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She turned to face him. "You
need?
What right do you have, my lord, to demand my life history?"

"I believe you have given me a right to be interested, at least."

She flushed at that attack, but did not look away. He found the anger in her eyes combined with their erotic promise was tangling his wits. She looked as if she were considering particularly exotic ways to torture him...

"Very well, then," she said at last. "I will tell you what I can. I was forced into my marriage, my lord, when I was very young. When I was widowed I thought myself free, but I discovered that my brothers intended to compel me into another similar match. I ran away. It was doubtless foolish, but they have the means of forcing me, I am sure."

It was such a strange story that he wondered if she were addicted to novels. "Would another marriage really be so tragic?"

"Yes," she said flatly.

"Yet you offered to be my mistress."

"That would be different."

He glanced at her in surprise. "Preferable?"

She was staring straight ahead now. "Yes."

"Why?"

Slowly, her eyes turned to his. "I would not be bound by vows before God."

It was the most bizarre thing he'd ever heard. She was admitting that she would prefer not to be bound to one man only, but implied that she would take those vows seriously if forced to make them.

If it came to setting her up as his mistress, he'd have to make a few rules clear. He would expect a mistress of his to be as exclusive as a wife—at least for as long as the connection lasted.

Anyway, the story was damned fishy. A respectable widow, no matter how unhappy her marriage and how desperate her situation, would not have seduced him last night with such skill. Francis didn't need extensive sexual experience to know that.

"Did your husband leave you nothing?" he asked.

She answered easily. "My jewels and a small amount of money, but I was forced to flee my family home without them. I cannot imagine how to get them from my brothers now. Anyway, they have already lost the money at cards or dice, and the jewels are bound to follow. They are addicted to wagers," she said simply.

Francis was vaguely acquainted with some men called Allbright, though they hardly moved in the same circles as he. Big, uncivilized men always to be found at sporting events. Still, if true, that made her birth fairly respectable.

If true.

He began to question her about her childhood and her family, trying to make it sound like casual conversation. In reality, he was looking for a slip that would suggest she was not as gently born as she claimed to be.

Nothing came up to disprove her story, but something actually seemed to confirm it.

"So you attended Miss Mallory's school in Cheltenham?" he said. "You must know Beth Armitage, then." This should sort matters out. Beth had been both pupil and teacher there, and was now wife to a fellow Rogue, Lucien de Vaux, Marquess of Arden.

"Yes," she said, with the first genuine smile of the day. "I remember her well. She was a year older than I, but we were friends. I heard she married the heir to a dukedom. I was quite surprised, for she was rather a bluestocking and a trifle radical in her opinions."

"Still is," he said, relaxing. Serena clearly knew Beth. "She and her husband fight about such matters regularly."

"She fights with her husband?" Serena said blankly.

"Spiritedly."

"I'm surprised he permits it."

"I don't think he has much choice other than to gag her...." Francis's mind was not on this. He was pondering a whole new level of complication in his once-orderly life.

What would Beth have to say about a fellow pupil becoming a Rogue's light-o'-love? Convention said she'd disapprove, but there was no telling with Beth Arden, who believed that a woman's right to freedom was more precious than any social rules.

After all, despite opposition from all quarters, Beth had formed a firm friendship with her husband's ex-mistress.

* * *

Serena was relieved when Lord Middlethorpe let the inquisition lapse, for that was what it had been—a careful inquisition. She thought she had passed muster, which wasn't surprising since she had been telling the simple truth.

She wondered if she were any closer to being offered the position of mistress. Despite a great deal of trepidation, she hoped so. She really didn't want to be taken to his aunt. Experience had shown Serena that women, especially straitlaced spinsters, disapproved of her on sight.

She equally didn't want to be left alone again.

And memories of the feel of Lord Middlethorpe's body told her she wouldn't find being his mistress totally unpleasant.

The traitorous thought entered her head that she wouldn't find being Lord Middlethorpe's
wife
totally unpleasant, either. When thinking of the horrors of marriage, she had always imagined a man similar to Matthew. Lord Middlethorpe was almost his opposite.

He was handsome and cultured, and seemed kind, moderate, and forbearing.

But, she reminded herself, she knew only too well that men could pretend to be kind when it suited them, then be anything but once a woman was in their power.

No, no, not marriage. Not even to him.

She reminded herself that she was barren. That protected her from marriage to most men, for they wanted children. The only men who would consider marriage to her were Matthew's debauched friends who only sought a wife as a bound plaything.

Serena turned her mind anxiously to the problem of how to persuade Lord Middlethorpe to set her up as his mistress rather than take her to his fearsome aunt.

Though the day was crisp and clear, the roads were still muddy, becoming veritable quagmires in places. It soon became obvious that despite pushing the horses and changing for good teams, they would not make Marlborough that night.

"We will have to stop on the road," said Lord Middlethorpe.

"Yes." Serena wondered what opportunities this night would bring. She certainly could not repeat yesternight's boldness, but perhaps there would be other ways to tempt him. Her instinct still told her that he was attracted to her.

They left the highway to find an inn in the village of Fittleton. It was a simple place, but it could provide two bedrooms and a private parlor, which was all they needed.

Two bedrooms. Serena understood the message of that. Again he had claimed they were man and wife, but he had taken two bedrooms.

As Francis stood in his solitary room, he felt very proud of himself. In taking two rooms, he was behaving nobly in the face of great temptation. The allure of making love to Serena—and this time awake and with his wits about him—was humming through him like a fever.

But he would protect both himself and her.

They ate in the shared parlor, and careful conversation was much spaced by painful silences. Neither felt able to touch on important or personal subjects.

When the meal was over, Serena rose to go to her room. Francis stood up politely, on the whole pleased to have her disturbing presence removed before his willpower collapsed.

She paused at the door. "I... I wanted to say, my lord, that you need not be concerned that I will.... Of a recurrence of last time." Her cheeks had turned an exquisite pink and Francis found it rather hard to breathe.

"I'm sure," he managed stiffly. "Sleep well."

She slipped into her room.

Francis slumped back into his chair and drained another glass of wine, aware of every nerve in his body clamoring to follow her. Over the meal, the creamy rise of her breasts, half exposed by the low bodice of her gown, had mesmerized him. It would not do, though. Was he to be ensnared against all reason by a mysterious wanton?

Yes, oh yes
! screamed his body.

With a groan, he buried his head in his hands.

He heard the door click open, and looked up sharply. She had loosed her hair so it clouded around her in the back-light of the candles in her room, and that devilish gown of hers seemed to draw attention to every beautiful curve of her body.

"What is it?" he asked hoarsely.

"I... I thought I would leave the door open." She turned a deeper pink and quickly ducked back into her room.

Francis stared at the open door. She had moved beyond sight, and all he could see was a chest of drawers and a washstand draped with pristine white towels, but the open door was eloquent.

It promised a welcome, and a heaven of sensual delights. It also told him that the last night they had shared had not been an aberration. She was, at heart at least, a whore, and he desired her far too much to surrender.

He reminded himself forcibly that he was going to marry a good and virtuous young woman, and it would be a gross insult to simultaneously establish a ravishing beauty as his mistress.

He should abandon this plan of taking her to Aunt Arabella's, for he knew it sprang from his weakness about this woman. Undoubtedly, the wisest course would be to give Serena a purse full of guineas and put her on the London coach. But he knew he wouldn't.

Chapter 6

They arrived in Summer St. Martin at midday. Serena climbed down from the curricle and approached the solid stone house called Patchem's Cottage with all the enthusiasm of one approaching the gallows. Why was she even agreeing to this?

Because, coward that she was, she was terrified of all the alternatives.

Lord Middlethorpe knocked on the black-lacquered door, and a middle-aged maid opened it. Her homely face immediately brightened. "Why, my lord! Come you in!"

In moments, an older lady was out in the small hall. This one was scrawny, vigorous, and bright-eyed. "Francis. What a lovely surprise!" Then she saw Serena and her brows raised. "In trouble again, are you?" She shook her head as she ushered them into her parlor, commanding, "Tea, Kitty."

The maid hurried off, and Serena entered the small room warily. Arabella Hurstman was not the stiff-lipped spinster Serena had expected, but an ageless, vital woman. That did not make her less terrifying.

"Sit down," Arabella said brusquely to Serena, pointing at a chair close to the fire. "Make yourself at home." Then she turned her sharp eyes on Lord Middlethorpe again. "Not another of your friend's wives, I hope."

Serena looked at her benefactor in astonishment and could swear that he colored. "Of course not."

Arabella sat down, ramrod straight. "Saw the notice in the papers that Charrington's hitched. He's one of you Rogues, is he not? Seemed too much of a coincidence."

"I only just heard he was back in England," Lord Middlethorpe said. "I wasn't aware that he had any plan to wed. Doubtless there'll be something in my post at home. I presume Nicholas didn't know or he would have mentioned it."

"Been hob-nobbing with King Rogue again, have you? Doubtless that accounts for your predicament."

Despite this tart barrage of comments, Serena could see that Miss Hurstman was very fond of her nephew, and he equally fond of her. She wished, though, that she understood all this about rogues.

"Aunt Arabella," said Lord Middlethorpe, seizing control of the conversation, "I make known to you Serena Allbright. She is in need of a place to rest, being at outs with her family. I hope you can find it in your heart to look after her for a few weeks."

Thus prompted, Arabella Hurstman looked at Serena closely for the first time. "Lord love us," she said. "It shouldn't be allowed!"

Serena felt herself flare with guilty color. "I'm sorry..." She made to rise, but the woman pushed her firmly back into her chair. "Don't take offense, child! I'm just taken aback by your looks. They must be a great trial to you."

This amazing understanding caused Serena to break into volcanic tears in the lady's arms. She vaguely heard Miss Hurstman calling for Kitty and dismissing her deliverer. Then, having cried herself into exhaustion, she was tucked up in a warm bed like a babe. It was only later that she realized that Lord Middlethorpe had left without her thanking him.

A part of her was sad, but on the whole she was relieved. By some miracle she had been granted sanctuary, a place of safety where she could rest, think, and regain her balance. She was deeply, deeply, grateful to the man who had brought her here, but no longer wanted him as protector in any sense of the word. She wanted nothing to do with men at all.