He took her hand, looked her directly in her eyes. "No one will ever hurt you again, Rosalind. I swear it to you. Do you believe me?"

"Yes, I believe you. But what if someday I remember and I know who tried to kill me?"

"If that day comes, we will deal with it. I promise you that as well."

The carriage hit a brick in the roadway and she was nearly thrown into his lap. A nice thing, she thought as she regretfully settled herself back against her seat. "Where will we go on our honeymoon?"

He hadn't given it a thought, and she saw it on his face.

She punched her fist into his arm. "What is wrong with you, Nicholas? Surely you must have given at least a small passing thought to our honeymoon, since it will be the official place where you may indulge yourself with my fair person."

Just saying those words made her cheeks flush, and he saw she was both excited and embarrassed. He smiled at her, which was difficult, since he wanted to indulge himself now. But of course he didn't. "It's not that I haven't thought about it, precisely." He gave her a look that made her feel absolutely naked. She didn't know what to do, what to say. He continued easily, "However, I sincerely doubt we will reach a destination before I indulge both of us."

He nearly leapt upon her when she looked about the carriage, obviously eyeing the cushions with lovemaking in mind, something, he imagined, she knew very little about. But she loved the forbidden wickedness of it. He wondered what she'd think when he had her naked, what she'd do when he kissed her white belly, pulled her equally white legs over his shoulders.

"I heard Aunt Sophie say to Aunt Alexandra that she feared all of society will believe I'm increasing since we are marrying so quickly. Although now that I think of it, we are wedding too quickly for me to even realize I'm pregnant, if, naturally, we'd been wicked immediately upon our acquaintance, say within a half hour of meeting."

In that moment, Nicholas actually saw himself coming into her. He cleared his throat. "I imagine you will be soon enough."

Rosalind fell back as if he'd shot her. Gone was the look of wickedness. He saw she was shocked and appalled.

Rosalind thought, Soon enough? SOON ENOUGH? It boggled her mind. It was the same when he'd spoken about their daughter. No, this "soon enough" business wasn't going to happen. She wasn't ready to stop running across the fields, leaping ditches, tying her skirts around her waist so she could shimmy up the apple trees in Uncle Ryder's fruit orchard. She saw herself fat, waddling about, her bellyhuge, and made a grab for the carriage door handle.

He grabbed her hand, brought it to his mouth, and kissed her palm. "Don't worry, Rosalind. I will take very good care ofyou."

"I know, ofcourse," she said slowly, voice as thin as Cook's ham slices, "that lust leads one to make love, which then leads to babies."

"That is the normal way of things, yes. What's wrong, Rosalind?" He kissed her palm again. "Why is the light of exploration gone from your eyes?"

"I don't think I wish to have any more lust for a while, Nicholas. I am eighteen. I am too young. So please do not kiss my palm again, it makes me want to hurl myself into all sorts of wicked experiments that might lead to my own undoing." She pulled her hand away from his, clenched it into a fist, and began to hit it against her leg.

He stared at her fist. "You're trying to erase the wicked feelings?"

"Yes, and they are very nearly gone now."

"Rosalind, if you do not wish to have a child immediately I will take steps to prevent conception."

"You can do that? It is possible?"

He nodded. "It is not always successful, but I will try."

"Well, that is good. Yes, that is very good. I'm pleased you're a reasonable man. It greatly relieves my mind. I like to race, you know, both on my own feet and atop a horse's back. I want to continue racing for perhaps another five or so years."

Was he a reasonable man? "Fine," he said, knowing he had to calm her, reassure her, give her no reason to doubt him, "we will speak ofmy heir again when I am thirty."

"Now that we have solved that small problem"-she beamed at him-"let me tell you again that it is your duty to select our honeymoon, Nicholas. Apply yourself to the task."

He grinned easily at her, a grin he'd known for many years usually gained him his way with women. He saw her ease. She smiled back at him, a blinding smile that made him stare at her. Potent, that smile of hers. He wondered if she knew how effective her smile was.

When they arrived at Madame Fouquet's, the Earl of Northcliffe showed Nicholas a dozen drawings of desperately elongated females who looked to weigh no more than the feathers that adorned their gowns, and more bolts of different-colored materials than Nicholas would have dreamed existed, and asked at least two dozen questions. Everyone else stood about, paying close attention. Finally, Nicholas was pronounced to have satisfactory taste. "Rosalind," the earl said to her, lightly patting her cheek, "you are blessed. Nicholas has sufficient taste at the present time. I am certain it will improve even more as the years pass. I don't mind telling you I was worried. I find it odd that so many ladies in my life select colors that make their complexions look like oatmeal.

"But no matter, you needn't worry about looking like your breakfast since Nicholas has presented himself. All will be well." The earl pointed down to a drawing of a willowy lady who seemed to be floating at least three inches off the floor. "You won't embarrass yourself wearing that hideous shade of green with those ridiculous rows of flounces at the hem. Would you look at this? It fair to shrivels my liver."

But it didn't shrivel Rosalind's liver. In fact, she particularly liked those flounces. Those lovely flounces would make her look as if she were floating too. Because she wasn't a dolt, she kept quiet. She saw Nicholas and Uncle Douglas exchange a look.

As for Madame Fouquet, she looked at Uncle Douglas with too fond an eye, Rosalind observed, and agreed with everything he said. Uncle Douglas didn't appear to mind the toadying from her.

When at last her wedding gown was pronounced accep

When at last her wedding gown was pronounced acceptable by Uncle Douglas, she and Nicholas were dismissed. Nicholas winked at her and took her hand. When they ar-rived back at the Sherbrooke town house, Willicombe, his bald head sweating, came flying out of the front door, his face pale, and told them Miss Lorelei Kilbourne had been kidnapped, and everyone was tip over arse, and they must do something.

It seemed Grayson and Lorelei were strolling in Hyde Park, hand in hand, when suddenly two ruffians, handkerchiefs over their faces, jumped from the bushes and coshed Grayson over the head. When he awoke, Lorelei was gone.

But then, not more than two hours later, she was dumped unceremoniously on the Sherbrooke front door, bruised, her clothing dirty and ripped, and a bit dazed, but not hurt. All the Kilbournes-father, mother, four other daughters-were clustered in the drawing room, Alexandra and Sophie trying to keep them calm.

The gentlemen had just returned from examining the abduction spot in Hyde Park and suddenly, there she was in the open doorway, supported by Willicombe. Her mother screamed, pressed her palms over her bosom, and ran to enfold her precious chick. "God returned my oldest treasure to me, Lorelei's mother said over and over, clasping her child to her soft bosom. The four other treasures cried, and Lord Ramey looked like he needed brandy badly.

It was Grayson who placed a snifter of his uncle's finest