Greatly daring, she did a dance, not caring when people laughed and called her provincialis, rusticus, and other probably less flattering names. Malcolm roared with laughter, then cut in line behind her. His hands came to rest on her hips, leaving her flushed from scalp to toes. They snaked their way through crowded streets in a wild line dance that ended in front of a tall marble temple. When the dance broke up, Margo staggered dizzily, then fell laughing against Malcolm. He caught her and set her back on her feet. His face was flushed.

Her heart gave a traitorous thump.

"Where are we?" she asked breathlessly. Over there was the long side of the Circus and over that way was the river, but she didn't know what this temple was.

"That's the Temple of Ceres, Liber, and Libera." It came out oddly husky. His eyes were fever bright.

"Who?"

"Ceres, Goddess of Grain and Agriculture. Liber Pater and Libera, very ancient Italian god and goddess. She and Liber Pater celebrate a sacred marriage."

Margo found herself swallowing hard. "Really?"

"Why join during the Ludi Ceriales. That's about twenty-two days from now."

The whole city beyond Malcolm's bright eyes was spinning in her awareness. "Do Roman gods do anything besides make love?"

"Not in the spring." He was very close to her. His smile-and that answer-did wicked things to Margo's insides. The way the corners of his eyes crinkled, the way his hair, fell across his forehead in an unruly curl, the way he took her questions seriously even when laughter made his eyes sparkle-even the sharp masculine scent of him-

Everything about Malcolm Moore set her blood pounding. l don't care if this is all there is, I don't care about scouting, I don't care about anything, oh God, let him kiss me .....s though he'd heard her silent prayer, Malcolm bent toward her. April sunlight turned the dark sheen of his hair to the gloss of a raven's wing. Then his mouth covered hers, warm and demanding and gentle all at the same time. Her senses reeled. She found herself clutching the front of his tunic. Margo had never been kissed like this, as though her mouth were a precious jewel which must be handled with exquisite care. Then his hand slipped from her face and touched the side of her breast

The kiss exploded into a mindless clutching at one another in the bright April sunlight. Afterward Margo was hardly cognizant of stumbling through the streets with his hand on her waist. Was hardly aware of the change when he plunged into a rustling grove of trees and sought a remote, unoccupied corner. Peripherally she noticed low hanging branches that dipped to screen a tiny glen. A natural spring bubbled up from a rocky basin and poured away through the trees.

Then she was in his arms again and his hands were on her bare skin and the only thing in her awareness was the pounding of his heart against hers as they went to the sweet scented earth in the tangle of their clothing.

Only afterward did the full enormity of what she'd done sink in. Margo lay in the crook of Malcolms arm, his body pressed warmly against hers, his breath shuddering against her ear. The fire of their joining still lingered in deep tremors inside her.

Then, like ice water through her veins:

I slept with him.

Dear God, I slept with him.

Panic smote her so hard Malcolm stirred. "Margo? What's wrong?"

She couldn't answer. Couldn't put into words the myriad terrors ripping her apart. Dad was right. I'm nothing but a two-bit whore, I'll never be anything, never amount to anything, I can't even say no when I know it's the wrong thing to do, l could be pregnant ... .

Oh, God. She could be.

She'd destroyed everything she'd worked for, would never be able to face down that bastard who'd murdered her mother, could never tell him he'd been wrong

And Kit Carson ...

If she couldn't even be trusted not to fall into bed with the first man who took her down time ...

She began to cry. When the dam burst, she couldn't control the flood. Malcolm touched her shoulder.

"Margo? Please, what is it?"

She jerked away, so miserable she wanted to die.

Malcolm's tender concern only made the enormity of her folly worse. Clearly, he'd anticipated a jolly romp in the grass with a woman capable of enjoying the moment. A woman he'd thought had just turned nineteen. All she'd managed to give him was a ten minute quickie with a scared kid. Worse, a scared kid with a past. The fact that it had been the most profoundly shattering experience of her young life ...

She hid her face in the sweet grass and cried until she thought her heart would burst.

Malcolm listened for a long time, damning himself for several dozen kinds of fool. He finally dared a question.

"Margo, I have to ask. Who was he?"

She strangled on another hiccough and stopped crying long enough to ask, "Who?"

Malcolm wanted to touch the nape of her neck, but she wasn't ready for that yet. "The bastard who hurt you."

She finally rolled over to face him. Tear streaks blotched reddened cheeks. Faint surprise flickered in her eyes. For several moments, he thought she wasn't going to answer. When she did, it still wasn't really an answer.

"You sound angry."

This time he did touch her, very gently. And this time, she didn't flinch away. "I am angry, Margo. More than you can know"

She held his gaze for long seconds. Behind her, spring water poured over a lip of stone and meandered through Diana's sacred grove down to the Tiber and the distant sea.

Then she turned away again. "You're wrong. It wasn't what you're thinking. And I was wrong, too. About a lot of things."

Malcolm bit one lip. God, who did this to her? I'll take him apart .....Maybe, but so was he. Whoever he was, whatever reason he had for doing it. He was wrong."

"How-how can you be so-so damned nice?"

Meaning you only sleep with boys who are rotten to you?

He decided to introduce a little levity. "But I'm not nice. I'm a calculating cad, Miss Margo." She went very still in his arms. "Consider: I dragged you two thousand years into the past, plied you with sweet Roman wine, then danced you through half the streets in the city for the express purpose of scaring myself half witless. We perverts are like that, you know. Devious fellows. We'll do anything to indulge our bent for self-inflicted terror."

His smile, calculated to put her at ease, shattered her fragile self-control. Margo's whole face crumpled, then she turned away from him, shutting him out once again. "Where are my clothes? I'm too naked. If you want to talk, let me get dressed."

"Margo..."

She paused, holding the Parthian tunic in front of herself like a shield.

"What?"

"You've no idea how sad that makes me feel."

Her brows dove together. "How sad what makes you feel?"

"That you can take your clothes off to sleep with a man, but you can't talk to him afterward. That's what love is all about. Touching and talking and caring."

She opened her lips several times, but no sound came out. Then, bitterly, "Who made you the world's expert, anyway? You're a penniless bachelor! You....ou are a bachelor, aren't you?" she asked suddenly, hugging the tunic more tightly to her breasts.

He managed a smile. "Yes. I'm a bachelor, Margo. And I never claimed to be anyone's expert on the subject. But I do think you ought to be at least friends with the people you sleep with. Otherwise, it's the saddest thing in the world, groping after something you can't define with a total stranger who probably can't define it, either."

"I know exactly what sex is!" She crouched in the sunlight, fingers dug into the earth, the folds of her tunic forgotten. "It's getting drunk and thinking you're having a good time, then waking up trapped and hurt and scared of everyone you thought you liked! It's miserable and lonely and I'm sorry I ever laid eyes on you! Damn you, Malcolm Moore! You ruined my seventeenth birthday!"