It was the same in the library after dinner, as mint tea, coffee, and conversation ended the evening. She even managed to give a bright, meaningless smile to her father as she stood at the door with Philip, saying polite good nights to the guests.

Then it was over and everyone was gone. She turned away from the door, the smile still painted on her lips. "I think it went very well, don't you?"

"Oh, brilliantly," he said caustically. "Everyone was impressed. You were lighting up the dining room like neon. I should have had the lights turned off and saved on electricity."

"That wouldn't have been appropriate for a multimillionaire like you. You don't have to worry about coins for the electric meter." She smoothed the velvet dress over her hips. "Remind me to tell you how I jimmied the meter one freezing night in my flat in London. It might amuse you."

"I doubt it." He took her elbow and began propelling her down the long hall. "You haven't amused me so far tonight."

"I'm sorry. I'll try to do better next time. It's just as well your guests aren't as difficult to please. I think they found me sufficiently entertaining."

"You practically mesmerized them. I think they even forgot about that atrocious orange wig."

"On the contrary. The ambassador's wife asked me where I bought it. She said it was sure to start a new fashion." Her laugh tinkled like little silver bells. "Isn't that funny?"

"Hilarious," he said grimly. He opened the door to her suite, pushed her inside, and shut the door behind them. "The next social event in Sedikhan will probably see every woman sporting one of those monstrosities." His hands were swiftly removing the hairpins that held the wig in place. "Except you." He pulled the wig and cap off her head. Her hair tumbled down her back in a luminous silver stream. "I never want to see you in it again. Do you hear me?"

She lifted her brows in mock dismay. "You didn't like it? I'm truly crushed, Philip."

"You reminded me of Pagliacci," he muttered. He combed his fingers through her hair, loosening the confined strands. "A damned clown laughing to keep from crying."

She tensed. He was coming too close to the truth. She should have known he would. "I don't know what you mean."

"Stop that awful grinning." He whirled her around and unzipped her dress, shoving it off her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. "Get out of the rest of those things while I find your nightgown."

He went to the bureau and riffled through the drawer. When he came back to where she was standing he was carrying a hyacinth blue silk nightgown. "This should do. The rest of that stuff seems about as substantial as cobwebs."

"As becomes a mistress's wardrobe," Pandora said. "Everything conforms to your standing order with the shop in Marasef, Philip. Blue predominating for blondes, scarlet for brunettes, yellow for—"

"Shut up!" He slipped the gown over her head and down over her hips. "I've had enough for one night."

So had she. "I'm sorry." She was smiling. He had told her not to do that, hadn't he? She couldn't seem to stop. "You were looking forward to such a satisfying evening."

He picked her up and carried her to the bed. Was he going to make love to her? She hoped so. It might make her feel like a human being instead of a robot. He put her on the bed while he stripped back the spread and then tucked her beneath the satin sheet. It was cool against the bare skin of her back.

He was still standing by the bed, frowning down at her. What was he waiting for? "Hadn't you better get undressed?" He didn't answer. "Do you want me to help you?" She started to sit up. "You'll have to tell me what you like. I haven't had the benefit of experience, but I learn quickly."

"I don't think you do. I don't think you learn quickly at all. You just take any punishment that comes along and come back for more," he said hoarsely. His eyes were glittering strangely. "And no, I don't want you to help me undress so that I can use you as I did last night."

Use? What an ugly word for something as beautiful as Philip loving her. She wished she could tell him how wrong he was, but she could only gaze at him with that bright, meaningless smile.

"Damn!" He was tearing off his jacket and loosening his tie. Then he was in the bed beside her, drawing her into his arms. His hand was on the back of her head, burying her face in the crisp-ness of his white dress shirt. His voice was shaking a little. "Stop it! Don't do this to me. Quit holding it in or we're both going to explode."

She couldn't let go. If she released the floodgates, she didn't know whether they could ever be closed again. "You don't want to make love to me?" she asked dully.

"No, I don't want to make love to you," he said harshly. "I want you to talk to me." His hand was stroking her hair with a gentleness that belied his tone. "I want you to talk about your father."

She stiffened. "I don't know why you want me to do that. It's not as if there's anything to say." There never had been. In all the years there had never been anything to say between the two of them. "I'm afraid there was no horrible scene or contretemps. That was what you expected, wasn't it?"

"I didn't know what to expect. I was using his presence as a weapon that I knew would hurt you, but I never expected this. Not this."

"You needn't worry. I'm not going to burst into tears and embarrass you." She laughed. It came out only slightly strained.

His hand hesitated and then continued its stroking. "What's it going to take to get through to you?" He was silent for a moment. "Would you like to know your father's reaction when I told him you were missing six years ago?"

"No!"

"Well, you're going to listen anyway. He didn't say one word. He just shrugged his shoulders. He exhibited the same concern as if I'd told him I'd misplaced a handkerchief."

"No, I don't want to hear any more." She tried to push him away, but his arms only tightened around her.

"Too bad. Because you're going to hear more. In the last six years I haven't heard him refer to you once. Does that hurt you, Pandora?"

"Why should it?" She was shaking and she couldn't seem to stop.

"It shouldn't, but it obviously does. It always will, until you face it. Karl Madchen has about as much emotion in him as a block of wood. He doesn't love you, Pandora, and there's nothing you can do to make him. It's not your fault, dammit."

The trembling racked her entire body. "Philip, please. Not now."

"Now," he said. "Do you think I'm enjoying this? I planned it all quite coolly. Inviting your father was to be the piece de resistance, the crowning touch that would remove you from my life. I didn't know it would all go wrong." His voice was low and strained. "I didn't know it would hurt me too."

"Philip, I can't ..." There was a loosening, a melting, deep inside her, and suddenly the tears were running down her cheeks. "It's the coldness I've never been able to bear. I've always known he didn't love me. I don't think he's capable of loving anyone." Her nervous hands were running restlessly up and down his chest. "I think marrying my mother was some kind of experiment for him. No wonder she divorced him. If she'd stayed with him, she probably would have frozen to death." She wiped her cheeks childishly on the crisp front of his shirt. "I'm sorry. I'm getting you all wet."