Brampton felt her inability to climax. He imposed an iron hold on his own almost uncontrollable need to release into her. He slowed his rhythm, let his weight down onto her again, and eased his hands beneath her body.

"What is it, little one?" he murmured.

"I can't. I can't," she gasped, panic-stricken.

"Let me take care of you, angel," he soothed. "I shall hold you safe. Like this, you see? Trust me, sweet. I shall not hurt you."

He coaxed her with deep, slow strokes until she knew she must allow him into the center of her world and she would never be free again.

"I want all of you, angel. Everything you have to give. As I give you my all," he said in a new, harsher, more urgent tone of voice. "Now, darling. Now!"

And he was coming and coming and did not stop coming. Margaret opened the final barrier and exploded against him with shudder after shudder. She was not aware either of her own abandoned cry or of his groan of fulfillment as he followed her into a world of shattering release.

Brampton drew himself out of her and moved his weight away almost immediately, but his arms locked behind her back and took her with him, so that the comforting rock-hardness of his body held her secure for the several minutes during which she could not stop from shaking.

"It was good for you, little one," he said finally, his voice husky with emotion, "as I intended it to be. Sleep now. I shall hold you safe."

Margaret obediently slipped into a sleep of total, delicious relaxation, heedless of the need for caution or the need to leave before dawn should make her face visible.

Brampton lay holding her awhile, before drifting into sleep himself. Now that passion was satisfied, he delighted in the feel of her lovely, firm little body in his arms. Her hair was thick and silky over his arm and against his chest. He wished he could see it, know its color. It reached to her waist.

He rested his cheek against the top of her head and closed his eyes. God, but he wanted this little angel for his own. He had never known such joy as he had just experienced in her arms and still felt in his satiety.

He had had one of his earlier questions answered, at any rate. She was no coquette. He had noticed as soon as he entered her that she was not a virgin. But she certainly lacked experience. Her body had hummed with passion and she had wanted him every bit as much as he had wanted her, but she had made no attempt to make love to him. She had kept her hands to herself, and though she had returned his kisses, she had not initiated any of her own. And at the end she had been terrified of her own response. Obviously, no man had ever taken her to a climax before.

Brampton was glad of that. He had felt momentarily disappointed that she was not a virgin. He would have liked to be her first-and only-man. But that was absurd, of course. Even if she had been a girl when he had first met her, six years would have made her into a woman. And it was unconceivable that such a beautiful, passionate little creature could have remained untouched. Had she had lovers? Was she married? Her fear of revealing her identity suggested that she was. She was probably married to some old fool, he decided with bitter contempt. No real man could have taken this woman's body without awakening it to all the joys of unleashed love and passion. But maybe her husband thought she wanted it that way. And maybe he was right!

But she was made for him. Brampton vowed that he would teach this little angel all the numerous arts and delights of lovemaking that he had learned in his many and varied experiences. He must have her for a long time yet.

Margaret awakened, feeling disoriented. She felt warm, comfortable, safe. She knew immediately that she was not alone. Her cheek was resting against the hard muscles of an arm. The hand belonging to the same arm clasped her shoulder. A heart was beating steadily close to her ear. Richard had not returned to his own room tonight. How delightfully unusual! She snuggled closer to the warmth of his body.

His lips found hers in the darkness and she was suddenly fully awake. She was with Richard, but in an unknown place, and he believed himself to be with a stranger. She sat up in panic. What time was it? How close to daybreak was it?

"I did not mean to sleep, monsieur," she said. "I must go."

He grasped her shoulder and tried to force her back down beside him. "Don't worry, my sweet," he said. "I shall take you home soon. Let me love you once more first."

"Oh, no, no, I must go," she replied, resisting the persuasion of his hand and voice.

"Will you be missed?" he asked with gentle concern.

"I must go," was all she would say.

"Then we will dress and leave," he said soothingly. "It is all right, angel. You will be safe with me."

"Ah, but you must not come with me, monsieur," she said in alarm.

"I shall certainly not allow you out alone in the streets of London at this hour of the night," Brampton declared firmly.

"I have my own carriage, monsieur," Margaret said with far more confidence than she felt. What if Jem had not been able to follow? Or what if he had got tired of waiting and had driven home long before? How would she get home?

"Do you mean that you had my coachman followed?" he asked in amusement. "I begin to see, little minx, how it came about that you escaped Madame Guillotine."

Margaret scrambled off the bed and began the difficult task of gathering her scattered belongings in the darkness. She dressed hastily, wig, mask, and all.

"Angel, when shall I see you again?" Brampton asked from the bed.

Margaret paused.

"I must see you again!" he said urgently.

"I think it would be better not, monsieur," Margaret said sadly. "Nothing can come of this affair."

"But we can love each other, give each other delight-perhaps for a long, long time," he argued.

"You are married, monsieur," she said, heart pounding, "and I do not wish to be any man's mistress."

"And you, angel," he prompted, "are you too married?"

Margaret paused again. "I must leave, monsieur," she said.

"Elusive wretch," he chuckled. "But tell me when I can see you, angel, or I shall get out of this bed and stand before the door until you give me an answer."

"I shall be in the place we met tonight at the same time next week," Margaret replied.

"In Vauxhall?"

"Oui, monsieur."

"I shall be there, angel. You will not let me down?"

"You must trust me, monsieur."

He sighed. "I wish you would trust me with your identity."

"Will you promise me," she asked, "not to leave this room for 'alf an hour after I leave?"

"I will promise you the moon and all the stars, angel, if you will just feel your way across to this bed and kiss me again," he replied with another chuckle. Her theatrical air of mystery both intrigued and amused him.

She found her way to his side and bent over him. His arms came viselike around her, toppling her down on top of him. His mouth found hers hungrily and kissed her deeply.

"Ah, you have that glorious hair hidden again," he commented as their lips drew apart. "What color is it, angel?"

"Au revoir, monsieur," she said, rising from the bed and feeling her way to the doorway.

Margaret felt terrible fright as she emerged from the house onto the dark, silent street. She knew she would have to go back upstairs to Richard if Jem were not there. She did not even know where in London she was.

Then she saw the carriage pull out of shadows farther along the street. Jem sprang down from the box, lowered the steps, and handed her silently inside. She settled against the seat back with a sigh of relief. Somehow, she was safe and on her way home, with memories to last a lifetime. She would not, of course, risk any further meetings with Richard in the guise of Marie Antoinette.