Danilo said nothing to repudiate the gift of lord to liegeman, of lover to beloved, and the two went on together.

When Regis and Danilo arrived at the townhouse, Linnea asked no questions, although she must have had many. She took a brief, hard look at the two of them, then summoned servants and issued orders for hot baths, hot food, and hot spiced wine, enough for a company traveling in the Hellers in winter.

Danilo bowed to her. “Lady Linnea, I thank you—”

“Danilo, we are friends. We have no need of such formalities.” Linnea did not touch Danilo, for as a Tower worker and Keeper, she had been trained to avoid any but the most deliberate physical contact, yet the warmth of her voice was as welcoming as an embrace.

“Lady, I was not sure—”

“There will be time enough for discussion once you are settled. Food and hot water will take a short time. I shall return presently with someone you want to see.” With a smile, she glided from the room and shut the door firmly.

As Danilo turned to Regis, his expression melted like ice in spring, giving way to wild joy. The next moment, they were in each other’s arms, holding one another as if they could never let go. Danilo was thinner than Regis remembered him, his muscles rigid from long- held tension.

“Regis, when you did not appear at the coronation, I was so afraid—” Danilo said in a choked voice.

“I never thought—I’m sorry I put you through that—and the whole dreadful business of becoming Rinaldo’s paxman.”

“You owe me no apologies.”

“I—”

Danilo put an end to further protest. Time fluttered on gossamer wings for Regis as Danilo captured his mouth with his own.

The kiss began hard and urgent, driven by pent-up longing. Desire catapulted into tenderness and demanding physical need and relief and feelings beyond words.

Without breaking away, Regis ran his hands over Danilo’s body. He pulled the front of Danilo’s shirt loose. Danilo’s skin was taut and fine-grained over hard muscle and the soaring arch of bone.

Regis buried his face in the curve between Danilo’s neck and shoulder. Heart racing, heat throbbing in his blood, he inhaled the musk of arousal and clean masculine sweat.

With an effort, Regis wrenched away, not wanting to have Linnea return and find them so. She was a telepath, surely she could feel the sexual hunger between the two of them. Reaching, he sensed a wall like polished quartz where her mind should be. She had closed off her psychic awareness, even as she had physically closed the door.

They fell on the divan, tugging at each other’s clothing. Regis could no longer tell where his own sensations ended and Danilo’s began: the fire that fueled every touch, demanding again and moreand deeper,the convulsive opening of one heart to the other. Only the flimsiest barrier separated them, like the border between a flame and its reflection.

As their bodies joined, Regis felt an electric pulse blaze up in him like living lightning. It soared through them both, swift and bright and vital. One moment, it seemed to rush from Danilo into himself, past throat and heart and groin. The next, it was Regis who poured himself out and felt Danilo’s ecstatic response as keenly as if it were his own.

Afterward, they lay panting and replete, half on the divan, half on the floor. Danilo chuckled, soft and deep in his chest. Regis, who had been sprawled with his head on Danilo’s chest, stirred.

“Best to get dressed,” he murmured, reaching for his underclothes. “There will be time again, later.”

Danilo regarded him with a slow, provocative smile. “We have all winter to make up for.”

“Count on it.” Regis snatched up Danilo’s pants and tossed them at him. “But first, there’s work to do. Make yourself decent. Or would you rather be in your current state when my wife walks in?”

When Linnea did return, both men were fully dressed. Even the divan cushions had been replaced in their proper order. A discrete touch of laranand a tap on the door signaled Linnea’s request to enter.

She carried the baby on one hip and a towel draped over her shoulder. “Come and meet your namesake, Danilo.”

Danilo took a step closer. Amazement tinged with awe spread across his face, and Regis was struck yet again by how handsome, how expressive he was. How quick to delight as well as to despair.

When Linnea held out Dani, Danilo raised both hands with an expression of consternation. A moment later, she had arranged him on the divan with the baby on his lap. Dani looked up, eyes wide. The two Danilos stared at one another. Regis watched, unsure whether his son was on the brink of glee or wailing. Then the baby’s mouth curved in a blissful smile, and Danilo too was laughing.

Baby Dani gave a little burp. Linnea swept him back into her arms, facing the towel on her shoulder, just in time for him to bring up a small amount of milk.

“Now, enough of that,” Linnea laughed. “The bath water is hot. Off with you!”

A short time later, Regis had bathed and eaten, and was sitting before a comforting fire with a steaming goblet. For the sake of a clear head, he had insisted on jacoinstead of wine. Danilo was still upstairs, soaking, and the bustle of the household had quieted.

“Tell me what happened.” Linnea pulled up a bench to sit beside his knee, almost close enough to touch.

Regis told her as directly as possible, leaving out nothing important, yet not dwelling on personal emotions. She would sense what lay beneath his words. She listened, gray eyes somber, holding him like an anchor through the storm of reliving the rescue and its aftermath.

“It is too bad I was not permitted to monitor Bettany, or that sad part of the affair would have been settled earlier,” she commented.

Regis shook his head. “I doubt Rinaldo would have accepted your findings. He was firmly convinced of the miraculous nature of his wife’s conception. I wronged poor Bettany in my thoughts when I learned the Terranmedical tests had confirmed that Rinaldo was sterile.”

“At least he did not blame her pregnancy on some other man. Regis, you don’t suppose he suspected Danilo?”

“How could he do that and then condemn Danilo for being a lover of men?”

“Your brother is hardly rational, with his faith in supernatural intervention,” she replied. “The real miracle is that Felix Lawton wasn’t killed. If he lives and if he is still in need of a teacher, I must help him.”

As Linnea spoke, she allowed her own feelings to surface. Like all Comyn, she found a violent assault on a child unspeakable. She and Regis had first opened their hearts to each other following the murder of two of his own nedestrochildren.

Regis remembered thinking, A child of Linnea’s would be too precious to risk to fate . . .

Hard on that thought came another, darker still: Would there ever come a time when it was safe to bring Kierestelli back? Dared he risk it? Ever?

He had kept his mind guarded, but Linnea must have sensed his fear. She said, “Since Bettany is not pregnant, and never was, the Domain of Hastur once more passes through you. You already have an Heir in Mikhail. He is well-grown and trained to protect himself. But little Dani—must we expose a helpless babe to those dangers?”

“You suggest that I leave Mikhail as Heir to Hastur in order to protect our son?” Memory, bittersweet, brushed his thoughts. “When I took Mikhail from my sister, I swore that I would not set him aside, not even if I produced an Heir of my own flesh. I will not go back on my word or dishonor my sister’s sacrifice.”

Linnea held herself still, her only concession to relief the slow closing of her eyes.

“We should not tell anyone,” Regis said. “At least, not until Dani is grown enough to understand. Mikhail will do well enough for the present as Kennard-Dyan’s paxman.”