"Please leave the door open," Caroline requested in a haughty voice.

"What we have to discuss shouldn't be overheard," Bradford announced. His voice sounded grim. He slammed the door, leaned against it, and stared at Caroline. "Come here."

Caroline frowned over the harsh demand. Why, he was actually commanding her! Was she no better than a serving girl in his eyes? Obviously not! Caroline held her temper, thinking that she had just about reached her limit of endurance.

And she had hoped for a perfect evening. Perfectly horrid was a far better description, and it wasn't even half done. She still had the opera to get through. Bradford would be to blame if she lost control of her temper. First the arrogant man arrived over an hour late, next criticized her beautiful gown, then flirted outrageously with a married woman, and now had the audacity to demand her obedience.

In answer to his command, Caroline leaned against the edge of her father's desk, folded her arms in front of her, and said, "I'd rather not, thank you."

Bradford took a deep breath. He smiled, but it didn't soften his gaze at all. "Caroline, love. Do you remember telling me that I didn't know when I was being insulted?"

Caroline nodded. She was caught off balance by the question and the mildness in his tone. "I do remember," she replied with a smile.

"I now suggest that you don't know when you should be afraid."

Caroline quit smiling. Her eyes widened with actual alarm when Bradford began to walk toward her. "I'm not afraid," she lied.

"Oh, but you should be," Bradford stated in a whisper.

She didn't stand a chance. Before she could even decide which direction to run, Bradford had her by the waist and was pulling her toward him. He never took his eyes off her. When she was plastered up against his chest, her face tilted up to him, he said, "You have flaunted your charms, allowed every man in the house an ample view of your body, ignored me, and now try to bluster your way out of obeying me. Yes, my love, I believe this is one of those times when you should be afraid."

He was furious. The telltale muscle in the side of his cheek was twitching, a sure indication that he was having extreme difficulty keeping his temper in check.

Caroline was astonished by his remarks. She couldn't believe how he was trying to turn the tables on her when he was the one who had behaved so dastardly.

"I haven't daunted my charms," Caroline began. "Loretta's gown is far more… flaunting than mine. And you are the one who has flirted, Bradford, not me. Don't you dare glare at me like that. You flirted with a married woman, or did you forget that she was married?"

She didn't wait for his answer but continued, "I did ignore you, but only after you insulted my dress. That was probably very childish of me but I wanted this evening to be perfect and I overreacted to your horrid comments."

"Why?" Bradford's expression was guarded and Caroline couldn't tell how he was reacting to her argument. "Why did you hope for a perfect evening?"

Caroline turned her gaze to stare intently at his cravat. "I had hoped that you… that is, I did believe…" Caroline sighed. She couldn't continue.

Bradford found himself sidetracked by the distress in her voice. He lessened his grip and began to gently caress her back. "We will stand here all night if necessary," Bradford said, "until you tell me what's going on inside your head."

Caroline knew he meant what he said. She nodded with acceptance and then said, "I had hoped that you would say something… nice to me! There, I have told you the truth and I'll thank you not to laugh. I wanted to hear you say something other than you want me. Is that asking too much, Bradford?"

Bradford shook his head. He forced her to look back up at him, using his hand below her chin to get his way. "Nice words aren't what I had in mind right now. I believe I would much rather throttle you. You have run me in circles these past months. Worse," he added with a look that made Caroline tremble in trepidation, "I have allowed it." He paused, determined to lower his voice. "The chaos is over, Caroline, and so is the game. My patience has ended."

"Have you been patient because you waited for me to admit that I want you?" She whispered her question, a purposeful set down to his bellow. Caroline's expression showed her distress. "I do want you. There, does my admission please you? Before you gloat over it, Bradford, understand that in my heart, it isn't enough. I also happen to love you. It is therefore, in my mind, acceptable to want you because I love you."

Bradford's irritation vanished with her declaration. He found himself grinning, felt a sense of satisfaction that almost overwhelmed him. He was content. He leaned down and tried to kiss Caroline, but she evaded him with a curt shake of her head.

"Don't look so smug, Bradford. I didn't want to fall in love with you. You aren't a very nice man to love. Why I couldn't have chosen someone like Paul Bleachley is beyond me. I believe you have grown on me," Caroline continued, "but then, so do warts, so that doesn't explain anything very satisfactorily, does it?" She sighed again, with acceptance this time. "And now you are going to kiss me until I am senseless, aren't you?"

Bradford smiled and placed a chaste kiss on the top of Caroline's head. He inhaled her sweet fragrance and felt intoxicated by it.

"I really wish that you wouldn't, Bradford."

"Did you actually believe that you could wear that gown and not be kissed?"

"I did." It was a bare whisper made against Bradford's mouth. And then he was kissing her and she was kissing him. His mouth was so warm, his tongue like silken heat as it penetrated and stroked hers. Caroline's arms slipped around Bradford's waist, just as his arms circled her, and allowed him to weave his magical web of passion.

The kiss finally ended and Bradford had to hold Caroline steady. She rested her cheek against his chest, waiting for him to tell her what was in his heart.

"Is it so painful loving me?" Bradford asked. She could hear the laughter in his voice and bristled over it.

"Just like a stomachache," Caroline told him. "I went along for the longest time disliking you so and I grew quite comfortable with that feeling, and then suddenly there it was."

"The stomachache or accepting that you loved me?"

Bradford chuckled over her comparison. "And you accuse me of being unromantic!"

A discreet knock on the door interrupted the discussion. Caroline was frustrated, for she was certain Bradford was about to tell her that he loved her.

"Brad? Aimsmond would like a word with you." It was Milford's voice and he didn't sound happy.

"You've probably made my uncle angry for dragging me in here," Caroline said. "I'll go and find him and bring him to you," she added as she walked to the door. "And do not think that our discussion has ended, Bradford." With those words of warning, Caroline shut the door behind her.

Caroline expected to see Milford waiting outside the door, but he was gone. She took a moment to straighten her hair and smooth her skirt and then hurried toward the salon. Nigel Crestwall was lurking in the shadows and grabbed her as she was about to round the corner. The obnoxious man had her pinned up against the wall before she could issue a single word of protest. He began to place wet, slobbery kisses against her neck and whisper obscene suggestions into her ear. Caroline was so outraged, so stunned by the attack, that she didn't immediately fight him off.

She finally began to struggle, just as Bradford came around the corner and spotted them.

Nigel never knew what hit him. He was suddenly flying through the air and then landed with a soft thud against the back door. The vase on the table next to Nigel's crumbled body wobbled and toppled on top of his head.