"Dear God," he whispered, drawing a ragged breath as he raised his head but kept his hard grip on her lower body. "You make me feel like a sailor who's not seen a woman in a twelve-month!"

"And you make me feel like a whore on the waterfront," she responded with her exultant little chuckle. "All body and no mind… all desire and no thought."

There was a knock at the door. His hands fell from her as he spun away. Gabrielle turned to the bookshelves as Nathaniel bade the knocker enter.

"Oh, Lord Praed, I was wondering if you'd wish Jake to join you in the library this evening after his supper?"

Nathaniel cleared his throat and surveyed Miss Primmer with what he hoped was his customary impassive expression. "I usually do, ma'am, when I'm at home," he said indifferently.

"I beg your pardon. I wasn't sure whether… as you had a visitor…" The governess stammered to a halt, her face fiery as she struggled to avoid looking at Gabrielle, who remained with her back to the room, studiously examining the books in the shelves.

"The Comtesse de Beaucaire will not object to Jake's presence for half an hour before dinner," Nathaniel said.

"No, indeed not." Gabrielle judged it time to turn to acknowledge the arrival. "I wouldn't dream of interfering in his usual routine. Children rely on them so, don't they?" She smiled at the governess, who immediately forgot the scandalous implications of the countess's presence as retailed by the housekeeper.

"Well, yes, they do, countess," she agreed with a tentative answering smile. "And Jake finds change very unsettling."

"I think, Miss Primmer, in that case, that he should be exposed to more variety in his life," Nathaniel observed. "He needs to learn to adapt more readily. When he goes to school-"

"Yes, of course, my lord. But he is still very young." Miss Primmer glanced at Gabrielle as if hoping for an ally. She was a woman of middle years, thin and faded with timid pale eyes and the demeanor of one who has long been accustomed to snubs and for whom tiny mortifications were a way of life.

No match for her employer, Gabrielle summed up readily, recognizing the signs of Nathaniel's rising impatience. Miss Primmer seemed to also, and began to back toward the door.

"I beg your pardon for disturbing you, sir. I'll bring Jake to the library at half past five."

"There's no need for you to accompany him," Nathaniel said in bored tones. "He's quite capable of finding his own way to the library."

Miss Primmer stood in agonized indecision, clearly wanting to say something but unable to summon up the courage.

"Is there something else, ma'am?" Nathaniel demanded.

"No, my lord." The governess backed out of the room, closing the door softly.

"The sooner she goes, the better," Nathaniel observed. "She seems to think Jake will shrivel up if she's not there to protect him."

"Protect him from what?"

"God knows. Ghoulies and ghosties and long leggety beasties, and things that go bump in the night," Nathaniel said, shrugging. "The child s a milksop. He'll be eaten alive at Harrow if he doesn't toughen up."

"But he won't be going to school for a few years," Gabrielle pointed out.

"Two years isn't that long."

"No," she agreed. It took a minute of stern reflection to remind herself that she had neither rights nor interest in Nathaniel Praed's personal concerns. But something had most effectively doused the surging passion of a few minutes earlier.

"Would you like to see around the house?" Nathaniel asked abruptly.

"I'd love to, if you can spare the time," she said politely.

"I have an hour before I must meet with the bailiff." He held the door for her. "You'll be able to amuse yourself, I imagine?"

"Very easily." She stepped past him into the hall. "I wish to send for the rest of my clothes, so must write to Georgie."

"If you bring me the letter when it's written, I'll frank it for you," he offered with hostly courtesy.

"You're too kind, Lord Praed," Gabrielle murmured, offering a sweet mocking smile and then stopped on the stair, her eye caught by the painting hanging at eye level across the hall from her.

"What a beautiful woman." The portrait was of a young woman whose liquid-brown eyes, so full of sweetness and emotion, gazed out of the canvas with a vibrancy that seemed to bring the painting to life. Her fair hair curled in sunny ringlets on smooth bare white shoulders, and she held one hand to her throat in a gesture that was as appealing as her gaze.

"It's by Henry Raeburn," Nathaniel said shortly. "He painted it in Scotland. I have a house there." He put a hand on her waist, urging her up the stairs.

"It's Helen, of course," Gabrielle said, ignoring the encouraging hand. "Jake has her eyes and her hair."

"That's hardly unusual." There was an edge to his voice now, and the pressure on her waist increased. "Let's get on. I don't have very long."

Deciding she would spend some quiet private time at her leisure with the portrait, Gabrielle acceded and they continued up the stairs to the Long Gallery, where hung portraits of earlier Lord Praeds and their wives and children.

Gabrielle walked the length of the room, examining each picture. The men struck her as a forbidding lot, all with the same lean, ascetic features as the present incumbent. She stopped before the image of Gilbert, sixth Lord Praed.

"He doesn't look much fun," she observed. "I wouldn't want to be answerable to him. He looks like a firm proponent of the spare-the-rod-and-spoil-the-child principle."

"He was," Nathaniel agreed. "He had a powerful right arm and didn't scruple to use it… not that it did me any harm," he added.

Gabrielle glanced at him, wondering how true that was. Harsh parents could produce harsh parents.

"Were you afraid of him?"

Nathaniel laughed shortly. "Yes, terrified."

"And that didn't do you any harm?"

"A little healthy fear builds character," he responded, shrugging.

But what kind of character does it build? Gabrielle kept the question to herself, reminding herself yet again that she wasn't interested in understanding the twists and turns of the spymaster's personality.

"Do your agents tell you that Napoleon has demanded that Talleyrand join him in Warsaw?" she inquired casually.

"Yes." It was a curt affirmative.

"Do they also tell you that Talleyrand intends to try to persuade Napoleon to support the Polish patriots?" She paused at another portrait, apparently giving it her undivided attention.

Nathaniel had not heard this. The inner workings of the mind of Napoleon's Minister for Foreign Affairs were as much a closed book to him as to everyone. However, it didn't suit him to admit that at this point. Gabrielle, although she didn't know it, was on trial.

"So what?" he said dismissively.

"Well, I should have thought it of some interest. Talleyrand's convinced Napoleon is simply interested in milking Poland of her wealth and her military resources while leading them on to believe he'll do something concrete for their independence."

"I should have thought that was obvious to anyone watching the way Napoleon conducts himself."

Gabrielle frowned at this snub. She had various little nuggets of information provided by Talleyrand to feed Nathaniel in order to gain his confidence, but if he was as indifferent to them as he appeared, she would have her work cut out for her.

"And I suppose it's also obvious why Talleyrand, unlike his emperor, is in favor of a strong, independent Poland?" She was still examining the portrait of Nathaniel's mother-a haughty-looking woman who seemed a perfect match for the intimidating Gilbert.

Nathaniel looked at her averted back. She held herself very straight, he noticed, her shoulders back, her head high. Her stance was as uncompromising as the rest of her, he reflected. "I can guess," he said. "Tell me your version."