Chapter 11

Ay, now the plot thickens very much upon us.

—George Villiers

The small village of St. Fleur nestled within the mouth of the bay, the slate-roofed stone cottages peeking out beneath the surrounding walls of the red cliffs as the small houses and shops snuggled together against the harsh winds and waves that beat against the unprotected town.

Elysia rode Ariel along the stony path at the summit of the cliff and watched as a small boat put out to sea. The men were hopeful of a big catch to help feed their families throughout the long harsh winter months. Tracings of smoke from countless chimneys rose skyward, smudging the blue of the sky. A sky clear, for the first time, of storm clouds and rain, with a crispness that lingered and promised frost. Elysia breathed deeply of the sparkling air, sniffing the pungent smell of the tall pines and subtle aroma from the wood fires burning in the village homes.

"I say, this part of the country is indeed aptly named Land's End. It seems like the ends of the earth here," Charles Lackton said wonderingly, as he gazed about. "It's so desolate. Why would anyone want to live way out here?" He shook his head in disbelief.

"Possibly no one new has settled here in the past five hundred years, except the squire. These villagers can probably trace their origins back to the earliest people who lived here, called the Celts—or at least as far back as the Normans," Elysia explained knowledgeably to Charles as his eyes widened.

"But how do you come to know all of this? "

"I enjoy reading, and learning," she said in an apologetic tone, a twinkle in her eyes, as she noted her admirer's shocked expression, "did you not know?" Elysia felt as if she were confessing to some hideous crime, but she was not about to feign stupidity.

"Why, you are far too beautiful to be intelligent," Charles exclaimed in bewilderment.

"Thank you, I think. I suppose all I should have is a pretty face and be a shallow-brain—not knowing chalk from cheese?"

"Well, I'm no needle-wit either. I just know what I need to. Do me no good to know any more; don't know where I could put it—feel as if I know too much as it is. Reckon I know just enough to get me through each day," Charles speculated.

"Do you not want to know about history and literature? Do you never open a book?" Elysia asked in disbelief.

Charles looked thoughtful for a moment. "No, don't believe I do. Last book I opened was at Eton, and precious few there, either. Don't do me any good. I'm not one to be quoting poetry and such nonsense to the ladies, like some I know," he disclaimed. "And what's the sense in learning about people who died centuries ago? Can't tell me which hand to play or which vest to wear with my puce coat. Never heard tell of anybody winning at Newhall on a tip from Caesar, or one of those Greek philosophers."

"Well Charles, I suppose you are correct—it probably would not have done you any good," Elysia agreed in resignation, feeling slightly resentful. Charles had access to all the schools of higher learning, yet shunned them, while she and countless other females would relish the opportunity to enter those sacred—yet forbidden—portals of knowledge.

She smiled at Charles. Elysia couldn't help but like him, with his openly boyish face and easy smiles. She didn't feel like she had to be constantly on guard with him. He reminded her slightly of Ian. Only Ian was older, but there was that same boyish look about him, as with Charles. Dear Ian. If only he were here, Elysia thought sadly, glancing out at the great expanse of sea that stretched away to the horizon, blending into one with the sky .

Charles sat silent. She was so exquisite, he thought agonizingly, as he felt a surge of primitive jealousy towards Trevegne. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He felt tongue-tied while with her, even though she was younger than he was. His ardent gaze lingered on the curve of her mouth, and the long, sweeping dark lashes that veiled her green eyes. Why, he actually felt like writing a poem to her beauty. He who had scoffed at those other moonstruck Lotharios' idolizings. He continued to stare bemusedly as he composed a poem in his mind—the lines seeming to come like magic out of that vast emptiness. Yes, yes! That was fantastic, he thought proudly. Byron would be insanely jealous of this. It really wasn't so hard. He couldn't understand why there was such a fuss made about nothing; any fool could think up something flashy. Now, if only he could remember it by the time he got back to his room, so he could copy it down. He'd have to get some paper too, and a quill and ink, then…

"Charles? Charles…" Elysia spoke softly, waving her fingers before his somewhat glazed-looking eyes. "Is there something amiss?"

"Oh, I do beg your pardon," Charles mumbled in a flustered state.

"Shall we continue our ride?" Elysia asked, hiding a smile as she turned Ariel and headed back towards the road, glancing back over her shoulder to see Charles hurrying his mount to catch up with her. She laughed aloud with pure enjoyment. It felt wonderful to be alive and carefree. For the moment she would only think of clear blue skies and the fun of having a personable young man infatuated with her. She wouldn't think of the hopelessness of her marriage—or what she could possibly do about it.

Elysia jumped Ariel over a low stone wall and headed up into a thicket, hearing the sound of Charles close upon her heels. She disappeared from sight as she gained the trees, the shadows playing across the narrow path as she continuously ducked and weaved, dodging low-hanging branches.

Suddenly Elysia heard a shot ring out—the sound shattering the quiet of the woods, and then she felt a searing pain in her side and gasped as she saw the blood staining the green velvet of her habit. A branch reaching out into the path caught her and swept Elysia from Ariel's back, knocking the breath out of her as she hit the carpeted floor of the forest with the dead leaves cushioning her fall.

Elysia lay still, as a blackness swirled about her and she struggled painfully to regain her breath. The earth seemed to vibrate deafeningly and she felt as if she were being shaken to pieces.

Charles dismounted in seconds, and ran to the prostrate figure lying dazed upon the ground. His face was drained of all color as he knelt down next to Elysia and saw the red seeping from her side. "Oh, my God. She's been shot," he breathed, not daring to touch her. She looked dead, he thought wretchedly, wondering what in the world he was going to do, when her eyelids flickered slowly open and she gazed up into his face with confused eyes.

"Charles?" Elysia gasped out breathlessly.

"Yes, I'm here." He picked up her limp hand—icy cold, and rubbed it comfortingly between his big warm palms. She couldn't die. She mustn't, he thought in desperation, feeling a knot of sickness churn in his stomach.

Elysia looked into Charles's frightened blue eyes, all amusement wiped from them. She could breathe easier now. She must send Charles for Alex—he would know what to do. Alex, yes Alex would know.

"Listen, Charles. You must go and get Alex," she stated calmly with full confidence in her decision.

"But I couldn't leave you here, alone," Charles exclaimed in horror.

"You must. You've no other choice, and I can't possibly ride back, Charles."

Charles looked down at her, indecision written across his face. He stood up, having come to a reluctant decision. "Very well, I'll go, but I don't care for it one bit. Leaving you unattended goes against my better judgment—and what will Trevegne think of me going off and leaving you alone and hurt. It ain't gentlemanly." He shook his head in bewilderment. "I shall ride like the wind, Lady Elysia. I shan't be long, that I promise." He stared down at her, his gaze anguished. "Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable before I go?"

"No, I'll be fine," Elysia managed to whisper as a shiver shook her. The ground was cold and damp from the rains, and the woods were cool under the protection of the trees.

Charles quickly took off his coat and wrapped it about Elysia's shaking shoulders before he ran to his horse, mounting and charging off into the trees like an avenger, barely missing a low-hanging branch.

Elysia managed a wobbly smile and hoped her rescuer would not also have to be rescued. She closed her eyes. The sun, peeking through the branches overhead, found an avenue, and poured its blinding light down onto her face and into her eyes. She moved her legs experimentally and bit her lip as she felt a sharp jab of pain in her ankle. It must have caught in the stirrup as she had fallen from Ariel. Ariel? Where was he?

Elysia turned her head worriedly and then relaxed as she saw him standing nervously a few yards away, neighing softly, as he glanced at his mistress lying still on the ground. "Steady boy, it's all right, fella," Elysia spoke in a soft voice that steadied and reassured the great beast. He put his head down and began to crop the grass contentedly.

Elysia had no awareness of the passing of time as she felt the sun's warmth beat down upon her face, until the brightness beneath her lids disappeared, as if a shadow had moved across the sun. Elysia slowly opened her eyes and stared up into a face bent above her—a familiar face, with the sun creating a halo behind the head.

It was strange that she did not feel any differently. She had always thought that when she died she would sink down into a darkness, and all pain would disappear. One would just float away—yet she was still feeling pain, and the hard uncomfortable ground beneath her back. But how could she be alive and seeing what she was before her? Elysia groaned in disbelief, whispering almost incoherently, "I don't feel dead; and yet, I must surely be, for I am seeing you, once again." Her words were cut off by a sob rising from deep within, "Oh, Ian, my dear Ian. In death we meet again."

"My dear sweet one," a voice murmured comfortingly, "you are not dead, I'm not dead. Here, touch me. I'm warm—and alive." He took one of her cold, shaking hands and pressed her fingers to his tanned throat where she could feel the strong pulse beating wildly.

Elysia's eyes filled with tears, and overflowing, they coursed down her pale cheeks. "Ian?" she said tentatively, afraid that he would disappear if she raised her voice any louder.

"Yes, I am here Elysia, my sweet sister. But what are you doing here—and more important, how badly are you injured?" He ran his eyes over her figure searchingly, the blue of his eyes darkening to black as he spotted the blood staining her side. His lips tightened in anger as Elysia moaned softly when his gentle fingers deftly felt her wound.

"I do not believe the shot is still in—it seems to have passed through the fleshy part of your side. Fortunately, it did not damage any internal organs, but you have lost some blood. You fell from Ariel, did you not? That did you no good. I'm going to try to stop the flow—it will hurt, and then I shall have to get you to a doctor, Elysia. I can't leave you here," he spoke in a commanding voice. Elysia absently noticed the new note of authority in her brother's voice, and she winced as he pressed his handkerchief against the wound. He had grown into a man during the past few years, she thought proudly through a haze of pain, seeing his broad shoulders and matured face with its new lines of experience written on it. "Ian, someone has already gone to fetch help," she told him as he finished his bandaging.

"Gone? And left you here? Alone and injured?" he exclaimed wrathfully, expressing Charles's original sentiments.

"We had no other choice. Charles could not get me back to the house alone. Someone will bring a carriage for me, shortly,"

"Very well, but, Elysia, you must tell me what happened. And what you are doing down here in Cornwall? Are Mama and Father here too?" he asked, a look of anticipation lighting his eyes momentarily at the thought of seeing them .

Elysia sighed deeply, and looking up into his eyes, steadied herself for her next task which brought her a pain far more intense than her wound.

"Ian."

"Yes," he frowned, intuitively warned by her tone.

"Ian, Mama and Papa are dead." Elysia took his big hand into her smaller ones and held it firmly, as she continued chokingly. "They were killed in an accident. Papa's new phaeton overturned—no, Ian please," she said hurriedly, as she watched the spasm of pain and horror flick his features, "they died instantly. They did not suffer—they went together, Ian. They would have wanted it that way. And Ian," Elysia added, "they never knew that you had been reported missing and declared dead. They thought you were still fighting gallantly at sea. We can be thankful for at least that much."

Elysia's hands ached from the pressure of Ian's big hand as it tightened with his grief. His auburn head was bent, and she felt the wetness of his tears as they fell onto their clasped hands.

"When?" he finally managed to ask huskily.

"Over two years ago," Elysia answered, watching him pull himself together.

"You'd better lie still and stay quiet," he told her as she tried to raise herself onto her elbows. A brooding look closed his face as he cut himself off from her. She must not let him bottle up his grief as she had done.

"No, it helps me to talk—takes my mind off of this."

Ian looked at Elysia curiously. "What are you doing down here? I don't recall any acquaintances of ours who lived in Cornwall. Are you visiting?"

Elysia wondered how she could possibly explain her current residence at Westerly, and all that had happened during the last two years.

"You are managing all right aren't you?" he continued, not noticing her silence, and then demanded sharply, "A chaperone. Who is chaperoning you at Rose Arbor? We've a shocking lack of relatives, if memory serves me correctly. You do have a chaperone, do you not, Elysia?" he asked suspiciously, knowing her inclination for independence and rebelliousness.

"Rose Arbor had to be sold, Ian," she told him bluntly, hating to hurt him again. "Everything is gone. All that we knew, is no more—we've nothing."

"Gone," Ian repeated incredulously. "But how? What happened?"

"We were in debt. It all had to be sold to pay off the creditors."

"And you, Elysia. What happened to you? You did not have to seek employment?" he demanded in outraged pride and arrogance, that his sister should be left penniless and destitute. Then he seemed to notice for the first time her elegance, and the fashionable clothes she was wearing. A look of disbelief entered his eyes as he said grimly, "Some man hasn't…hasn't become your protector?"

Elysia stared at him uncomprehendingly for a moment, and then as the realization of what he implied came to her, she flushed in a crimson tide of embarrassment, saying reproachfully, "Ian, how could you possibly believe that I would ever sink to such depths?" Elysia looked at him like a wounded animal that had been dealt a cruel blow.

Ian bent forward and kissed her scarlet cheek and explained sadly, ‘I've seen far too many heartbreaking and tormenting sights, since I left home, to be shocked, or indeed surprised by what may happen. Humanity has made a living Hell of this world. War, death, destruction. I thought never to have seen such cruelty as I have seen," he said with the pain of remembrance shadowing his eyes.

"Ian. This may sound crazed to you—but why aren't you dead? We received a letter from the Ministry stating that you had been killed. It was the day after Mama and Papa died."

"Oh, my poor darling. What you must have gone through, and no one to comfort you. But you see, they did indeed believe I had died. We had engaged in a battle with a couple of Napoleon's warships. My ship was out-classed, out-gunned, and out-manned. We hadn't a chance, but we put up a valiant effort, until we were hit by a volley of big guns that I never want to see the likes of again. We went down like a lead weight—the whole bow on fire. Some of the crew were picked up by the French, destined for prisons, others that had been wounded had no chance at all—they drowned. I was lucky, for I caught hold of a piece of the hull, and drifted off with it concealing me. I was determined not to end up in some French prison; you very seldom leave one alive. I drifted for days—lost count of the time out on that endless sea. I couldn't believe it when I saw a dot far off in the distance. I thought it was a mirage, or worse that I had lost my mind, until I saw that it was an island. It was somewhere in the Mediterranean, and it took me close to two years to get through Europe, and back here to England. I was ill for months at a time—that slowed me down. And then ‘Boney's finest' kept me under cover. Traveling only at night, I was careful not to run into any of his troops. My French stood me in good stead—never been so thankful for old Jacques's constant drilling of verbs when he was our tutor," he laughed.

"By the time I got to London, I had a pretty good working knowledge of all Napoleon's troop movements and placements on the Continent. The Ministry was quite surprised—and pleased—to have a chat with me. I've only been back for about three months, and due to some of the vital information to which I had access, I was greatly needed by the department to conclude it. I thought it best to finish it before heading north to see you and Mama and Father. I knew a message reporting that I was still alive, after so long, would only disturb them if I wasn't there to prove it. So I waited until I could go myself. I needn't have worried, for the glad tidings would have been sent to strangers," he said bitterly.

"Oh Ian," Elysia spoke softly, her eyes full of pity.

"Where the hell are they," Ian growled and glanced over his shoulder at the empty landscape. "Where did he go, this—what was his name?"

"Charles."

"Where did this Charles go to?" Ian swore, rapping out an oath. "He should have been back from the village long ago."

"He didn't go to the village…" Elysia took a deep breath. "He went to Westerly. "

"Westerly? Why, devil take it, did he go there? It's miles out of the way. Are you staying there?"

"In a way, yes."

"In what way? Are you a governess or something—no, couldn't be that. The marquis doesn't have children; in fact, he isn't even married. You shouldn't be staying there, Elysia. He has a bad reputation. I'd not trust you with him, my dear. We shall have to plan some other accommodation for you," he said looking at her with concern. "How is it that you come to be there? You are not there alone?"

"Ian, I'm afraid you shall have to trust me with him. You see…I am married to the marquis," Elysia told him gravely.

Ian looked incredulous, and for a second was speechless. "Married?" he repeated as if he could not believe it. "My God, Elysia, how could this occur? I feel as if I am in a whirlwind. There is so much that I am in the dark about. I don't—"

Ian cocked his head, listening attentively, then grasping Elysia's hands said, "Listen Elysia. Riders are coming and I hear a carriage in the distance so they will be here shortly to fetch you. I don't want to leave you, God knows, but I must—no don't speak, I must hurry. This is of the utmost importance. You must speak to no one about me. I am on a mission here, and it would be disastrous if I was discovered, so you must forget you have spoken with me. I must know how you are faring though. Is there a way I can get a message to you, or see you?"

"Jims is managing the stables. He's head trainer," Elysia remembered suddenly.

"Jims? Here?" Ian said with excitement. "That is marvelous. I shall contact him. But now I must go for time is short. If you only knew how it pains me to abandon you," he said staring down into her pale face. "I am of the inclination to stay," he said hesitating to rise.

"No, you must go. I shall be fine if Alex comes. Please, you must believe me, Ian," Elysia pleaded.

"Very well, my dear, but I feel like a swine. And I promise you I shall find the person who did this to you. Probably some poacher, or other riffraff hanging about these parts." He kissed her cheek and then the sun shone full into her eyes as he moved, blinding her momentarily. When Elysia looked around, he was gone—as if he had never been.

Elysia heard the furiously pounding hooves from a horse being ridden hard, and then felt herself being lifted up into warm strong arms, that held her securely—yet with a curious gentleness. She felt a warm breath on her cheek and opened her eyes to stare up into Alex's worried face, his golden eyes darkened in concern.

"M'lady, you seem to have gotten yourself into another mishap," he said in a teasing voice, despite the savage look in his eyes.

"Again I have caused you annoyance, m'lord," Elysia managed to answer pertly enough before fainting.

* * *

Elysia spent the next few days confined to her bed, and under the mothering attentions of Dany. She was a tyrant in the sickroom, and thoroughly enjoyed herself now that she had two patients to cluck over. Peter was still convalescent, but improving rapidly with the recuperative powers of the young and healthy. He was already causing havoc, in his boredom and impatience, to anyone who entered his bedchamber—especially, the young maids.

Elysia received bouquets of flowers and baskets of fruit, with messages from Blackmore Hall and the guests with whom she had dined. All were solicitous of her health, with the exception of Lady Woodley.

Elysia was beginning to tire of her confinement, feeling fretful as the long hours passed slowly. She had only sustained a flesh wound, which was rapidly healing, and her ankle was now less painful, but she had been most stiff and sore from bruises and outraged muscles. She was also worried about Ian. To find out that he was alive and well was a miracle. She was no longer alone—she had a brother back again. But now not to be able to see him, talk to him, was indeed agony. Elysia had received word from Jims via the stableboy via the footman via the downstairs maid via the upstairs maid, and finally to Lucy—that he had seen Ian and all was well .

Alex divided his time between the two sick rooms with equal attentiveness. Sitting in a chair pulled up to her bed and reading to her and talking to her, making her laugh and forgetting her boredom, Alex played the part of a devoted and loving husband. He could be quite charming when he so desired, and was an accomplished actor. If only she knew what he really felt. He had certainly looked worried when he found her hurt and in pain on the moors, she had to admit. He held her in his arms on the trip back to Westerly, allowing no one else to touch her, until Dany had doctored her. He was brazenly angry, wanting to search out the fool who had accidentally shot her—but not a sign of anybody could be found. Elysia had felt a momentary twinge of fear, lest they should find Ian and suspect him of being the poacher.

Elysia pulled distractedly at the lace edging of her robe, and unable to stand it any longer, made a face at the silently mocking faces on the lacquered screen that kept her company.

"It can't make a face back at you but I can," an amused voice spoke from the doorway.

Startled, Elysia looked around at the young man who stood there laughing; his face still bearing the signs of a recent illness as he made a comical face at her.

"You will scare those painted faces right off the screen if you continue," Elysia laughed.

"I've the suspicion you are as bored as I am with being laid up," he said dropping down gratefully onto a cushioned chair before the warm fire.

"Should you really be up and about yet?"

"If I'd stayed in that blasted bed another minute I would have started to grow to it," he declared passionately. "I'm your brother-in-law, by the way, Peter Trevegne."

"I'd surmised that. I'm not accustomed to inviting complete strangers into my salon." Even had she not recognized him at once as the young man who'd been carried in from the carriage that day, she would have known who he was—for he bore a great resemblance to Alex, with that shock of raven-black hair and hawk-like features. Except that his eyes were a soft blue and friendly .

"Well, I should hope not. And, I hope I shall not remain a stranger to you," he said, his eyes twinkling flirtatiously.

"I don't believe you shall—you are far too forward to allow that to happen," Elysia retorted.

"By God, Alex said you were no simpering little mouse," he laughed in delight.

"Indeed, I'm not. I must apologize for being a complete failure as a hostess. Although this is your home, I should be entertaining you, and seeing to your needs—not the reverse."

"Please don't. I've been ‘seen to' enough to last me two lifetimes, what with Dany pouring that wretched witch's brew down my throat, and the maids twittering and giggling about me like a nest of sparrows, and all of the time having to dampen my curiosity," Peter said in a grievous tone.

"About me? But as you can see, there is nothing to be curious about."

"The fact that you are my sister-in-law is enough to cause wonder. If anyone would have told me a month ago that Alex would be married now, I would have suspected rats in their upper story. If I did not know my brother so well, I would suspect you of having accomplished the coup of the century. However, I'm of a mind to believe, now that I've seen you, that you never had a chance to escape Alex—he takes what he wants. I would warn you, if I thought it would do any good, not to cross swords with Alex," Peter warned, "but by the look of you I can see that it won't. I should know, I've been on my beam ends too many times after a confrontation with Alex."

"Your warning comes too late, my fingers have already been burnt—but I'll not be tyrannized," she told Peter, a light of battle in her green eyes.

"Alex was right. You've a temper. He is certainly going to have his hands full," he laughed, amused by the thought of Alex meeting up with difficulties.

But Elysia did not laugh. Alex would not want to waste his time over her. He had the lovely widow to keep him busy. She had seen him from her window, out riding with Lady Woodley, who had predicted confidently that he would return to her .

"Odd that I never met you in London," Peter was saying when there were voices from the hall, and the salon door was opened to admit Charles and Jean-Claude d'Aubergere. The count was carrying a large bouquet of yellow roses which he presented to Elysia, bowing deeply over her hand as he touched it lingeringly with his lips.

"That you should be so indisposed. I would kill the fiend that dared to do this to you, ma petite ange ," he exclaimed in a throbbing voice, his dark-brown eyes gazing caressingly on her white shoulders that rose enticingly from the lace about the neck of her green silk robe.

"It is so kind of you to call, count, and thank you for the beautiful roses." Elysia lifted the fragrant flowers to her nose and breathed appreciatively of their scented loveliness.

"How are you, Peter?" Charles finally asked, taking his eyes from Elysia's reclining figure reluctantly.

"I could have died right here on the spot for all you'd have noticed," Peter complained with resignation, watching Charles's look of infatuation.

Charles flushed and sent him a baleful look. "You're just miffed because the count didn't bring you any flowers."

The count looked nonplussed and sent an apologetic look to Peter. "But I am most embarrassed. I did not know that this was the custom—please to forgive me."

Peter scowled fiercely as Charles gave a hoot of laughter, and repressing a smile, Elysia explained to the chagrined count that they were just jesting.

The count's chin lifted higher and he looked haughtily down his thin, aristocratic nose at the two young English gentlemen sitting in the elegant brocade chairs, their long legs outstretched carelessly, and his lips thinned. "It is not polite to make the joke at a guest in my country," he admonished in a stiffly affronted voice.

Peter had the grace to look slightly ashamed. "Accept my apology, count, but it was not meant as a slight to you." He sent a quelling look at Charles, who shifted uncomfortably. "He doesn't always think before he speaks."

"That seems to be something that you and Charles have in common, Peter," Alex said, sauntering into the salon still wearing his riding clothes. He glanced about at all the faces turned towards him and smiled his crooked smile. "I leave my wife unattended, and hopefully resting, for a moment, and what do I find when I return? My wife holding court for all of her admirers—and you certainly have collected quite a few."

"Not as many as you, m'lord, I should imagine," Elysia responded. He seemed slightly put out at finding her entertaining. She could almost believe he looked jealous—but that was absurd. Had he not just been out riding with the all-too-lovely young widow? If he could enjoy the company of others, then she would too, despite the obvious displeasure it caused.

Elysia cast a look at him from under her lowered lashes. He was so handsome in his riding breeches and high boots, as he sat listening politely to the count. The count might have dark good looks—his profile reminding her of a Greek god, his eyes smouldering when he gazed at her, his lips sensuous—but she preferred Alex's cool, good looks. He exuded power and strength with every movement of his muscular body. The count seemed to fade into insignificance beside him, looking effeminate with his soft white hands, his gestures seeming theatrical.

"Well, I've lost out on it now. Today was to have been the match—and I'd a winner with my bird, eh, Charles?" Peter was declaring disappointedly.

"Biggest and meanest rooster I've ever seen. Would've wagered my whole allowance on it."

"Never spent so much time on one thing before in my life," Peter said with disgust, "and all for nothing. We'd set this match to take care of that upstart Peterson's bird—put a stop to his infernal bragging once and for all."

"I did not realize that people trained roosters for cock-fights," Elysia commented ignorantly. "I thought you just found one and let it loose in the ring."

Peter gave her an outraged look and snorted rudely. "Good thing you don't lay wagers or you'd be out of pocket post-haste. It's a science—an art—raising and training a good fighter," he continued ponderously, as if explaining to a small child. "He should be in his prime, about two years old when you start a rigid training program to bring him up to the mark. I trained my rooster for about six weeks, sparring him off with several other birds for practice."

"Wouldn't he get hurt?"

"No, his heels are covered, of course," Peter answered in exasperation. "Don't you know anything, Elysia? They only wear gaffles in the real fight."

"What are gaffles?" Elysia laughed, looking confused. "I am afraid this is completely incomprehensible to me."

"A gaffle, my dear," Alex explained in amusement, "happens to be a spur. It's made of silver and about two inches long, and curved in similar fashion to a surgeon's needle—and quite deadly."

"How perfectly awful," Elysia protested. "That is cruel and inhumane, And you, of course, enjoy this…this sport, although I could think of a more appropriate description for it."

"No, as a matter of fact, I find it rather distasteful. Not at all what I fancy for amusement," Alex commented in a bored voice.

"Well, I do not care for it at all, and think it despicable—even though I've no great love for roosters."

"I would not put in a bird that could not defend himself," Peter said staunchly in defense of his sport. "I go to a great deal of trouble and effort to train him. See to all of his needs myself—even get up early to help fix his feed. Sweated him in a basket of straw after feeding him, too. Then in the evening, you are supposed to take him out of the basket and lick his eyes and head with your tongue," he continued, beginning to warm to his subject until halted by the gasps of dismay from the others.

"Good God. You didn't really lick the damned bird?" Alex asked, astounded.

"Of course not!" Peter exclaimed indignantly. "What do you take me for—a jackdaw in peacock's feathers? I'm no Tom Noddy, had one of the stableboys do it, of course. "

"Ah, je ne suis pas dupe, cet temps ," the count said mockingly. " Vous plaisantez ."

"No, I am afraid, count, that this time Peter is serious. He is not fooling, and I am never surprised at the extent to which he will go when he becomes involved in something," Alex said in resignation.

" Mon Dieu ," the count murmured, shaking his curly brown head with bewilderment. "Ah, you English. But I must take my leave of you," he apologized, casting a regretful glance towards Elysia. "I hope I will have the pleasure of your company soon, when you are completely recovered." He kissed her hand, but his dark eyes were on her mouth. " Je mis enchanté ."

"Thank you for the lovely roses, Monsieur le Comte," Elysia thanked him graciously, withdrawing her hand from his tightening grasp when she noticed Alex's eyes narrow as he stood to escort the count to the door.

"Odd fellow, that," Peter commented after the door closed behind the count and Alex. "Don't understand all that French gibberish. Fellow ain't got a sense of humor either," Peter got reluctantly to his feet and made for the door. "Better leave, too. Feeling a bit seedy." He looked to Charles. "You coming?"

"Momentarily," Charles answered hesitantly, looking about nervously.

Peter paused in the doorway. "I think I'm going to become quite fond of you, Elysia. Didn't think I could get along with anyone Alex married. Had my blood stirred at the thought of who it could possibly be. Didn't know of any I'd care to call a sister-in-law, by God. But you're a thoroughbred," he mumbled shyly, unaccustomed to displaying his feelings, and quickly left the room.

Charles coughed, cleared his throat, and nervously shifted his weight from foot to foot. He pulled a small piece of paper from his coat and dropped it onto Elysia's lap. His color was high as he said haltingly, "Don't hold much for bending the knee to poets and the like—I'm no scholar—no one can accuse me of that, but well…" he stopped, not kn owing how to continue, "…I just had to write this for you. Don't ask me where the words came from, 'cause I don't know. Never happened to me before." He seemed bemused by the experience.

Elysia unfolded the paper and read the hastily scribbled lines of poetry:

Green, green eyes, as green as the grasses,

Red-gold hair as bright as the sun

Soft, soft skin as creamy as molasses,

Our singing hearts shall beat as one.

She looked up at the young man standing uncomfortably before her, anxiously awaiting her reaction. "Charles…this is the kindest and most thoughtful deed anyone has ever done for me. I shall treasure it forever. Thank you, dear Charles," Elysia stood up and impulsively kissed his scarlet cheek, as the door of the salon opened and Alex walked in, only to abruptly stop at the apparent embrace of Elysia and Charles.

Charles bowed, and hastily made his retreat from the room and the frowning countenance of the marquis. His heart was indeed singing, as he closed the door and jubilantly made his way down the hall, a wide smile on his face—unaware of the ogling housemaids' giggling looks.

"Well, well, I had no idea you dispensed your kisses so freely—or is it just me you do not care to endow them upon?" Alex asked. "I do seem to recall you once saying you were very discriminating in your tastes. I had no idea your taste was for young unfledged and callow youths, barely out of the schoolroom."

He closed the distance between them in a quick fluid movement, until he stood just before Elysia. "I was under the impression, obviously a misconception, that you were fond of a man's kisses and caresses."

Alex reached out and pulled her hard against him. "That you responded when he made you feel fire in your blood, your breath coming quickly and unevenly. Didn't you feel hot when he covered your milky white body with his kisses?" he murmured huskily, nibbling about her neck and ears, his lips caressing her throat slowly. Alex's arms tightened about Elysia, pulling her closer into him, yet careful not to hurt her side that was healing.

Elysia shivered as his lips parted hers and he kissed her deeply and passionately, his mouth holding hers possessively as if he could not bear to release it. Then suddenly he picked her up and carried her through the door to his room, laying her down gently on the bed she had lain in only once before. Elysia closed her eyes and waited. She wanted this—even if it was only desire and not love on his part. She would take what she could—her pride be damned.

Elysia felt his hard hands move over her body, removing her robe and gown impatiently but caressingly until they lay together naked, entwining into one. Alex pressed soft kisses onto her yielding mouth, murmuring lover-like words into her ears. "Do you really need another's kisses? Can Charles or that fawning Frenchman give you this?" he demanded, his lips possessive as he kissed her again, his fingers threading through her hair, cradling her head as he kissed her. She struggled for breath.

"It was only gratitude," Elysia spoke, breathlessly. "He wrote a lovely poem to me. It was sweet and I was merely being grateful."

"Charles wrote a poem? You must indeed be a sorceress—weaving your spells like a gossamer web about poor unsuspecting mortals. Well, I will give you more than words penned on paper in response to your sorcery."

Elysia gave herself up completely to his ardent lovemaking. Returning kiss for kiss, caressing him until he groaned with pleasure and desire, taking her swiftly and urgently, until they both lay panting. Still wrapped together, their bodies joined with her ear against his chest, she could hear the rapid beating of his heart.

"They say I am a devil straight from Hell—but you, m'lady, are named for paradise. The ancient Greeks sought Elysium, but I have found it, and hold it here in my arms," Alex whispered thickly, his lips still kissing hers hungrily. "Take me there again, Elysia," he demanded.

Elysia smiled sadly. Heaven and Hell—they both shared a little of each.