«If you’re chilly, Lady Jessica, next time wear a gown that covers more of your flesh.»

The coolness in Wolfe’s voice startled Jessica. He called her Lady Jessica only when he was angry with her. Perplexed, she looked down at the modest decolletage of her gown. No other woman in the room was so well-covered.

«What are you talking about, Wolfe? Lady Victoria was quite put out by the lines of my gown.»

«A rare show of good sense on her part,» he retorted.

Jessica laughed. «You mistook me. She wanted the neckline lowered, the waist drawn tight, and a much greater girth of crinoline. I preferred the French fashion, which lacks all those bothersome crinolines.»

Wolfe remembered Jessica running toward him when she first spotted him across the room. He had seen quite clearly the feminine curve of hip and thigh beneath the filmy cloth. It had been an unwelcome reminder that his elf was grown…and soon to become a lord’s wife.

«I didn’t want a huge weight of petticoats or pearls or diamonds,» Jessica continued. «Lady Victoria thought the dress and the jewelry too plain. She said I looked like a stick fetched by one of the hounds.»

«A stick,» muttered Wolfe, looking at the velvet shadow that lay between Jessica’s young breasts. «Your guardian is in need of spectacles.»

If another man had looked at Jessica in that way, she would have found an excuse to end the dance. But Wolfe was different. He was a man with no title, no need for heirs; he was not looking for a brood sow for his get.

Wind bellowed and hail scattered like shot across the glass. Shuddering with a fear whose source she remembered only in dreams and forgot before waking, Jessica tried to get closer to Wolfe. Even the reduced skirts of her modern ball gown prevented it. She stumbled for a third time, and again was caught by hands that were both powerful and gentle.

Around her the final strains of the waltz swirled, wrapping the room in music. It was almost midnight.

So little time left.

«Jessi, you’re shaking. What’s wrong? I thought you outgrew your fear of storms when you were ten.»

«Only because I knew you would protect me.»

«You survived quite well while I was gone,» Wolfe said dryly.

«Only because I knew you would come back. And you did.» Jessica looked up at Wolfe with a plea that was all the greater for its lack of artifice. «You must marry me, WolfeLonetree. Without you, I am lost.»

At first he thought she was teasing him again; then he realized that she meant every word. Automatically, he executed a graceful turn and released Jessica as the music ceased. She clung to his hand as she had at the end of their first dance only a few minutes before.

«Elf, you must let go of me,» Wolfe said quietly, looking down into the face that had become so unexpectedly, dangerously beautiful to him. «I’m not a lord and you are no longer a child. You are a lady of the realm whose engagement will soon be announced. One dance with the viscount’s savage will be tolerated. Two will elicit comments. Three will cause a scandal. We have danced twice. We will not do so again.»

«Wolfe,» she whispered.

It was too late. He bowed over her hand and turned away.

With eyes darkened by fear, Jessica watched Wolfe walk away. No matter how great the crush of people, he was easy to find. It was not his height, though he was taller than many men. Nor was it his looks, though he was undoubtedly handsome with his straight black hair, dark skin, and remote indigo eyes. What set Wolfe apart was his way of moving, a combination of strength and unconscious grace. He was a man thoroughly at home within his body in the way a hunting cat is at home within its own body.

Jessica needed that masculine strength, that self-assurance. The prospect of Wolfe’s return was all that had kept her from screaming as the net of circumstance and custom had drawn more tightly around her each day. Somehow she had to make Wolfe understand her need. She had made no joke when she proposed marriage to him. Far from it. She had never been more serious in all her twenty years.

A gust of wind moaned outside Lord Robert Stewart’s London house and rattled windowpanes. Winter was coming to an end but spring had not yet fully arrived, and now the seasons were fighting for supremacy, shaking the puny stone cities of man in their battle. Jessica’s heart squeezed with fear as the wind’s voice became a sustained, soul less howling that threatened her composure. Automatically, her hand went to the locket that held Wolfe’s likeness inside.

I’m safe. Wolfe won’t let me be hurt. I’m safe. Whatever stalks the storms can’t get to me.

The feel of the locket and the silent litany had soothed Jessica during the years when Wolfe had been exiled to America. Now he had come back…yet she felt more alone than she had ever felt since he had plucked her from her fragrant hiding place in the hay and held the storm at bay by calling to the thunder in the words of his Cheyenne mother.

Jessica laced her fingers together, concealing their trembling, but there was nothing she could do to conceal the pallor of her skin or the bleak desperation in her eyes.

«Come, is that a face with which to celebrate your birthday and your engagement to be married?» Lady Victoria asked in a voice that was as gentle as her eyes were shrewd.

«I want never to marry.»

Victoria sighed and caught one of Jessica’s cold hands between her own. «I know, sweet, I know. I kept your wishes in mind when I chose your husband. You will not be burdened by Lord Gore for long. He is old andoverfond of port. In a handful of years he will die. Then you will be a wealthy widow with your whole life in front of you.» She smiled thinly. «If you wish to be as scandalous as a French duchess, you may.»

«I would die before I let a man rut upon me.»

Rueful laughter was Victoria’s only reply. «Ah, Jessica. You should have been born to a staunch Catholic family and sent to a nunnery, but you were not. You are the only offspring of a Scots Protestant highland lass and a lowland earl. The title and lands passed elsewhere, leaving you no wealth of your own. You must marry. Lord Gore, whatever his drawbacks as a gentleman, has enough wealth to keep the Queen herself in luxury.»

«So you have told me. Often.»

«In the hope that someday you will listen,» retorted Victoria.

«In America slaves have been freed. Would that we in England treated our women so tenderly!»

A soft hand closed around Jessica’s chin. «Stubborn little Scots lass,» Victoria said. «But in this I am more stubborn even than you. You have enjoyed the perquisites of aristocracy. A common woman your age would have been tumbled and set to breeding years ago by the first lout who got beneath her skirts.»

Jessica’s mouth flattened.

«You were protected by my second husband and raised as gently as though you were a child of his own loins,» Victoria continued, her voice cool and relentless. «You were educated in managing a great house and a great fortune. Despite that dreadful American maid whom you imitate, you were taught to speak proper English and to be a proper lady. Now you must repay the generosity of your upbringing by producing an heir who will forever bind together the fortunes of the Viscount’s family and the wealth of Baronet Gore’s shipping empire.»

Long auburn lashes swept down, concealing the revulsion in Jessica’s eyes. «My lady, please —»

«No,» the older woman interrupted. «I have heard your pleas for much too long. I have spoiled you, but that is at an end. Your engagement to Lord Gore will be announced at midnight. You will marry within the month. If the old drunkard can coax his staff into readiness, you will produce an heir within a year and your duty will be fulfilled. Then you may live as you please.»

«OH, Lady Jessica,» Betsy said unhappily, «I don’t think you should go to Mr.Lonetree’s rooms.»