"How dare you say such a thing?" Hugo demanded even before she'd closed the door. "How could you be so childishly thoughtless? Of all the insulting, stupid remarks I've ever heard-"

"But I just wanted to reassure her," Chloe broke in. "I thought it would make her feel at ease."

"Oh, you thought it would make her feel at ease! Dear God!" He ran his hands through his hair. "And just how do you think it's going to sound when she regales the rest of the household with your reassurance. A fallen woman! Chloe, I don't know what to do with you!"

That consequence had not occurred to her. "They won't take it seriously," she said uncertainly. "They'll think it was a joke, or that she misheard me."

"And what makes you certain of that?"

"Well… well, because it's obviously absurd," she said. "Oh, Hugo, you know it is. It wouldn't occur to anyone that… that…"

"That I debauched my ward," he finished for her with an icy snap.

Chloe realized that she'd inadvertently raised Hugo's guilt demons. In a minute he'd slip from her into the world of his painted devils… unless she could stimulate some other response from him.

"Oh, pah," she stated, picking up the Gazette and pretending to be absorbed in the first page. "I wish I knew what it felt like to be debauched. It sounds as if it might be amusing. It seems to me, if I remember aright, that if any debauching went on, it was I who did it to you. So I don't see why you should take all the credit," she added, risking a peep over the paper to gauge his reaction. The ploy seemed to have worked all too well. The bleakness had vanished from his expression, and he looked thunderous.

He plucked the newspaper from her hand and she took to her heels with a squeak of mock fright before he could grab her.

"Brat!" He leapt after her as she jumped onto the sofa and scrambled over the back. She danced behind the table and stuck her tongue out at him.

Tell me what it feel likes to be debauched, Hugo? Please, I'm dying to know." She dodged sideways as he came around the table and sprang onto the seat of a chair, flinging a leg over the back preparatory to sliding over. The suddenness of her movement overbalanced the chair, and it toppled to the floor. Her startled shriek as she tumbled over in a swirl of skirts, stockinged legs waving indelicately in the air, brought a reluctant grin to Hugo's lips.

He swooped down on her, disentangling her from the

chair. "I'm not even going to ask if you're hurt," he declared, lifting her up and setting her on her feet. "If you are, it's only what you deserve." He smoothed down the back of her skirt with a degree of calculated vigor. "Don't let me hear any more discussion on fallen women or debauchery."

"No, Hugo," she said with a docility every bit as feigned as her earlier fright. Her cheeks were pink with exertion and what he knew was arousal, and her eyelashes fluttered as she fixed him with a melting look. "And don't flirt with me."

"I'm not," she said truthfully. "Shall I lock the door?" "Shall you what?"

For answer, she ran to the door and turned the key. "There now." She leaned back against the door, her breast lifting with her swift breath, her eyes dancing with invitation, the rich sensual currents flowing fast in their deep blue depths. "We could be quick. We wouldn't have to take our clothes off."

Hugo was lost anew. Vaguely he wondered if he would ever be free of her spell, ever be able to resist her when she drew him into her realm of magic in this way. She was so sure of herself, of what she wanted, of what she was offering… and she was so sure of his response. She was archetypal woman.

She raised her skirt and petticoat slowly, her eyes never leaving his face. "We could do it standing up. Can it be done in that way?"

"Yes, it can," he said savagely, consumed with the pure, primitive fire of lust. He crossed to her, tore loose the string of her drawers so that they fell in a silken rustle to her ankles, and unfastened his britches.

"Brace yourself." He pushed her knees apart with his own knee and she laughed… an exultant laugh… as she obeyed, holding her skirts high, bracing herself

with her shoulders against the door, feeling the molding of the paneling pressing into her back.

He entered the velvet moistness of her body with one swift thrust and she drew a shaky breath, smiling at him with luminous joy. He gripped her hips with both hands, his fingers curling into the satin skin as he drove himself within her. He could feel her pleasure mounting with each thrust just as he could see it on her face. Her tongue touched her lips and she laughed again. She never closed her eyes, not since the time he'd asked her not to, and he thought he would fall into the volcano of passion that beckoned with their midnight fires. "Now," she whispered suddenly. "Hugo, now!" "I know, sweetheart," he said. "But wait." "I can't."

"You can." He held himself still, deep within her. She held her breath in an agony of suspense, her body thrumming around his flesh. And then he moved and she cried out as her climax ripped through her.

Hugo's head fell against the door as his own body swirled in the vortex of delight. Only when the passion was spent and his head cleared did it occur to him that he had been outfoxed again, craftily manipulated out of his anger and taken into a world far from the sway of the painted devils. How could he suffer guilt making such wondrous love to this uninhibited, artful minx who knew a lot more about the world than he'd ever given her credit for? Or was it that she knew a lot more about himself?

"May I offer you a glass of claret, duke?" Hugo gestured politely toward the decanters on the sideboard.

"Thank you… thank you." His august visitor watched as the wine was poured. "I trust you look kindly upon my suit."

Hugo bowed in acknowledgment. He could hardly look unkindly upon the suit of the Duke of Alresford. It would be a brilliant match for Chloe. The duke was no fortune hunter and a mere ten years older than herself. "The decision must of course rest with my ward," he said. "Chloe has a mind of her own." He smiled and raised his own glass of claret. He was becoming expert at appearing to drink in social situations without doing so.

"I flatter myself that she is not altogether indifferent," his grace said. It would be unspeakably vulgar to allude to his title and fortune, but his smugness was allusion enough.

"Then if you've discussed this with Chloe, duke, what more can I say?"

"Oh, goodness me, no." The duke made haste to defend himself from any possibility of impropriety. "I wouldn't broach such a subject without your permission, Sir Hugo. But I have been led to have hopes…" He gestured vaguely. "Miss Gresham is all condescension."

"Is she indeed," Hugo murmured. Chloe's private mockery of her pompous suitor had enlivened the din-

ner table on more than one occasion. However, he considered it his bounden duty to promote the duke's suit. Not that he had much hope of Chloe's bending to his will.

"Rest assured, duke, I will inform my ward of the inestimable honor of your proposal as soon as she returns from her ride."

Alresford put down his glass and took his leave. "Then I may expect a response before tomorrow."

"I believe so," Hugo said gravely, escorting his guest to the front door.

Alresford, like the rest of Chloe's increasing cast of suitors and friends, had come to accept the eccentric Samuel as butler and doorman and took his hat and cane from the earringed sailor with barely a thought about his oddity. "I await Miss Gresham's response most eagerly," he said.

"To what?" Samuel demanded, closing the door behind him.

"A proposal of marriage. The lass is being offered the opportunity to become a duchess."