Praise for ROSEMARY ROGERS

“The queen of historical romance.”

—New York Times Book Review

“Returning to her roots with a story filled with family secrets, politics, adventure and simmering passion, Rosemary Rogers delivers what fans have been waiting for.”

—Romantic Times on An Honorable Man

“Her novels are filled with adventure, excitement, and always, wildly tempestuous romance.”

—Fort Worth Star-Telegram

“This is exactly what her many fans crave, and Rogers serves it up with a polished flair.”

—Booklist on A Reckless Encounter

“Ms. Rogers writes exciting, romantic stories…with strong-willed characters, explosive sexual situations, tenderness and love.”

—Dayton News

“Her name brings smiles to all who love love.”

—Ocala Star-Banner

Also available from MIRA Books and ROSEMARY ROGERS

AN HONORABLE MAN

WICKED LOVING LIES

A RECKLESS ENCOUNTER

SWEET SAVAGE LOVE

SAVAGE DESIRE

Surrender To Love
Rosemary Rogers

www.mirabooks.co.uk

To the youngest female in my family, my granddaughter Reina—and to all women who are trying to find themselves; and to the men who are strong enough to understand and help us.

CONTENTS

PART I

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

PART II

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

PART III

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

PART IV

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 36

CHAPTER 37

CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 39

CHAPTER 40

CHAPTER 41

CHAPTER 42

CHAPTER 43

CHAPTER 44

CHAPTER 45

CHAPTER 46

CHAPTER 47

CHAPTER 48

CHAPTER 49

CHAPTER 50

CHAPTER 51

CHAPTER 52

CHAPTER 53

CHAPTER 54

PART I

1

The heat in Colombo, capital city of the British Crown Colony of Ceylon, seemed especially oppressive on this sun-scorched August afternoon. As their carriage jolted and rumbled over a newly paved street, Alexa Howard surreptitiously opened one more button on the front of her gown, thankful that Aunt Harriet appeared to have fallen asleep and wouldn’t notice.

And even if she had, Alexa would not have cared! It was ridiculous, Alexa thought mutinously as she felt unladylike rivulets of perspiration trickle down her sides and between her breasts, that women should be expected to keep up the English fashions in a hot, tropical climate. Far more suited to the prevailing temperatures was the simple costume worn by the native Sinhalese women—a piece of cotton material wrapped twice around the waist and knotted at the hip, reaching to just above the ankles, known as a “camboy.” And their only other garment was a very brief and low-cut bodice that more often than not exposed a bare brown midriff. In fact, when Alexa was in the privacy of her own room at home, that was all she wore. But now here she was in Colombo—too many miles and far too many hours away from the comparative coolness of the hill country, and encased in a steel and whalebone corset that cut into her flesh, as well as layers of stifling petticoats under a gown that was supposed to cover her from neck to wrist.

The sharp clatter of horses’ hooves on either side of the carriage made Alexa wish enviously that she too could have made this journey on horseback wearing practical breeches instead of a hampering skirt. She knew the two young officers who had volunteered to act as their escort and they knew as well as she did that she could outride and outshoot either of them. Hadn’t she proved it only three weeks ago at the boar hunt up on Horton Plains? How cool it had been that day. She remembered the feel of the fresh wind in her face and the mounting sense of excitement that kept building during the chase with the dogs leading the way—the challenge of danger that was always present on one of these hunts. Why couldn’t she have been born the male instead of her brother, Frederick, who hated getting dirty and turned pale at the sight of blood, preferring to read books and practice on the pianoforte for hours on end when he could have spent the time outdoors enjoying all that life had to offer instead?

And what does Freddy know about running a coffee plantation? Alexa began to fan herself vigorously with the newly acquired bonnet she had positively refused to don before they had set out early that morning. Why, I’m the one who acts for Papa when he has to go away, and I can keep the ledgers and talk to the overseers in their own language and…and they respect me too, even if I am a woman! Freddy doesn’t even care about learning things like that even though he’ll need to know them some day, and Mama coddles him far too much, of course! But then, rather guiltily she caught the thought back, remembering how precious her only son was to poor Mama, who had lost three other children in infancy. And that was the reason it was Aunt Harry and not her mama who was to be her chaperone at the Governor’s Ball tomorrow night. Freddy had developed a fever—a slight fever—but of course Mama couldn’t dream of leaving his side! She had been quite preoccupied with instructing the cook exactly how to prepare fresh beef tea when a sullen Alexa, hurried along by Harriet, had left the rambling bungalow at five that morning.

“Do have a wonderful time, my darling,” Mama had said earlier. “And do try to smile instead of frowning in that forbidding fashion. It was so very kind of the Governor and Mrs. Mackenzie to invite you to stay with them in Queen’s House—really quite an honor, dearest, and I’m sure you’ll make both your papa and me very proud of you. Who knows, you might just meet some nice young man in the Civil Service, and…” But at that moment Freddy had called out for Mama, and she had hurried away after bestowing a quick kiss.

Perhaps it had been just as well, Alexa thought now. Sometimes she had to almost bite her tongue to keep from arguing vehemently, especially when the conversation turned to “suitable” young men. And that was another of the things she resented. Why was it simply taken for granted that every woman’s ambition must be to “catch” some man and be married? And yet it was usually either that or end up as a governess or an unwanted poor relation hovering in the background, hiding in the shadows—eternally grateful, constantly self-effacing. Alexa fanned herself even harder, feeling her lips grow taut with anger and frustration.

“I am going to be different! Why must I be forced to choose from such poor alternatives? I’ll find some way!” Alexa remembered herself saying that, the words spilling from her hotly; and she remembered even more clearly her aunt’s cool, measured voice replying.

“My dear Alexandra, I can only hope that besides giving you an education that most young females of your age are not fortunate enough to receive I have also taught you that you must learn to be practical. Logical and reasonable in your thinking, if you prefer. At any rate I’m sure you’re intelligent enough to realize that there are certain inescapable facts of life that have to be accepted, like it or not, my dear. You were born a female—and you have no other alternatives save even more unpleasant ones that we need not discuss.”

Oh, how fiercely she had argued, and how intensely she had felt the pain and frustration of the injustice of it maul her like the claws of a leopard before she’d been forced to concede to what Aunt Harry had called the inescapable facts of life—if you were a woman, that was. She had been allowed the taste of freedom for as long as she could remember, allowed to learn and think for herself and express her own opinions—to “run wild,” as some of the neighboring planters’ wives put it. And then…

“But why have I been allowed to have such freedom if I was only meant to lose it some day?” Alexa never cried, but the words had been a cry of despair in themselves. “You know Freddy doesn’t know anything about running a plantation, and he’ll never take the trouble to learn about it. I could help him, couldn’t I? I could…”

“Could be his right-hand man until he takes a wife, who will hate you and want you out of her house? Yes, her house, Alexa, for all that you’ve looked upon it as your home for most of your life. Freddy will inherit the plantation, and when he marries it will be his wife’s home, not yours.”

All it had amounted to was that Alexa should be practical and think logically and should begin to prepare for what her future must be. It was after their talk that Alexa had finally agreed to accept the invitation to Queen’s House for the Governor’s Ball, which would really be a birthday ball held in her honor—like a “coming out.” But snatches of that unusually frank conversation with Aunt Harry still floated through Alexa’s head.

“There have been women throughout history, my dear, who were clever enough and wise enough to rule countries and empires through their men. You might remember that.” What a strange thing for Aunt Harry to have said.

“There’s the main gate of the Fort up ahead of us now. It won’t be too long before we arrive at Queen’s House!” One of the young subalterns who had escorted them leaned down from his horse to give the young woman he usually called “Alex” a grin and a wink. He grinned even more broadly when she gave him one of her famous scowls. “It’ll be a lot cooler there, you know. Sea breezes and all that. And you’ll save me a dance tomorrow, won’t you?” Seeing Alexa’s eyes narrow dangerously, he winked at her again before he straightened up hastily, turning his grin on his brother officer. Poor old Alex! She must be furious, suddenly being turned into a female. He couldn’t even recall, come to think of it, that he’d ever seen Alex in skirts before. Wonder if she knew how to dance? Well, at any rate he and Eric had talked about it in the mess last night, and they’d decided that since she was such a good sport it would only be the proper thing for them to help her out; and they’d taken a solemn oath not to laugh and tease her if she tripped over her flounces and furbelows—for one thing, she’d probably come after both of them with a pistol if they did, and, female or not, Alex had a damned cool head and a deadly aim! He’d seen that for himself, and they’d all heard the story of how she’d finished off a wounded and enraged bull elephant in mid-charge.

“Did that young man say we were almost there? Lord, I cannot believe that I actually fell asleep in spite of all the rattling and bumping around!” Straightening up, Harriet delved in her reticule for a handkerchief to mop at her face with. “I hope to goodness it’ll be cooler once we get closer to the ocean. Such heat! I’d almost forgotten how hot Colombo can be.”

Alexa had been gritting her teeth so hard that she was surprised to find her jaws were not locked together. She said with syrupy sweetness: “And were you giving me an example of how to rattle on like an empty-headed young thing, Aunt Harriet? Since I’m up on the auction block now I suppose I really must try harder, mustn’t I?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Alexa, let us not become dramatic!” The snapped-out reply sounded more like the Aunt Harry she was familiar with, at least. “And shake out your sleeves. They’re looking positively wilted in spite of the lining I had that stupid tailor stitch into them. And put your bonnet on at once! It was not meant to be a fan, you know. I don’t know who else will be staying with the Mackenzies, but I do want everyone who might be there when we arrive to know that even in the hill country we try to keep up with the latest fashions.”

Alexa’s slate-colored eyes, so dark they could look almost black, flashed dangerously even though her voice remained sweetly docile. “The latest fashions? But all the journals we receive from London are at least four or five months old! If I had been consulted I would have begged Mrs. Mackenzie to make it a fancy dress ball tonight; and then I could have attended as a Sinhalese woman and be cool all evening.”

Realizing the girl was riding on a short rein, Harriet was wise enough to shrug and say only, “Well, I’m sure that the ball gown that Sir John means to surprise you with will be truly exquisite and in the very latest style, so that you will outshine every other female there. He has such good taste!”

At the mention of her adopted “uncle,” who was one of her father’s best friends, Alexa could not help but lose some of her earlier feeling of resentment, even if he had been one of the instigators of this birthday ball for her. How could she not continue to love and respect her beloved Uncle John? It had been Sir John who had presented her with her first thoroughbred and had taught her to ride it like a man—Sir John who had taught her about guns and how to shoot and not to flinch even from the kick of a heavy elephant gun. And how she had loved being allowed to listen when Sir John and Papa would begin talking about the wars they had been in and the exciting battles they had fought under Wellington.

“I’ll wager that you wish you’d been there too, don’t you, Alex?” Sir John would tease her sometimes, but he never teased her in the condescending way of grown-ups; and Alexa would nod vigorously, her eyes wide and shining as she imagined how it must have been—the noise of cannons and the smell of powder and the keening sound of a musket ball whistling past your head; the excitement of a charge with your sword drawn, facing a screaming foe, and hand to hand combat; and if you died you died gloriously and with honor, and if you lived you always knew you had been there, so close to death that you had brushed shoulders with it and had still survived.

It was only to Sir John that an older Alexa, only a few months ago, could confide seriously: “I know it’s probably only because I’ve been hearing the stories for most of my life—yours and Papa’s—but sometimes I really feel as if I have lived through wars and battles. It seems so real, as if I know what it’s like. Even to the smell of horses and dust and blood, and the sounds of clashing swords, and how you feel inside in battle…”

He hadn’t laughed—she remembered that. “Well, my dear, I lived in India for quite some time, as you know, when it belonged to the old John Company, and the Hindus there, they believe that souls are born and reborn over and over again. And that it’s possible for some people to remember past lives. Who knows, my dear, who knows? It’s something I’ve often wondered about myself.”

Harriet, of course, could hardly know of the thoughts that had raced across her niece’s brain during the past few seconds. But by mentioning Sir John Travers she had done exactly the right thing, she recognized with relief, seeing the almost imperceptible relaxing of Alexa’s tensely held shoulders. Sighing, Harriet said, “I really hate to admit how weary I am. All those miles and miles of traveling and the change of climate—I’ll be glad of a nice cold bath, I can tell you that!” She noticed with relief that Alexa was actually putting on her hated bonnet, although she did so with a wry face, adjusting it over her decorously pulled back hair and actually tying the wide ribbons in a bow under her chin.

“If either Eric or Basil make any comments when they see me in this…!’ Alexa sounded so fiercely threatening that Harriet had to force back a smile. In spite of the fact that she would be eighteen years of age tomorrow, Alexandra could sometimes sound very much like a hoydenish little girl. But the child must face the fact that she was a woman now and a whole year older than her own mother had been when she had carried her. Poor little Victorine, so helpless, always so pretty…

As she usually did, Harriet closed her mind firmly on unwanted memories of the past. No point thinking back, was there? Victorine was safe and content now. She had a loving, considerate husband, the son she’d always craved, and she had security. The future belonged to Victorine’s daughter, and now, although she was not overly religious, Harriet thought, Pray God I’ve taught her enough and made her strong enough to survive and go forward. To be a victor instead of a loser.

“Well, ladies, here we are at last!”

The carriage had actually come to a stop, and the feeling of not being in motion was almost strange.

“Aunt Harry? Are you unwell? You looked so…”

“Nonsense! I was just thinking, that’s all. And there’s the Governor himself waiting to greet us, and Mrs. Mackenzie. Shake out your skirts, dear. And smile. It lights up your whole face when you do.”

One of the young officers had dismounted quickly enough to open the carriage door for them, and taking a deep breath Harriet squared her shoulders before she accepted the hand he proffered. Behind her Alexa too had drawn in her breath, holding it inside her until she felt calm enough to breathe out again. Yoga. She had learned about that from Sir John. And it was comforting to think that of course he would help see her through the whole ordeal ahead.

There was actually a smile on Alexa’s face that showed off the dimple at one corner of her firm young mouth, Harriet noted relievedly. And the sprigged muslin had held up remarkably well after all with its wide “Mary Stuart” sash that made Alexa’s small waist seem quite tiny.

Lady Mackenzie, who had had her misgivings about this whole idea and had only acceded to her husband’s request to please Sir John Travers, gave a tiny mental sigh of relief. The young woman was quite charming after all and seemed well-mannered too—which only went to prove that one did best not listening to gossip spread by jealous older women with daughters of their own. Why, she could see nothing mannish or forward about this very feminine young creature who actually dropped a small, old-fashioned curtsy while making her thanks for the honor being shown to her. Remembering the days when she had been married to that insufferable bore Sir Samuel Hood and had been gossiped about because she enjoyed smoking a hookah, Mrs. Mackenzie decided immediately that she was going to like Miss Howard, and would, moreover, make her coming-out ball an event that would be long remembered in Colombo.

2

When at last they had been shown to their spacious quarters and the door had closed behind the last obsequious servant, Alexa could relax again. She felt by this time as if her face ached from smiling while she uttered simpering insincerities. Thank goodness they were to be allowed to rest for the remainder of the afternoon and that at last she could take off the constricting muslin gown she already detested, as well as all five petticoats and the corset that seemed to cut off her breath.

“Oh, at last! Did I behave well enough to suit you? But I do not think that I can stand another minute—no not another second—of being smothered in all these layers of hypocrisy! I would like to tear myself free! Thank God it is cooler in here…I was beginning to feel as if I could not breathe any longer. A few more minutes and I would have…”

Used to handling her charge, Harriet faced the challenging glower directed at her with a raised eyebrow. “My dear Alexa, don’t you think that you are by now a trifle past the age for childish tantrums? I was proud of the way in which you conducted yourself just now, and I’m sure you lived up to everything Sir John must have told the Governor and his wife about you. You’re not going to let down the people who believe in you from lack of self-control, I hope?”

For a moment Alexa seemed to stand there poised like a hummingbird caught in mid-flight, and perhaps even she did not know whether she was on the brink of rebelling or running away. But then, to Harriet’s relief, the rigid young shoulders seemed to slump, and the slender fingers that had already began to claw at the neck of the offending gown dropped away.

Not defeat, Harriet warned herself. With Alexa, born under the zodiacal sign of Leo, the lion, there would never be the concession of defeat, only an occasional retreat, perhaps. Putting aside her own weariness, Harriet came forward briskly, commanding a suddenly woebegone-looking Alexa to turn around.

“No need to tear a perfectly good dress, what with the price of fine materials these days. Here, I don’t suppose you want me to send for one of those chattering little maids, do you? So I’ll undo you myself, if you’ll hold still. And do try to remember, my dear, that losing your temper is the same thing as losing your head—or losing the advantage, if you were engaged in some kind of a contest. Do you imagine you’d be any good on a hunting trip if you stopped using your head and gave in to blind panic?”

“I…I suppose I never thought about all this in the same light,” Alexa confessed, with her head bent. And then, throwing it up almost defiantly, she said, “Keeping a cool head…A hunt—is that what I am supposed to be engaged in? But who is the quarry, Aunt Harriet? The eligible man I’m supposed to capture with my false, feminine wiles? Or I myself?”

There had been an edge of cynicism and perhaps even of desperation in Alexa’s voice that forced Harriet to answer with studied brusqueness. “My dear child, I hope I did not make you imagine, with all my sermonizing, that you are being abandoned to the wolves. You must not feel that you must immediately find yourself a husband, or think that this will be your only opportunity to meet eligible men. All I meant to say was that it is more than high time you thought of yourself as a beautiful and feminine young woman to whom men are bound to be attracted and not as a sister or a plucky comrade, as some of the young officers stationed upcountry seem to regard you! Oh, for heaven’s sake! I really can’t seem to recall now what I started out to explain to you in the first place. There, that takes care of your corset. And I’d have you know that I am many years older than you are and just as hot and sticky and tired!”

For once Alexa did not kick aside each garment, as it dropped around her ankles, with a smothered, under-the-breath military oath that Harriet always pretended not to hear. She had been standing as still as a statue, and just as silent except for a slight sigh of relief as the tightly laced corset was loosened. And now, to Harriet’s disquiet, Alexa actually bent down to retrieve each offending article, one by one, something that she, used to doting servants waiting on her from babyhood, had never deigned to do before.

Alexa’s voice sounded rather smothered for a moment until she straightened, still with her back turned to Harriet. “Well, I suppose that you did not want to make this journey any more than I did, Aunt Harry, especially with Freddy being sick and Mama all flustered, and nobody to help Papa out with the ledgers and to see that he eats enough. And I suppose that I have been spoiled and allowed to run wild, and…and have thought only of myself all this time without any sense of responsibility towards other people. While everyone else around me, like you, Aunt Harry…”

Alexa swung around abruptly with her untidy bundle of clothes clutched before her, a naked pagan goddess with the sheen of unshed tears making her widely spaced storm dark eyes appear even more brilliant under uncompromisingly straight dark brows. “We all take you for granted, don’t we? But what of you? Why didn’t you ever marry? Didn’t you want to, ever?”

Harriet had always taught Alexa to be honest, to tell the truth and take the consequences if she had to, no matter what the cost. And now, without making herself too much of a hypocrite, how could she give this child-woman standing before her anything less than a direct answer to a direct question?

Harriet heard herself say in an oddly stiff voice: “The man I imagined myself in love with fell in love with someone else and married her. And I…I could never settle for second best. I think that is enough for one afternoon. Even old memories can bring painful twinges, as you might discover for yourself some day.”

Her back, as she turned to walk through the archway that led to her own connecting room, was as uncompromisingly straight as Alexa’s had been earlier; and it was only after she had pulled the heavy curtain closed to shut her into privacy that Harriet permitted herself the rare luxury of flinging herself onto her bed fully clothed and giving way to tears.

Alexa could turn into a raging termagant at times, with her volatile temper that matched her lion’s mane of gold-threaded auburn hair; but she could never bear to see suffering or pain, much less cause it herself. And she sensed only too late that her thoughtless, prying questions had somehow hurt Aunt Harry. She would have given anything to take back her words if she could, as soon as she noticed how her aunt’s face had whitened and seemed to grow stiff all of a sudden. But Aunt Harry was a trooper, and of course she would feel that she had to answer honestly, even if it hurt.

Alexa kept staring at that firmly drawn curtain that had become a barrier keeping her out, keeping her from trying to comfort her aunt in order to assuage her own feelings of guilt. The tears that she too had stubbornly been holding back had begun sliding down her face in warm, wet rivulets, but Alexa did not try to wipe them away. She almost never shed tears, and then only in private. No telltale sobbing and sniffling to give herself away to other people. Tears were punishment, assuagement, relief from tensions. Let them come now. Tomorrow she would make Aunt Harry happy and proud of her—even if the effort killed her! Yes, she’d even let her hair be tortured into those ugly, fashionable ringlets, and she would flutter her fan and giggle and even bat her eyelashes, if that was what it took to take the stricken look off Aunt Harry’s face that had been put there by her thoughtlessness.

Like the sudden tropical cloudbursts that were so common in Ceylon—never lasting too long—Alexa’s torrential flow of tears soon dried up, leaving her feeling drained and weak, as if her legs could no longer hold her up. Dropping her bundled-up clothes where she had been standing, Alexa stretched like a cat, her arms over her head as far as they could reach and then behind her back and to either side until she heard the tiny cracking sounds along her spine and shoulders that always brought comfort when she was tired or tense. And now that she had made herself relax she had barely enough energy left to slide her body between cool cotton sheets and turn her face against the pillow before sinking into the soft nothingness of sleep.

When Harriet, who had not been able to escape into sleep, came in an hour or two later, she shook her head as she looked down at Alexa’s sleeping profile, still stained by the telltale trace of tears. Automatically she reached down and pulled the covers up over the girl’s nude shoulders while she thought to herself, How resilient the young are! When Alexa woke up she would be smiling and sunny-tempered, eager to make amends for everything. That mood would last for a day or two perhaps, and then who knew what might set her off next? The pity of it was that Alexa had almost begun to think of herself as a young boy, running free. Was she really ready yet to turn into a woman?

Fortunately for her own well-being, Harriet Howard was a woman not often given to introspection. Emotion, as she had often pointed out to Alexa, was all very well sometimes, but reason and practicality had to come uppermost. One did the best one could—without being completely heartless, of course—and one survived, somehow. She had taught herself these things, and had immersed herself in books that had broadened her tiny insular world into a veritable universe, and she had learned, and had survived too, hadn’t she? Obviously, there was no such thing as a broken heart, or she would have died on that incongruously bright summer’s day when her best friend, eyes sparkling, had whispered her “secret” and had kept talking on and on without noticing how still and quiet Harriet had suddenly become. Turned into stone and just as cold by a Medusa with short, shining curls crowned by a filet of pearls and a pointed chin and red, pouting lips that men stared at. Even he. But no one had known her feelings. She had not let anyone see, even when the pain inside her screamed for release. “That’s nice. Of course I’m so happy for you. And of course I’ll be one of the witnesses.” Smiling, sensible Harriet.

Ceylon had seemed a long way from England, thank God, and unlike the other planters’ families they had never felt the urge to go “home” on leave or even to visit. Home to what?

Besides her brother, Martin, and the man whose name Harriet never permitted herself even to think, the only other human being that she had let herself love was Alexa. Alexa had needed a strong influence in her life—someone who would concentrate on her. It had not been difficult to take Alexa away from Victorine, who tended in any case to regard a baby girl as a burden inflicted upon her by fate. Victorine was a silly woman, and a helpless one—the kind of female who would cry and wring her little hands and do nothing at all to help herself even if it was a matter of survival.

Alexa, Harriet had decided a long time ago, would be brought up differently; the way Harriet wished at times that she had been brought up. Strong, self-reliant, not afraid to demand whatever she wanted, or to reach out and take it if she had to. Not above playing a role in the charades imposed by men if she had to, but always letting her head rule her heart. Hearts, they said, broke too easily, and giving way to emotion invariably made matters worse instead of better.

Alexa really must learn to control her temper, Harriet thought fretfully before she managed to regain control of her own emotions. Patience and self-control were the hardest lessons to learn, after all; but Alexa had always been possessed of a very quick mind. And if she could be brought to see tomorrow night as a challenge, it might well turn out to be the proving ground that might transform the young Amazon of the hill country into the sophisticated young lady.

The soft chimes of a clock reminded Harriet that dinnertime (and it would be an early dinner tonight, Mrs. Mackenzie had announced) was less than two hours away. Alexa had not stirred, and indeed seemed to be sleeping so soundly that Harriet could not help thinking it would be almost cruel to wake her now and have her hurry to get ready while she was still in a stupor. In fact, it would be much better to let the poor child sleep tonight and then spring her on the assembled company tomorrow when she would be rested, refreshed, and at her best.

Her mind made up, Harriet pulled briskly at a velvet bell rope that summoned at least three servants within minutes. She was in her element giving orders. A tray with an assortment of fresh fruit and a carafe of cold water that had been boiled and filtered (one couldn’t be too careful here) to be left for her niece in case she woke up, with perhaps a decanter of dry white wine as well. And for herself, she must have bath water immediately. Her authoritative commands resulted in the delivery of everything she had requested, and in less than the time she had allowed herself Harriet was bathed and dressed in a dark purple watered silk that was sedate without being dowdy.

She had already prepared the excuses she would offer on Alexa’s behalf—the strain of a long journey coupled with the excitement and natural anticipation, and a degree of nervousness, of course. The Mackenzies, who had eleven children between them, would surely understand. As Harriet descended the stairs, escorted by no less than two turbaned house servants wearing red cummerbunds over their spotless white camboys, she prepared herself for an evening of pleasant conversation and no doubt a discreet exchange of gossip once the ladies retired after dinner, leaving the men to their port and cigars.

Hearing the subdued sounds of laughter and voices, both male and female, as she descended a second flight of stairs, Harriet was doubly pleased that she had allowed Alexa to remain asleep tonight. Small, private dinner, indeed! There must be at least twenty people here, if not more, and all dying from curiosity, no doubt. Well, they would just have to wait until tomorrow, wouldn’t they, Harriet thought before she composed her features. Tomorrow we’ll show them all, Alexa and I!

3

Alexa had never been able to fall asleep easily, usually not drifting off until she was completely worn out and hardly able to keep her eyes open. But then, once asleep, she slept as heavily and as deeply as a child. There were weeks on end when she would only catnap—an hour or so in the afternoon because it was required of her, and perhaps four or five hours at night after she had finished reading whatever book she had become immersed in. Always active and used to spending as much time as she could outdoors, she seemed to exist during these periods on nervous energy alone. And it was during these times too that she was most reckless—whether she was riding by herself or hunting with the pack of hounds she had trained, or else challenging some of the young officers stationed in the district to a race over the most difficult terrain imaginable or a wager as to which of them could bag the most dangerous animal during a hunting trip. She was like a young, healthy animal herself and seemingly indefatigable, until there came a time when she would become irritable for no apparent reason and snap at everyone around her before retiring, finally, to her own room to “meditate” as she called it.

Harriet, who always recognized the signs, would usually give Alexa an hour or two before she would open the door to find her sound asleep, sometimes with her head down on her desk and sometimes sprawled out on the floor. Her sleep at such times was almost like a trance, and Harriet would have her carried to her bed and order her old ayah to sit with her, and then the girl would usually sleep from twelve to eighteen hours or more at a stretch.

“Oh! I feel reborn!” Alexa would laugh, stretching her arms high above her head. And for a while she would act as if she had in truth been renewed—sunny-tempered, easy to please, and wanting to please everyone around her, even to the extent of reading for hours on end to her brother, who adored her at these times and avoided her at others.

Usually, when Alexa had one of her “deep sleeps” as Harriet called them, she did not dream. Perhaps on this particular occasion it was the doing of the young, barefoot maid, who had drawn apart the heavy drapes that were meant to keep out the sun, and then pushed open the heavy wooden shutters to let in the smell and the sound of the restless surf along with the cool ocean breeze. But in any case, Alexa did not lie in bed as inertly as a toppled marble statue, and the habitual blackness of her sleep was laced through with strange dreams that made her twist and turn uncomfortably even though she did not want to wake up just yet.

Riding into battle, always as a man. And Uncle John asking her, “Well, Alexa, have you made up your mind yet?” About being reborn, he meant of course; and she could hear herself answer: “No, not yet. But I think I should have been born a pagan woman who would delight in nothing more than feeling without having to think; and then perhaps being born a woman would not be so bad without being hedged about with rules and regulations and people who are always telling you that to be happy and enjoy yourself is wicked!”

“Were you ever a pagan woman before? In what countries were you born as a woman?” She did not recognize the voice that had asked her that question. Perhaps it had only floated in on the sea breeze that carried with it the scents and sounds of a myriad different countries touched by the same ocean moving back and forth and back and forth uncaring what names it was given because it knew it was life and beginning and end and always.

Not wanting to dream so deeply even in her fragmented dreams, she almost surfaced as she thought…countries? Spain…why did she think Spain? Papa had fought in Spain… “bitter-sweet,” he had said of the music. Moorish influence… “they call it flamenco”…in her dream she saw herself dancing by herself in a red dress with only the sound of a guitar…then a voice…hers, somehow. Why would she sing when she was so sad? Sad…waiting…never, the words of the song said. Gone…gone…never…It had nothing to do with her!

Alexa almost woke then, but not quite. Floating between sleep and wakefulness, she heard someone playing minor chords on a guitar, a voice singing in Spanish. The almost cloying perfume of night-blooming flowers drifted into the room. Queen of the Night, Jasmine. Temple Flower. Gardenia. Alexa, knowing Spanish (as well as four other languages), understood that the song was a cry of unrequited love—of happiness followed by sadness—until it ended on an ugly, discordant note. “So, enough! There are too many centuries of bitterness embedded in the music of Spain. An English song, perhaps?”

There were more voices and sounds now, drowning out what she had almost felt and almost reached. Turning over on her side, Alexa burrowed her face into a too-soft pillow, still not wanting and not prepared to wake up quite yet. She was drifting as lightly as a lotus blossom on the surface of sleep when she heard Harriet come in, followed by a servant. A tray was to be removed and another with fresh fruit and fresh, cool water and wine brought in to replace it. She felt Harriet bend over her, pulling up the cotton sheet that had slipped down to her waist. Poor Aunt Harry. An uneasy mixture of conservative and liberal. Think free, but do conform on the surface. What had happened to the man she had loved who had married her best friend?

“Have all the young missy’s clothes been pressed before they were hung up?”

“Oh, yes, lady. I look after everything. I sit up all night if young missy want something.”

“Good. Thank you—Menika, was it? I’m sure you’ll see to everything. And I intend to go to sleep myself. No, I don’t need any help. Well, just the buttons at the back, perhaps, and then I shall manage quite well.”

Breathing evenly, Alexa floated in and out of sleep in spite of the fact that the sheet Aunt Harry had pulled up as far as her neck felt scratchy and far too hot. Poor Aunt Harry. Poor dear. She needed her sleep too…. She could hear the faint sounds of the sea from outside, and over that the sounds of carriage wheels and horses’ hooves and voices calling out good-byes. Soon everything would be quiet and the night would belong to the sounds of the sea again. The faint aroma of a cigar made her wrinkle her nostrils, and she thought: Smells like one of Uncle John’s. He always smokes the very best. And he had given her the very best of himself too. His wisdom, his understanding…

How pleasant it was to lie like this and drift along the borders of sleeping and waking. So many thoughts floated in and out of her mind without ceasing, one dream thought melting into the next. She saw herself as a rebellious, questioning child who resented the hampering skirts she was supposed to wear—until Aunt Harry took her side. And then in her next dream picture she was a pirate on a ship that rocked under her bare feet, fighting with a cutlass until the last and then, with a laugh of defiance, turning to plunge into the sea. How cool and pleasant it was, the sea. Like a friend she had always known. Green or blue or grey shading to black. Foam-tipped and salty. Both friend and foe. Nemesis or lover.

What a strange and almost startling thought. It must have been that and the chimes of the clock on top of the mahogany bookcase that made Alexa start upright in bed. Twelve. Somehow, she knew without counting how many times the same note had repeated itself. She was wide awake, all of a sudden, and she was hot and thirsty as well. The unfortunate young maid who started up almost as soon as the “English missy” did had no way of knowing at that moment, of course, that Alexa was also used to having her own way. Or that she had learned to speak both Tamil and Sinhalese, the major languages of the country, and was accustomed to getting into heated arguments with some of the young English officers who grinned and made comments like, “Alex has a way with the natives, all right. Can’t understand it.”

“Natives?” she would say, flaring up. “I suppose that’s how the Romans and the Danes and the Saxons and the French who invaded England referred to our ancestors! This is their country and we’re just visitors here—uninvited, I might add. And the civilization of the ‘natives’ of this island dates back to a time before Christ was born! You—we—all of us should be learning instead of trying to tear down in order to substitute…well look at us! Look at our clothes, look at…Have you ever wondered how primitive we must seem? As primitive, perhaps, as the barbarians who overran Rome, in the end.”

“Can’t stop Alexa when she gets on her soap box!” How it infuriated her when they wouldn’t listen, or did not want to listen perhaps, and would sometimes deliberately incite her into “laying down the law” as they called it.

But on the other hand, when it suited her Alexa could not only act but sound as imperious as any haughty English madam.

“I’m thirsty. I’ll have a very little of the wine, thank you. No fruit—I’m not hungry. And then I’d like a bath.”

“A…a bath now, Missy? With hot water brought up?”

Even in the dim light shed by two candles, Alexa could see the dismay on the girl’s face, making her relent slightly.

‘No, I don’t want hot water by any means; not in this heat. But isn’t there a bathing place here? Where do you go to bathe? In the hill country…”

The Sinhalese people made it a point to bathe at least once every day and sometimes more often if it was exceptionally hot. At a well, or a stream, or under a waterfall. Alexa looked questioningly at the pretty young woman who had to be close to her own age, and repeated her question in Sinhalese.

Understanding, the girl shook her head as she tried to explain. “Not here, Missy. There are only bath tubs and the Governor’s pool. But it has water from the sea, not fresh water. And this Governor and lady never use the Governor’s pool.”

Alexa flung aside the sheet that was supposed to cover her and swung her legs off the bed, stretching as she rose to her feet and pretending not to notice the amazement on the face of the young maid, who had obviously never seen an “English missy” naked before. “It sounds very inviting to me, at least,” she said pleasantly. “And while I drink some wine you must tell me about the pool. Is it quite private? Is it very close to the house? How long would it take for us to get there?”

Menika had been newly promoted from her hitherto lowly position of helping to make beds and fold linens, and her mother, who had served several former governors, had instructed her strictly as to what her duties were. She must obey orders, and she must never let her tongue chatter until she sounded like a mynah bird; also, she must remember that anything she heard or witnessed was never to be repeated. Did she understand? Never!

The girl understood well enough, as she always had. She knew very well too why her skin happened to be a much lighter shade of brown than her mother’s skin was—and why her eyes were hazel instead of being black. And also why her “father” was supposed to be dead. Sometimes she would wonder which Governor was her real father, and then push the thought away. Most likely he had been a guest. This Governor and his lady made sure that Menika attended only their women guests; but before there had been times when she had been obliged to lie with some drunken, bad-smelling Englishman who would use her body without any consideration before sending her away with a slap on her bottom and perhaps a few rupees, if he was sober enough to think of it. For as long as she could remember, Menika had always understood what life was and had accepted both its cruelties and its rewards. In her heart she was a Buddhist, although like her mother and the rest of the servants who served the English Governors who came and went at Queen’s House, she had to pretend she was a Christian convert in order to keep her position. It did not matter—the ritual she had learned to repeat parrot-fashion held no meaning for her. It was what people thought and believed inside themselves and how they lived their lives—never consciously harming any living being—that was all that really counted.

Usually, when she attended the Governor’s guests, Menika merely obeyed orders and answered questions as briefly as she could. She had never encountered a guest before who could speak her own language, or who was not ashamed of standing naked before a servant while she sipped wine and asked to be told more about the Governor’s pool.

“Oh, did you unpack for me? Thank you! I must find something cool to wear…” From one of the sandalwood-scented drawers Alexa took out her most comfortable costume—the camboy and brief, low-cut bodice of the Sinhalese peasant women. She could detect no change of expression in the face of the young servant woman who stood waiting respectfully for her next command. Menika. Yes, that was her name; she had heard Aunt Harry say it. A pretty name that meant “precious gem.” And Menika herself was pretty, and deserved more than a life of waiting on other people. But what other alternatives did she have either? I wish I could talk to her and find out how she feels and what she thinks, Alexa thought; but there was a barrier between them that had been put there by circumstances and a rigorously enforced system of etiquette and convention that bristled with rules and reminders of what was done and “simply not done.”

So instead of saying what she really wanted to say, Alexa walked to the opened windows and looked out, asking over her shoulder, “Is tonight the night of the full moon?”

“It is the night after the Poya, as the Buddhists call the night of a full moon.” Menika corrected herself quickly, hoping her slip had not been noticed. She had stolen a few minutes to visit a temple yesterday—Poya Day to the Buddhists—and even her mother knew nothing about it.

“My ayah is a Buddhist and I’ve gone with her to temple on Poya Day a few times,” Alexa said mildly. “Our temple has a pet cobra who likes milk, of all things! He’s really quite affectionate after you get to know him.” And then, so unexpectedly that she reminded a confused Menika of a striking cobra herself, Alexa went on to say brightly: “But of course an almost-full moon on such a clear night as this means that we should find our way to this bathing pool quite easily, don’t you think?” She added patiently, noticing the look of shock on Menika’s hitherto expressionless face, “The Governor’s pool that you were telling me about.”

“The missy is joking, surely?”

“I most certainly am not! I want to swim in the moonlight without any clothes on, like a pagan! And I can swim—very well indeed—so you need not be afraid that I will drown and they’ll blame you. Also…” Alexa sighed, “do you think as long as we are alone you could stop calling me missy and call me Alex, or Alexa instead? In any event, I must tell you that I am determined to go anyway, with or without your help, now that my mind is made up. Although I promise I’ll be very discreet and not get you into any trouble. Well?” And then: “Please?”

On the verge of offering Menika a bribe of a gold bracelet or several rupees, Alexa thought better of it and instead used the courteous word karunakolla, which also meant please but was for the most part used between equals and implied respect for the other person at the same time.

“You shouldn’t ask such a thing of me. If the other lady wakes up she will be very angry and blame me! And it might not be safe to swim there alone. Colombo is full of thieves and bad men who might think, seeing you dressed like…not like an English lady…”

“We are surely not going to be troubled by any desperate characters in the gardens of Queen’s House? I remember seeing uniformed guards everywhere when we arrived.” Alexa’s voice went from coaxing to teasingly mischievous. “Oh, do unbend for once, Menika! Have you never been tempted to do something forbidden? Isn’t there any special friend that you sometimes slip out to meet? I’m sure you know how we can avoid running into any of the sentries, who are all probably asleep or playing cards at this hour anyway. And I’ll go barefoot, and be very quiet, I promise you. Look, I’ll even take my little pistol just in case we run into a snake—of any species! And I can use it too. I never miss.”

Caught between what Sir John Travers, who was a scholar, would have termed “Scylla and Charybdis,” poor Menika found herself left with no real choice after all. She could hardly let this unusual young Englishwoman try to find the tiny natural inlet known as the Governor’s pool by herself, for if she got lost or something happened to her, she, Menika, would be blamed for everything. But on the other hand, this young Englishwoman wore the costume of the people without a trace of awkwardness, and she had just proved by the swiftness and ease with which she had loaded her pistol that she was quite familiar with such weapons, this one now carefully hidden in the folds of a lace shawl.

If I do as she wishes perhaps it will not turn out badly after all, Menika thought consideringly. After all, she acts as if she can take care of herself as well as any man, and there is no soft fat on her body. Perhaps, once her wish is gratified she will grow bored and want to return. And besides, hadn’t she actually asked her politely instead of ordering?

Sensing surrender, Alexa smiled at Menika, impatiently running fingers through the heavy mass of her hair before twisting it into a knot at the nape of her neck.

“Come, let’s go quickly on this adventure, and I promise not to take too long. And as for my aunt, I know she’ll sleep soundly until morning. She’s probably taken one of her headache powders as she usually does when she is tired and wants to sleep without interruption.”

Resigning herself, Menika bowed her head. “If you are determined, then it would be better, I suppose, if I took you by the easiest and safest way. There is a back staircase that is used only by servants, and it is very narrow—you will have to watch your footing. And there is a secret path. I have never used it myself, but my mother who has worked here for many, many years showed it to me once. There are no guards posted along that path or about the bathing pool either. A previous Governor gave the order…” Menika’s eyes darted to the face of her unlikely companion, and detecting no shock but only a lively curiosity, went on in a soft voice: “He was a man who, like most men, enjoyed women. Others, beside his wife.” Speaking in her native tongue instead of the pidgin English she had acquired, Menika seemed much more at ease. Now she said hastily, “But please, from this moment we must be very quiet. There are guards close by.”

Hurrying along on bare feet over dew-damp grass, feeling and relishing with a mounting sense of exhilaration the freedom from the restriction of layer upon layer of heavy clothing, Alexa wanted to laugh out loud. With Menika leading the way they slipped between tall hedges that shut out most of the moonlight, following a path that was almost completely grassed over so that it was now a mere track. An owl hooted from somewhere close by, and the fragrance of flowers lingered in the air. Some people would have called this a romantic night, but to Alexa it was only another example of the beauty of nature itself. And now, sensing the nearness of the ocean, she began to long for the feel of silky-cool water against her skin…to be floating on her back while she watched the moon float above her, and feeling herself rocked gently by the motion of the never-still sea.

“The…the cry of the owl…it is supposed to be a bad omen!” Menika was obviously nervous.

“Nonsense!” Alexa said as bracingly as Harriet might have done. “The owl is only awake at night. Does the twittering of birds in the daytime alarm you? There is nothing frightening or mysterious about the night; it is merely a time when the sun is shining on the other side of our world…when the sun is resting,” Alexa quickly amended, catching the puzzled look Menika threw over her shoulder.

“I had never thought about it that way,” the girl said with a note of surprise in her low voice. And then she broke off suddenly to point ahead. “That is the place. It was not made by any person, but by the sea itself, slipping through that narrow opening there to form a protected bathing place. But the former Governor I told you about had rough steps cut into the rocks. See? On this side. The pool, however, is quite deep, so I have heard.”

“How beautiful! And especially under the moon! Don’t you want to come in too? I could teach you how to float if you’d trust me.”

“No…no!” Menika stepped backward apprehensively. “I cannot swim, and I would not dare try the water. It frightens me. Please, perhaps we should return to the house? The water looks so black where the moon does not touch it, and it keeps moving as if it was breathing…”

“Well, I’m going in, and this is probably the last opportunity I will have to swim out in the open—under the sky—without all the hampering clothes I shall be expected to wear all the time now, I expect. Oh, how I hate clothes, and everything they represent! Repression—hyprocrisy—sham!” Alexa was talking to herself, almost, as she removed the skimpy bodice and tossed it aside before undoing the carelessly tied knot that held her improvised “skirt” about her hips. She stood there in the moonlight like a naked Greek goddess carved out of marble, stretching her arms out wide over her head with an almost primitive sense of ecstasy she did not quite understand herself as she paid homage to the moon and to the ocean—both female like herself. And then she said carelessly, “Are you sure it’s deep?” and dived in without waiting for a reply, her body cleaving through black and silver with hardly any splash at all—coming up for air with her hair dripping and hanging heavily down her back; the reflected shine of the moon gleaming off her wet skin as well.

“Ohh! It’s wonderful! And actually quite warm too. Do join me, Menika. Be daring just this once! I can swim and I promise to look after you.” But the girl only shook her head, backing off as she glanced nervously behind her.

“Please, if you do not mind I will wait here for you and watch.” There was no budging her for all Alexa’s coaxing; and all she would say, stubbornly, was, “I will wait, and guide you back when you are ready.”

In the end, seeing Alexa begin to swim back and forth—sometimes diving under water like a fish and coming up some moments later to shake back her long, strangely colored hair—Menika decided resignedly that she might as well rest for a while, since she was tired and had hoped to snatch a few hours of sleep tonight. Retreating a short distance into the shadows thrown by the shrubbery that had been allowed to grow wild at this particular place, Menika leaned her back against a tree, tucking her feet under her. Oh, but she was tired! She had been awake since five in the morning and had been working ever since. Perhaps if she could just close her eyes for a few minutes…

Poor little thing, Alexa thought contritely as she came up for air, delighting in the salty tang and taste of the sea. Perhaps she should forgo her own selfish pleasure and go back for Menika’s sake. But then, watching the riding lights of a ship that was anchored some distance away, beyond the coral reef that protected this part of Ceylon’s coast from sharks and enormous breakers that could crush any unwary bathers, Alexa decided that she might just as well enjoy herself and the glorious feeling of freedom that bubbled in her veins. She had never done anything this daring before. Swimming stark naked in the Governor’s private pool on a moonlit night. What if the Governor himself had the same idea? She had to resist the impulse to giggle at that thought. Not the Right Honorable James Alexander Stewart Mackenzie, most certainly! Balding, bespectacled and quite overshadowed by his wife, whose name he had adopted upon their marriage, he was hardly the kind of man who would dare to stray—and especially since he was devoutly religious as well. Or so Aunt Harriet had warned her, begging that Alexa should on no account enter into any kind of discussion on religion or religions, as the case may be.

Well, I did promise everyone that I was going to behave and be a credit to them all, Alexa reminded herself stoutly. But that is tomorrow, and tonight is mine alone…my last secret adventure, perhaps. Just for tonight I can be what I feel and what I am. Turning on her back, Alexa floated lazily again, letting the slight swell of the water rock her while she stared back at the silver face of the moon and let her thoughts wander as they pleased.

4

How gentle the ocean was tonight, with hardly a wave to break its smooth, swelling surface; and how bright the moon, splintered into a thousand, a million tiny silver fragments that danced along the gentle swells. A magical, enchanted night with the moon a fairy godmother who could turn every hidden, secret wish into reality for just a few precious hours. Alexa knew that Harriet would have frowned and told her that she should think rationally. Learn to be more practical. But how she hated that word! Ah, tonight was meant only for fantasy…was only a fantasy, perhaps, as she felt herself caught up in a silver-spangled web that transported her into a magical place where wishes came true and anything was possible if you closed your eyes and believed hard enough.

Almost mesmerized into believing she could disappear into the silver eye of the moon as she stared into it, Alexa found herself remembering the fairy tales that Mama used to read to her when she was very young and Freddy hadn’t even been born yet. Stories of handsome Princes, and Princesses with long golden hair that could be let down castle walls. Of dragons that could spit fire, and tall giants and twisted gnomes. Enchanted forests and bramble bushes that could grow in the twinkling of an eye to shut in a sleeping beauty who could only be awakened from her slumbers by a kiss. “Stuff and nonsense!” Aunt Harry used to scold. “The child’s head shouldn’t be filled with fantasies and falsehoods that have nothing to do with real life!” But what was wrong with escaping from real life sometimes into the magic world of fantasy where anything was possible? To imagine herself the fairy princess held captive by the spell of the wicked magician—waiting, wrapped about in her silver-webbed sleep for the Prince who was destined to rescue her. Or a pagan sacrifice like Andromeda, waiting for her Perseus. Waiting, like a moon-silvered statue, for…it did not matter. She felt herself flow into the moon and felt the moon flow into her, and she was magic and part of the night itself that was the birthday gift of her fairy godmother. A gift of magic…

Still floating languidly, Alexa suddenly felt a different, almost agitated motion of the water beneath her. A sudden wave that had managed to force its way in through the tiny entrance to this miniature bay? A splash…? No, her own moon-fevered imagination. What had she expected, a sea monster? She should not have let herself stare so hard at the moon that she became altogether lost in the fantasies her imagination surrounded her with. There was no one, and nothing here but poor sleeping Menika and herself. Annoyed at herself, Alexa closed her eyes for an instant against the silver brightness that seemed reflected everywhere, and began to tread water while she pushed annoying strands of wet, clinging hair from her eyes. So much for fantasy!

And then, on the very heels of that particular thought Alexa almost felt her heart stop as she felt something touch her. Seaweed? Then the strangest sensation of having her skin stroked underwater, all the way up from her calves to the length of her thighs. Not a shark? No, only some large fish that had somehow managed to find its way in here through the narrow opening that separated this pleasant little pool from the sea beyond it? Suddenly frozen and losing all power of motion for some seconds Alexa felt herself sink under water, to come up gasping and spluttering and blinded momentarily again by her water-logged hair, which clung to her face and neck like choking strands of seaweed. Helplessly, and unbelievingly, she could feel herself being moved backward in the water until her back scraped uncomfortably against a rocky-surface—one of the “steps” hewn into the rock here on the land side of the pool. She was still quite incapable of speech, having accidentally allowed herself to swallow a considerable amount of salty water, and barely capable of thought either until she heard an unmistakably human voice that held an annoying undercurrent of amusement.

“Well, well! I seem to have caught myself a mermaid! Or is it a sea witch? One of old Neptune’s wicked daughters?”

It was also, Alexa realized belatedly, unmistakably a pair of human hands that held her hard, and far too familiarly about the waist at this moment. And if only she was not still choking and coughing in a most unladylike way she would have used some of the barracks slang she had picked up from some of the young officers who sometimes forgot that she was a female. Oh damn, damn, she thought; why did her damned hair always have to get in the bloody way? How often she had longed to be able to crop it off! She shook her head fiercely, pushing heavy tangles back from her temples, and found herself looking into a face that was far too close to hers—a face she could hardly see, because the moon was at his back.

Alexa had not, until tonight, ever really believed in superstition or ancient legends; but now without her willing or her wanting, the sudden memory of her earlier fantasy thoughts raced through her mind. A man (and she knew instinctively that he was as naked as she was) who had risen out of the sea—or so it seemed. Had she managed, by some impossible accident, to conjure up some dark spirit from the ocean depths? Poseidon? No, Lucifer himself—no fairy prince! She could only see him as an outline against moon-bright sky and water…archetypal man, as pagan and primitive as the night itself. Alexa felt spellbound; and she had never known the meaning of that word until now. As if she too had been turned by a silver-tipped wand into someone else. As if, while she had lain floating on her back and offering herself to the moon she had suddenly had her offered sacrifice capriciously taken up and had lost herself. Even her voice, since her vocal cords seemed to have become frozen and immobilized like the rest of her senses as she stared into the darkness of a face she could not see.

“I never thought to wonder whether mermaids could speak or not…and perhaps it’s better they don’t. Is that why you’re such temptresses?”

The man’s voice was rough, because he had had time to study her face in the moonlight, and he did not like to admit, even to himself, the unwanted emotions it aroused in him. It was a different face, one which might indeed have belonged to some mythical creature, whether sea nymph or siren. Wet hair always looked dark, but hers seemed to have strange shimmers of light shot through its wet, curly masses wherever the moon happened to touch it. Well-defined dark brows were etched against the pale oval of her face; and her eyes? They reflected the moon in miniature, but were they black? Dark grey? He had the instinct that they would be, even in daylight, the kind of eyes no one could read.

He had spoken to her twice and she hadn’t answered—had just continued to stare at him with those strange dark and silver witch-eyes. Was she only held transfixed by terror, or was it possible that she could not understand English? Perhaps she was the pretty Eurasian mistress of one of the English officers or the Governor himself; or a trespasser afraid to be found swimming in the Governor’s private pool. Whoever she was he hadn’t meant to scare the poor girl out of her wits when he’d navigated that little channel underwater. He’d meant to come to this place late tonight to swim in privacy, and then he’d seen her, hardly believing his own eyes. A naked pagan goddess under the moon, as open and unashamed of her nakedness as the women of Tahiti and the Sandwich Islands; women who had not yet had civilization trap them and change them from natural to artificial products of an unnatural society. Who was she? Ah, but did it really matter?

Almost unconsciously he had been looking at her parted lips, noticing that they were chiseled and well-shaped. Tempting lips. And so, without thinking, he bent his head and kissed them, acting purely out of instinct, his hands sliding up from her waist to her shoulders to bring her body closer against his. He wanted to taste and feel the texture of her lips, her mouth, to feel the pressure of her high, pointed breasts against his chest as they rose and fell like the sea itself with the motion of her breathing. He wanted much more than that, and his loins told him so; but he did not relish the thought of rape, and enjoyed seduction and the building up of desire that was mutual—the long, lazy enjoyment of lovemaking. So all he did for the moment was enjoy kissing his captive mermaid, who, as he had already discovered, possessed two long, sleek legs instead of a tail. And he kissed her gently at first, savoring the salt taste of her, the faint answering tremor he felt under his seeking mouth in the beginning and then under his hands. He could sense that she was like a shy, only half-tamed animal that might spring away in panic or begin to struggle desperately to escape if he moved too fast. But God, she had the sweetest, most temptingly perfect body in the world; and when at last her mouth yielded to him and her head fell back against his arm it was hard to remember patience.

And as for Alexa herself, she was still in a kind of trance. A dreamlike feeling of unreality had taken hold of her, while in the depths of her mind she wondered if, like some bold Greek maiden of ancient times who had dared challenge the gods, it was her fate to be held captive forever in the silver-webbed spell spun by the moon while strange sensations she had never experienced before chased themselves up and down her spine before spreading all through her body; making it feel unaccountably weak. She had never been, never wanted to be, kissed by a man, and yet it was happening and she was enjoying it! Even when she felt his hands caress her body, touching her everywhere like an exploration, it was as if the slightest brush of fingers over her skin explored her senses as well—evoking feelings she had not known existed within herself, making her feel breathless and no longer in control of anything that was happening to her.

She heard him whisper against her ear as his lips left her mouth and moved there on a trail of burning kisses, “I want you, sea witch. Silver moon maid. But you know that, don’t you?”

He “wanted” her? What did he mean by that? Did he mean to carry her off with him somewhere into the depths of the sea or wherever he had come from? Who was he, what was he? And what was it she was supposed to know? With a concentrated effort that cost her almost all of the strength she had left in her, Alexa tore herself free and dived back into the water, swimming vigorously as she tried to gather her already scattered wits about her. Moon maid, he had called her. Moon mad was more like it! Lunatic…now she realized how the word had been coined.

When she came up for air, shaking wet hair away from her face, Alexa found him before her again. Without her knowing it, she was playing the coquette—going from the innocent playfulness of a moon child to deliberate teasing. The cynical side of the man’s mind told him that she was playing a calculated game with him. Of course! Wasn’t that what most women were taught from infancy? Sweet deception. Blow hot, and then cold. Tease and pretend while you played “catch me if you can”; a game guaranteed to drive a man to his knees. But the fact remained that she was here like a fantasy turned flesh and blood—a naked nymph whose shoulders gleamed like silver in the light of a sinking moon—and he was the mortal man who had come upon her by accident, overcome by desire for her, as she probably knew very well!

Alexa still could not make out his features too well, although she could at least see that he was dark-complexioned. And although his English had been impeccable, he had a slight accent she could not quite recognize. Was he a gentleman? But then, how could he take her for a lady? It suddenly occurred to her that in spite of all the books she had read on almost every subject under the sun and in so many different languages, there were still many things of which she remained ignorant. Like…well, how did one act if you found yourself alone with a strange man on a moonlit night and neither of you had any clothes on?

Irrepressibly, Alexa started to laugh, perhaps as much from nerves as from the awkwardness of the situation she found herself in. But he did not laugh with her. In fact his voice sounded as if he was gritting his teeth while he spoke.

“You find something laughable about this?”

“I’m nervous! I always laugh when I’m nervous. And none of this seems quite real yet…”

It was the feeling she had that his body was suddenly poised—for attack? Assault?—that made Alexa suddenly break off in mid-sentence and turn in panic to swim for the steps again. But as she had half-dreaded and half-anticipated he was there before her to bar her way to safety and security. Ridiculous! She, Alexa Howard, had never been cowardly enough to run away from danger, and of course she was not afraid! And yet, when she felt his arm go around her, she could not help the sudden tremor that ran up under her skin.

As if they were merely continuing a polite conversation he said casually, with his head bent to hers, “What is it, mermaid? What did you suddenly think of? And were you thinking or—calculating?”

“Calculating? And what do you mean by that?” Indignantly, Alexa tried to shrug off his arm as she added, “Not that it matters in the least, of course; except that you have intruded upon my privacy, and you…”

“Indeed?” His drawling voice made her hackles rise instinctively as he continued sarcastically: “But then, you see, I had counted upon having some privacy myself tonight, and I happen to know that you are not the Governor’s wife nor the wife of the Lieutenant Governor either. In fact, I really cannot imagine you as the wife of any one of the very proper British gentlemen I’ve met, for that matter…having the courage to go out swimming under the moon without a stitch of clothing on! Which makes me wonder about you, sweet sea nymph…”

“Oh!” Alexa felt her face grow hot and was glad he could not know it. It was quite insufferable, as well as ungentlemanly of him to mention it, of course. Sitting one step lower than he was, she slid herself deeper into the water until her shoulders were safely covered; and hearing his soft, amused chuckle at her strategy, Alexa would dearly have loved to use her nails on him. But instead, controlling herself with an effort, she said stiffly: “Since I happen to be a guest at Queen’s House, I can only believe that you must be the trespasser here. And if you had any decency you would leave at once! In fact, I don’t even think you are English! Where did you come from anyhow? I’m sure you have no rights to be here, and if you are wise you’ll leave before…”

She did not quite like the sound of the short laugh that cut off her half-uttered threat as he said: “Before…what? Would you call the sentries and let them see you as you are now? A guest at Queen’s House? I had guessed you for some lucky man’s light of love, not His Excellency the Governor’s, for I don’t think his wife would permit him such an indulgence; but perhaps one of his senior officers? Obviously one of the older ones, or you would not be out here by yourself to seek your solace from the moon and the sea, would you?”

Her volatile temper boiling to the surface at last, Alexa snapped cuttingly, “By God! And now you’ve made it obvious that you are not only without manners but a depraved, degenerate…”

“You left out pervert and libertine,” he pointed out in a casual tone of voice that took Alexa by surprise. And then he said savagely, almost beneath his breath, “But if I’m no gentleman and all that you think I am, my little mermaid, then neither are you a lady! I think you’re a flirt and a hypocrite.”

“That’s not true!” Alexa flared up.

“It isn’t? Then why are you afraid to prove it, little liar? Or are you going to seek safety behind the convenient wall of convention and mortal sin?” His voice, deceptively calm to begin with, had suddenly turned into an animal snarl that almost frightened her. But then, before she had time to think further, his arms captured her again; and he began to kiss her, sliding his body against and over hers until she was held trapped and helpless. And this time his kisses were not gentle as he cut off her half-formed protests by the pressure of his hard mouth over hers. They were demanding and almost savage, these kisses; and when she fought, almost by instinct, to free herself from the encroachment of his body over and against hers, it was only to discover that he was much stronger than she was—and in the end, and even more frighteningly, that her body did not, inexplicably, really want to escape.

He was touching her everywhere—everywhere, even though she wriggled and tried to twist and turn herself free. And nothing in her upbringing or her schooling, as unconventional as it was by the standards of the day, had prepared Alexa for the wild and almost overwhelming tumult of emotion and sensation that raced through every vein in her body and rendered all the rational, practical commands of her mind futile. She heard herself moan and felt the shudders that shook her whole body when he touched her in certain ways, despising herself with the one small detached part of her mind that remained sane and actually relishing all the new sensations that had suddenly begun to erupt in her with all the force of a volcano. What was happening to her? What did it mean? How could she let it happen, this feeling of senses taking over from mind and reason until thought was only a vague pinprick?

Caught and trapped in a daze of unfamiliar emotions and feelings, Alexa was only half-aware of leaving the softly undulating coolness of water for the wetness of dew-damp grass. They had climbed the steps, still holding on to each other, and had almost fallen down together soon after.

The moon had slipped even lower in the blue-black sky, moving inexorably towards the horizon that was defined by the dark line of the Indian Ocean. Silver reflections still danced and shimmered off the surface of the pool they had just left and the sea beyond it; and Alexa could still see the twinkling orange riding lights of the ship she had noticed earlier, anchored at Colombo Roadstead. She saw without really seeing because for the moment only feeling was uppermost in her.

The grass had not been cut for some time, and it felt scratchy and coarse against her skin. And with his hands roving over her body—seeming to know, diabolically, just where to linger—Alexa found her breath first coming faster and then catching in her throat as she began to wonder helplessly what she was doing lying here with a stranger and allowing him to take such liberties with her. Harriet had never warned her about this—no one had! He was lying on his side with his body touching hers along its length; and when his fingers began to play teasingly with her breasts—making taut, aching points of her nipples before he bent his dark, wet head to kiss each one in turn—she wondered why she did not seem to have the strength to roll her body away from his and thought that she must have been made mad by the moon. Because she was suddenly frightened by so many strange feelings inside herself that she did not understand—this sensation of being swept away on a surging tide she could not control, making her body ache and tingle and want…? That was what he had said before. Want what? She was afraid—of him and of everything he was making her feel in spite of herself.

“No!” Alexa heard herself moan softly in protest. “No…no more…please stop!”

“And why is it that women always cry ‘no’ when they really mean ‘yes’?” He reared himself up on one elbow to look down at her, and the meaning of his caustically uttered words acted like a glass of ice-cold water thrown in her face.

With a catlike swiftness that took him by surprise Alexa twisted away and sat back on her haunches as she glared down at him. “I suggest that you go find these women you are so familiar with who say no when they mean yes and do as you please with them! But as for me, I detest that insufferably superior attitude of yours, and you can…”

By now he had sat up too; and unfairly, she still could not read his shadowed face as he held her wrists for a moment and said: “Listen, moon maid…mermaid…witch…whatever you are. Why should we waste time on questions or arguments on a night like this? We’re strangers brought together by Fate and we’ll probably never meet again. But why not make the most of the present? I could not fall asleep tonight, for some reason, and so I decided to swim out here and try out the Governor’s pool, and I found you. And I want very much to make love to you, moon maid. Right here and right now.”

His hand reached out to touch her face, and Alexa flinched away nervously, never wanting to lose herself again under the touch of a stranger’s hands. Within an hour’s time he had used her far too familiarly and had turned her into a shameless wanton—a bold, reckless hussy. Her hair lay in tangled, sea-wet curls about her face and shoulders, and although she could not know it, the way in which she stared at him in startled silence reminded the man of a frightened doe—and was unaccountably annoying to him. Now what was she playing at? She had yielded, teased coquettishly and then yielded again before this latest display of temperament. How dare she suddenly glare at him as if he had mortally insulted her?

“For Christ’s sake! What is the matter with you now? Or is it that you dislike plain speaking? Should I have seduced you without words instead? When I first saw you, swimming naked under the moon so naturally, I had the feeling that you might be different. Why must you suddenly insist on playing a game of charades?”

Each contemptuous word was like a stone that had been flung at her, sinking into vulnerable, sensitive flesh. He thought…but of course he would think the worst, and no wonder. She had allowed him to think, all this time, that she was one more of the quick, easy conquests he was no doubt used to. How humiliating the thought was!

Almost unconsciously, Alexa’s small white teeth had begun to worry her lower lip, and her eyes had narrowed dangerously—both signs that would have made her Aunt Harriet watchful and that made him aware intuitively that he had said something to make her as furious as a spitting cat, suddenly. He watched her warily now, outwardly relaxed but half-expecting her to leap at him like the wild creature she had begun to remind him of at this moment, when only seconds before he could have sworn she was one of the few women who might appreciate honesty and openness in place of flattery and guile.

Breaking the tensely-stretched silence between them, he said quietly, “I have the impression that I’ve said something to make you angry, even if I did not mean to do so. What was it?”

Instead of mollifying her, his speech only seemed to make her even more angry, her lips drawing back from her gritted teeth as if she belonged, in fact, in the depths of some primeval forest—an animal as wild and as untamed as every other that lurked there.

“Why should your ‘plain speaking’ make me angry? Or your ‘seduction without words’? I wish you could repeat your speech so that I could learn it by heart! Is it one of your favorite gambits when you think you are dealing with some gullible female?”

Oh, hell! he thought disgustedly, all the more annoyed at himself for letting the advantage slip so easily into her grasp. He should have been more cautious, more careful with her; and most of all he would have liked to act the brutal savage and snatch her into his arms without thinking about seduction, wrestling her into submission while he kept kissing her into silence and caressed that magnificently long-limbed body of hers that gleamed like polished marble in the moonlight. Making her as wild with desire as he was, although he had sensed instinctively by now that it was too late for that. Damn!

“Do you make up a new speech for every occasion that arises?” Her overly honeyed voice cut through his thoughts, and he gave her a considering kind of look that made her scramble to her feet rather too hastily to match the air of cool, detached dignity she belatedly tried to portray. “Not that it matters…. It’s time I returned before I’m missed….” And where was Menika? She had been sleeping (supposedly) right there in the shadow of the tall hedge. Where had she gone? How much had she witnessed?

“Are you sure you don’t need an escort? A beautiful young woman can never be certain what kind of depraved monster she might run across on a night like this!”

“Thank you, if that was meant to be an offer; but I have a pistol,” Alexa said coldly. “And I am accounted an excellent shot by everyone who knows me. On the last hunt we were on I bagged the most game….” She wished that he would not watch her so intently as she attempted to knot the camboy around her waist while holding the pistol she’d grabbed up hastily from the folds of her discarded shawl in one hand. And fastening up tiny buttons across her breasts proved even more difficult under his interested survey.

“If you need any help I should be glad to oblige you…without any more attempts on your virtue I assure you. Pistols have always made me cautious.”

“I don’t need anything from you!” Alexa snapped waspishly, wishing he would not lie there so casually, as if he felt quite at home, and watch her in a suddenly detached fashion. And damn and double damn! The silly little buttons on her bodice wouldn’t fasten easily, and holding the pistol made it even more awkward. In fact, she had almost fired it accidentally a minute ago while trying to get one arm at a time into the short, tight sleeves. He could have tried to make a grab for it if he had really wanted to, she supposed resentfully, but quite clearly he had already decided she wasn’t worth either the effort or the risk. Forgetting herself, Alexa swore under her breath—one of the very worst oaths she had overheard.

“Are you sure you don’t need help? Or an escort? Unless, of course, you happen to have a jealous husband or lover waiting for you…?”

“That’s enough out of you!” Alexa said furiously, leveling her pistol at him, and angry enough to fire it too. “What I do and where I go is none of your business; and since you are an obvious trespasser, why don’t you go back to wherever you came from?”

“I suppose I might as well, since you are so plainly capable of looking after yourself.” His drawling voice sounded almost indifferent as he came easily to his feet without any signs of embarrassment and stretched, making Alexa remember guiltily a picture she had once seen—a painting of a naked man that Uncle John had told her was a reproduction of a sculpture by Michelangelo. There were the muscles rippling under smooth skin, the width of shoulders narrowing down to the hips. And she remembered unwillingly and far too well the hardness she had felt pressing along her thighs. Although she had not been told too much about what Harriet termed “certain unpleasant topics,” she had lived for most of her life on a plantation, and the South Indian laborers were remarkably open and uninhibited about every facet of their lives. Since she understood their language she had heard many things she had not quite understood until now. Until tonight…

“Good night, sweet moonwitch. Or should I say good morning? You really should hurry back before they send a search party out for you.”

She would have dearly enjoyed the pleasure of shooting him if he had given her only the slightest provocation, Alexa thought. How dare he pretend to tease her in such a familiar fashion?

“Oh, go away! And I hope you drown!”

“You really are a vicious little bitch, aren’t you? Well, don’t worry, I’m a good swimmer, and my ship isn’t as far away as she looks. Adios!”

She might have actually fired her pistol at him after that impudent speech and the crude expression he’d used to describe her; but his body was already cleaving the silverblack surface of the water by the time she thought of it, disappearing underneath it and staying under long enough to make her stand there irresolutely while she wondered if perhaps he’d dived into a place that was too shallow and was drowning…?

And then she heard a low whistle and saw him, well beyond the inlet now and out to sea, turning lazily onto his back for an instant to lift one arm in a mocking salute before he began to swim in earnest again, making for the distant-seeming ship whose lights she had noticed much earlier.

So he was nothing more than a common sailor, with a different woman in every port, no doubt! And thank God I am not likely to set eyes on him ever again, Alexa thought guiltily, not wanting to be reminded of her own weakness. It had been her fault for giving in to ridiculous flights of fancy, a willing victim caught in a moon-spun web of dreams. Practical—Aunt Harry was right, of course. Only children allowed themselves to play at games of make-believe.

In spite of all her self-castigation, Alexa could not help turning to look after him just once more—an unwilling glance over her shoulder. But the moon was dipping low over the horizon by now and turning to gold; and she could make out nothing at all against the pewtered surface of the sea.

As if she had been a wraith, Menika suddenly seemed to materialize from nowhere as Alexa turned back again.

“I waited here for the missy, where the light of the moon did not shine in my eyes and blind me. But please, we must hurry now!”

It was much wiser and much safer not to ask questions, Alexa supposed as she followed the girl silently. Not even of herself, perhaps; like wondering how she might be feeling now if she had yielded to the temptation of a devil moon and a man who had reminded her of Lucifer himself.

5

Both silent, each wrapped in her own thoughts, the two young women, who were so unlike each other except for being about the same age, were fortunate enough to regain the safety of Alexa’s room without being discovered. Luckily for them the young soldiers who had the night watch were too busy fighting sleepiness at this hour of the morning to be as alert as they were supposed to be; and even more fortunately, Aunt Harry was still asleep and snoring lightly when Alexa finally went back to bed.

Alexa had already decided, very firmly, that nothing had happened. She had slept the night through, with Menika watching over her, and even if she had dreamed occasionally…well, dreams were nothing more than figments of a fevered imagination and had no significance at all.

After going down alone to an early breakfast, Harriet shook her head at finding her niece still asleep when she came back upstairs. Alexa’s pillow was hugged to her and the rumpled sheet barely covered her hips. Really, Harriet thought exasperatedly, I must try and make Alexa understand that young ladies—any lady for that matter—do not go to bed quite naked. Alexa possessed at least four pretty nightgowns, none of which she had ever worn yet. What must the servants think?

Looking about the room, Harriet’s observant eyes had noticed that there was fresh fruit and a fresh carafe of water placed by Alexa’s bed, and that her rumpled traveling dress had been washed, starched and pressed already before being carefully laid across the back of a brocade-covered chair. Well, at least they were efficient here. And they ought to be, Harriet thought grimly; with more than a hundred servants running about, each trained to do but one particular task. Even at informal meals there was a servant stationed behind the chair of each guest, ready to spring forward if necessary. She thought it a ridiculous waste of government funds, but of course the governors of a British crown colony were supposed to keep up certain standards of style and elegance, and the ball tonight, she hoped, would prove an example of both.

Alexa stirred and mumbled in her sleep, burrowing her face against the pillow she hugged so fiercely. What a child she could be sometimes, while at others…But it was high time the girl woke up and took some nourishment. Why, her hair alone would require hours of careful detangling and brushing out before it was ready to be styled. Bending down, Harriet shook the sleeping girl’s shoulder firmly.

“Alexa! Out of bed with you quickly, before they bring up the breakfast I ordered for you. Please have the good taste to wear a nightgown and that pretty wrapper your mama had made for you. And it’s no use your pretending you’re still too fast asleep to hear me, either. Up this instant, my girl!”

Recognizing, even in her drowsy state, a certain note in her aunt’s voice that meant she would brook no more procrastination, Alexa sat up at last, still yawning and rubbing at her eyes. She had been dreaming of something quite pleasant, and now she could not remember what it was. Why did she have to wake up so early? Sullenly, she found herself almost forced out of bed while Harriet moved her this way and that like a rag doll, scolding all the while.

“You know very well that too much sleep always spoils your disposition! Here, slip your arms into the sleeves, and I’ll tie the sash for you since you seem incapable of making the slightest effort on your own. Mrs. Mackenzie offered me a personal maid to take care of you, but I had to refuse, of course, because of your immodest habit of walking around your room with nothing or hardly anything on. And you must understand, my dear, that even though we have allowed you a certain amount of freedom at home, other people will hardly understand or condone such pagan habits. Why, not even husbands and wives…” Harriet bit off her words sharply but not soon enough, for Alexa had thrown back her head and was regarding her curiously.

“Do you really mean that people who are married and have children, perhaps, do not see each other without their clothes on? Why, I think that not being naked and free together is the more barbarous custom. And…” But now it was Alexa’s turn to cut short her indignant flow of words and blush as the one memory she had sworn to put completely out of her mind came back with startling, unpleasant clarity.

“I should think you’d have the grace to blush!” Harriet snorted. “And I certainly hope you will never dare attempt to air those views in polite company! I suppose it’s because you spend too much time talking to those coolie women who walk around half-naked themselves. I should have gone along with your mother, and had your papa forbid you…but then…” Harriet suddenly sighed heavily. “I have never believed that females should be kept overly protected and ignorant either, and that is why I have been so free in my discussions with you and have allowed you to read certain books which although they are considered literature are also thought to be not fit for ladies to read.”

“Aunt Harry, I…”

“I do hope, my dear Alexa, that I have not been wrong to bring you up in the way I did. You are eighteen today and still more than half-child, in some ways, but I always wanted your eyes to be open when you became a woman.”

Alexa threw her arms around her aunt, hugging her fiercely. “Please don’t, Aunt Harry! I’m so glad and so lucky that I was brought up by you as I have been, with my eyes open. And in spite of the silly tantrums I throw sometimes and the angry things I say, you must believe that I will never let you down; especially not in public. I feel so sorry for those poor women who know nothing at all beyond how to sketch or paint with watercolors or play a tune on the pianoforte, and cannot even carry on an intelligent conversation with men on politics or hunting or horses…”

At this Harriet had to repress a smile, although she said with her usual brusqueness: “Well, I do hope you will speak with a little less frankness than usual on the topic of horse breeding and refrain from joining in arguments that concern politics or religion. And now get on with you and wash your face with some cold water. Your eyes are quite puffy from oversleeping.”

While Harriet bustled about the room Alexa’s muffled voice came from behind the lacquered screen that hid the washstand with its china pitcher and basin. “I promise that I will be charming to everyone tonight, even the bores, and that I will be decorous and demure and seem helpless and even a little silly, since that is what’s expected of a proper young lady.” She emerged toweling her hair, with those strange slate-colored eyes of hers sparkling in a way that Harriet mistrusted. “In fact, do you think I will find a ‘catch’? It might be an interesting experience to have a suitor, even if I might not decide to marry him in the end. But I suppose I really must learn how to be a flirt, even if it is only to find out if I can turn men into my slaves or not.”

“Alexandra!” Harriet’s voice carried a warning note, but Alexa only laughed, making a turban of her towel as she twisted before one of the full-length mirrors so that her silk skirts swirled about her long legs.

“Oh, but you must not worry that I shall do something to disgrace you. For since I have, thanks to you, dearest aunt, a passably good mind, I have decided to follow your advice and use my feminine wiles to the greatest advantage possible.” She was studying herself in the mirror as she spoke, especially her face. She looked so different with all her hair tucked out of sight. Was it possible that she could ever pass as a man? And then, sighing, Alexa decided not, putting aside one more childhood ambition of hers.

“Well? Trying to decide if your face is your fortune?” Despite her dry tone of voice, Harriet had come up to stand behind Alexa, watching, with a strange tug to her heart, the changing play of expression on the girl’s face as she stared at herself.

“I suppose I’ll never be a raging beauty, will I?” Alexa said diffidently. “Not one of the fashionable kind, anyway, with tiny rosebud mouths that simper instead of smile and faces like pink and white china dolls that don’t show feeling…”

“Sometimes it’s just as well not to show one’s feelings too openly,” Harriet said quietly, but Alexa was too caught up in her game of self-assessment to pay more than token attention.

“Oh, I think I know better than that, of course. But now you must please tell me frankly if my nose is too short—and too thin as well? And my eyebrows—how I wish they were more arched than straight. And…you see how they actually slant a little bit at the temples? But I suppose there is nothing very much I can do about all my defects, including the fact that dark eyes are hardly in fashion at the moment; unless I can manage to make myself all the rage by making every man think I am fascinating!”

“Well…” Harriet cocked her head to one side, studying Alexa’s eager face almost as critically as the girl herself had done, before she said judiciously: “At least you have quite an arresting face, my dear, which I consider the next best thing to being thought fascinating. You have white, even teeth and an attractive smile when you do smile, as well as nice high cheekbones and unusual hair-coloring…and that is quite enough, I think, since I do not on any account want to turn your head.”

“Oh, you could never do that, but you have paid me the greatest compliment in the world by telling me that I have an arresting face. Do I really? Perhaps I need not feel quite so nervous now that you have told me that. And at least I do not freckle under the sun. But…”

“Enough!” Harriet said sternly. “I want you to sit down and eat all of your breakfast before it gets too cold; and at once! There’s a lot to be done before we get you quite ready to be the belle of the ball tonight, my dear.”

“Belle of the ball” indeed. For all of her surface bravado, Alexa could not help the feelings of uncertainty and something akin to fear that stayed with her, making her wish fervently to be anywhere else but here, on exhibition before scores of watching, curious, critical eyes. But she wasn’t a coward, she told herself over and over again. And even if this ordeal seemed worse than facing a charging bull elephant, well, it would be over eventually, and until then all she had to do was to act. Pretend that she was someone else much older and much more experienced who was used to making slaves of men, that was all.

Pretend—an amusing game like “charades.” What role would she play? Cinderella? Cleopatra? Diane de Poitiers? Or innocent Little Red Riding Hood? Her hands felt clammy as she stood in front of the mirror as rigid as a statue while Harriet gave orders to four chattering “sewing women” who had been summoned to make last minute alterations to her ball gown. It had taken at least two hours to subdue her unruly curls into a fashionably sleek coiffure—looped braids on either side of a prim middle-parting threaded with pearl encrusted gold ribbons—a matching “ferronière” around her forehead.

Faint strains of music drifted up through the open windows, and Alexa could not help whispering, “We are not late, are we?” while Harriet was still trying to decide on what jewelry she should wear. From the case she had brought along with her Harriet produced several items, now holding them against Alexa’s bare throat and then discarding them.

“Not suitable…too opulent…not sapphires with a gold and white gown…” And then, irritably, “Of course we are not late! The musicians are merely tuning their instruments, that is all. As if I would allow you to be late!”

With a sigh of resignation Alexa returned to studying her mirrored image once more, hardly caring by now if she wore any jewelry or not, for the fairy-princess gown her dearest Uncle John had magically produced for her seemed more than enough to help her feel like an enchanted princess tonight. Arresting. Would they really think she was arresting? The very latest fashion in Europe, Uncle John had assured her with a twinkle in his bright blue eyes. And it had been especially created for her by the leading designer in Paris—all in white and gold—white silk overskirt delicately sprigged with gold fleur de lys opening at the point where her tightly fitting basque dipped into a vee to reveal shimmering cloth-of-gold—a gossamer-delicate fabric that Sir John had obtained in India. Rows and rows of tiny ruffles all about the full skirts, which almost swept the floor, and matched those accenting a bateau neckline that left most of her shoulders bare while allowing her short, tight sleeves to barely peep out beneath. And there were knots of gold ribbon to further ornament her overskirt as well, and gold satin dancing slippers…

“Here! I think I’ve found just the right thing at last. This pretty and unusually designed gold necklace of your mother’s that matches the bracelet she gave you on your seventeenth birthday. Exactly right. Alexa, you are not wearing your bracelet, and I know that I reminded you to do so just before we left. Surely you cannot have lost it, especially when you know how much it meant to your mama! Please try to think where you might have left it. I could have sworn I noticed you wearing it yesterday. Oh dear—this room is in such a state of confusion…”

Harriet, preoccupied and edgy, did not notice how white Alexa had suddenly become in spite of the red rose petals that had been vigorously rubbed along her cheekbones to give them a glow. Her bracelet! She never took it off, and she clearly remembered seeing it reflected in the moonlight before her whole night had been spoiled by something she’d much rather not remember. But when could it have fallen off?

“Well? For heaven’s sake, do try to remember. It’s almost time we should be downstairs to join the Governor and Mrs. Mackenzie when they begin to receive their guests.”

Alexa found her voice with difficulty. “I know it is somewhere here, Aunt Harry. I think I took it off before I had my bath, and…but how can I remember now? I promise to find it later—I know I shall—but not now when I can hardly think and it is almost time…”

To her relief she heard her aunt snap: “Oh bother! I suppose you are right and we do have to hurry just now. Here, let me tie this gold ribbon around your wrist to make do for the moment. And now turn around…” As Alexa moved automatically, almost like a puppet, Harriet contemplated her critically before saying, “Well, so you are finally ready, I suppose. Here, take your silk shawl just in case you might need it later—and do remember to hold your head up!”

There was nothing to be nervous of. She must remember what Sir John had told her earlier. Courage. Once you faced what you had thought of as an obstacle as squarely as you would face a challenge, it would never seem insurmountable. And yet, as Alexa descended the stairs with her aunt, everything about her seemed to have become hazy and unreal, like a blurred scene watched through a gauze curtain. Her skirts, with the starched and stiffened petticoats she had been made to wear underneath them, seemed heavy and cumbersomely wide as well as being hot. She held on to the polished wood banisters and saw, looking down, the flashes of gold made by her pretty dancing slippers.

“How lovely you look, my dear, and what a beautiful ball gown! They’re all going to envy you; and you’re not to mind, d’you hear?”

Alexa barely remembered to curtsy her thanks to the Governor’s lady for her generous compliment.

“You look just as exquisitely beautiful as I knew you would when I first pictured you in this dress, Alexa.” Sir John kissed her cold cheek lightly as he gave her icy hands a reassuring squeeze and whispered, “And remember, you have a mind that matches your beauty; so be sure of yourself, as you have every reason to be.”

Alexa found that even helping to receive the seemingly endless number of guests that had been invited to the ball this evening did not make her feel awkward with Sir John standing next to her; and by the time they had all sat down to dinner she had already begun to feel a little more self-confident. Course followed course; but all she had to do was push the food around on her plate after she had taken a bite or so and then that particular course would soon be cleared away to make way for another.

As the guest of honor, Alexa found herself seated to the right of the Governor himself; but since Sir John was seated on her right, she managed quite comfortably. In fact, she found that the Right Honorable James Alexander Stewart Mackenzie was a kind man in addition to having fathered seven children (all away at school in England), which she felt made him all the more understanding. Not only that, but he was quite a scholar; being particularly learned in Latin and delighted at her knowledge of the language, as well as the literature of ancient Rome.

In time, Alexa’s smiles became genuine instead of forced, so that her dimple showed. Studying her while she listened and laughed over some dry anecdote the Governor related, Sir John Travers reflected that it was in some ways a pity she did not realize how attractive she was—this child-woman he had watched grow up. Had she lived in Europe she could have become all the rage; but with a little more experience and polish, of course. There was the almost unique color of her hair, with its variety of shadings; and the startling contrast of those slate-dark eyes against a pale gold skin of the kind that welcomed the sun instead of having to hide from it. She had the supple, athletic figure of a young Amazon as well, and it was a pity that women’s clothes these days were meant to disguise and conceal every natural curve and line of the feminine body. In fact, the thought that his little Alexa’s free, bold spirit would some day be caged and confined by the stays and corsets of convention and what was supposed to be fashionable was almost intolerable. But perhaps he could do something about it? A challenge, that was what he needed at this point in his life, when all of the vast fortune he had accumulated over the years merely for the fun and adventure of it could not buy him health or happiness or an extension on life itself. A challenge…stimulation…a rescue? And why not? Ah yes, why not indeed?

“Uncle John? I’ve been chattering my head off for the past few minutes, practicing on you, as you said I should do. But you haven’t heard a single word, have you? Did I sound too vapid and inane? Or just too boring to be worth your attention?”

Alexa’s reproachful voice made Sir John chuckle as he patted her arm and said, “Not at all, my dear! Just had a lot on my mind, that’s all; and some of my thoughts concerned you, as a matter of fact. But I see Mrs. Mackenzie giving the signal for all you ladies to retire; so we’ll talk about it later, shall we?”

There was a rustling of long skirts and the scrape of chairs as all the ladies rose in concert to follow the Governor’s wife; and Alexa, reluctantly, had no choice but to do likewise.

As they walked out Mrs. Mackenzie made a point of holding Alexa back for a few moments; her smile kind and almost conspiratorial.

“I just wanted to tell you, my dear, that you’re doing very well indeed, and you mustn’t let being thrown in with a crowd of women intimidate you. Makes me remember my own coming out ball, y’know! I was as nervous inside as you must be, but I didn’t let them see it either. And—ah yes—what I really started out to say was that I don’t want you to think there will be a lack of young men to dance with later on. The dinner was for the pillars of society here, if you know what I mean, but once the dancing begins I’m sure they’ll flock around you like flies—all our eligible young officers and Civil Servants. And we’re to have distinguished guests from at least two of the foreign ships anchored at Colombo Roadstead as well—at least one British title among them! We had some of them to dinner last night; a pity you were too tired to join us. But I see all the ladies watching us curiously, and the last thing I meant to do was to make you feel conspicuous. I only meant to tell you, my dear, that I like you because I can tell you’ve got spirit; and that I want you to enjoy yourself tonight. You’re only young once, after all, and why not?”

Having delivered her speech in a rapid undertone, Mrs. Mackenzie swept a somewhat dazed Alexa ahead of her into the drawing room, where she found herself seated between the Governor’s wife and a milky-faced blonde of about her age who was gowned in ruffles and flounces from her hem to her neck and down again to her elbow-length sleeves.

Charlotte Langford had attended an Academy for Young Ladies in England before her formidable mother had decided that it was time she found herself a suitable husband. And here in Ceylon, where there were not very many blond and blue-eyed young English girls to be seen, she could have her choice of the most eligible bachelors—as long as her mama approved, of course.

Her mama had very decided opinions on everything, and Charlotte had always been guided by her; but in the case of Miss Howard she had not been quite as forthright as she usually was.

“Now remember, Charlotte, that if you are introduced to her I will expect you to keep a detached and Christian viewpoint. You know what I mean?”

“Oh yes! Of course, Mama!”

“Good! And I am trusting, of course, in the way in which you have been brought up and the education you have received back home. It will disappoint me if you should show any signs of being patronizing towards a young woman who has not been fortunate enough to have gone back to England since her birth, poor child. And as for the kind of schooling she might have received, I have no idea of it. But if Sir John Travers is sponsoring her it must mean, I suppose, that at least she is presentable enough…”

“Yes, Mama. But I am afraid I do not quite understand if I am to make friends with Miss Howard or…or not.”

“Oh heavens, Charlotte! Don’t you listen to anything I tell you? If she has been accepted by the Governor and his wife as well as Sir John, I see no reason why you should not make her acquaintance at least. And I’m sure that I can trust you not to…well, not to be influenced in any way your papa and I might not approve of; and to find out for yourself if Miss Howard might prove to be a suitable friend or not.”

“Oh yes, Mama!”

Charlotte had found out long ago that it made life much more pleasant to say “yes” to Mama. Even Papa did so, and he was a colonel and used to giving orders. But now that she was seated right next to Miss Howard, what would Mama expect her to do? The seemingly self-possessed and fashionably gowned young woman who had been able to carry on an animated conversation with Sir John Travers and Governor Mackenzie could surely not be the same person who, according to the gossip that filtered down from upcountry, went riding dressed like a man and hunted wild game in the company of the young officers stationed nearby her father’s coffee plantation without the benefit of a chaperone? Used to her mama’s close guidance in everything, Charlotte could not help but feel rather nervous at being left on her own, so to speak. She was not used to anything or anyone out of the ordinary and had no notion of how to deal with Miss Howard and keep her mama happy at the same time, although she had to admit to a certain degree of curiosity….

Suddenly, taking Charlotte quite aback, Alexa turned to her with a bright smile that Charlotte could not know was pasted on.

“I’m so sorry if I have appeared rude! But this is my first experience of such a formal gathering, and I have not yet discovered what is considered correct and what is not—so I hope you’ll forgive me for introducing myself to you, since nobody else has troubled to do so. I am Alexandra Howard, and you…?”

Charlotte’s mouth had dropped open with surprise at such an unexpected and unconventionally forthright approach, and she could not help but dart an almost desperately appealing look in her mama’s direction before she managed to stammer: “I…Oh, I do hope you will not think…Since we are seated next to each other I should perhaps have made an effort…. I am Miss Langford, you see. Colonel Jack Langford is my father, and that is my mama across the room. I had been quite looking forward to making your acquaintance, Miss Howard, since we have all heard so much about you.”

“Have you? What have you heard about me?” Under straight dark brows Alexa’s storm-cloud eyes gazed with uncompromising directness into Charlotte Langford’s reddening face, never wavering while Charlotte began to stammer awkwardly again, her cheeks looking positively blotchy by now.

“I hope you did not think I meant…All the young officers who have been transferred here from upcountry are always so full of admiration for your courage and…and daring, you see, and of how well you ride and shoot…”

“How nice of them to be so flattering!” Alexa said in a noncommittal voice, discovering nastily that Miss Langford had particularly ugly teeth that looked yellow, and watery blue eyes that kept dropping before hers. How she hated gossip and gossips!

“They are actually staying with Uncle John—in his guest house! He is a good friend of her papa’s, Miss Langford informed me condescendingly. And I’m sorry, Aunt Harriet, but although I did manage to remain polite, I cannot like her. You should have noticed the way she kept glancing towards her mama for approval every second we were engaged in conversation; and in any case she has no intelligent conversation at all. All she does is quote her mama or pretend to pity me because I was never packed off to school in England as she was.”

Alexa had for once been relieved to catch her aunt’s imperative eyes and follow her dutifully upstairs to their rooms when Mrs. Mackenzie had kindly suggested that some of the ladies might wish to make use of some of the retiring rooms that had been set aside for them before the dancing began.

“You are going to appear fresh and sparkling when we go downstairs again, my dear,” Harriet had said firmly. “Some more of that rose cologne on your wrists and temples perhaps, but not so much as to be overpowering of course. And perhaps some rose petals rubbed on your lips and just a slight touch of vaseline to give them a slight shine; although you must never tell your mother I suggested such a thing. And let’s shake out your gown at the back…and yes, I noticed you were talking with the Langford girl—Charlotte, I think her name is. It might do you good to have a female friend of about your own age for a change, you know.”

Although Alexa had forced herself to be still and allow Aunt Harriet and the two attendant servant women to do as they pleased with her ever since they had come upstairs, she had found it harder and harder to subdue the rebellious side of her nature that was already simmering under the politely simpering, naive surface she was supposed to present. And then her aunt’s expressed opinion that she might do well to make a friend of Miss Langford had brought all her smouldering feelings of resentment tumbling out into passionate speech.

Her uncompromising brows drawn together in a dangerous scowl she was not even aware of, Alexa paused only long enough to take a long breath before continuing: “And what is more I could never even think of becoming friendly with anyone that silly—who is not capable of carrying on an intelligent conversation and thinks that gossip is a substitute. Why, I doubt that the poor creature has a thought in her head that wasn’t put there by her mama!”

Harriet, realizing the danger signals belatedly, said sharply: “Alexandra! You’d better wipe that ugly look off your face before we go downstairs, my girl, or you’ll be certain to give all the spiteful gossips such as Mrs. Langford the satisfaction of nodding their heads and repeating that you’re obviously unused to being in polite society. And that would be a great pity for all of us who have faith in your strength of character, as well as for yourself, don’t you think?”

Realizing that Aunt Harry had as usual managed to say exactly the right thing by subtly putting her on her honor while showing her a challenge at the same time, Alexa could only fall silent, gritting her teeth with the effort. Even if she could not make friends with Charlotte Langford or any of the other young women she might meet, she could and would show them that she, Alexa Howard, could play any role she chose to play and do much better than they could. Hadn’t she promised herself that she would be a success tonight and make all the nasty old gossips eat their words?

With a sudden whirl of skirts Alexa turned about to face her aunt with her scowl replaced by a brilliant smile.

“Don’t worry, Aunt Harriet. Tonight I promise I’ll make you all proud of me; and I won’t lose my temper either, no matter how provoked I feel. And what’s more I’ll be polite to everyone, even those people I don’t like; and I won’t appear too intelligent for their liking either. In fact they’re all going to end up saying what a well-brought-up young lady I am—you’ll see!”

6

As she walked downstairs again with Aunt Harry’s rather dour “Hmphh!” still in her ears, Alexa felt almost the same way she felt before putting her horse at a particularly difficult jump, or when she had to face a charging wild buffalo with blood in its eyes. “The only way to meet a challenge is head on,” Uncle John had told her a long time ago; and remembering his words, she lifted her head defiantly. Tonight was hers, and she would make it so—no one else could.

She looks as regal and as self-possessed as a young queen, my little Alexa, Sir John Travers thought as he waited at the bottom of the marble stairway. And so lovely too, reminding him for one painful instant, as her hair caught the dancing candlelight of the chandelier above, of someone else…. And then, sternly pushing that unpleasant memory out of the way, he returned her rather tremulous smile and lifted her cold hand to his lips in a courtly, old-world gesture of gallantry that came almost automatically at this moment.

“Ah…I knew that if I was patient enough I would be lucky enough to have the privilege of escorting both you ladies into the ballroom, where I’m sure your arrival is eagerly awaited. My dear Alexa, Mrs. Mackenzie is quite taken with you—as I knew she would be. And she is waiting to introduce you to all the latest arrivals. You will save at least one dance for your old Uncle John, won’t you though?”

Some of Alexa’s newly found bravado deserted her as they walked into an already crowded room where all the chattering ceased for a second as curious eyes were turned on them. She was relieved that Sir John had asked her a question, and said in a slightly panicked half-whisper: “I think I would like it above all things if I could dance as many dances as possible with you—and especially the first waltz—that is, of course if you are not already engaged to dance with someone important, like Mrs. Mackenzie, or…”

“But, my dear, don’t you know that tonight you are the most important lady present? And I’m sure you’ll have most of the young men here clamoring for the honor of a dance or even half a dance. Of course it would give me the greatest pleasure to have the first waltz with you; although I should not blame you in the least if you should change your mind, you know, and lose your heart to some dashing young blade between the lancers and a sprightly polka.”

“How could I? Most of the young men I’ve met are so silly, in any case, and I’d much rather have the chance of talking to you while we dance!”

They had come up to where the Governor and his wife were standing, and both ladies made their apologies, Harriet melting tactfully into the background soon afterwards with Sir John while Mrs. Mackenzie took Alexa’s hand with a smile and said kindly: “D’you think that I don’t remember how much time it took me to primp when I was your age? But you’re here now, and I’ll let you have enough time to get your bearings before we begin with introductions again. And if there is not enough time to get to all of them, well, it will be quite proper for you to agree to dance with any of the young men who might ask you, providing they ask permission of your aunt or me first—and depending on whether you think you might enjoy dancing with them, of course. If you don’t care to you can always make some excuse, you know. Tiredness or thirst or whatever excuse comes into your head first. I’m sure you’ll soon learn exactly what to say. But come along with me now and remember that there’s no need to be at all shy, because they’re all quite dazzled by how lovely you are, my dear.”

Mrs. Mackenzie’s hair was arranged in a formidable headdress of peacock feathers and purple orchids, and following in her wake Alexa could not help feeling very much like a tiny rowboat being towed along by a majestic ship of the line. Then the Governor’s lady stopped so suddenly that Alexa almost cannoned into her.

“Ah! And here is a gentleman you must meet, for his mother and I once attended the same school and his father was a friend of my late husband, Admiral Hood. May I present to you, Miss Howard, Charles Lawrence, Viscount Deering. You are a Viscount, aren’t you, Charles? Of course. I thought that was one of your father’s titles. Well, anyhow, this is Miss Alexandra Howard; and quite apart from being an uncommonly pretty girl she’s an heiress as well. No need to blush, my dear, for Charles knows I’ve always called a spade a spade. Known him since he was on leading strings, which gives me the right to be familiar. Well, Charles? Lost your voice as well as your manners?”

Alexa had almost begun to get used to Mrs. Mackenzie’s forthright manner of speech; but at this particular moment, feeling the eyes of the whole assembly watching, she could not prevent her cheeks from growing hot with embarrassment. In fact, it was only with a supreme effort that she managed to retain some semblance of composure; and obviously the young gentleman to whom she had just been presented was just as embarrassed as she was, for his face had also become flushed before he bent gallantly over her hand, lifting it to his lips.

“A pleasure, Miss Howard. I must confess that I had been looking forward to meeting you. Everyone here has been singing your praises.”

“Oh please! That is flattering to be sure, but you must not embarrass me by saying such things.”

Was that really her voice, responding so glibly with stock phrases? But during their brief exchange Alexa had been studying Lord Charles from behind the shield of her demurely lowered eyelashes; just as she knew very well that he was studying her.

He had chestnut-brown hair parted to one side, and a somewhat ruddy complexion. About four inches taller than she, he was slimly built and impeccably dressed by the right tailor, as even she could tell at a glance from the fit and cut of his clothes. And he was quite nice-looking—handsome, in fact—especially when he flashed her a conspiratorial smile that actually reached his amused brown eyes.

“Now that I have had the envied privilege of being presented to you, Miss Howard, I wonder if you would consider it too bold of me to importune you for the honor of a dance? I have to confess that I am hoping to be ahead of some of my shipmates who have been eagerly waiting for the guest of honor to arrive.”

Was it proper for her to accede to his request so soon after they had met? Alexa’s inquiring glance met with a smiling nod from the Governor’s wife, and she was able to turn back with a smile of her own to the young man who waited for her reply and to say without any of the usual coyness he was used to encountering from most of the young women he met, “I’m sure I shall enjoy dancing with you—and especially since you are the first gentleman who has had the initiative to ask me for a dance.”

She was quite enchanting, Lord Charles thought, as he said eagerly, “A waltz?”

He was rewarded by the sight of that tantalizing dimple of hers again and the flash of pretty white teeth. She seemed to hesitate for an instant before saying, “Oh yes! But not the first waltz though, for I’ve promised that to my adopted uncle.”

“The second waltz then…?” When she gave a slight inclination of her head in assent, Lord Charles looked into her intriguingly shaded eyes and murmured fervently, “I shall count each second until then, Miss Howard!” To his own surprise he found that he had, for a change, actually meant what he had just said.

“Well! And now that’s settled, Alexandra and I must be moving along. You young men of today take so long to come to the point! Can’t understand it!”

Alexa caught a long, almost caressing look from Lord Charles that should have made her blush, but instead only made her feel quite elated. Lord Charles. A Viscount, no less. (That ought to please Aunt Harriet!) And he seemed very nice too, and quite taken with her. Suddenly Alexa felt positively giddy with a rising sense of power as she thought: Shall I try to make him fall in love with me? And what if he does? There’s not much to flirting, really…it’s like acting out a part in a play. And in a way it’s such fun—finding out how easy it is after all to manipulate men, and finding out as well that they are not the omnipotent beings they think they are!

Alexa’s eyes had begun to sparkle and her cheeks to glow; and even Harriet was surprised at this sudden transformation in her wayward, recalcitrant niece who had stormed and sulked earlier at being forced to take part in some “silly charade” as she had termed it then. Now this new Alexa Howard was surrounded by a bevy of eager young men who were almost to the point of quarreling with each other as they begged for dances—or for even half a dance. And how quickly she seemed to have learned and adopted the coy arts and mannerisms of a born coquette, too, Harriet reflected. Unless it was in her blood, passed down to her by her mother, Victorine, who had seemed always to have known how to make men fall in love with her and never cease craving her. Even now, and after so many years, wasn’t her brother, Martin, still completely besotted by her? If Harriet had not made herself useful to Victorine, there was no doubt that her brother would have let her go out of his house and his life without qualm. A witch of sorts, Victorine had been, and perhaps still was. Some women seemed to have a power over men that was impossible to explain or to analyze. Helen of Troy…Cleopatra…Delilah…Madame Pompadour. And some of the most famous and sought-after courtesans, who could have anything they desired from their men except marriage. But why on earth were her thoughts suddenly taking such a strange direction when Alexa was only following her advice after all? Alexa was only eighteen and playing a make-believe game because she had promised to make everyone proud of her tonight. Tonight she was Cinderella at the ball, surrounded by would-be Princes, but tomorrow she would probably be back to her old self once more.

I should be pleased and happy! Harriet reprimanded herself as she noticed that while Alexa led a reel with the Governor himself the young Viscount had not taken his eyes off her for one moment. A Viscount—young and single into the bargain. And every mama there with a marriageable daughter was gritting her teeth, of course—particularly that detestable gossip, Mrs. Langford. Alexa herself looked happy, and as if she was thoroughly enjoying herself. There was absolutely no sensible reason, therefore, Harriet thought, for the strange feeling of anxiety—almost of foreboding—that stayed with her like an uncomfortable weight she could not shake off. No, she was being completely ridiculous!

“I suppose I do not need to ask if you are enjoying your first ball or not,” Sir John Travers said, smiling down into his young partner’s flushed and glowing face as they waltzed. “In fact, I can almost feel the jealously hostile looks that are aimed at my back this minute! Do you realize, my dear, that you have taken them all by storm? From now on you will have to make plans for every hour of your time; allotting just so many minutes to each different swain!”

“Never! Oh, Uncle John, do stop teasing, for you know me better than to think I would…. Why, most of them are far too silly to bother with; especially some I used to think of as my friends, who called me “Alex” and never bothered to act so gallant before. And now they are suddenly making calf’s eyes at me and swearing that they have always been in love with me and acting as if—as if I had suddenly become someone quite different when it is they who have changed. Just because I am all dressed up like a lady for a change and have been playacting! One would think…But do you think it is because men too feel obliged to playact? Do they feel obliged to flirt and flatter merely to prove that they are masculine?”

Sir John expelled a slight sigh before he answered a trifle ruefully: “I am very much afraid so, my dear. Especially the young men—most young men, one must suppose—who are influenced by the example set by their elders or by superior officers. Pursuing an attractive young woman is looked upon, I’m ashamed to say, as another form of hunting; and the larger the field, the greater the challenge. Even courtship has developed into a form of ritual these days, with so many prescribed moves to be made—the correct things to say and do to which a woman is supposed to respond correctly also. It has become almost like learning the steps to the latest dance, and it is called ‘polite etiquette’…”

“Oh,” Alexa said thoughtfully before Sir John added hastily, not wishing to dampen her high spirits with philosophy at this time, “But that is not supposed to mean that a man may not be utterly sincere when he expresses his feelings. Men too have been known to fall madly in love at first sight, you know.”

He had to admit to himself that Alexa’s rather matter-of-fact response took him by surprise.

“Well, I think that anyone who professes to fall in love at first sight must be extremely silly. Why, some of the young men I’ve met tonight have only just met me, and know nothing of me—only this Cinderella creature they have glimpsed for the first time tonight. So perhaps what is termed “falling in love” is a ritual too? For how could anyone know what I am like, or what I think, and what kind of a person I really am? At least you know how hard I fight to get my own way, and what an abominable temper I have—because you know me—but they don’t. And they don’t really care about that either, do they? As long as I show myself to be what I am expected to be, I suppose, and don’t show myself to be too intellectual or too clever…!”

Sir John’s mouth quirked as he shook his head at her, but his eyes remained serious as he said quietly: “You mustn’t become cynical too soon, Alexa, not before you’ve given yourself time to experience more of life and understand more of human emotion. Try to enjoy tonight for what it appears to be on the surface and for the learning experience it is proving to be; no more and no less for the moment at least. You’re the most popular, the most sought-after, and the most envied young woman here tonight, you know. Why not savor it to the fullest extent? There’s no need for haste, my dear.”

Long after he had escorted Alexa back to her seat beside her Aunt Harriet, only to have her hand claimed almost immediately by an eager young captain of the Dragoons, Sir John Travers continued to watch her and to remember the first time he had set eyes on the skinny beanpole of a child she had been and the strange sense of affinity he’d felt for her even then. Her bare brown legs had been all scratched from thorns and the sharp leaves of mountain grass, but she had been defiantly riding bareback a wild pony she had actually tamed herself; and there had been an air of almost arrogant triumph about the little wild thing she had been even though she must have known the punishment she faced for having slit her dress up on both sides in order to ride astride. He had interceded for her that day and had introduced her to thoroughbreds and to saddles—but never a decorous side-saddle for Alex, who had always wished she had been born a male. Until now, perhaps, when she had suddenly discovered the feminine side of herself?

Under the crystal chandeliers Alexa’s auburn hair with gold streaks interwoven in it shone like burnished bronze and drew almost every masculine eye, although she herself was not aware of it. Seating himself beside Harriet in the chair her niece had barely sat in all evening, Sir John became engaged in a low-voiced conversation with the older Miss Howard that had her shaking her head at first and then nodding it resignedly. He was right, of course, Harriet had to concede. Now that Alexa had been introduced to society and had proved a success, she needed to follow up that success by spending more time in Colombo, meeting more people.

Alexa had not failed to notice that Sir John and her aunt were engaged in what was obviously a deep conversation. At first she had thought Aunt Harry seemed doubtful about something, from the way she frowned and shook her head; but then she had begun to nod in a somewhat resigned fashion, which was unusual for her and had to mean that Uncle John had some exciting scheme in mind. When would she find out what it was? For it had to concern her, of course. Alexa could tell that much from the many times they glanced in her direction, and she was so full of curiosity that she was barely able to respond to the stilted conversation forced upon her by Captain McLeish. At least she had learned in a very short time that she was not really required to do anything more than listen—and to smile or lower her eyes occasionally while breathlessly murmuring innocuous words like “oh!” or “really?” or “please, do go on!” even if she was unutterably bored by every pompous word her partner uttered. Lies and pretense were the foundation of this new social world she found herself in, and honesty would only make an outsider of her. But how strange it was—and how paradoxical—to be brought up as a child to tell the truth, no matter what the cost, and to despise dishonesty and cheating; and then suddenly to be thrown into the adult world where those were the very things expected of you if you were to be considered “grown up”—and where everyone played at “Let’s Pretend” and took it seriously.

After Captain McLeish had reluctantly escorted Alexa back to the seat Sir John had just vacated, she said as much to Harriet. “It is all like some tremendous game, isn’t it? But once you learn the rules it is almost too easy, and hardly fun any longer—not if you can predict everyone else’s moves and beat them at their own game! And every man I have danced with so far—except for Uncle John, of course—has been so predictable and so boring! It’s as if they have all been cut from the same pattern.”

Harriet snorted her disgust. “Hah! So you’re bored and quite blasé already, are you, with the evening not even halfway through yet. My advice to you, miss, is to develop some humility for your own good, and not become too cock-a-hoop. ‘Cut from the same pattern’ indeed! And what, pray, if you should happen to come across some completely unpredictable man who does not fit into any prescribed pattern? There are men who are…well…blackguards—although I hate to use the word. Men who might come from the most exalted stations in life and might use all the right words and pay lip service to etiquette and convention; and be admired and well thought of by their colleagues and cronies too. You must remember that men will stand up for each other, and it’s always a woman who is blamed if she makes a mistake.”

Alexa’s eyes widened as Harriet pursed her lips over the euphemism she had just used, and then she shrugged impatiently and somewhat resentfully before saying: “I am not so naive, I’m sure, that I will not be able to recognize a man who is a blackguard, if I should meet one. And even if I should, I am surely more than adequately chaperoned tonight, am I not? And thank goodness I am a little more sensible than most of the poor, simpering females here; so that I hardly think…”

“And how sensibly do you imagine you’d continue to think if you should ever imagine yourself to be in love?” Harriet’s voice, as she broke in abruptly, was caustic. “Yes—in love. Madly and unreasonably in love with a man. Happy when he smiles at you and comes to call. Desperately miserable if he smiles at someone else or you do not see him for days. And then? No, don’t shake your head at me in that decided fashion, my dear, for it could happen to you just as easily as it could to anyone else. And pray do not commit the dangerous error of imagining that you are the only female to be miraculously exempt from such a sickness—for that is what it can be like.”

Alexa’s voice sounded almost startled as she said, “Why, Aunt Harry…!” And then, happening to catch Lord Charles’s eyes for an instant, she was able to look back at her aunt with a brilliant smile before continuing: “Believe me, you can be sure that there is not the slightest danger that I will ever fall in love. How foolish that would be—to become a willing slave to some silly, pompous man and have my happiness depend on his smiles or frowns—for all the world like a fawning hound. Never! You can be assured that you have taught me that much at least! I would much rather have it the other way around and make a man my slave—make him fall madly in love with me….” Lord Charles had begun to make his way towards her in a purposeful manner, until he had been stopped by one of his friends, who had put a hand on his arm. But Alex had not failed to notice that he had watched her all this time and had not danced with any other woman but the Governor’s wife so far.

Harriet, following the direction of Alexa’s wandering eyes, sighed inwardly, although her dry voice betrayed none of her concern.

“All well and good, my girl, although I hope you will try not to make your ambitions and your intentions too obvious!” In a milder tone she said, “What I would wish for you is a husband who will understand you and indulge you as well as love you; and that he will be, hopefully, a man that you can respect and care for as well.”

“Oh yes, I’ve already decided that,” Alexa said a trifle absently. “If I decided to marry I would have to like him of course, or it would never do. And he must be enormously rich into the bargain—otherwise there would be no point in my marrying him at all!”

“Very sensible! But I do hope that when you make your final choice of a husband it will be after a period of time in which you can come to know each other. There’s an old saying that ‘a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush,’ and that applies to men as well. Especially those, titled or not, who might only be visiting Colombo for a day or two at the most.”

“A day or two? But plans can be changed, can they not? After all, there are always ships that drop anchor here on their way to England.” And then, losing her attitude of confidence, Alexa suddenly stiffened and shot her aunt a dismayed look. “Oh! Oh dear, I had almost forgotten that we might not be staying in Colombo for more than a day or two!”

“Yes, I thought you might have overlooked that fact while you were so busy plotting and planning. You should have remembered that we were supposed to return home the day after tomorrow.”

“Were?”

“Ah! So you caught that, did you? I thought you might, with that sharp mind of yours. Well, I suppose I might just as well tell you now before that poor man you sent off to fetch you a glass of punch returns.” Harriet sent Alexa a silencing look before continuing. “Sir John was kind enough to suggest that you might find it enjoyable to spend a week or two in Colombo as a guest in his home. He thought that you might, in that period of time, have a better opportunity to—shall we say—winnow out those particular young men you might want to allow to continue dangling after you? Hrmph! All of them that I’ve noticed so far act like silly, moonsick calves, but I suppose that’s neither here nor there. In any case, I don’t suppose a short sojourn here would do any harm; and it might prove to be a useful experience—for everyone concerned,” Harriet finished significantly.

But by then Alexa’s eyes were already fired with excitement and anticipation. “Oh, how I do love Uncle John, and how kind and understanding he is! Do you think I’ll be asked to more balls and parties? And if I am, I don’t think Papa would mind very much the expense of two or three more new gowns, do you? I’m sure there must be excellent tailors here in Colombo…. How long do you think we can stay?”

“Alexa!” Harriet shook her head, stemming the flow of words. “You must understand that it is quite out of the question for me to stay on here for longer than we had planned. Your mother will need me to see to the household while she is busy nursing Freddy, and your father will need assistance with those tiresome ledgers as usual. And there’s no need for you to wear that martyr’s look, because you know very well that it was I who took care of everything before you were old enough to recite your multiplication tables. No, it has been decided, and you are to stay. I will explain everything to your mama and papa and I am sure they will approve.”

“But…”

“If you are wondering if you are to be left without a chaperone, you may put that thought out of your head at once! As you know, the Langfords are presently occupying Sir John’s guesthouse, and I’m quite certain that Mrs. Langford will prove more than adequate as both chaperone and mentor, while her daughter Charlotte…”

“Oh no! Not the Langfords, of all people! That thin-lipped dragon of a woman who kept looking me up and down as if she wished that she could find some positively dreadful fault in me so that she could gloat over it…and that mealy-mouthed daughter of hers with all the sly insinuations she makes in a sickly sweet voice while she watches me all the while to discover if her barbs have drawn blood…why, I remember saying to you only a short time ago that I could not possibly…”

Harriet said sharply: “Well, my dear, then you must remember what I said to you in reply. I can only tell you that if you wish to stay on in Colombo you will have to put up with the Langfords or you may choose to turn down Sir John’s offer and return home with me instead. I daresay that in time you’re bound to meet some nice young planter…”

Alexa had been worrying her lower lip with her small, white teeth while Harriet had been speaking, a sure sign that she was attempting to make up her mind. And now, when Harriet paused significantly, she said in a rather sullen voice, “But the Langfords! Why couldn’t it have been anyone else?”

“Well, my dear, if you could take a completely objective view of the situation, you might be able to consider it a kind of test, perhaps?”

“A test? I cannot imagine…” Harriet met Alexa’s rather suspicious look with a studiedly impatient shake of her head.

“Surely you’re sensible enough to realize by now that not everyone you meet will like you or be likeable to you. And yet society and good manners demand that we must be polite and not allow ourselves to be goaded into losing our tempers, which only serves to give others the advantage over us. In other words, you might look on your stay in Colombo, if you choose to stay, as a test of your self-control, perhaps? And of your readiness to go out into a world of other people and survive its perils and pitfalls by being clever enough to use your intelligence instead of being swayed by mere emotion; but perhaps you don’t feel yourself to be ready yet?”

Harriet saw the effect of her cunning speech as Alexa’s vividly expressive face seemed to harden; and behind the cover of her fan she leaned closer to the girl in order to drive her point home as she added in a low, and almost fierce voice: “You see, my dear Alexa—and you must see, must understand if you are to survive and still remain wholly your own person—the most important lesson of all is control over all the emotional weaknesses that mankind has been cursed with: rage, hate, blindly misplaced pity, and—obsession. Which is merely another and more descriptive term for the sorry state of ‘being in love.’ But if you have enough strength of character to resist giving in to such weakness, then you might achieve anything you wish to achieve because you will always retain the advantage!” Taking a deep, rather uneven breath, Harriet sat back again, composing her features into their normal, almost forbiddingly austere lines.

She had said too much to Alexa perhaps. Almost without volition she had opened up old wounds that were still far too tender and released, like oozing pus, too much bitterness. And yet Alexa, so young and lovely and full of the joy of living, had become over the years much more Harriet’s child than Victorine’s; and this was the time that Harriet hoped she had prepared her for—armed her for—the time when she would have to take her own first steps by herself into the world of her future. Whether Alexa would use what she had been taught—let her mind rather than her heart guide her—remained to be seen and was beyond Harriet’s control now.

She heard a hard little voice that was scarcely recognizable as Alexa’s say softly at her side, “Thank you, Aunt Harriet, for reminding me of everything. And now I am not even afraid any longer of anyone or of anything; so you must not continue to worry about how I shall get on. I shall do very well indeed!”

“Hah!” Harriet, with an effort, managed to sound like her usual self. “We’ll have to see about that, shan’t we? But for the moment I wish you would try to smile and show off your dimple, my dear, for I think I sense a collision, if not a confrontation, between two of your admirers. Here comes your Viscount with a determined look in his eye, and the Governor’s junior aide with the glass of punch you requested some time ago. And don’t look to me for help; I intend to sit back and observe for myself how well you manage to deal with such crises.”

7

Smile, Alexa, smile! And try to be, at least on the surface, exactly what they expect you to be—want you to be. An arresting face and a passable figure, with nothing behind the face to think or question. Don’t, by all means, forget to show that dimple of yours men think so enchanting, and don’t forget to flatter them—lords of the universe! Above all, never be foolish or daring enough to forget that you are, after all, only a poor silly, helpless, dependent female. Belonging to your father until you are fortunate enough to find a man who wants to marry you—and the property of your husband after that, like your fortune, should you possess one. For women were not supposed to have the brains to handle money, of course, and needed a strong, dictatorial male in their lives to guide and instruct them in every way! And once a woman passed from her papa’s keeping into her husband’s, she belonged to him in the same way as his horse or his favorite hound or any of his other possessions.

Disgusting. The mere thought was degrading! Alexa’s teeth gritted for an instant under the cover of her bright smile and interested look. But—even if she could not change laws and customs, she reminded herself that she had been trained to think; and that gave her an advantage. Did the secret of the few powerful, successful women she had read about lie in finding a weak man? Alexa pondered that for a moment and then decided to let it be for now, although she meant to find out eventually. Aunt Harriet was right—she tended to be far too precipitate at times, a fault she must learn to beware of and curb. One step at a time—until she had had sufficient opportunity to study the people she met and could determine how best to deal with them. That was the best and the safest way to proceed.

“Miss Howard—excuse me, sir—but I believe this is our dance?”

“Oh, but of course it is. The second waltz. I had not really forgotten, of course, but Mr. Sutherland’s account of his wonderfully interesting duties as aide to the Governor had me so fascinated that I did not even hear the musicians strike up, I’m afraid.”

Alexa had managed to keep Lord Charles at her side for the past few minutes by explaining apologetically that Mr. Sutherland had been so kind and gallant—forgoing the dance she had promised to him in order to fetch her a glass of punch to assuage her thirst—but the glance she had given him from under quickly lowered lashes while she played with her small ivory fan was enough to make Lord Charles think that she would much rather have been engaged in conversation with him, although sheer politeness forced her to pretend to listen to the pompous and boring Mr. Sutherland. While Mr. Sutherland, on the other hand, felt that the interest Miss Howard had shown in his conversation, in spite of the fact that she had a Viscount standing behind her chair in attendance, was a sure indication of which gentleman she really preferred. Of course she had turned her head away occasionally to engage in some polite exchange of words with Lord Charles, but that only proved that she was mannerly as well as being well-bred. As Alexa left on Lord Charles’s arm to join the dancers after a softly murmured apology to him, Mr. Sutherland gazed after her with a fatuous smile that made Harriet want to snort explosively again as she thought what arrant fools men could be.

Viscount Deering wore a rather rueful smile as he looked down at his partner. “What a soft heart you have, to be sure! But I must confess that even I had to feel sorry for the poor, pompous young man.”

“Yes, he is really very young, isn’t he? Just a few years older than my younger brother, Frederick. I daresay poor Mr. Sutherland must miss his home and his mother.”

“Well, I beg that you will not think about him any longer or my feelings will be quite crushed! Do you know, Miss Howard, that I have been counting every minute until this moment?”

“I think you’re flirting with me, Lord Charles.”

“I suppose I must confess that I was trying to. Do you mind very much?”

“No—I don’t think so, really. Especially since you have been so honest about it. I wish…” She hesitated, but Charles, quite charmed, prompted her gently.

“And what is it that you wish, Miss Howard?”

“Well, to tell the truth—and I don’t quite know why I should be saying this to you when we have only just met—I have often wished that people could always be honest and straightforward in their dealings with each other. Haven’t you?”

Her unexpected question had taken him by surprise, and Lord Charles in his turn hesitated a few moments before he answered it.

“I suppose…Yes, to be truthful, I too have often wished that such a thing could be so. But since we live in a world with other people who do not think the same way and might mistake honesty for weakness or mere stupidity —what is one to do? But we are being far too serious, I think! Please, I wish that you would tell me more about yourself, Miss Howard. Where your home is; the things you enjoy doing…”

“I am afraid I have led a very sheltered life here in Ceylon, and I have never traveled abroad in all my life. But surely Mrs. Mackenzie must have told you everything she knows about me and about my background already? I’m afraid that a dull account of a very quiet life on a coffee plantation in a remote province far removed from Colombo can hardly interest you; especially since your life must be so different and so exciting in comparison. Have you traveled a great deal and had all kinds of strange adventures? Does life here seem very slow and backward to you in comparison to life in England and Europe? Oh—I do hope you don’t mind my asking so many questions?”

Lord Charles, who was considered quite an eligible catch by London’s matchmaking mamas and had been glad of an excuse to flee from them for a while, found himself frankly intrigued by this exceptional young woman who swung so lightly in his arms. Exceptional—yes, she was that, and more. A treasure he would never have expected to find here in this small crown colony of all places. Different—with a certain air of poised self-assurance that was lacking in most young women of her age and protected background. And spirited too; he had already sensed that under the ladylike exterior. He had owned a little mare once, whose glossy coat reminded him of Miss Alexandra Howard’s hair. All docility and sugar-and-spice until, if her rider wasn’t careful enough to keep a firm rein, she might suddenly decide she wanted her head. The resemblance was there too in the way this young woman held her head; in her slate-dark gypsy eyes, and the very slight flare of her delicately formed nostrils. She was a rare find indeed, and a real prize for any man lucky enough to take her before anyone else did—and tame her.

Lord Charles masked his thoughts with an engaging grin as he said: “What man could possibly mind talking about himself? Although I must warn you that once you get me started you might have to promise me the dance after this one and a few more afterwards as well—unless I succeed in boring you too quickly! And as for exciting adventures, I find myself forced to admit that I have not been fortunate enough yet…If you are really interested in hearing tales of that kind, you should ask my newly-discovered and very distant cousin whom I had traveled all the way to the North American continent to find, and finally did so in one of the former Spanish colonies there. I believe, though, they broke away from Spain and transferred their allegiance to Mexico several years ago. Am I confusing you?”

“No, at least not yet!” Alexa said with a shake of her head and a dimpled smile. “But you have succeeded in fascinating me, for I have always longed to find out more about the Americas.”

“Well then…on condition that you promise to interrupt me as soon as I begin to bore you…” Lord Charles continued in the same light tone he had adopted earlier. “I hardly know where to begin, without sounding like a geography tutor, you know. But this ex-province of Spain is called California, and I found the style of living there different from anything I have experienced in Europe—or anywhere else, for that matter. It is a mixture of wildness and freedom and feudalism—a huge, vast land that has hardly been mapped yet; where the great landowners think nothing of owning hundreds and thousands of acres; can you imagine that? My cousin’s father was a sea captain from Boston in the United States of America who happened to anchor in one of the California ports to trade for hides and tallow. There he met a pretty Spanish girl of gentle birth—an heiress, I believe—whose family was and still is ranked among the richest and most influential in that part of the world. Why, I was feted and entertained there in the most lavish and generous style imaginable! It’s a lush and promising land with all the extremes of climate you could possibly imagine, from snow-capped mountains to burning desert and ocean. In fact, I might have been tempted to stay there myself except that there are also great, furious bears that stand tall enough to dwarf a man, and predatory mountain lions—not to mention fierce Indian tribes. Not being the kind to thrive on danger and adventure like my cousin, I must confess that I decided to settle for Europe and the tameness of civilization instead; and the only adventures I can relate, therefore, are secondhand. I hope I have not made you despise me!”

“Of course not!” Alexa responded quickly. She flashed him a smile before saying lightly: “I daresay adventures are all very well to read about and hear about, but to actually live in constant peril must be a very different thing and not what one could call exciting at all. I hope this distant cousin of yours lives in a safe part of California, for his sake.”

“Oh, I managed to persuade Nicholas to come to England with me, and you’ll meet him later on, I’m sure. He’s taking a promenade with the Governor and is involved in some deep discussion with him. But I should warn you, I suppose, that he is not an easy man to understand! He is somewhat of a cynic, and has a rather abrupt manner, besides being completely indifferent to what anyone may think of him. In fact, I can hardly wait to see what London society makes of him!” Lord Charles gave a rather boyish chuckle before continuing: “What a great lark that should be! Although you must not think he is some half-civilized colonial from my rather forbidding description, Miss Howard. Nicholas can adopt a polished air when he chooses to, and he has traveled in Europe before. But when we were in London together this time…” Lord Charles broke off suddenly, realizing he had monopolized the entire conversation, and that the dance was almost over, before he could ask Miss Howard if she would be his partner for the light buffet supper that would be served later. “I say, I really am sorry for going on and on,” he exclaimed ruefully, and shook his head at Alexa with a smile. “It must be your fault, Miss Howard, for being such a good listener.”

Miss Alexandra Howard, who, he learned, preferred to be called “Alexa” by her friends, had begun to interest Lord Charles more and more as the evening progressed. According to his mother’s friend Mrs. Mackenzie, she was accounted an excellent shot and an accomplished horsewoman; and actually enjoyed reading books, in addition to being fluent in at least five languages. And yet, she was certainly no bluestocking either. So far, he had not managed to discover any flaws in her—a fact surprising in itself, the Viscount (who considered himself quite blasé when it came to women) could not help thinking.

Lord Charles did not have to pretend that he was delighted when Miss Howard accepted his escort for the brief intermission, during which a cold supper was served for the benefit of those who wished to avail themselves of the enormous variety of dishes arranged on long, damask-covered tables that had been set up against one wall. All the more so because he saw an opportunity at last to remove her from under the eagle eye of that forbidding-looking aunt of hers, and from the assiduous attentions of all the other men who flocked about her.

Small groupings of tables and chairs had been arranged on one of the wide, covered galleries that overlooked the lush gardens, with pretty colored lanterns hung everywhere to add to the beauty of the warm, perfumed night and create an atmosphere of intimacy as well. Softly treading servants dressed in the scarlet and white livery of Queen’s House carried silver trays bearing tall-stemmed glasses filled with chilled champagne and white wine among the throng of guests, and it seemed as though no sooner was a glass drained than another was being proffered by one of the ever-present servants. Alexa had been allowed to drink an occasional glass of wine or dry sherry at home after she had passed her sixteenth birthday, but she had never taken a drink in public before, and now she wondered—did she dare? She had inspected the buffet because she thought Lord Charles, having missed dinner, might be hungry; but although the thought of food did not tempt her in the least, Alexa could not help looking quite longingly at the sparkling glasses of champagne that were constantly being offered to her. What if she were to take one?

As if he had read her thoughts Lord Charles said suddenly: “Have you ever tried champagne, Miss Howard? No? But then of course you must—especially on the occasion of your eighteenth birthday.” Without waiting for a reply he took two glasses off one of the trays, his eyes twinkling down at Alexa as he lowered his voice to say: “And if you are worried that you might not be approved of, allow me to tell you that ladies in the very highest social circles in London—and all over Europe, for that matter—sip the bubbly, as it is called; and it is quite acceptable. You could say, if you were questioned, that you could not refuse to respond to the toast I proposed without appearing rude, couldn’t you?” And then, teasingly, “Well, are you game? Please say you are.”

Accepting the glass he handed her, Alexa could not help but laugh at the rather audacious way he had teased her into it. “And the toast, Lord Charles? Just in case I am asked?”

“The only toast that no loyal British subject could refuse, naturally. To the Queen—and her forthcoming marriage!”

A lady could not drain her glass off in one swallow, but she could take rather large sips once she had begun to acquire a taste for champagne, couldn’t she?

“Do you think you like champagne?” Lord Charles had prompted after Alexa had taken a few sips of that first glass.

“I like its dryness! I remember reading one of Papa’s books once that was all about wines and different vintages and where the best wines come from. It’s the effervescence—all those little bubbles—that take getting used to at first, I suppose; although I daresay that with enough practice one would no longer notice.”

By the time she had drained a second glass of champagne and found herself holding a third, Alexa wondered, with a sudden return to caution, how Lord Charles had managed to maneuver her out through the French doors and onto the gallery. She must be careful or she would spoil everything, and Aunt Harriet would be disgusted with her.

Alexa had turned to place her back against the polished wooden railing, and in her white and gold ball gown she seemed to be framed by the pattern of trees and lawns and a dark night sky studded with a profusion of glittering stars. How much Lord Charles wanted to seize her in his arms and kiss her, knowing that of course he did not dare try to do so, at least not yet. He must be careful not to startle her or scare her off; and there was that aunt of hers to be reckoned with as well.

There was an unaccustomed stammer in his voice when Lord Charles said: “There is a slight possibility…Miss Howard, I am very much aware of the fact that we have only known each other a few hours, and I am only too well aware of manners and convention, believe me. But I have so enjoyed conversing with you and, well, what I mean to say is that if our ship should happen to be delayed in Colombo for a few days, I would deem it an honor to be permitted to call on you. You did mention that you would be staying with Sir John Travers at his residence here, did you not? I would naturally request his permission first, and your aunt’s as well; but if you would have no objections to our meeting again, I would like that above all things!”

“At least you had enough sense to come back inside before your absence could be remarked upon. It would never do, my girl, to let yourself become conspicuous!”

Harriet, fanning herself vigorously, had given Alexa a very thorough scrutiny when she had returned to sit demurely at her aunt’s side again while the young Viscount took himself off to procure her a dish of fresh fruit and cream. At least, Harriet had thought then, she did not look as if she had been kissed; and her ball gown still looked uncrumpled and had no stains from food or drink upon it. She grumbled. “But what on earth made you suddenly decide you were hungry at this late stage in the evening, just when the dancing is about to begin again?”

Alexa gave Harriet a mischievous smile. “Two and a half glasses of champagne, I’m afraid! I really do not feel at all hungry after that enormous dinner; but I remember listening to the boys talk, and they all agreed that it was most unwise to drink on an empty stomach.” Catching Harriet’s expression she added quickly: “Please don’t think that I am in the least intoxicated, Aunt Harry, even if this was the first time I have tried champagne. I understand that it is quite de rigueur nowadays for ladies even in the highest circles, and that even the Queen does so occasionally. So you see there’s no need for you to look at me that way or to scold; for I might just as well get used to it and learn to hold my liquor, as the boys up-country would say.”

“Hold your liquor indeed!” Harriet snapped. “And if you keep talking of those harebrained young officers you used to ride and hunt with as ‘the boys’ you could very well be misunderstood by someone who does not know you. Champagne! Nasty, fizzy stuff—I never did acquire a liking for it. Tell me the truth now, because I won’t have you making a fool of yourself when the evening’s gone so well until now. Do you feel at all dizzy? Does your face feel abnormally hot? You look quite flushed…”

“Oh please, Aunt Harriet!” Alexa could not help the note of impatience in her voice. “I have told you the truth; and you have been reminding me all evening that I am a grown-up young woman now and not a child. I do not feel dizzy and if my face appears flushed…” She broke off when Harriet nudged her ankle with her foot; and looking up saw Lord Charles return, followed by two servants.

“Hah! I’d like to see you put away all that, my girl!” Harriet whispered from behind her fan in a grim undertone. Her look was dour, for she would have liked to say much more to her headstrong niece on the subject of drinking; especially champagne, which was said to have a very insidious effect.

There appeared two small gilt-edged tables and a large silver platter holding every imaginable kind of fruit, together with pitchers of thick cream. But even as the servants began to arrange everything before her, Alexa’s eyes had already gone beyond them and past the smile on Lord Charles’s face to rivet, without reason, upon the man who walked at his side. She had thought the Viscount Deering tall, but this man was taller yet by at least four inches and had broader shoulders. His formal evening attire fitted him so closely that it had obviously been made for him—long, tightly fitting trousers (Aunt Harriet called them “unmentionables ”) that matched the black double-breasted jacket cut short in front to display a richly embroidered satin brocade waistcoat fashioned of varying shades of reds and golds and dark green; a strangely glowing dark green that seemed to match exactly his dark-lashed eyes. Animal eyes, Alexa thought inconsequentially. Like some she had seen glowing out at her from the dark in the sudden flare of a campfire. And there was something dangerous and almost barbaric about him that she could sense without quite understanding why or how at first: that sunbrowned face that was as dark as that of any native, with curly black sideburns sweeping down rakishly from temple to jawline and serving only to emphasize the harsh planes of his face. Even though he wore an air of easy assurance and civilization he was—in some strangely indefinable way—different. Like a primitive tribal warlord of ancient times who had chosen to masquerade in modern clothing; at least, for as long as it suited him.

Alexa discovered almost immediately that she did not like him, and that she especially hated the insolent way in which he looked her over without seeming to. She could almost feel his eyes on her mouth, her bosom, her…And now, unfortunately, she could not help the flush that colored her cheekbones while she thought angrily that the man was obviously a cad, and she was amazed that Lord Charles would associate with such a person.

It was all Alexa could do to keep up an appearance at least of being poised and unconcerned while the Viscount Deering proceeded to introduce her and her aunt to his several-times-removed cousin Nicholas. De la Guerra. Puzzlingly, a Spanish surname, although it was the mother who had been Spanish, according to Lord Charles. Not that it mattered to her—she only knew what her senses felt and wondered why her hands suddenly felt so cold and clammy, while she wished at the same time that he would walk away instead of continuing to watch her—for all the world like a leopard eying its prey.

“The Misses Howard live on a large coffee plantation in the central, mountainous part of Ceylon where it gets quite cool at certain times of the year, so I understand.”

“But I suppose that Colombo, in spite of the heat and humidity, must have its compensations. Do you visit here often, Miss Howard?”

Suddenly, Alexa found herself clenching her hands under the folds of her skirt, her first stirrings of disquiet growing into ugly suspicion that kept expanding and expanding. His voice, with an edge of cynicism underlining each overtly polite word…She had the feeling she had heard it before. That…Oh, please God, no!

“No!” Alexa said the word aloud without meaning to, and far too abruptly, judging from the Viscount’s rather startled glance. “That is—” she amended quickly “—we do not visit Colombo often at all. Do we, Aunt Harriet? This time it was only because…Of course it is so kind of the Governor and Mrs. Mackenzie…”

What on earth was wrong with the girl? Harriet thought irritably. She had behaved so well and with such poise all evening; and now, all of a sudden, she had begun to stutter like a schoolgirl. It had to be the champagne she had indulged in.

“We arrived only yesterday,” Harriet interposed smoothly before Alexa could say another word. “And it is really such a long and tiring journey—especially since we had to be up well before dawn. My poor niece was so worn out by the time we arrived that I had to send her directly to bed.”

“Why, we arrived only yesterday too!” Lord Charles exclaimed.

“However, since Colombo Roadstead is best approached in daylight we were forced to drop anchor some distance out to sea. Quite frustrating, in a way, since we were close enough to see the lights and even to make out which belonged to the Governor’s mansion, with the aid of a glass. In fact, if either of you ladies had happened to be wakeful enough to take a moonlight stroll last night I am certain you would have noticed our riding lights.”

As she listened to that slightly drawling voice Alexa had begun to feel slightly nauseated. How…oh, but how unspeakably low and vile he was! He wanted her to know that he recognized her, of course. Like the predatory jungle feline he had reminded her of from the first, he wanted her to suffer the torture of anticipation while he continued to play his cruel game with her. Perhaps he hoped to see her crumble before him, losing her poise, her pride and her courage.

“I am afraid that both my niece and I must have been already sound asleep by the time the moon was up.” Thank God for Aunt Harry! “In fact Alexa slept so late into the day that she missed both breakfast and lunch before I decided to wake her,” Harriet continued.

With a grateful smile for Lord Charles that excluded her tormentor, Alexa had begun to take tiny nibbles from the mountains of food that had been set before her. Fresh pineapple, mango and papaya topped with thick cream had always tasted delicious before; but now she hardly tasted anything at all; eating only because it saved her from having to engage in conversation or look in his direction. What a detestable, despicable man he was, this “Cousin” Nicholas that Lord Charles seemed to admire so much. It was quite apparent, for all his surface playacting, that he was by no means a gentleman and was obviously unused to dealings with ladies. A gentleman would have acted as if nothing had happened—and of course, thanks to her, nothing had taken place between them, Alexa reminded herself. She had sent him away, hadn’t she? And had decided to forget everything that had happened last night, had quite succeeded in doing so, until now. Why didn’t he go away? Or—a thought alarming enough to cause her heart to pound—what did he hope to achieve by playing cat-and-mouse with her?

“Is everything to your satisfaction, Miss Howard?”

Lifting her head, with a mixture of defiance and bravado arming her, Alexa managed to produce a brilliant smile for Lord Charles. “It was exactly what I had been craving all evening, and I do thank you for your kindness and consideration.”

He sent her a relieved smile in return. She had been so silent for the past few minutes that he had begun to wonder uncomfortably whether she had been offended in some way, perhaps by his introducing his cousin without first requesting permission to do so. And then, of course, Nicholas tended to be rather overwhelming when one met him for the first time. Sheltered young ladies especially could not be used to the kind of man who disdained what he referred to as “silly parlor games”; usually with a dangerous glint in those strange eyes of his that boded no good. But on this occasion Nicholas had laughingly promised to either behave himself or take himself off as soon as he felt it a strain to do so. To sheathe his claws, in fact.

“You won’t use that certain tone of voice on her, will you? She’s quite young and has been very sheltered. Never even been home to England, so I understand, even though she was born there. And this is her first ball—celebrating her eighteenth birthday, Mrs. Mackenzie told me. She’s really quite different, you know.”

“My dear Charles! Why on earth should I take the trouble to—sink my claws in her, did you say? Into some guileless little thing who probably won’t even recognize sarcasm if it’s directed at her? Believe me, I don’t bother to waste my time on giggling young innocents. I’ve lived long enough to discover that only women present a challenge worth taking up.”

Sometimes—perhaps most of the time—Charles didn’t understand Nicholas at all, even though they had become companions and even friends of a sort. Different countries, vastly different backgrounds—for all that the same blood ran in their veins, and for all that Nicholas was well traveled and had been in Europe several times as well as to China. The real difference between them was that Charles was truly civilized—innately polite—whereas Nicholas was well mannered only when it suited him and did not feel himself bound in the least by either custom or convention. But tonight at least he seemed to be comparatively well behaved, Lord Charles noted with a feeling of relief. Why, he was actually being obliging enough to engage the older Miss Howard in quite an animated conversation, which was unusual for Nicholas.

Seizing his chance, Lord Charles asked in a low voice, “Would you consider me too presumptuous if I were to beg for the honor of another dance? That is, if you have not already promised them all…”

Without really wanting to listen, Alexa had not been able to help overhearing some of the conversation between Aunt Harriet and Señor de la Guerra. Something to do with growing coffee and the way the berries had to be processed before they could be shipped. Hypocrite. Viper! What was he really up to?

Pushing her thoughts aside as decisively as she pushed away the gold-trimmed plate before her, Alexa decided to concentrate all of her attention upon Lord Charles while she ignored his so-called distant “cousin.”

“Oh! And now you are going to think poorly of me, and my aunt will scold and say I have disgraced her; but do you know that I cannot remember if I promised this dance to anyone or not?”

How adorable she was, and how frank and open in contrast to the practiced debutantes he was used to who had been trained to keep careful tally. And of course she was probably quite overwhelmed by the attention he was paying her, the darling innocent that she was.

“If you do not see any man with a happily gloating look upon his face who is hurrying in this direction—then? After all, Miss Howard, no real gentleman would allow himself to be even a minute or two late in claiming his dance, and you would be quite within the bounds of propriety if you were to accept the offer of another gentleman under such circumstances.”

“Are you teasing me or is it really permissible?” Alexa risked a hasty glance at her aunt who, surprisingly, seemed quite engrossed in whatever subject she was expounding upon. She should not agree to dance too many times with the same gentleman because it would only serve to make her appear conspicuous—how many times had Aunt Harriet told her so? And yet she needed to escape from the almost palpably physical presence of the man whose hard green eyes suddenly seemed in one flashing look to see right through her—through everything she wore to the warm flesh he had touched so intimately last night and with such sureness that he had, for a few moments, made her feel as if everything he was doing was both natural and right. Oh God! To think how close she had come to utter degradation!

“Word of honor, Miss Howard. There are some things I would never tease about, I assure you.”

Alexa said hastily and almost mechanically as she sternly pushed aside her wild thoughts, “It is just that I would not want to be considered fast by everyone else, you understand.”

“How could anyone possibly think such a thing of you? Miss Howard, I…” Lord Charles was forced to cut himself short when a rather breathless young man in military uniform came up at that moment to claim his dance, full of profuse apologies for his tardiness.

Unable to hide his disappointment, Charles was quite aware of his cousin’s cat-eyed look; but he pretended to ignore it, even when Nicholas said lazily: “How difficult it must be to have to play chaperone, or dueña as we say in Spanish, to such an attractive young woman. I have two younger sisters myself, and my poor mother is forever worrying about them and nagging, which doesn’t help. But perhaps customs here are not quite as strictly rigid? I have tried to persuade my mother that even well-brought-up young girls should be permitted a certain degree of freedom, so that they do not feel stifled by the restrictions that they are surrounded by—although to no avail so far, I must admit!”

When he shrugged, one could almost sense the ripple of muscles under skin beneath the closely fitting jacket he wore. And Harriet was immediately horrified at herself for even thinking such a thing. It had been more years than she cared to remember since she had noticed anything about a man beyond his manners, his clothes and his outward appearance. She must be on the verge of senility!

“Even in this remote part of the world we try to conform to what is proper and safe when it comes to the upbringing of a young lady,” Harriet heard herself say rather stiltedly. “I have had the charge of my niece’s education for the most part, and I think I have taught her what I consider most important of all—the difference between right and wrong. At any rate, she has seldom disappointed me so far.”

“And I have heard nothing but the most flattering comments on both her appearance and her manners,” Lord Charles interjected emphatically, deliberately ignoring his cousin’s cynical look. Damn Nicholas and his infernal air of detachment anyway; and let him make his sly assignations with the kind of experienced woman he preferred. But as for himself, he preferred the challenge of innocence that was so rarely to be found—a girl who was untouched and natural and still on the threshold of womanhood, full of ideals and expectations. Like Alexandra Howard. Alexa, her aunt had called her. And although he could only say her name in his mind for the moment, he hoped that before long, when she had learned to trust him, she would grant him that right.

Taking the seat that Alexa had vacated, Charles set out to be charming to her aunt, sending a defiant glance in his cousin Nick’s direction. After all, it wasn’t as if Nicholas was his guardian, dammit, just because he happened to be a few years older, and “The Pater,” as Charles usually called his father, the Earl of Atherton, had requested embarrassingly that Nicholas keep his son out of “any unsuitable entanglements.” Well, Miss Howard could hardly be called “unsuitable,” and in any case, at twenty-six years of age Lord Charles considered that he was wise enough in the ways of the world to be capable of managing his own affairs without interference from outsiders. Alexa…Why, he could easily fall quite madly in love with her! And there was no reason why he should not stay on here in Colombo longer and catch the next ship that sailed back home. With her to accompany him, perhaps. It was quite a titillating thought.

Rather belatedly, Charles noticed that his cousin was about to leave them, and was making his polite excuses to the older Miss Howard. Meeting the ironic look in those dark green eyes and a lifted black eyebrow, Charles put on his most pleasant smile as he murmured, “Are you deserting us, Nick?” How well he knew how his cousin hated that particular shortened form of his name. “Well, I think I will stay where I am and converse with Miss Howard, and hopefully win the honor of another dance with her lovely niece!”

“Oh, good heavens!” Harriet snorted uncontrollably at that, drawing a quite natural grin from the dark-visaged Señor de la Guerra for the first time. “I must say that I have never received such devoted attention before in all my life! It’s enough, I vow, to make me wonder if it could possibly be true that women, like select wines, become more sought-after with age and maturity. Perhaps you will be able to enlighten me?” And then, catching Lord Charles’s rather dismayed expression, she laughed shortly and said more kindly: “Ah, well! I’m afraid I’m one of those perfectly obnoxious old ladies who insist on sharpening their tongues occasionally at the expense of the young. And since I was never either an heiress or a beauty in my day, I was forced to fall back on my cleverness or my wit, neither of which ever brought me such marked attention as I have received this evening, though.”

“Then all I can say is that I pity the men of what you call your day who obviously had not the wit themselves to appreciate such a rare treasure as an alert and intelligent mind,” Lord Charles said quickly, with the winning smile that never failed to charm all of his mother’s friends. “I have always thought it a shame that too many young women in this day and age are only capable of carrying on a conversation that consists of mere banalities.”

“Then I must say that you’re different from most young men of today,” Miss Harriet said after giving him a piercing look.

Lord Charles kept an attentive smile on his face while he settled back to listen to her expound on what was obviously one of her favorite topics. Nicholas had wandered away to seek his amusements elsewhere, and Charles could not help a feeling of relief at not being under the surveillance of that mocking and somehow skeptical gaze that always made him feel young and vaguely uncomfortable. Dammit, why should he become a cold-blooded cynic who trusted in nothing and no one just because Nicholas was that way? There was no fun to be found in picking everything to pieces, he felt, and life and its pleasures were meant to be enjoyed. Like the lovely Alexandra—Alexa—even while he continued to listen to her aunt with half his mind, Lord Charles had begun to picture her at his side, elegantly gowned and hung with jewels that would show off her beauty. How jewels would glow against the rich bronze of her hair, lie heavily about her slender neck, gleam at her ears. And she should wear bracelets about her wrists and above her elbows as well, to emphasize the slimness of her upper arms. Rings on her tapered fingers too. And how he would enjoy dressing her—taking her to the most elegant modistes in London and Paris for her gowns—and how much more he would adore undressing her! Naturally, she would be afraid and even overwhelmed to begin with, but he would teach her, gradually and gently, to overcome her fears, teach her to love him. All he needed was enough time to spend with her, and he meant to make sure of that.

8

Gala festivities in Colombo, since they occurred so seldom, usually lasted until the first mother-of-pearl shades of dawn pinked the sky defiantly and gradually faded the stars until they disappeared completely. Following a ball given on such a grand scale as this one, there would be a sumptuous breakfast served to all those who stayed on until the very end; even if the host and hostess had already retired to their beds.

Harriet had already warned her niece that she had no intention of keeping such early hours and that as soon as the Governor and his wife had begun to make their excuses, Alexa might take that as a signal that they should do so too. “And I’ll tolerate no dillydallying and procrastination either, if you please, once I have announced that we too should retire. Also, I shall expect you in future to refuse champagne when it is offered to you and to ask for fruit punch or lemonade instead; for you may take my word for it that even if a young gentleman does offer you wine or champagne he expects you to refuse it. Self-restraint, my dear Alexa, is a lesson you might learn and find useful in the future.”

“Yes, Aunt Harriet.” Alexa’s deliberately widened eyes and false smile caused Harriet to award her a grudging, if somewhat sarcastic nod.

“Very good, my dear, although the smile might have appeared less artificial if you had remembered not to grit your teeth together at the same time. And just one more word of advice—you would do much better not to show yourself too eager to accept the attentions of any one particular gentleman and give him too much of your attention, even if he should court you with posies and pretty speeches. As far as men are concerned it’s the thrill of pursuing the unattainable that keeps them interested; and an easy conquest is just as boring as a suggestion of uncertainty and competition is a challenge. For your own sake, you might remember what I have just told you.”

She had danced at least four times with Lord Charles, Alexa thought resentfully, but it did not really mean anything significant beyond the fact that she found him interesting to talk to as well as attractive and understanding. She was sure he did not misunderstand or think her too easily available; so why should the fact that other people might think this or that be a matter of concern to her? Before Alexa could say anything in reply to her aunt’s warning speech, however, she was approached by her next partner; an extremely bashful young man who had no conversation whatsoever, as she soon discovered. But that was her fault for feeling so flattered at being surrounded from the beginning by so many eager gentlemen begging for dances that she had recklessly promised almost all of them before realizing her own foolishness. The next time she would know better and would pick and choose; but perhaps…By the time she was being escorted back to her seat by her red-faced, perspiring partner, Alexa had begun to wonder thoughtfully if perhaps she should deliberately sit out a few dances. The next dance, maybe? Especially if it happened to be a polka and her partner an energetic military man. She must learn how to make excuses gracefully…. Beginning to fan herself in anticipation of announcing regretfully to her next prospective partner that she felt so overheated and could not possibly dance another step until she had managed to regain her breath, Alexa suddenly realized that her treacherous foot had started tapping in time to a lilting Strauss waltz. Her very favorite dance of all. And oh dear! Here was the Viscount Deering bowing before her again while he begged for the honor, if she had not already promised this waltz to some other more fortunate gentleman.

With an apologetic smile in the direction of the wooden-faced Miss Harriet Howard, Lord Charles explained that he was forced to leave the festivities earlier than he had anticipated in order to return to the ship to supervise the unloading of a few personal items too valuable to be trusted to anyone else; and that was why he dared to be bold enough to importune Miss Howard again so soon after their last dance. “Mrs. Mackenzie has been kind enough to invite me to stay here for as long as our ship will have to undergo repairs to the damage incurred during a particularly nasty storm we encountered last week; and my cousin has informed me that by tomorrow she will be positively crawling with workmen, so…”

Avoiding her aunt’s eye, Alexa returned his almost pleading look with a smile that showed her dimple, and was actually about to extend her hand to him when he suddenly moved aside with a bow and a murmured apology. The Governor of all people! Alexa swallowed uncomfortably, thinking how close she had come to committing a faux pas. How could she had promised the fifth waltz to her host? Her Aunt Harriet would never have forgiven her!

“Well, young lady. Hope you didn’t think I’d forgotten our dance, eh? Quite the belle of the ball, you’ve been, and I was almost afraid that some bold young buck might have been quicker than I.”

Perhaps it was in some ways just as well that Lord Charles should feel slightly thwarted, Alexa thought, remembering Harriet’s lecturing. He would probably be all the more eager to meet her again; and after all, he had made it clear that he would be staying on in Colombo for a few more days at least.

His Excellency the Governor, Alexa rediscovered, was quite a Latin scholar and seemed to enjoy testing her vocabulary; but it was soon obvious that his waltzing was as stiff and jerky as his manner of speech. Poor man. He would probably have felt much more comfortable as an Oxford don rather than filling the post of Governor of a British crown colony. As he guided her through one or two turns about the room, Alexa tried to respond as best she could to the occasional questions he directed at her—rather as if she had been a student he was testing, she thought with rueful amusement. But at least he seemed pleased at her replies, and even went so far as to compliment her on her knowledge of Latin grammar and the extent of her reading in that language.

“I’ve often wished my daughters would take more of an interest in learning and reading, but my wife tells me that’s not considered an essential part of a young female’s education any longer. Pity! They’re more interested in learning the latest dance steps—and in young men, of course! I suppose they think I’m an old fuddy-duddy, and perhaps I am in some ways, only I haven’t quite forgotten how it felt to be young. And because you’re young—and pretty into the bargain—I’m sure you must be wishing you were dancing this waltz with someone nearer your own age who can whirl you around until you are dizzy—am I not right? Well, even if you’re too polite to admit it, I suppose I’m still young enough at heart to sympathize with the young, my dear. And so I have a surprise for you. Young fellow who arrived late and wasn’t fortunate enough to beg a dance from you earlier. Nice chap, though, or I wouldn’t do it. Spent an hour or more with him talking about gardens and different varieties of plants, and I could see right away he knows a lot. Gardening’s one of my pet hobbies, you know. But anyhow, I’m sure he can lead you through a waltz much better than I can, at any rate; and when I asked my wife what she thought, she agreed there would be no harm in it, especially when the poor young man admitted he was quite bowled over the first moment he set eyes on you.”

The Governor’s sudden burst of speech at first puzzled and then quite confused Alexa, especially in view of the fact that when he concentrated on speaking he tended not to keep time to the music, which forced her in turn to have to concentrate on trying to keep up with his somewhat eccentric progress about the floor. And perhaps that was why she was so utterly unprepared for his “surprise”—feeling for some moments as if she had been stunned by a sudden blow that left her too dazed to speak or think coherently, even while her limbs continued to move quite mechanically in time with the music.

“I believe that you have already been formally introduced? Enjoy the rest of the dance!” Suddenly, she was no longer dancing with the Governor. He was surrendering her, with misguided gallantry, to another partner.

Alexa’s heart had begun to pound so hard from a mixture of emotions she hadn’t yet had the time to examine that she could hardly comprehend what had happened, at first; or how she suddenly found herself turning around and around like a porcelain ballerina poised atop a music box—dancing a waltz with him. The one man of all men that she had hoped never to encounter again.

It was only the hard pressure of his hand against the small of her back that forced her to keep moving mechanically in time to the music. Alexa remained silent for such a length of time that it was he who had to speak first.

“I do assure you, Miss Howard, that there is no need for you to look up at me like a terrified little rabbit caught in a bear trap. What do you think I might do to you in the midst of this public assembly, ravish you? Wring that slender white neck, out of disappointment that I was not able to do so last night?” The silky-sarcastic tone of his voice deepened into what seemed almost a dangerous growl, for all its deceptive softness, before he continued more impatiently: “For God’s sake, what’s the matter with you? When I took pains to arrange to dance with you I thought I might see some show of spirit—or at least some natural and unstudied reaction that came from the free and halfwild creature of the elements I came upon by accident last night. Then you did not seem afraid to give way to your instincts and your feelings. Even that violent fit of rage when you wanted to shoot me with your little pistol was something real and unfeigned, at least. But tonight…” His eyes narrowed wickedly as his glance swept up and down the length of her body with deliberate, insulting slowness before he said softly: “Or is it only tight corsets and stays and too many layers of petticoats that restrict you? Would you like me to free you by removing every garment you are wearing one by one?”

Alexa discovered that she must have been holding her breath when she heard herself gasp as she released it, along with the pent-up fury that made her voice shake when she was finally able to address him.

“You…! How dare you presume to speak to me in such a fashion! Or to force yourself upon me by…by using deception and trickery on other people who are too honest and…and too decent to recognize how depraved you are? Any gentleman would never…I wish I had killed you! If I had a pistol tonight I…Oh, I can assure you that I happen to be an excellent shot, señor, and I would not miss!”

“It has been my experience, moonwitch, that the best way to insure not missing is to keep a cool head, especially if you’re in a tight spot. And perhaps I should advise you also that if you do allow yourself the luxury of losing your temper, you should really try to control the stutter you seem to develop when you do. To some people it might seem to point to a limited vocabulary, you know. That is, of course, if you worry about what other people might think of you! And there’s another thing—when you keep your lips parted the way they are now, I should warn you that most men, even if they are gentlemen, would be sorely tempted to kiss you and might even imagine that you are inviting them to do so, especially when your cheeks wear such an adorable flush of what might even be attributed, if a man was conceited enough, to excitement.”

“Ohhh!”

“I’m sorry…there was something you wanted to say, Miss Howard?”

“You are the most despicable, the most hateful… You’re…Oh, how I wish I knew the kind of words that would really describe what you are, you monster of depravity! If I had any kind of weapon I would kill you without a qualm!”

“I’m quite sure you would! But then, what would all these nice, decent people think of you? What kind of story could you make up for them without giving yourself away?” He seemed to have become amused by her venomous outburst of rage; just as if she had been a little spitting kitten he could tease and play with and manipulate by stringing her on with his mocking, deliberately inciting words.

Belatedly recognizing his tactics, Alexa forced herself to take a deep breath before she said in a calmer voice: “Very well. Since I have no pistol on me and you’re really not worth the scandal it would cause if I were to kill you, do you think you’re ready yet to come to the point and tell me why you have chosen to bait me? What is it you have in mind? If it’s blackmail, I don’t have any money of my own yet and no jewelry of anything but sentimental value; and that only to me.” And then, encouraged by his sudden silence into plucking up her courage, she said more strongly: “And in any case, no matter what nasty things you might choose to say about me I think, Señor de la Guerra, that people here would believe my word over yours; and especially since I will be able to prove, if I had to, that I have not…that I am still…”

How his voice could change! Now, as he interrupted her, it had become deceptively silken again. “Allow me please, Miss Howard, to save you the embarrassment of saying it aloud. You were struggling for exactly the proper words to make it clear that you’re still a virgin? How admirable! Saving your—er—virtue for the lucky man who legally weds you, and then…But never mind. I suppose I should pay tribute to your strength of character, as you deserve. I humbly beg your pardon, chaste Diana, for having doubted your purity even for a wicked instant! And as a token of my repentance, I have a gift to offer you. A little trinket that you might be pleased to get back without having other people know where you lost it or how it happened to fall into my possession.”

“I don’t know what you can be hinting at this time, and what is more, I no longer give a fig for any of your sly threats and insinuations!” Alexa retorted hotly. “And if you do not take me back to my aunt this instant…”

“Before I return your pretty gold bracelet to you? Or haven’t you missed it yet? I saw it gleaming on the bottom of the pool, speared by a stray moonbeam. That was after your dangerous-looking pistol had made me think better of continuing in my efforts to seduce you. And then, since I sometimes have an unfortunate tendency towards being rather sentimental, I decided to keep it as a souvenir of my encounter with a mermaid on a moonlit night. In fact, I have it with me now. But perhaps you don’t particularly care if you have it back or not?”

In a low, choked voice, Alexa barely managed to articulate, “You’re…you’re even lower than a…a snake…a viper! You’re vile! And completely without scruples or…or conscience, aren’t you? I wish…”

“Be careful of what you wish, or it might come true!” The false smile he gave her was slightly twisted. “I seem to have heard or read that somewhere, a long time ago. And I won’t remind you of another old saying about finders being keepers if you will continue to…why, what a light dancer you are, Miss Howard. Such a pleasure to lead! And do you not agree that it is much cooler out here where we can see the stars and watch the moon as it begins to sink? You can always scream for help if I make an improper move, you know. And will it make you feel even safer if I promise not to make any attack on your cherished virginity?”

She did not feel at all safe out here alone with him on the gallery, Alexa discovered. Not even when he released her and pointedly stationed himself at least a foot away from her with his back to one of the gleaming white columns that helped support the roof of the gallery. He was a barbarian, that’s what he was! Donning the outward guise of being civilized like a leopardskin cloak that could be thrown aside or worn again to suit his own ends.

“I don’t…” Her breathing quickened by anger and frustration, Alexa had to make an effort to steady her voice before she could continue scornfully, “I suppose you will only feel flattered if I am forced to admit that since I have unfortunately learned that I cannot trust in any gentlemanly instincts you might possess, I…No! I do not feel any safer in your company, Señor de la Guerra, than I would if I should have found myself locked into a cage with a tiger! But at least with animals you know where they are—they are either hungry or they are not; whereas you have done your best to try and frighten me all evening long with your hints and your veiled threats, haven’t you? But why? And to what end? You have practically forced me out here in order to reclaim a little gold bracelet of no great value that was my mother’s before she gave it to me, and means much more to her than it ever could to me. Why? You must surely have realized by now that I am no match for you with your clever, sarcastic speeches that are meant to leave a sting and the way you have of manipulating people and circumstances to suit yourself. You must have known that all along! I cannot understand either you, or the motives for your calculated cruelty, or…”

Alexa had turned her face away to stare blindly out into the night while she delivered her furious little speech; and now suddenly she was utterly surprised when she felt him reach over to run one long finger lightly over her averted cheek.

“Poor, frightened little virgin! You don’t really understand anything about life yet, do you? You’re a product of your upbringing and your environment, I suppose, for all that you’re daring enough to take a few risks now and then. What do you do about those certain emotions that run far deeper than the surface ones you’re supposed to display? Have you ever wondered, poor little lost mermaid, about what you might really want or need; quite apart from what you have been told you should want? Did you imagine that you had committed some mortal sin merely because you enjoyed the way I touched your body and made you feel as if you wanted to experience even more? Is that the only reason why you hate and fear me so much now—because I gave you the yearning for forbidden fruit? Damn you, sea witch! Will you look at me? For God’s sake! Do you really, in your most secret heart, believe that what happened by chance between us—two strangers meeting naked on a moon-enchanted night—was not natural and normal, but something bad and sinful? Christ! Must the naked truth be constantly cloaked by evasions and euphemisms in order to satisfy the hypocrisy of others?”

Even while he exploded at her and goaded her, Nicholas could not help wondering, with some detached part of his mind, why he should take the trouble to do so. Whether she was actually a virgin or not, it was clear that she was inexperienced at least—and, as she had pointed out, no match for his cunningly thrown barbs. Damnation! She was barely eighteen!

But last night she had seemed ageless. Aphrodite rising from the sea. Mermaid…moon goddess…sea nymph. Temptress-witch. Last night. He was the one who should have known better than to expect whatever the hell it was he had expected when he had recognized her tonight.

Nicholas had been almost ready to back away from her when Alexa suddenly whirled her body around to face him as he had demanded earlier—for all the world like an animal at bay. Her storm-dark eyes were pinpointed by tiny red flames, reflecting the light of the crimson-shaded lantern that had been placed in the center of one of the tables. She reminded him, in that moment, of a cornered vixen—all eyes, claws and teeth; and in fact the angry vibrations that he could almost feel emanating from her tense body were all animal. A vixen all right! The impression was heightened by the somewhat pointed, high-cheekboned face and the way her thick hair sprang back from her temples, escaping winsomely at the same time in tiny, curling tendrils that clung to her forehead and her cheeks.

“How can you possibly preach to me about honesty and truth and what is natural when you are such a hypocrite yourself? I think you have learned only too well to use certain words and catchphrases in order to achieve your ends, and to twist things about until…Well, I don’t care what you say any longer, or how you taunt me, because I…Oh! I may be naive and silly and all of the other things you’ve implied, but at least you have opened my eyes to…Why, you are nothing but a disgusting lecher!”

“I must admit that lecher, especially delivered in that particular tone, sounds positively cutting! In case you should be prompted to use the word again, that is. But on the other hand, if you should really want to sound insulting, you might try ‘bastard,’ or even…”

“I would really prefer not to hear any more!” Alexa interrupted acidly while she tried valiantly to hold on to her treacherous temper. “In fact, you surely must be quite aware that the only reason I am still in your company is because…Well, I don’t care! If you do not have the decency to return my mother’s bracelet to me, then I have no choice but to consider it stolen and you the thief. And moreover, if you will not immediately escort me back inside I am quite capable of finding my own way! By now my aunt…”

His sudden laugh was unpleasant and made Alexa start nervously before she could prevent herself from doing so. “Dios! Why should I give a damn, after all, about what you seem to be and what you turn out to be? As you have reminded me, Miss Howard, I am old enough to know better than to believe in illusions. Mermaids and sea nymphs are only myths, after all, and the magical, ethereal qualities they are said to possess merely a product of man’s wishful imagination. Surrendering one’s rational mind to the spell of the moon is as foolish as believing in chaste young goddesses who come to give themselves up to the moon and are surprised by vile man with all his base instincts!”

“I don’t…Please!” Alexa did not realize that she had whispered that last word almost pleadingly until she heard herself.

“Of course. My apologies. You want your mother’s bracelet back since it has such sentimental value. Don’t worry, you shall have it back as soon as I…Ah, here it is.”

Most of the candles that had made the gaily colored lanterns glow had guttered out by now; but as if to compensate there was the yellow-gold light of the setting moon slanting dimly across the gallery from the west as it seemed to search out a hiding place in the moving, restless sea.

Hiding? Was that really what she was doing? Hiding from whatever was her real self? And who was her real self? She would find out for herself some day. In any case, it certainly wasn’t any of his business!

Stiffly, Alexa forced herself to say: “Thank you. And I suppose it was rather rude of me not to say before how grateful I am that you…” Behind her awkwardly stammered words a picture flashed through her mind of the shape of a body cutting through black water to rise suddenly and after almost too long, to break through a moon-silvered surface. An arm—uplifted for a moment in a mocking salute. He must have been holding her bracelet then!

“Your fingers feel as cold as ice, Miss Howard!” The rough impatience in his voice stiffened her spine, even as he added, “Here, let me fasten the clasp for you. I suppose you’re used to having your maid perform such tasks, although you might remind her the next time to be more careful…”

With her precious bracelet fastened safely about her wrist once again, sheer relief if nothing else made Alexa say snappishly: “I do not have a maid who waits on me hand and foot, and I am not so helpless as to expect someone else to clasp a bracelet about my wrist! And besides, I do not possess many pieces of jewelry either!”

“No? But what a pity! Although I’m quite sure that you soon will have if you follow all the rules and catch yourself a wealthy husband who will be able to provide you with every luxury you might desire.”

“Catch? What a denigrating word! And why, pray, do you imagine that I should need to catch myself a husband? I am sure that if it comes to that there will be more than enough men who would want to catch me for me to choose from when the time comes!”

“Ah! A flash of honesty at last!” Alexa could almost sense the lift of one patronizing black brow. “But it’s very wise of you, moon maid, to let them do the chasing, without committing yourself too soon. It puts the price up as well, although I don’t mean to sound crude.”

“But of course you did. And far from being in the least honest yourself you’re a hypocrite, which is even worse. And…” Alexa’s unruly tongue ran away with her as her volatile temper passed boiling point, and she almost spat out the ultimate insult that he had taught her. “You’re…Why, you bastard!”

“You certainly pick things up quickly, I see,” he drawled aggravatingly. “And don’t think you’d get away with going for me with those sharp little claws of yours, because I can move faster than you can and as you’ve already surmised I’m not your usual polite gentleman—I don’t possess too many scruples either.”

“You’ve certainly made that much quite obvious, haven’t you?” Breathing deeply, Alexa made an attempt at icy coldness, although her voice still shook slightly. “And you’re a cruel man as well. I think you enjoy fixing others on the sharp pins of your ridicule and your sarcasm, just to watch them squirm. Well, if I’ve provided you with enough sport for one evening I should like to be escorted back to my aunt, if you please. I am not enjoying myself—or your company either.”

“No? But then, since I am a bastard, why should I let that make any difference to me?” Suddenly, the mockery in his voice deepened to harshness as he added, “And that, little virgin bitch-goddess, is why I intend to claim my forfeit for returning that precious bracelet of yours before I return you to your tía dueña!”

Without warning he had grasped her roughly by the shoulders; his fingers pressing into her flesh as he bent her backward against the railing; and during those first few instants Alexa thought fearfully that he meant to break her in two. And then his lips descended over hers with all the fierceness of an eagle swooping on its prey, cutting off her breath along with her reason, so that for some moments she actually thought that he meant to kill her as Othello had killed Desdemona—with a punishing kiss.

Was it only terror that held her still after her first, shamefully brief attempt to tear herself free? Alexa felt her head fall helplessly back against his arm as he forced her lips apart to explore her mouth, and almost instinctively she raised her arms, meaning to beat against him with her fists before it—the same strange thing that had happened to her before—seemed to take hold of her. That frightening, helpless feeling as if all her bones were melting and running together, so that she could hardly stand and needed to hold on to him for support. Heat—suddenly flooding through her to make her face, her breasts, her whole body burn and tingle as if she had a fever that had rendered her mindless and incapable of resisting either him or her own worse instincts. She felt the rippling movement of the muscles in his back, even under the jacket he wore, and remembered without shame how he had looked naked—the feel of his flesh under her hands. And now her fingers touched his hair, wanting on their own to memorize its texture; and if she didn’t know what she was doing or why, she wasn’t sane enough to care at that moment. Not even when he brushed his fingers gently and teasingly down from her temple and along the arch of her neck—and even further down to touch her breasts, seeming to burn through the stuff of her gown and knowing exactly where to linger.

Why was she encumbered by so many layers of clothing anyhow? Alexa realized suddenly, or rather her body did, that she wanted the feel of his fingers against her skin, touching her everywhere, not stopping. No thinking to cloud this surge of pure, primitive feeling. She felt like a pitch-soaked torch, suddenly ignited and flaring into brilliant life; and yet at the same time she had no real understanding of why she felt so, or what it meant, or even of where such feelings might lead her. She had not even asked herself why she had so recklessly allowed herself to be carried beyond caution and carefully set boundaries as her body arched eagerly and almost fiercely against his and the sea-murmuring in her ears was the sound of their breathing, his and hers, as he held her and took her even more closely against himself until Alexa could almost feel that she was melting into him. Melting—dissolving…

It was Nicholas, in the end, who broke away; firmly disengaging her clinging arms from about his neck while he cursed himself for having allowed himself to be goaded into yielding to a wildly irrational impulse. Christ! He, at least, was certainly old enough to have known better and to have thought of the possible consequences. What if someone else had decided to come out here for a breath of the cool night air and had seen them? Unfairly enough, it would have been her reputation that would have been ruined, and he had neither reason nor any right to do that to her, after all.

She was staring up at him in a dazed fashion, her eyes wide and uncomprehending, her mouth…But he had better not start thinking along those lines again, Nicholas warned himself grimly. She was passionate, and obviously manready, as he had already gauged; and he could not prevent himself from almost regretting that he could not be the one who would take her for the first time, making her like it. But she’d probably end up marrying some clumsy oaf who wouldn’t take the time or the trouble to discover what a prize he had; and in the end she’d turn cold and hard, substituting expensive trinkets, which could be shown off, for feeling and emotion. For all that she seemed to be possessed of a daring and adventurous spirit now, there was no doubt that in the end she would be made to conform and would turn out exactly like all the other young women of her class and background.

Poor, pretty, ingenuous Alexa! A mixture of both pity and regret made his voice unusually gentle as he touched her face and was not able to resist lightly tracing the contour of her soft lips with one finger.

“Dammit, I suppose I should tell you how sorry I am for having allowed myself to get carried away; but that would be hypocritical, for I thoroughly enjoyed kissing you and I would have liked even better to have been able to make love to you, little moon maid. But I suppose that would have created quite a scandal, and I’m not as completely devoid of scruples as you accused me of being.”

“Stop it! Stop talking down to me as if I’m a child, even after you…Yes, you are a hypocrite of the worst kind, Señor de la Guerra, and I wish…I wish…No, don’t!” Alexa’s shaking voice suddenly became fierce, warning him to silence. “There is really no need for you to explain, or to say anything more. I think you proved whatever it was you meant to prove quite well, didn’t you? And I suppose I should be grateful to you for being so instructive in showing me the dangers of giving way to weakness. I shall certainly be much more careful and less trusting in future, I assure you! And now do you mind if we went back inside before my aunt begins to worry?”

9

Nicholas de la Guerra was a base, despicable libertine of the worst kind and had almost succeeded in spoiling for her the whole exciting occasion of her eighteenth birthday ball. Thank goodness he had decided to make himself scarce following the scathing setdown she had given him after he had dared to force himself on her, Alexa thought. She would dearly have loved to have said even more—to have told him in the most cutting tones exactly how much she disliked and despised him and how much the very memory of his insolent boldness in taking advantage of her embarrassment and fear of scandal disgusted her. But of course he was hardly worth thinking of, and since it was fortunately not likely that she would ever set eyes on him again she must really learn to put him firmly out of her mind like any other unpleasant or irksome thought that only served to disturb her. Some things were best left in the past where they belonged, and she should remember only that what was done could not be undone—although she had certainly learned a lesson that should serve her well in the future.

Her color high, Alexa tried to force herself into concentrating only on studying herself critically in the mirror. Her new riding habit, just made up for her, was a dark forest green. Not a color she particularly cared for, but Uncle John, who had helped her pick out the material and style, had told her emphatically that it was flattering to her and set off her hair to perfection. And after all, it was Uncle John who had paid for it, the darling. Turning around to view herself from every angle, Alexa thought that the tailor had done very well considering the short notice he’d been given. Of course he’d been paid double his normal charge, but that was still less than a tenth of what one would have had to pay one of the fashionable modistes in London or Paris.

Am I becoming as worldly and blasé as Aunt Harriet feared I might? Alexa wondered as she tried to perfect a bored expression before she started to smile irrepressibly at her own silliness. But she had promised her aunt that she would not let herself become too spoiled during her stay in Colombo with her indulgent Uncle John; and in fact she had even promised recklessly that she would at all times be unfailingly polite and respectful to the ferret-faced Mrs. Langford, who for her part couldn’t quite manage to disguise the fact that she disliked Alexa and would dearly love to find as many faults and flaws in her as she could to relate to her cronies. As if that promise wasn’t hard enough to keep, she had even had to give her word that she would try very hard to make friends with that silly ninny Charlotte Langford and would include the girl in as many excursions as possible; even when she was invited to go riding with Lord Charles. Hemmed about…! Alexa began to scowl at her reflection that scowled back. That was how she had begun to feel, surrounded by Langfords! And it was all the fault of that certain vile, inconsiderate wretch who had kept her out on the gallery with him for far too long a time, and against her wishes too. Otherwise she need never have been forced into making so many promises to Aunt Harriet, who would otherwise have continued to insist that since Alexa had proved how irresponsible she was and how easily she let herself forget everything she had been taught about decorum and what was proper and what wasn’t, they would both return home the very next day.

“But all we did was talk! About California and what life is like there!”

“Huh! I know very well that that was the excuse he offered—with that twist of his lips that’s supposed to pass for a smile and that irritatingly sardonic look on his face that seemed almost to challenge me to make an obvious fuss. But I’ll have you understand, miss, that I don’t accept excuses, as you should know very well. And even though I might have found this Señor de la Guerra quite an interesting conversationalist, you might recall that we conversed here, in public, and not alone with the night and the stars.” Harriet had snorted again before adding: “And you can spare me that look of injured innocence too, my girl, for I’ve known you too long for you to fool me. I was young and foolish myself once, believe it or not! The man’s far too old for you in any case, and far too…Well, never mind. I am sure you know exactly what I am driving at.”

Stubbornly, Alexa had managed to keep to her story, staring angrily down at her clenched hands while she wished she could let her temper explode along with the resentment and positive hatred she felt towards Nicholas de la Guerra, who was the cause of her aunt’s wrath. It really wasn’t fair or just that she should be the only one to shoulder all the blame, and to be punished by being marched upstairs to bed by her aunt after being allowed only two more dances (“only in order to squelch any gossip!” she had been reminded), just as if she had still been a child.

In the end it had been Sir John who had persuaded Harriet to relent. Alexa never learned just how he had managed to convince her aunt that she deserved another chance (just as if she had been a criminal, she fumed inwardly), but at least she had been allowed to stay behind in Colombo—after all sorts of solemn promises had been extracted from her first. Not fair, when it hadn’t been her fault at all; and in any case, why was it that her every action and her life should be controlled by a nebulous “they” who had made up all the rules that were supposed to govern what everybody could or could not do? And what made “them” qualified to decide what constituted “sin”? It wasn’t considered a sin if an angry planter beat one of his coolies to death for what he thought of as insolence; but to lie naked with a man or to allow him to kiss you or touch you in certain ways was the unforgivable sin! Hypocrisy. That was one of the things that he had spoken of, of course; but obviously it had been only in order to gain his own ends, Alexa thought darkly. Part of the insidious poison he had tried to feed her—as dangerous as the sudden rush of unwanted memory-pictures flashing through her mind.

Annoyed at the wayward direction her thoughts had begun to take, Alexa scowled at her reflection in the mirror and snatched up her hat, adjusting it at a jaunty angle on her head so that the feather that adorned it curled enticingly about the brim before it swooped down to almost brush her cheek. She could only hope, of course, that Lord Charles, who was doubtless used to moving in much more sophisticated circles than this, would not find her too unstylish; and if he did not it was again due to her dearest and most understanding Uncle John, who had, like a benevolent magician or fairy godfather, arranged for both the new riding habit and the hat as well.

“Oh, Alexa!” Alexa swung around angrily with her straight dark brows drawn together; but Charlotte Langford never seemed to realize that she was intruding when she burst unannounced into Alexa’s room without so much as a perfunctory knock. “He’s here! The Viscount Deering, I mean. And on such a magnificent horse, too! Don’t you think it so exciting that it is us he has chosen to honor with his attention? How envious every other female in Colombo will be, to be sure!”

“Oh? Do you think so?” Alexa managed to respond coolly enough as she turned back to the mirror to make sure her hat was pinned securely on her coiled up hair, stepping back to study the effect of her whole outfit taken together.

“Oh, but of course we will be envied and thought lucky. I suppose, living upcountry you could have no idea how people gossip in a city like Colombo. A Viscount—asking us to go riding with him in public, just as if we had a Rotten Row here in Colombo! And especially after all the marked attention we’ve been paid during the past few days—his calls…”

How was it that Charlotte always sounded so breathless while she rained spun-sugar inanities on her unfortunate victims? On the verge of gritting her teeth Alexa surprised herself by managing to say in quite a civilized voice, “And I suppose that since Lord Charles has been so kind and attentive it is the least we can do not to keep him waiting, don’t you think?”

From Charlotte’s giggles and pink cheeks it might seem as if it were really Charlotte Langford that Lord Charles had called upon almost daily and not Miss Howard. There had, as a matter of fact, not been a single minute when Alexa had been left alone with the Viscount, for Charlotte’s redoubtable mama had always made sure that Charlotte sat with them in the parlor or out on the verandah; ensuring that all their conversation remained stilted and formal. And it had been difficult indeed to carry on any kind of intelligent conversation at all when Miss Langford, who lacked both tact and sensitivity, might interrupt during any slight pause to comment on the continuing good weather or the bazaar her mama had recently organized to raise money for Christian orphans. There had been moments when Alexa’s unruly tongue and temper had almost burst out of control, and she found herself grinding her teeth together much more often than usual. But at least she had earned herself the right to enjoy this particular outing, which she’d looked forward to almost greedily for the past few days.

As she leaned down to pat the arched neck of her horse, Alexa realized how much she’d missed her daily rides on horseback. Her favorite out of all the horses in Sir John’s stable, the high-spirited chestnut mare she rode had been foaled at his horse farm in the hill country, where Alexa had already ridden her several times before. Although, she could not help thinking almost painfully now, it had been so different there! Cold, dew-pearled mornings with the smell of woodsmoke in the air and the excited yelping of hounds waiting to be let out for their morning run. She could ride comfortably astride, and without a hat; her carelessly finger-combed mane of hair tied back with a ribbon and the weight of a pistol at her side to remind her of the dangers she might encounter at any time. A poisonous snake, an enraged wild boar…

But not here, in Colombo, on such a very decorous outing as this one had turned out to be, Alexa thought with mounting indignation as she listened to Charlotte Langford’s high-pitched voice chatter on and on between giggles and pronounced sighs and could not help wishing that she had brought a pistol with her after all. Not only had Charlotte been inflicted upon her but two other men of Mrs. Langford’s choosing as well—a middle-aged and terribly boring major who was a friend of Colonel Langford’s and Mr. Sutherland, the pompous young man who had bored her with his solemn relation of all the duties of an aide to the Governor and the importance of such a position. The two native grooms trailing behind their party made them seem an entourage, and it had not been meant to be like this! Lord Charles had asked her to ride with him, without making mention of anyone else, and his surprise had showed in his eyes for an instant or two before he had masked it with his usual polite manners.

Manners! Alexa thought rebelliously as she toyed with the wicked idea of pretending her mount was running away with her, just in order to enjoy a real gallop instead of being forced to conform to a sedate trot for Charlotte Langford’s sake. Why is it considered good manners to be sickly sweet to a person you really despise and dislike? Why are people never supposed to be completely honest and truthful with each other? Stripping away dishonesty and lies like so many unnecessary layers of clothing and being able to face together the naked reality of truth? I shall never understand—and least of all why I must let myself conform and pretend and be all those things that I despise the most. It was not fair that now, too suddenly, she was expected to make her real self disappear behind a decorous social mask. To act instead of reacting. Not fair!

It was perhaps fortunate, considering the angrily mutinous trend of Alexa’s thoughts, that Lord Charles’s voice broke in just then.

“I say, Miss Howard, I’ve just hit on a capital idea, you know. That is, if you don’t mind…” Viscount Deering’s rather diffident voice was belied by the almost conspiratorial smile he wore, as Alexa discovered when she glanced at him in an almost startled fashion. She had almost forgotten, in her preoccupation with her resentful thoughts, that he had quite cleverly contrived to be the one to ride beside her when the riding path had become narrower. Until now, barraged by the bright flow of small talk kept up by the others in their party, both Alexa and Lord Charles had remained comparatively silent; and she had almost begun to imagine that he had begun to think of her as being far too provincial and naive to be worth his time and attention. Now, however, his next words belied that fear as he continued with a twinkle in his expressive brown eyes: “D’you think perhaps that this might be a suitable opportunity to practice our French and Italian on each other? I seem to remember your mentioning that you did not have many opportunities to converse in those languages in order to keep fluent, and since I too have the same problem I thought…Do you mind?”

Charlotte had admitted only two days ago, with a sniff, that her mama had assured her that English was spoken everywhere in Europe by the better class of people and that it was quite unnecessary to try to learn some foreign language that might well contain certain words and phrases that were not considered polite in English. So much for Charlotte! And it was even more unlikely that Major Doyle or Mr. Sutherland knew either French or Italian. Lord Charles was being cleverly inventive, and an appreciative sparkle lit up Alexa’s eyes, relieving some of the tension that had shown in her face as she had contemplated the hypocrisy of “good manners.”

“Mind? No! I should enjoy trying out my French and Italian very much indeed, if you will only promise to correct all of my mistakes.”

What a difference it made when she smiled and let that charming dimple show, Lord Charles reflected in a rather fatuous fashion. She was really quite adorable, with a touch of naiveté he found quite unusual and intriguing. If only he could have had enough time to spend with her, and without the constant and vigilant chaperones she was always surrounded by…! He had done nothing but dream of her for the past few nights, and had imagined, when he was not asleep and dreaming, everything he would like to share with her and do with her. Teach her everything. Arouse her virginal senses and take her, step by step, to the knowledge of passion and sensuality. Dammit, she seemed to offer both a promise and a challenge that were almost worth staying for, if only his dark-visaged “cousin” Nicholas would not continue to be so obdurate about leaving in two days from now and did not insist on reminding him that his parents expected him back in England before Christmas. Two days, and he had begun to want her quite badly. Not that Nicholas, being the cynic that he was about women, would give a damn about that, of course! He respected nothing at all—not even the purity of true innocence—and talked contemptuously of normal human emotions and feelings as if they were merely weaknesses that should be controlled and pushed out of existence. Well, the devil take Nicholas and the coldly detached calculation he preached. He, for his part, preferred to enjoy the hedonism of giving way to feeling and impulse!

Yes, why not act on impulse after all? Especially since it was obvious by now that he had not much to lose except perhaps a few hours spent too well chaperoned in her company. Manfully, Lord Charles plunged into speech, hoping he would not have to regret his impulsiveness later, although, of course there were always ways out, weren’t there? He had decided on French to begin with and then switched quickly into Italian when he remembered uneasily that French had become almost too fashionable these days.

“I hope my little ruse did not anger you too much? But if you could only know how much I have wanted to engage in a real conversation with you and to spend much more time in your company without… That is…All that I meant, of course, was that, well, I had very much looked forward to getting to know and understand you much better before…Believe me, I am not usually as tongue-tied as some adolescent schoolboy, Signorina Howard! And—with your permission of course—not quite as boldly precipitous. Please. If I were to beg your indulgence and your forgiveness, could you possibly grant me such a favor?”

And what could Lord Charles possibly be leading up to with such difficulty, for heaven’s sake? With a show of insouciance Alexa answered brightly that of course he had her permission to be quite frank with her, because she infinitely preferred honesty and directness to the polite insincerity that most people practiced. She could only wonder why he felt he had to ask her forgiveness first, as she questioned, “Is whatever it is you want to tell me so terribly bad?”

“For me at least it is. And especially since I have met you. To learn that we are to leave for England within two days, when I have not even had the opportunity to speak with you and meet with you as often as I would have wished…I am afraid that I’m not the kind of cynic my cousin the Spaniard would have me become, and that I cannot help the way I have begun to feel towards you. I admire you and respect you and I wish…Ah, at least perhaps you will believe me when I say I am sincere in my feelings, bella, cara signorina! and that I would give anything to be granted just a few precious moments of private conversation with you so that I could speak to you more freely and with less constraint. To know that you would trust me enough to feel safe and at ease in my company if you should ever…I hope I have not made you angry with me?”

It was perhaps unfortunate that Charlotte, who must have been listening to their exchange with a growing sense of frustration, should have chosen that particular moment to chime in archly from behind, protesting that they really weren’t being fair at all in excluding the rest of the party from sharing secrets. And then, with one of her high-pitched giggles that always set Alexa’s teeth on edge, Charlotte had to add coyly: “Of course Mama has always said that one should try to remember a few commonly used French words that have been absorbed into the English language; but…” with another rather embarrassed sounding giggle this time, “I understand that…Well, at least Mama has always given me to understand that certain reading matter that would never find its way into decent English…Mr. Sutherland has just been telling me that he agrees with Mama that certain books that are published abroad in other languages might be far too easily available, under the guise of literature, of all things, and could corrupt Innocent and Unspoiled Minds. Not that I meant…”

“Oh, but I’m sure I can quite understand Mrs. Langford’s natural anxiety, and she’s right, of course.” Even if she gnashed her teeth mentally, Alexa’s tone was dulcet. “After all, I’m sure that a mother is always the best judge of her own daughter’s susceptibility to certain reading matter! And you mustn’t worry, Charlotte dear, that I will ever tell Mrs. Langford that you have actually discussed such topics with a gentleman. In fact, I shall continue practicing Italian grammar and diction with Lord Charles and pretend that no discussion of improper literature ever took place!”

Charlotte’s only half-smothered gasp and the rather choked sound that Lord Charles quickly turned into a cough came at about the same time, Alexa remembered later. At least he had a sense of humor, she thought, and he was, at the same time, a gentleman. So very much the complete opposite, thank goodness, of his uncouth cousin from California, that panther-eyed adventurer who possessed neither manners nor morals nor scruples either and certainly did not deserve to be received by polite society. Lord Charles, on the other hand, was entertaining, polite and obviously sincere; and what, after all, could be so very wrong with meeting and conversing with him alone for a few minutes? He, at least, was not the kind of bold rogue who might, without warning, force her into an unwanted embrace that was as much a punishment as it was an insult, his hands taking casual liberties with her, just as if she had been some coolie woman who was supposed to feel flattered by his disgusting advances!

In any case, I trust Lord Charles, and it does rather sound like a daring adventure as well as a challenge, Alexa thought defiantly afterwards when she recalled her rash promise to meet him on the private strip of sandy beach at the bottom of Sir John’s garden. He was going away, and he wanted to talk with her—had given her his solemn word that she would be perfectly safe in his company. As of course she would be, for he was far too honorable to try and take advantage of her trust in him. And what fun it had been to progress from arguments to arrangements right under the stolid noses of the others; particularly Charlotte’s, which had been pink with indignation during the rest of their ride. She didn’t really care a jot what Charlotte or Mrs. Langford thought or speculated about either, Alexa decided firmly. She would pretend to have developed a headache and retire early tonight, and then…Lord Charles had said that he had something very important to ask her. Was he thinking of proposing to her? And suppose he actually did, how should she answer him? It was all very exciting, and helped to push other, less pleasant thoughts from her mind.

10

That night, at dinner, Mrs. Langford seized on some flimsy excuse to hold forth at great length on the subject of the correct and proper training of pure, and yet far too impressionable, young minds. She had a rather high-pitched voice that grated on Alexa’s nerves, and a consciously affected turn of phrase as well; being overly fond of throwing in quotations at random from either the Bible or one of her favorite sermons to illustrate her every point, or pointed comment.

“…The unrestricted reading for books, for instance, and especially novels…!” Here the lady’s rather thin lips had puckered, as if she had just tasted something unbearably sour, before she continued in rather heavier tones that were meant to convey the extent of her disapprobation: “And especially the kind written by foreigners, in their languages…ah, how important some gentle but firm guidance in the right direction is, in order to prevent the corruption of a young mind that, as our dear and learned Dr. Jennings has often said, resembles a clean slate waiting to be written upon and is open, in its innocence, to every influence. Parental supervision—constant advice and guidance—how important they are, and most especially in the case of a young female, delicately nurtured and of a tender susceptibility! ‘As the twig is bent…’ I know I need not complete the phrase, for my Charlotte has heard her father quote it many times. Colonel Langford also believes very strongly in the importance of disciplining as well as instructing the young, immature mind; along with, of course, the social graces such as manners and proper deportment and behavior—so essential for a young woman who dreams of being the perfect wife and mother when the time arrives for her to be passed from the benevolent guidance of her loving parents into the keeping of—her Husband!”

If she continues in this vein for much longer…If I have to listen to that voice and those smug platitudes and watch how Charlotte preens herself without realizing or even caring that she has been brought up and trained like a show pony or a brood mare; only in order to be passed from the hands of one owner to another…! I wonder what she would do if I suddenly gave way to a violent fit of hysterics? A headache? But then Uncle John would start to worry and concern himself needlessly, and she would probably think…

Alexa forced herself to look down at her plate while she pretended to occupy herself with cutting into her slice of boiled mutton surrounded by carrots and potatoes. But in spite of all her efforts her mind seethed rebelliously. Slavery! That was what it amounted to. Passed, like a possession, from one man to another; and yet most young women thought like Charlotte, who would consider herself honored if some pompous jackass should consider to ask her father for her hand in marriage. And after that, instead of “Yes, Papa!” and “Of course, Papa!” it would be “Oh yes, Mr. So-and-so!” or “But of course, Mr. So-and-so, you always know what is best for me.” How could any human being with a mind capable of reasoning submit will as well as person so unquestioningly and so passively?

Thankfully, Mrs. Langford had interrupted herself in order to enjoy her third course, and the sudden quiet that seemed to descend encouraged Alexa to change the angry trend of her thoughts. In that direction lay frustration, she reminded herself wisely. And she had more immediate problems to deal with tonight. Planning—or should she be prepared to improvise instead? It was certain that she would have to wait until the servants had been dismissed to their quarters for the night and most of the house lights extinguished before attempting to slip away. And what should she wear? Something cool and light and not too encumbering nor too showy either. A gown she could feel comfortable in without appearing too dowdy or shabby. Her green cotton with the lace inserts, perhaps? It was at least two years old, of course, and the style had been copied from a fashion journal of the early ’thirties but at least it did flatter her figure as well as show off her shoulders and ankles to advantage. And being a man, Lord Charles probably would not notice in any case. Yes, the green dress would be exactly the thing—not that it really mattered of course, because she had no intention of staying out beyond half an hour at the very most, even if he did propose!

During the rest of the meal, Sir John, who had noticed and understood the dangerous gleam in Alexa’s slate-dark eyes, made sure that their conversation was steered into safer channels, leaving Mrs. Langford and Charlotte no choice but to follow his lead. Alexa’s mood lightened noticeably and her whole manner became quite animated when the discussion turned to horses and a lively argument ensued regarding the merits and shortcomings of crossbreeding.

The entrance of Sir John’s dignified-looking butler, carrying a silver tray bearing decanters of port and brandy and a beautifully carved rosewood box containing a variety of the very finest cigars, filled Mrs. Langford, for one, with a feeling of profound relief. She had noticed that her poor Charlotte, like herself, had barely toyed with the last two courses, and had not even had a second helping of the chocolate soufflé. But now, at last, she could with all propriety give the signal for the ladies to retire—and high time too! There had been moments, she thought with an inward shudder of taste, when she knew that she could not prevent herself from blushing at what she could only dare describe, even to herself, as “stable talk.”

How she had longed to be able to cry out that Charlotte should instantly clap her hands over her ears when certain unpleasant subjects were being discussed far too freely! She could only hope and pray of course that dear Charlotte’s carefully nurtured innocence would protect her; and it was with considerable relief that she had noticed Charlotte’s rather puzzled expression when there were subjects mentioned and blunt terms used that no well-brought-up young lady should have any knowledge of. And that any young woman of good background should actually sit and discuss with such ease and familiarity such unsuitable topics not only reflected badly on her unfortunate parents but was enough to make any other person forced to listen and observe such behavior positively recoil! The blame did not lie with Sir John Travers, who had been a bachelor all his life and was more used to male company, poor man. No, it was the responsibility of a female, if she was indeed a lady, to make haste to change the subject to a more tasteful one. It certainly did not speak well for the education of women if this was its result. Foreign languages, the reading of novels, far too much freedom of both action and thought—all insidious poisons that twisted and corrupted. No wonder poor Charlotte had been almost distraught when they had returned from their excursion on horseback; so torn, the dear soft-hearted creature, between loyalty to another of her own sex and the high moral standards she had been taught.

“I vow I do not mean to sound uncharitable, Mama, but I have to confess that I could not help longing for the time when we would turn back, in spite of the fact that Mr. Sutherland was so kind to me and showed himself to be so understanding of how I had to feel, and was made to feel. Mama, you know how hard I have tried to make a friend of Miss Howard and to guide her, as you told me I should. But today, why she was flirting quite boldly with Lord Charles, and monopolizing him! Even Mr. Sutherland admitted to me that he could not help being disappointed and rather surprised at her behavior. And then, to make things worse, they began speaking in…Oh, I don’t even know what it was. Some foreign language that sounded like gibberish that none of us could understand; and when I only tried to hint, tactfully, that it was rather rude, she actually snubbed me, Mama! And turned back to him, laughing! And you should have seen the looks they kept exchanging all the while. I have never been so embarrassed in all my life, and my head aches so badly from the strain of it all that I can hardly bear to lift it!”

At least she could be thankful that Charlotte, poor disillusioned child, had seen for herself the consequences of too much freedom, Mrs. Langford reflected grimly. But even if she put her natural maternal feelings aside, there still remained her Christian Duty towards the young and unfortunately misguided female who had, after all, been placed in her care. Yes, a few words of wisdom and of caution could not be amiss.

Following her mother’s example, Charlotte had already risen to her feet with alacrity, but Alexa, on the other hand, tried hard to pretend she hadn’t noticed. How on earth, and why, had such a silly custom become established? She didn’t in the least mind the aroma of a good cigar, and she would much rather have continued her interesting conversation with Uncle John instead of being forced to retire with the Langfords.

“Miss Howard? Will you not deign to join us?”

Alexa had begun to rise, slowly and unwillingly, when Mrs. Langford’s rather sarcastic reminder of her manners made her angry enough to sit down again and defy both custom and silly women. But in the end, after only an infinitesimal hesitation, her head went up defiantly while her eyes took on a pewter sheen that would have warned anyone who knew Alexa to caution. Even her face seemed to have changed in some subtle way, appearing suddenly older and harder, while her voice seemed to have crystalized into dry ice.

“I do beg your pardon for being a few seconds tardy in joining you, madame. Thank you for the tactful reminder.”

So his young Amazon was primed to give battle? Sir John Travers spent a few extra seconds staring thoughtfully at the double doors of polished satinwood bound with brass that had just closed behind the ladies. He was sure that Alexa, with her clever mind and gift for ingenious argument, could hold her own against Mrs. Langford quite easily, if only she could manage not to lose her temper to the extent that she also lost all power of reasoning.

Sir John sighed rather heavily as he turned back to his brandy and cigar, thinking ruefully as he did that it was a pity indeed that the young had everything except experience and the wisdom and ability to exercise self-control, whereas those like himself who had learned life’s hard lessons no longer had youth or time enough to use the knowledge they had gained. Youth and knowledge and wisdom. Ah, to possess all three gifts at the same time was to rule the world, and perhaps that was why it so seldom happened that way.

Alexa. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth under his greying mustache as he remembered the leggy colt of a girl she had been when he first encountered her. Even then she had had spirit, an eager, questioning mind, and courage as well. She, and not poor delicate Freddy, should have been the boy, of course; but what was the use in regretting what was? Alexa was no longer a girl but a grown young woman—an attractive young woman too, with a kind of aura about her that made her somehow unique, although she herself was as yet quite unaware of this special quality in herself that would always cause her to be noticed and singled out wherever she went. She was still quite immature, for all of her book-knowledge and education and that quick mind of hers. But there was so much potential there! Potential he had helped to nurture and had hoped to see realized some day if only…Well, what was the point in thinking about it now? His doctors had decreed otherwise, and mortal man cannot circumvent fate. So be it! At least he had been able to arrange that she’d always have enough money, so that she need never have to feel herself obligated to sell herself on the marriage market, even when Freddy inherited. Beyond that, his greatest hope was that when she was ready she would find the right kind of man for her—one she could converse with, who would appreciate her intelligent mind and free spirit and love her for what she was and not for what he thought he could make her into.

Sentimental old fool! You can only do the best you can and hope for the rest; and since you won’t be around to see how it turns out in the end, there’s no use worrying about it, is there? Clearing his throat fiercely, Sir John relit his cigar and dragged on it far too deeply, forgetting his doctor’s orders. Even though he had chosen an exceptionally mild one, it made him cough, and he swore inwardly. When he looked up at last after his coughing fit had ended, Sir John realized with disgust that his butler was hovering over him while pretending to rearrange everything on the silver tray in an ostentatiously significant manner that obviously called for comment.

“Well?” Sir John grumbled testily. “And what the devil d’you think you’re up to, fiddling about like that? If you’ve anything to say to me, be out with it!”

Velu, who had run his master’s house in Colombo for over fifteen years, merely turned down the corners of his mouth with a look of patent disapproval.

“I hear doctor say only half cigar, and much better Master take no cigar!” And then, noting indications of an imminent explosion, Velu went on hastily and with some relish, “But I come to tell Master that it is better, maybe, that Master retire to Study Room with door locked? Ladies make many arguments and the big lady is very angry. With mouth open like this…”

Velu’s imitation of Mrs. Langford actually left speechless for a change tempted Sir John to chuckle, and he was not able to compose his features quickly enough to prevent the sharp-eyed Velu from noticing his mouth twitch before he said drily: “I see. And I won’t ask you how many times you invented excuses to go in there, you old rascal, but I’m sure you didn’t miss anything, did you, eh? What of the young ladies?”

“Ah…” Velu rolled his eyes with pretended concern. “Big lady’s young missy crying and our missy Alex she smile but speaking sharp like knife. Good thing she have no knife or gun or maybe I think big lady be dead! Too bad!”

“I won’t ask how that last pithy statement was meant to be taken,” Sir John said after he had cleared his throat loudly to cover his involuntary chortle. He added thoughtfully, “But I suppose you are right in suggesting that I’d do well to take myself off to my study, where I have urgent correspondence to deal with and must on no account be disturbed.”

As Velu sprang to pull back his chair, Sir John reflected with a grim kind of amusement that this was certainly the first time anyone could have accused him of running away from a battlefield. But under the circumstances, and in view of his decided partiality, there could be no question that in this case at least discretion was most definitely the better part of valor.

“Oh, and Velu…” Settled before his desk with the open French doors bringing in the night-smells of dew-wet grass and frangipani and jasmine, Sir John held up one hand to halt his servant. “If by some chance you might have reason to visit the drawing room—perhaps to ask if the ladies need anything before they retire—you might just say a few words to Miss Alexa in your tongue, perhaps a mumbled undertone. You’re good at that when you imagine you’ve something to grumble about, eh? Tell her…The devil take it! Just make sure she’s not about to lose her temper and start throwing things, you hear? You might move my Ming vases out of there. That ought to give her a hint. Tell her those were my orders and she’ll understand very well what I meant. That’s all. And since I might go outside for a stroll later on, I don’t want you sitting up for half the night either. That clear? You’re getting to be an old man too. Hah!”

Poor faithful old Velu! He’d be getting a pension, of course, and enough money to buy himself that land in Jaffna he’d always wanted, as well as a young wife to give him children before it was too late. Too late…You spent your time and energy accumulating money and possessions and forgot why you were doing so in the process, until suddenly it was too late to enjoy their use and you saw them for what they were—more clutter and things to leave behind when you had to go.

No, dammit! Sir John slammed down the glass he had been holding and began to pace about the large, shelf-lined room as he usually did when he was deep in thought. Dammit, he thought again, I haven’t gone yet! Still got some time left to me if all those doctor chaps were right and if I don’t overdo things. Time enough, perhaps to make sure it wasn’t all for nothing after all, not just wasted! Made use of—enjoyed. That’s what money was for, and possessions. And why the deuce should the Crown get any of it, anyhow?

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