With a muttered oath he turned from the window and his eye fell on the couch where they had tangled with such sudden and all-consuming passion. The stain of her virgin blood glared at him in dark reproof.

Sweet Jesus! What if she'd conceived a child? How could he ever have permitted such a thing to happen? How could he ever have been so blind to the consequences of his drunken folly as to have taken not even the most elementary precaution against conceptioa'

There were things that could be done to avert such a consequence. But they were methods practiced by harlots and the Society women of his past-those who dallied without affection, who deceived lovers and husbands without a qualm as they bolted down the barren paths in search of something that would give pleasure or purpose to their lives.

To provide Chloe with such a means would put her in the same category as those women… would ally her with his haunting, bitter past. But what choice did he have?

He drained his glass and refilled it. He'd taken her maidenhead-the act of a cur. Would he now, having satisfied his rutting urge, run off like a cur in an alley, leaving her to bear the fruits of that urge?

He mentally lashed himself, choosing the most despicable images his fevered brain could create, and when he'd done with it, he went to the stables for his horse.

Chloe was in the kitchen with Samuel, eating breakfast with a remarkable lack of appetite, when the library door opened. She sat up, all attention, a look of hope and expectancy in her eyes. But with the slamming of the side door, her shoulders slumped and the light died out of her eyes.

"Don't mind 'im," Samuel said gruffly. "When he gets these moods on 'im, there's nowt anyone can do 'til it's over."

"But I don't know what I've done wrong," Chloe said, lethargically spearing a grilled mushroom. A light blush mantled her cheek. She could guess where the trouble lay, although not why, but she could hardly confide in this bluff sailor with his gold hoop earrings and rough tongue.

"Leave well alone," Samuel advised. "It's best not to go near 'im when the mood's on 'im."

"But I don't see why I should put up with it," Chloe stated, pushing her plate from her. "It's unjust that he should attack me without telling me why. It wasn't my fault Dante got loose, and I don't see how he could have expected me to ignore him when he was barking."

Samuel shrugged as if the subject had ceased to interest him. Hugo was keeping his own counsel on the subject of last night, and Samuel wasn't going to be drawn into anything. He'd keep an eye on the girl and a closed mouth, as he'd been instructed. "There's a pig's liver in the pantry for that cat of your'n."

Chloe managed a smile of thanks and wandered out to the courtyard. She sat on the upturned rain barrel in the corner, lifting her face to the sun. Dante flopped down at her feet with a breathy sigh.

The sun was warm on her closed eyelids and a soft red glow soothed her eyes as Chloe tried to puzzle her way through her hurt confusion. She had enjoyed what had happened in the library with a pleasure uncomplicated by regret or guilt. She was well aware that society's rules decreed that lovemaking should be confined to the conjugal bed, but in her experience, such rules had no meaning when applied to the reality of her life. This seemed just such an instance. She wasn't injured in any way by what had happened, quite the opposite. She felt opened to the world for the first time, as if she had crossed the threshold that separated the dreary confines of her girlhood from the vibrant, exciting realm of adult experiences.

But what had Hugo found so disturbing about it? Even in her inexperience, it had been obvious that his bodily pleasure had matched her own. Knowing this had augmented her own pleasure, released her from inhibition, allowed her to give herself without reserve or fear of embarrassment.

But he'd turned on her afterward with a bitterness that had tarnished the purity of her pleasure. Mortified, she had fled the library and had lain awake, wondering why he should have unloosed such a flood of contempt. And this morning he had spoken to her with the harsh authority of the severest guardian…

Ah! Chloe's eyes shot open as she began to see a path through the maze. Just because she didn't feel guilty didn't mean that Hugo didn't. He was her guardian and he probably had some antiquated notion about the way guardians should behave toward their wards. He'd certainly become quite prune-faced at her suggestion that they dip into her fortune to benefit both of them. Perhaps he didn't yet understand that Chloe had her own plans for her future and wasn't inclined to sit passively while things happened to her. She had made last night happen much more than Hugo had. She was responsible. How absurd for him to blame himself.

Suddenly much more cheerful, Chloe slipped off the rain barrel and went to the stables to check on Rosi-nante. The nag looked as sorry as ever, notwithstanding warm bran mash and a bale of fresh hay.

"A bullet'd be the kindest thing, I reckon," Billy opined, shaking his head.

"Maybe," Chloe said. "If he doesn't improve in a few days, I'll ask Sir Hugo to put him out of his misery." She ran her hand over the painfully thin rib cage, and her mouth tightened. "I know whom I'd like to put a bullet through!" Then she looked up at Billy, asking casually, "By the way, do you know where Sir Hugo went?" Billy shook his head. "Just wanted 'is 'orse saddling." "Did he say how long he'd be?"

Again Billy shook his hand. "Nah. No reason why 'e should. None o' my business."

"I suppose not." Chloe left the stable deep in thought. It seemed it was up to her to put matters right. She must simply reassure Hugo and persuade him that they had done nothing wrong. In fact, maybe the best way to do that would be to make it happen again.

She gave a little skip on the mired cobblestones at the thought. She suspected that there was much more to the business of lovemaking than last night had vouchsafed, and the prospect of further experiments sent little prickles of anticipation coursing up her spine.

In her bedroom she examined the gowns from Madame Letty hanging in the armoire. It hadn't occurred to her to dress in anything but the brown serge that morning-it had been a rather brown serge kind of morning -but sunlight seemed to be running in her veins again as she planned her campaign, and the crisp, dainty muslins looked most appealing… not as dramatic as peacock-blue taffeta, of course. But there was no point dwelling on battles already lost.

She tossed aside the brown serge and slipped the sprigged muslin with the cornflower-blue ribbons over her head, twisting to fasten the hooks at the back before tying the sash. There was no mirror in the room, but she remembered seeing a swing mirror on a dressing table in one of the other bedrooms. She went off to find it in a dark and gloomy chamber smelling of mice, where the dust lay thick on the oak floor and faded velvet curtains blocked the light from the mullioned windows.

She pulled back the curtains to let in the light. She tried to lift the mirror from the dressing table, intending to carry it back to her own room, but it was far too heavy with its mahogany frame. So she had to examine herself in parts, standing on a low stool to see herself from the waist down.

The clumsy half boots that went with brown serge looked ridiculous with the pale filmy muslin, but there'd been no time yesterday to visit a shoemaker. Chloe kicked off her shoes, pulled off her stockings, and wriggled her toes in the mirror. The barefoot effect was rather alluring, she decided, like a milkmaid or shepherdess. It was to be hoped her guardian found pastoral images enticing.

She peered at her face in the dust-coated mirror, licking her finger and stroking her eyebrows into a tidy curve, experimenting with her hair, drawing it first into a knot on top of her head, then pulling it away from her face, held at the nape of her neck. In the end she decided it looked more pastoral tumbling unconfined over her shoulders and went back to her own room to brush it until the guinea-gold radiance rippled and shone.