"If you like." She made up her mind. She'd accompany the child, but she'd take no part in the conversation.

Taking the child's hand, she walked down the stairs with him. "How was Black Rob, Jake? Did you trot with him?"

"No," Jake said solemnly. "But I rode him without Milner holding the bridle. Tomorrow I'll trot… but just in the paddock," he added. "Until I feel braver, Milner says."

"That's very sensible," Gabrielle agreed. "How did you know where to find me?"

"Primmy said you were staying in the Queen's Suite. It's called that 'cause a queen stayed there once."

"Oh, which queen?"

"I don't know."

They'd reached the library and Jake paused, raising his hand to knock on the paneled door.

Gabrielle felt the stiffness in the small frame and smiled down at him. She opened the door before he could knock.

"Jake says a queen once slept in my bedroom, Nathaniel. Which one?"

Nathaniel was reading papers at the big desk. He raised his head and looked at her and was struck anew by the unerring flair that determined her clothes. Her gown of soft, clinging crepe was the color of slate and heather with long, tight sleeves buttoned at the wrist. A triple tier of black lace ruffles at her throat formed the high neck appropriate for an afternoon gown. Her hair was piled in a knot on top of her head, with a cluster of ringlets falling over her ears.

The image of her naked body on the seat of the carriage that morning suddenly obtruded on this vision of understated elegance and it took his breath away, banishing all the lingering resentments of the afternoon and the cold detachment with which he'd set his trap. "I like that gown," he declared abruptly.

"I apologize for the informality," she said with a gravity belied by the mocking glimmer of laughter in her eyes."I'm afraid I didn't bring any evening wear… not being certain of my destination."

"We don't stand on ceremony in the country," he assured her with matching solemnity, indicating his own unassuming morning dress of buff pantaloons and coat of brown superfine.

"I prefer it that way," she said, her tongue touching her lips, and they both knew she was not referring to evening dress.

Jake's hand moved in hers, and she shook herself free of the gossamer strands of arousal. "Which queen?" she asked again, as if the previous exchange had not interrupted the preceding train of thought.

"Queen Caroline, George the Second's wife," he said. "She spent a night here on her way from Southampton to London." He rose to his feet. "May I pour you a glass of sherry? Or would you prefer madeira?"

"Sherry, thank you." She took the glass he handed her and sat down on the window seat, picking up a periodical from the side table. It was a copy of the Farmer'sAlmanac, hardly stimulating reading for a nonfarmer, but it was all that came immediately to hand and would serve to indicate to Nathaniel that she had withdrawn her attention from himself and Jake.

Nathaniel perched on the edge of the desk, stretching his legs out in front of him as he sipped his own sherry. Jake shifted his feet on the carpet and waited for the inevitable questions about his schoolroom progress in his father's absence.

Gabrielle idly turned the pages of the almanac and listened to the stilted question-and-answer session. It was excruciatingly painful to listen to Nathaniel's careful questions and the child's monosyllabic replies, and she had to bite her tongue to keep from interrupting. There seemed no connection, either physical or emotional, between the man and the child. She had an almost overpowering urge to fling her arms around the two of them and push them together.

What was it that made Nathaniel so distant, so chilly with his son? It surely couldn't just be that he was trying to toughen him up. He'd obviously had a troubled relationship with his own father, but he said he had no intention of following that example. Didn't he realize that his manner could be as hurtful to the child as any crude physical discipline?

Obviously not. Nathaniel was dismissing the child, sending him back to the nursery with a handshake. It was absurd, Gabrielle thought, watching covertly as Jake's tiny, dimpled hand disappeared into his father's large one and the child bobbed his head in a half-bow of formal farewell.

"Say good night to her ladyship," Nathaniel instructed Jake, reaching to refill his glass, relief clear in every line of his body now that his parenting session was over for the day.

"Good night, Jake." Gabrielle reached for the child as he approached, put her arms around him and kissed him. "Is Primmy going to read you a story?"

"She might," Jake said. He stayed for a moment in the circle of her arm, his body leaning against her with a slight ambivalent awkwardness as if he wanted to stay but didn't know whether he should.

Gabrielle kissed him again. "Tomorrow, I'll tell you one of my stories," she promised.

"Do you know lots?"

Something had happened to the room, Nathaniel thought in vague bemusement. The light seemed to have softened, the crackling of the fire to have intensified, imbuing his customarily austere library with a domestic, hospitable warmth and comfort. And it was emanating from Gabrielle. The curtains were still open behind her, and the rising moon hung low over the dark curve of the river, a silver and black background for the vibrant head and pale skin.

"Oh, I know lots of stories," she answered Jake, gently putting him from her as she became aware of Nathaniel's silent frowning observation. "Good night, Jake."

The door closed on the child's departure and there was an uncomfortable silence until Nathaniel said, "I'd prefer it if you didn't make promises to my son, particularly ones that will interfere in his routine."

"Nathaniel, I just offered to tell him a bedtime story," she exclaimed in soft-voiced exasperation. "If you don't want me to do it, why don't you tell him one?"

"I don't know any," Nathaniel said crossly.

"Oh, you must remember some from your childhood." She regarded him in disbelief over the rim of her glass.

He shook his head. "I was never told any to remember."

"Poor little boy," she said softly. "What a horrible childhood you had."

"It was not horrible in the least." He scowled into the fireplace.

"Were you an only child?"

"Yes, like you."

"How did you know that?"

"Miles said something." He shrugged and drained his glass before standing up. "If you're ready, we should go in to dinner. I don't like to upset the cook. She's inclined to fret if her dinner spoils."

"I can't say I blame her." Gabrielle rose and took his formally proffered arm. "Of course I was just eight when I went to live with Georgie's family and stayed with them until I was eighteen. So I don't feel like an only child."

Nathaniel made no response as he held the door to the dining room for her. It was a massive room with heavy oak furniture and dark paneling. The long table had two place settings, one at each end. Candles in ornate silver holders marched down the middle of the expanse, the yellow pools of light merely accentuating the vast distance between the two diners.

Gabrielle opened her mouth to suggest a more friendly arrangement that would be easier on the serving staff, and then closed it firmly. She'd spoken out of turn quite enough for one day. She was still a guest in Nathaniel's house, however unorthodox the arrangement.

She took the seat Nathaniel pulled out for her and then gazed down the table at him with what she hoped was an expression of intelligent, courteous companionship.

"Do you know Georgie's family?"

"Not really," Nathaniel said, taking the scent of his wine before gesturing to the footman to fill Gabrielle's glass. The man's footsteps sounded very loud on the waxed oak floor as they progressed the length of the table.