"You prefer to be surprised?"

She didn't answer.

"It's very unwise of you to go with me. I have no intention of treating you with honor. Do you understand?"

"I have no choice. I have to go with you."

"Do you understand?" he persisted.

"I'm not stupid. You mean you intend to rut with me."

"At the earliest opportunity."

"Because you wish to punish me."

"Partly." His gaze roamed from her face to her breasts. "And partly because I've wondered how tight you'd feel around me since the moment I saw you on the beach."

She felt the muscles of her stomach clench, and for a moment she was robbed of speech.

He looked down at the cords around his wrists. "It would go easier for you when we come together, if you'd take these off. They make me angry and I'll remember, Cassie." His gaze lifted and he said softly, "I'll remember how helpless I feel and the frustration and the rage. Believe me, you don't want that."

"It's not going to happen. I won't let you-" She met his gaze and shook her head. "And I won't take off the ropes. Not until dawn."

"As you like." He closed his eyes. "But I believe you'll regret it."

Silence. No sound but the night birds in the trees. It seemed impossible, but she thought he had actually fallen back asleep. How could he relax when she was so tense she felt as if she would break apart with every breath?

"He's not worth it, you know."

She jumped, her gaze flying to his face.

His lids had lifted to reveal those cold eyes. How foolish to believe he might have been asleep. He had only been trying to subdue his frustration and gathering strength for another foray. He added roughly, "He's a coward and a murderer. Forget him. Stay here in this tropical Eden and raise your goddamn horses."

"He's not a murderer. He couldn't do anything like that."

"Not by his own hand. I told you he was a coward. Judas. How many pieces of silver did he receive, Cassie?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"I mean Danjuet. What else could I mean? Why did he-" He broke off as he saw her expression. "My God, you don't know. He didn't tell you."

"I'm sure there was nothing to tell."

"Christ, he didn't tell you." He laughed incredulously. "He let you risk your life on that mountain, and he didn't bother to tell you why."

"He would have told me," she defended. "There wasn't time."

"Fourteen years."

"He wanted to put everything in France behind him." She added quickly, "But not because he did anything wrong."

"You don't believe that."

God's will.

She tried to block out her father's words. She could not believe him capable of any real sin. "It's not possible. He's kind and gentle."

"Judas."

"No!"

"I saw him." His tone was relentless. "I know it."

"You're mistaken."

"How can you judge when you don't know anything about Danjuet. Shall I tell you?"

"I wouldn't believe you. It would be lies."

"I don't lie." He smiled crookedly. "And unlike your dear father, I think it only fair you know the man for whom you're staking so much."

Is he a just man? her father had asked her.

She had answered in the affirmative, but she did not want to admit Danemount's fairness now if it was coupled with this merciless hardness.

"Are you afraid to hear the truth?" he taunted.

"What you say is truth."

"Then judge for yourself." His gaze held hers as his words spiked out with hammered precision. "Danjuet was the home of my father's cousin, Paul Brasnier, Compte de Talaisar and his wife, Gabrielle. During the madness when aristocrats were being butchered at every turn, he couldn't believe it would happen to him. He wanted to stay in the land of his birth and thought the madness would run its course before it touched him. His wife had borne him a child two years before, and she insisted the babe was too frail to travel. My father decided to go to France to convince them to flee to England before it was too late. We arrived at Danjuet the night the neighboring estate was burned to the ground and the owner taken in chains to Paris for execution." He smiled sardonically. "It was enough to sober even cousin Paul. He agreed to allow my father to arrange transport for his family and himself. Before leaving England my father had taken the precaution of obtaining the name and address of a young artist who had been helpful in aiding the escape of another family a year earlier. Charles Deville.

"He sent for him. In the meantime we hid in a small secret room in the dungeon of the château. Deville came; he agreed to give us his help and set the escape plans in motion. My father had arranged to have a ship anchored in a cove off the coast, but we had to get there. It took two weeks before Deville completed the forged documents, and another two days to bribe the border guards. Then we were ready to go." He paused. "I remember Deville looked very somber when I looked back at him from the window of the carriage. I thought it was only concern. Your father was so very charming. None of us even suspected him of villainy."

"He's not a villain."

"No? You wouldn't have been able to convince my cousin and his wife as they knelt before the guillotine. The carriage was stopped not twenty miles from the château by agents of the Committee of Public Safety. The soldiers knew exactly who would be in the carriage. The Compte and his wife were taken prisoner and set out under guard for Paris. The soldiers would have killed their child on the spot, but my father intervened. They had other instructions for our disposition that did not include immediate slaughter, so he was allowed to take the child himself."

"Surely they wouldn't have murdered a child."

"You think not? During those days it was not unusual to use aristocrats as canon fodder."

She shuddered with horror. She had been too young to really comprehend the tragedy going on around her. She had heard only stories recounted with grim relish by Clara, and they had seemed no more real than a bad dream. Now those tales were being brought vividly to life. "My father couldn't have had anything to do with their capture."

"Judas," he said flatly. "When my father and I were brought back to the château, Deville was in the courtyard talking to a man who was obviously in charge of the soldiers."

"Then he might have been a prisoner, too."

"He turned white when he saw me staring at him. He backed away, mounted his horse, and rode out of the courtyard. Free." He added bitterly, "And probably considerably richer than when he had arrived two weeks before."

"There has to be some explanation," she whispered.

"I'm giving it to you. You just refuse to accept it."

She shook her head. "It can't be. There has to be another answer. Who was the man he was talking to?"

"Raoul Cambre."

"And he was a soldier?"

"No, I found out later he was loosely attached to the Committee of Public Safety, which was charged with the persecution of the enemies of the state. Very loosely. He astutely kept out of the light of public attention, gathering riches from the estates of the aristocrats he sent to the guillotine, riding the crest of the wave until it turned. After Robespierre was beheaded and the terror ended, he simply disappeared." He met her gaze. "Like your father."

"I keep telling you, he's not at all like my father." She was shaking, she realized. She crossed her arms to keep him from noticing. "If you want to kill someone, kill Cambre. He was clearly to blame."

"Were the Romans more to blame than Judas?"

She drew a long breath before saying unevenly, "I'm sorry your cousins were killed, but I-"

"Not only my cousins. My father was butchered."

"But you said the soldiers had orders not to hurt him," she said, shocked.

"My father was a very reckless man and had the temerity to speak to Cambre with less respect than he thought he deserved. Raoul Cambre gave the order that he be taken into the forest and cut to pieces. I watched them do it."