And his pulse raced… his blood sang.

“There you are,” she said cheerfully, as if they'd never had a cross word. “I was beginning to think you'd stay up over your work-if that's what it was-all night.”

“What the hell are you doing in here?” he demanded in a fierce whisper, fighting himself, fighting yet again the knowledge that there would never be another woman in his life like this one. He set his candle on the table. “I told you that for as long as my sister's in the house, you may not come in here.”

“You weren't that specific,” Tamsyn said, uncurling herself from the window seat. “Besides, your sister's tucked up in bed.” She slipped from the seat and came toward him. “Everyone's asleep, milord colonel. Who could possibly know what goes on behind these doors?”

“That is not the point,” he declared, shrugging out of his coat. “My sister is an innocent young girl. We know that doesn't mean anything to you, but-” “Oh, please don't start that again,” Tamsyn pleaded, so close to him now he could sense the warmth of her bare skin even through his shirt and the fine knit of his pantaloons. “Must we quarrel about it again?”

Julian looked down at her helplessly. The liquescent eyes, the slight quiver of her soft mouth, the imploring voice, were totally unexpected. He thought he knew how to handle the fiery brigand, but he didn't have the faintest idea how to deal with this manifestation.

“Look, Tamsyn,” he tried. “I realize it's hard for you to understand. Lucy must seem like some precious flower to you. A rare orchid in a hothouse, she's such a tender-”

“Oh, estupido!” Tamsyn exclaimed, forgetting all her resolutions to be conciliatory and feminine and loving under this disgustingly sugary misrepresentation of the facts. “For your information, your precious, tender little sister has been so violently shocked by the marriage bed and that insensitive lout of a husband you allowed her to marry that she's unlikely ever to recover if someone doesn't do her a kindness and open her eyes to the realities. “

Julian tore off his cravat with a rush of relief. He glared at her, his eyes points of blue fire. This Tamsyn he could deal with. “When it comes to my sister, I'm not in the least interested in the opinion of an unschooled, misbegotten hellion who's never learned to obey convention.”

“Oh, pah!” Tamsyn declared in disgust. “Convention!” she mocked. “Convention as applied to women. It doesn't apply to Gareth, does it? He can go spreading his favors around to all and sundry, and that's considered perfectly acceptable.”

“No, it's not!” Julian snapped, pulling his shirt out of his britches and tossing it to the floor. In the passion of the moment it didn't occur to him that stripping of his clothes in front of the naked Tamsyn might be offering a mixed message. “As it happens, I hold no brief whatsoever for Gareth's indiscretions… any more than I do for yours.”

“And what of yours?” she retorted. “These indiscretions, as you so delicately phrase them, take two. I haven't noticed you being a particularly unwilling partner hitherto, milord colonel.”

Her eyes flashed, and her small body was rigid with angry conviction. “If there's one thing I cannot abide, it's a hypocrite.”

“I am not in the least hypocritical where my sister is concerned,” he snapped, kicking off his boots. “I will not have her innocence sullied by your experience!”

“Sullied!” Tamsyn exclaimed. “You dare to accuse me of sullying your sister as if I were some loathsome piece of scum! The only person who's sullied Lucy is her damned husband. And so I tell you.”

Bending in one fluid movement, she grabbed up his discarded shirt. “If you'd done the decent thing by your sister, if you'd really cared for her, you would have given her a few of the facts of life and she wouldn't be in this position now. I bid you good night, Colonel, I've no time for blind hypocrites.” And she pushed past him to the door, shoving her arms into the sleeves of his shirt as she did so.

“Don't you walk off like that! Come back here.”

Forgetting that the one thing he'd wanted was Tamsyn's absence from his room, Julian grabbed her arm. “Explain yourself!”

She twitched free and darted sideways out of his reach. “You work it out for yourself, sir.”

He sprang forward, and in the same moment Tamsyn grabbed the water jug off the washstand. Her eyes were living coals.

“Oh, no,” he said softly. “Don't you dare.”

“I dare,” she said, and hurled the contents at him.

In the room across the hall, Lucy shot up in bed at the roaring bellow of an outraged bull. “Whatever's going on?”

“God knows.” Gareth pulled himself up sleepily.

He'd been about to sink into the blissful world of alcoholic slumber and now sat blinking in the dark, trying to decipher the thumps and bangs. “Sounds like a fight of some kind.”

“A fight?” Lucy pushed aside the bedclothes. “Who could be fighting in the house at this hour… at any hour?”

Gareth listened, his head to one side. There was another shivering crash, a bellow that definitely came from his brother-in-law, followed by a squeal of rage in a much higher range.

“Good God,” he said again. “It's coming from your brother's room.” He swung out of bed, shoving aside the curtains. “It couldn't be an intruder, surely.”

He'd reached the door, Lucy on his heels, when the sound of St. Simon's door opening and then violently slamming made them both jump. The door opened again immediately on the slam.

A finger to his lips, Gareth gently eased their door ajar, and they peered into the dimly lit corridor, eyes stretched at the extraordinary sight before them.

Julian, wearing only his britches, water dripping from his hair, leaped after the slight figure of Tamsyn, clad only in his discarded shirt.

“Come back here!” Julian's fierce whisper echoed in the deserted corridor.

“Go to hell!” Tamsyn hissed over her shoulder, losing speed for a fatal instant as she did so.

Julian grabbed the collar of his shirt. “You're not getting away with it, mi muchacha!”

With a deft wriggle Tamsyn shrugged out of the shirt and raced on, leaving him holding the empty garment.

“Fiera!” Julian's voice was still a whisper, but now the stunned audience, cowering in the shadows, heard both laughter and powerful determination.

He sprang forward and tackled Tamsyn, diving for her waist, sweeping her off her feet. For a moment her body arced through the air, then she came to rest across his shoulder with a low wail of indignation.

“Espadachin! Miserable cur!” She reared up against his shoulder, pummelling with her fists, forgetting the need for quiet in her outrage.

“I should settle down, buttercup,” Julian said, his voice soft, his tone affable, as he turned back to his room. “You're presenting rather a tempting target at the moment.”

“Oh, I'll kill you,” Tamsyn declared, dropping forward again. “Gabriel will cut out your black, hypocritical heart and I'll catch your blood in my hat.”

Julian's low laugh lingered in the corridor as he went back into his room with his burden, closing the door quietly behind him.

“Well, I'll be damned!” Gareth murmured, looking down at Lucy. “I'll be damned!” He became aware of his own powerful arousal and the swift surge of blood in his loins. The sight of Tamsyn's naked body curved over Julian's shoulder, glowing under the candlelight, had excited him almost beyond bearing.

“So that's what she meant,” Lucy whispered, gazing up at her husband. “She said she knew things…”

Her voice faded as she saw Gareth's expression. She was aware of a strange tingling sensation in her body, little prickles of excitement in her belly, and she wondered what it could be.

“Lucy,” Gareth said huskily. His palm cupped her cheek as he read the almost bewildered thrill in her eyes, the flush on her cheeks. Could she also be affected by that scene? She didn't move away from him, and he lifted her against him, feeling her skin soft and warm, the rich curve of her bottom beneath her nightgown. Her nightcap fell off as she moved her head against his shoulder. He bent and laid her gently on the bed.