"Miss? They be a-waiting ye in the lib'ry."

Catriona whirled, straightening, her attention flying from the child she'd been tucking in. "Already?"

Head poked around the nursery door, the maid nodded, wide-eyed. "Did hear as the s'licitor came early."

Catriona inwardly cursed. "Very well." Turning to the children's nurse, she gave brisk instructions, patted heads all around, then hurried down the long, cold corridors.

She stopped in the front hall to check her reflection in the mirror-what she saw did not reassure her. Her hair was neat, but not as lustrous as usual; the curls at her nape hung limp. As for her eyes, they were overlarge and faded. Washed-out-just like she felt. Her morning gown of rich brown, normally a good color for her, did nothing to disguise her pallor. She was tired; she still felt drained. Not, in all honesty, up to handling the inevitable grief when the final blow finally fell and Seamus's maltreated family learned they would have to quit the house. She'd intended to leave this afternoon, but had already revised her plans-she would be needed here for another day at least, to calm Meg and the children most of all.

With a sigh, she braced herself and headed for the library.

The butler opened the door for her; she glided through-and was instantly aware of a presence in the air. An unexpected presence. The hair on her nape lifted; she paused just inside the long room and took stock.

The family-all of them!-she inwardly sighed-were gathered before the fireplace as before. Seated at the desk, the solicitor shuffled papers; he glanced at her fleetingly, then looked away.

To where Richard stood, looking out one long window, his back to the room.

Together with the solicitor, Catriona studied that back, elegantly clad in deep blue. Her earlier uneasiness returned-that edgy, nervous feeling that had overtaken her in the breakfast parlor when he'd looked at her so accusingly. As if he had a very large bone to pick with her.

She didn't know-couldn't guess-what it was.

Neither his back, straight and tall, nor his hands, clasped behind him, offered any clues.

And now, on top of that uneasiness, came this other presentiment. A swirling, building sense of impending… something. Something momentous. The energy was strong, all-pervasive in the room; she couldn't discern its focus. On guard, she glided forward and took the empty seat beside Mary.

In that instant, Richard turned-and looked at her.

She met his gaze-and instantly understood who was the source of that energy. And who its focus. Suddenly breathless, she glanced at the door, then back at him.

Prowling forward to stand by the mantelpiece, he gazed at her steadily, his message transparent. He was now ten feet away, the door was thirty. No escape.

His intention, however, remained unclear.

Catriona dragged in a breath past the now familiar vise locked about her lungs and let haughtiness infuse her expression. Tilting her chin, she returned his regard, then pointedly switched her gaze to the solicitor. And willed him to get on with his business. To get this over and done with, so Richard Cynster could leave, and she could breathe again.

The solicitor coughed, sent a shaggy browed look around the room, then peered at the papers in his hand. "As you are all aware…"

His preamble outlined the situation as they knew it; everyone shifted and shuffled and waited for him to get to the point. Eventually, he cleared his throat and looked directly at Richard. "My purpose here today is to ask you, Richard Melville Cynster, if you accept and agree to fulfill the terms of our client Seamus McEnery's will."

"I do so accept and agree."

The words, so unexpected, were uttered so calmly Catriona did not-could not-take them in. Her mind refused to believe her ears.

Apparently similarly afflicted, the solicitor blinked. He peered at his papers, adjusted his spectacles, drew breath, and looked again at Richard. "You declare that you will marry the late Mr. McEnery's ward?"

Richard met his gaze levelly, then looked at Catriona. Trapping her gaze, he spoke evenly, deliberately. "Yes. I will wed Catriona Mary Hennessey, ward of the late Seamus McEnery."

"Good-oh!"

Malcolm's gleeful shout led the cacophony; the room erupted with exclamations, heartfelt thanks, outpourings of profound relief.

Catriona barely heard them-her gaze locked with Richard's, she let the tide wash over her and sensed a none-too-subtle shift in the energy around her. Some trap was closing on her-and she couldn't even see what it was.

Despite Jamie thumping him on the back and pumping his hand, despite the questions of the solicitor, Richard's blue gaze didn't waver. Trapped in that steady beam, Catriona slowly rose, much less steadily, to her feet. Putting out one hand, she gripped the chairback and straightened to her full height, so much less than his; unable to help herself, she tilted her chin defiantly.

Gradually, the clamor about them died, as the family belatedly sensed the clash of wills occurring beneath their noses.

Catriona waited until silence reigned, then, in a cool, clear voice, stated: "I, however, will not marry you."

A shadow passed through his eyes; the planes of his face set. He shifted-the others stepped quickly from between them. He strolled toward her, his stride his customary prowl. While subtly intimidating, there was no overt threat in his approach. He stopped directly before her, looking down at her, still holding her gaze, then he glanced over his shoulder at the others. "If you'll excuse us?"

He waited for no yea or nay, not from them or her; he grasped her hand-before she could blink he was striding down the long room, towing her with him.

Catriona stifled a vitriolic curse; she had to pace quickly to keep up. But she reined in her temper-there was a definite advantage in putting distance between themselves and the rest of the company.

He didn't stop until they reached the other end of the room, hard up against the wall of bookshelves and flanked by two heavy armchairs and a small table. The instant he released her, she swung to face him. "I will not marry you. I've told you why."

"Indeed."

The word was a lethal purr. She blinked and found herself pinned by a stare so hard she literally felt stunned.

"But that was before you came to my bed."

Her world tilted. She could hear her heart thudding in her throat. She blinked again, slowly. And opened her lips on a denial-the look in his eyes, burning blue, changed her mind. She lifted her chin. "You'll never get anyone to believe that."

His brows rose. "Oh?"

To her surprise, he glanced around-Meg's sketchbook and pencil lay on the small table. He picked both up; before her puzzled eyes, he opened the book to a blank page and sketched rapidly, then handed the book to her.

"And just how do you plan explaining how I know about this?"

She stared. He'd sketched her birthmark. Her world had already tipped; now it reeled.

He shifted, leaning closer, simultaneously protective and threatening. "I'm sure you can recall the circumstances in which I saw it. You were in my bed, on your knees, totally naked, before me-and I was buried to the hilt in you."

The words, uttered low, forcefully and succinctly, from less than a foot away, battered at her defenses. Catriona felt them weaken, then crack-and felt the emotion, the sensations, all she'd felt at that moment when she'd been in his bed, seep through. And touch her.

It took all her will to shut them out and seal up the break in her shields. She stared, unseeing, at the drawing until she'd regained some degree of calm, then, very slowly, lifted her gaze to his face. "You were awake."

"I was." His face was a mask of hard angles and planes-determination incarnate.