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finally allowed his mouth to touch hers. She clung to him, momentarily forgetting what she had resolved to do, and allowed his tongue to part her lips. A wonderfully warm sensation coursed through her body. It came to an abrupt end when a fit of coughing overtook her.
    “Are you all right, my darling?” he asked, concerned.
    She pulled away from him and sat down. She was trembling from head to toe as she shook her head. “I cannot see you again, Stephen, ever,” she whispered.
    *
    She moved restlessly in her sleep and brought a hand to her face as though to ward off something unpleasant. A faint noise penetrated her half-conscious state, and in a trice she was awake, the dream forgotten. She lay still, letting the silence of the night wash over her, and was finally rewarded by hearing someone move stealthily across the carpet. She had no idea of that person’s direction or intent, but she feared it was the comte.
    A dangerous man, Sir Nicholas had warned, used to taking what he wanted. Well, the comte had made no secret of the fact that he desired her, and she was equally determined not to be taken.
    In one swift movement calculated to surprise the intruder, she reached out for the flint and candle that reposed on her bed table and kindled the wick. She sat up and held the feeble light aloft in both hands and moved it in an unsteady arc about the room. The flickering flame danced, creating shadows within shadows, and she was forced to wonder whether or not she had imagined any noise at all.
    Slowly, she put the candle down on the commode and sank back against the pillows, her breathing irregular. She stared first at the door, and then at the wardrobe that held her traveling gown at the far end of the room. She squinted, thinki n g at first that it was a trick of the light that produced the soft bulge to the side of the wardrobe, and then sat upright, rigid with fear, as the bulge moved.
    “Papa?” she questioned, her voice no more than a whimper.
    The bulge took shape as it detached itself from its hiding place, and Roberta, whose eyes were now accustomed to the half-light, could see that her second guess had been correct.
    “Sir Nicholas!”
    “And I had so hoped, Miss Rushforth, that I wouldn’t disturb your sleep,” he mocked, making her a half-bow.
    “What on earth are you doing in my room at this time of night?” she gasped. “I demand an explanation for this unwarranted intrusion.” She grabbed the bedclothes and held them high to her chin.
    “Claiming my property,” Sir Nicholas answered smoothly. “I believe you took a piece of paper from my cabin last night, and I want it back.”
    “You talk in riddles,” she said defiantly.
    “I don’t mean to be obtuse,” he answered as he moved closer to her bed.
    “I will scream if you come any closer,” Roberta warned him. “I think you had better go before I call for help.”
    His answer was to step right up to her. She watched his catlike movements in fascination and was taken completely by surprise when he bent down and brushed her lips with his.
    “How dare you!” she exclaimed angrily, and brought a hand across his cheek in a resounding smack, heedless of the fact that her action had caused the bedclothes to slip to her waist.
    “My dear Miss Rushforth, I have no intention of leaving this room without that piece of paper.” He sat down beside her and twirled one of her short curls around his index finger. “Just tell me where you have hidden it, and I will leave you in peace.”
    As he spoke, his hand moved from her hair to her shoulder and gripped it with an intensity that hurt.
    “Get out of my room, Sir Nicholas, before I scream,” she hissed, struggling vainly to free herself.
    He brought his face within an inch of hers and grinned. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Miss Rushforth,” he replied amiably, leaving no doubt in her mind that he was in full control of the situation. “You are in an extremely vulnerable position.”
    Her