When Merrick returned to the house, carrying the small leather bag that contained all he had considered essential for the journey, the girl was there in the hallway again, looking just as uneasy as when he had left her. Her hands were twisting the sides of her singularly unattractive gray wool dress. Anxious gray eyes watched him from beneath the frill of a cotton cap.

"I have built up the fire in the library, sir," she said. "That is the warmest room. The brandy is on the side table. I am heating some soup for you. It will not be long, I believe."

"Thank you," he said, putting down his bag on the floor, removing his gloves and his beaver hat and handing them to her. "That all sounds quite satisfactory." He removed his greatcoat and flung it down onto a chair in the hallway. The girl still held his hat and gloves. She appeared uncertain what to do with them. Merrick rubbed his hands together briskly. "Bring the food as soon as it is ready," he said. "What is your name, girl?"

The color was back in her cheeks again. "Anne," she said. "Anne Parrish, sir."

He nodded. "Merrick," he said. "Viscount Merrick." And he turned toward the library, which she had indicated earlier, strode inside, and shut the door behind him.

When the girl entered the room ten minutes later, without knocking, and placed a tray loaded with soup, bread, and cake, on the table beside him, Merrick had already taken possession of a worn but comfortably upholstered chair close to the roaring log fire. His booted feet, crossed at the ankles, were stretched across the hearth. A glass, half-filled with brandy, was cupped in his palm, the stem passing between his middle and forefingers. He was reveling in the glory of feeling warm inside and out. He was even feeling pleasantly drowsy.

He smiled at the girl as she set down the tray and straightened up. "Thank you, Anne," he said. "You have saved my life tonight."

"It is not much, my lord," she said anxiously, indicating the tray. "But it would take a long time to make a proper meal for you."

"If you only knew how good it looks to me, under the circumstances, my girl, you would make no apology," Merrick said, continuing to smile warmly at her.

The girl made no move to leave but continued to stand beside the table, her hands clasped in front of her. She was looking at him, flushing. So it was like that, was it? Merrick's smile turned to one of amusement.

"Sit down, Anne," he said. "You may eat the cake. I am sure I will have no room left for it by the time I have eaten this bread. It is quite excellent. Did you make it?"

"Oh, no," she replied. "No, my lord."

She sat in the chair across from him, on the very edge of the seat, her hands still clasped stiffly in her lap. She continued to gaze at him in the anxious way that more and more amused him.

Merrick's eyes narrowed lazily as he examined her from head to toe. Poor girl, she did not have much to recommend her. The plump figure and the too-round face gave her an almost childish appearance. It was no wonder the brother had not taken her with him to town. She was probably not a wench much in demand. However, she clearly was not a child. She knew how to send out an open-enough invitation.

"Is the town you talked of far away, Anne?" he asked.

"All of three miles, my lord," she said, "an almost impossible distance on a night like this." And she blushed painfully again and looked almost frightened for a moment.

"You must not worry about Bruce," Merrick said, smiling across at her. He leaned back from the tray, which was now empty of all except the plate of cake, and took up the brandy glass again. He swirled the contents absently in his hand. "He would not even attempt the distance on a night like this. And you have me to protect you." His eyes laughed at her.

Her hands were pleating and twisting the dress in her lap. She stared across at him and said nothing. His eyes continued to laugh. Why not? he was thinking. It was going to be a long and chilly night and the girl at least looked clean. It would be a shame to reject such a generous offer. And the poor girl could not have many thrills in her life. Why not?

"Will you show me my room, Anne?" he asked quietly, not removing his eyes from hers. "Is there one made up?"

"Yes, my lord," she said quickly, jumping to her feet. "You must have the master bedroom. It is the only one I am sure is aired. And there is a fire there."

Merrick's eyebrows rose. "Indeed?" he said. "Then lead the way, girl."

She took the branched candlestick from the mantel and hurried to the door. Merrick followed, the brandy glass still dangling from his fingers. He picked up his bag in the hallway and amused himself with an examination of the back view of the maid as she preceded him up the wooden staircase and along a short passageway until she stopped and opened a door. She disappeared inside and was setting the candles on a dresser when he entered. She turned toward him.

"I believe you will have everything you need here, my lord," she said, and she blushed yet again. "If you wish, you may use a nightshirt from this drawer." She indicated one in another dresser.

"I do not believe I shall have need of one," Merrick said, his eyes laughing at her again. "Will you turn the bedclothes down for me, Anne?"

She hesitated, but she crossed to the high bed and bent over it as she folded back the blankets and the top sheet.

Merrick came up behind her and waited for her movements to stop as she became aware of his closeness. He passed an arm in front of her and let his hand trail back toward him across her breasts. They were full and firm. Not bad at all, in fact.

She did nothing for a moment, though he heard a ragged intake of breath. Then she turned toward him, her eyes wide, her cheeks deeply flushed. He smiled knowingly down at her. Her lips, too, were not unpleasant beneath his own. They were warm and soft. He tried to gain entrance to her mouth by running his tongue lightly back and forth across her lips and finally stabbing between them, but he encountered only her teeth firmly clamped together. She whimpered a little against his mouth when he put a hand behind her hips and brought her against him. She was stiff and unyielding.

Hell and damnation, he thought suddenly, she was not a virgin, was she? One naturally assumed that even the most unattractive of maids had had some small share of rolls in the hay. This girl acted as if she had no idea of what he was about, though she offered no active resistance. He lifted his head and held her loosely by the waist.

"Have you not been touched before, Anne?" he asked.

"My lord?" she said, her eyes bewildered.

"Have you had no man inside you, girl?" he asked.

Her mouth moved but no sound came out. She had lost all control of her facial muscles and began to tremble jerkily against his hands.

"Don't be frightened," he said gently. "I am not going to ravish you, Anne. You were willing, 1 believe, but now find that the act takes more courage than you presently possess. Go to bed, girl. You are in no danger from me." He kissed her lightly on the forehead.

She stared at him for a moment until he smiled, stepped aside, and gestured mockingly with one hand toward the door. She fled finally in ungainly haste, neglecting to take a candle with her.

Merrick gazed at the bed and shrugged. Why had he suddenly displayed that pointless gallantry? She had smelled good, of some unidentified soap. She would not have stopped him. She would certainly have helped warm the bed on a night like this. But, of course, there would have been the tears, and perhaps hysterics, afterward. And such an innocent would probably have allowed him to get her with child. He supposed it really was not entirely fair that servants be expected to bear such shame just because they were servants. He shrugged again, eyed with misgiving those cold-looking silk sheets, and gazed first at the dying fire in the fireplace and then at the drawer that, with any luck, would contain some warm nightshirts.