither of them would be hurt. That would certainly make for a tidy ending to the matter.

Then again, Sophy thought morosely, it was highly unlikely things would proceed that neatly. Her life of late was not inclined to be neat.

Fear sent chills down her spine. How did men survive this dreadful anticipation of danger and death? she wondered, continuing to pace. They faced it not only on the eve of a duel of honor but on the battlefield and at sea. Sophy shuddered.

She wondered if Julian had ever experienced this awful waiting and then remembered the story she had heard about a duel he had once conducted over the issue of Elizabeth's honor. And there must have been moments like this also when he was forced to endure the long hours before battle. But perhaps, being a man, he had nerves that were not susceptible to this sort of anticipatory fear. Or maybe he had learned how to control it.

For the first time it occurred to Sophy that the masculine code of honor was a very hard, reckless, and demanding thing. But at least abiding by it guaranteed men the respect of their peers and if nothing else, when this was all over, Julian would be forced to respect his wife to at least some degree.

Or would he? Would a man respect a woman who had tried to abide by his own male code or would he find the whole idea laughable?

On that thought, Sophy turned away from the window. Her eyes went straight to the small jewelry case on her dressing table and she remembered the black ring.

A tremor of regret went through her. If she were to get herself killed tomorrow there would be no one left to avenge Amelia. Which was more important, she asked herself, avenging Amelia or keeping Julians love letters out of print?

There was really no choice. For a long time now, Sophy had realized that her feelings for Julian were far stronger than her old desire to find her sister's seducer.

Was her love for Julian making her act dishonorably in regard to her sister's memory?

It was all so terribly complicated suddenly. For a moment the enormity of the crisis was overwhelming. Sophy longed to run and hide until her world had righted itself. She was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she did not hear the connecting door open behind her.

"Sophy?"

"Julian." She whirled around. "I was not expecting you, my lord."

"You rarely are." He sauntered slowly into the room, his eyes watchful. "Is something wrong, my dear? You seemed upset at dinner."

"I… I was not feeling well."

"A headache?" he inquired dryly.

"No. My head is fine, thank you." She spoke automatically and then she realized she had spoken too quickly. She should have seized on the proffered excuse. She frowned, unable to think of a suitable substitution. Perhaps her stomach…

Julian smiled. "Don't bother trying to invent a useful illness on such short notice. We both know you are not very good at such things." He walked over to stand directly in front of her. "Why don't you tell me the truth? You are angry with me, aren't you?"

Sophy lifted her eyes to his, a kaleidoscope of emotions pounding through her as she considered exactly how she felt toward him tonight. Anger, love, resentment, passion, and, above all, a terrible fear that she might never see him again, might never again lie in his arms and experience that fragile intimacy she had first felt the other night.

"Yes, Julian. I am angry with you."

He nodded as if in complete understanding. "It is because of that little scene at the opera, isn't it? You did not like me forbidding you to read the Memoirs."

Sophy shrugged and fiddled with the lid of her jewelry case. "We did have an agreement concerning my reading tastes, my lord."

Julian's eyes went to the small box under her hand and then swung to her averted face. "I seem fated to disappoint you as a husband both in bed and out."

Her head came up suddenly, her eyes widening. "Oh, no, my lord, I never meant to imply that you were a disappointment in… in bed. That is to say, what happened the other evening was quite," she cleared her throat, "quite bearable, even pleasant at certain points. I would not have you think otherwise."

Julian caught her chin on the edge of his hand and held her gaze. "I would have you find me more than merely bearable in bed, Sophy."

And suddenly she realized he wanted to make love to her again. That was the real purpose of his visit to her room tonight. Her heart leapt. She would have one more chance to hold him close and feel that joyous intimacy.

"Oh, Julian." Sophy gulped back a sob and threw herself into his arms. "I would like nothing more than to have you stay with me for a while tonight."

His arms went around her immediately but there was a note of stunned surprise as well as laughter in Julian's voice when he spoke softly into her hair. "If this is the sort of welcome I get when you are angry at me I can see I shall have to work at the task of annoying you more often."

"Do not tease me tonight, Julian. Just hold me close the way you did the last time," she mumbled against his chest.

"Your wish is my command tonight, little one." He gently eased the dressing gown from her shoulders, pausing to kiss the hollow of her throat. "This time I will endeavor not to disappoint you."

Sophy closed her eyes as he slowly undressed her. She was determined to savor every moment of what could easily be their last night together. She did not even mind if the actual lovemaking was not particularly pleasant. What she sought was the unique sense of closeness that accompanied it. That closeness might be all she would ever have of Julian.

"Sophy, you are so lovely to look at and so soft to touch," Julian whispered as the last of her clothing fell into a heap at her feet. His eyes moved hungrily over her nude body and his hands followed.

Sophy shivered and swayed against him as his palms cupped her breasts. His thumbs began to glide over her nipples, gently coaxing a response. When the tender, rosy peaks began to grow taut, Julian exhaled in deep satisfaction.

His hands slid down her sides to the curve of her hips and then around behind her to cradle the firm globes of her buttocks.

Sophy's fingers tightened on his shoulders as she leaned into his strength.

"Touch me, sweetheart," Julian ordered in a husky voice. "Put your hands inside my robe and touch me."

She could not resist. Slipping her palms under the silk lapels of his dressing gown she splayed her fingers across his chest. "You are so strong," she whispered in wonder.

"You make me feel strong," Julian said, amused. "You also have the power to make me very weak."

He caught her around the waist and lifted her up so that she was looking down at him. She braced herself with her hands on his shoulders and thought she would drown in the emerald brilliance of his eyes.