Gray went to her in the night, his heart pounding with excitement and love.

She would be waiting for him, cloaked in the moonlight and the trees in the thick forest. He could smell her essence on the soft breeze and knew that she was as eager ashe was; the thou ght pushed him to incredible speeds across the barrenlawn of the centuries-oldmonastery. He sprang through the foliage, ignoring the branches and brambles that pulled at his skin and hisdark T-shirt. He didn t think about the consequences of his actions or the duty of his family. He was only consumed with imagesof her, memories of the way she d f elt in his arms, the way she d tasted and smelled, the way she d rasped his name in the hea t of passion. Nothing else mattered. Nothing at all. And then she was there, her rich auburn hair luminous in the night, her alabaste r skin a beacon through the dark. She turned to him,her reliefand joy nearlytangible as she pierced his heart as well as his libido with her green eyes. Julia, he breathed, his feet skidding to a stop in the soft grass. Gray, she replied, her full lipscurving into a bright smile. They were immediatelydrawn together, as always. Their bodies collided as they hurried toward each other, their mouths fusing together in a heated, blood-stirr ing embrace. Time stopped for them, its hands simply ceasing in the face of the overwhelming need that emanated from the two lovers. Their tongues met, tangled, laved, and entwined ag ain. Arms enfoldedbodies, hands roamed flushing skin, and guttural, sexual sounds rose int o the heavy air. Drawing on all his willpower, Gray pulled away a few precious inches, his breath hitching as he studied the glorious beauty in his arms. 2 Flesa Black Julia, I have to leave, tomorrow, he told her, his gut twisting when he saw the dreadedspear of desolation that shot through her gaze. I don t want you to, she replied, her voice filled with fear. Please, please just sta y with me, Gray. I can t. I want to, he assured her as he tenderlypulled her against his racing heart , but I can t. I have togoback to myfamily; I have to tell them that I ve found my mate . I have to do this if we re going to be together. Can t you just call them? Or you can takeme with you, she added, her striking featuresilluminating with hope as she looked upat him. I know I sound selfish, bu t I don t care. I love you, and I can t stand tothink of being away from you for even an hou r. I wish I could, sweetheart, more than you ll ever know, but I can t. This has to be done within the family,face to face. If I called, it wouldn t be the same, and it would be an insult to my uncle Brody. If I took you without having myuncle s blessing, they wo uld consider you an interloper. You would be treated like an enemy; they would shun you, maybe evenphysically attack you if they thought they had a reason. Since they do

n t know you, they d think of you more as a danger instead of my fiance. Slowly, Julia let out a deep, resigned sigh. I know you re right; I just don t like i t. You warned me this was coming. I just wasn t surewhen. I wish you would have said some thing to me before about speaking to yourfamily and making arrangements to leave, thou gh. My uncle called this morning, so I jumped atthe chance to tell him that we needed to talk about something important, he explained,twisting inside over the fact that h e d slighted her unintentionally. How long will you be? One, two weeks at the most. I need to ... set some things up with my cousin Mark. But I won t be there any longer than I have to, he promised. It s going to take a lot of w ork and diplomacy to convince my uncle that you are the best choice I could make for a m ate. But I swear to you, as soon as he gives me his permission, I ll come back to you. He cupped her face in his large, calloused hand, softening when she nuzzled her silky cheek against his palm. He wanted to tell her the whole truth; that he wasn t just an average lycan who was requesting permission to take a mate outside of his own kind. He w as going to have to leave the pack, and for someone in his position, it wasn t going to be an easy process. He was the only surviving child of his father, the man who had, through birthrig ht, been the alpha of thepowerful American Lycan Pack. Gray s uncle had taken overleadership af ter his older brother had died,taking in Gray, grooming him to become the alpha when the time was right. He had resigned himself to his fate years ago -- and then he d met Juli a. Sweet, hot-tempered, stubborn, lust-inducing Julia. He d wanted her since the firs t time he d seen her roaming the grounds with Abram. She d shown like a wild rose amon g thickets and weeds, her full, rich laughter carrying over the sun-drenched walls ofthe timeworn monastery. The sound had brought him tohis window, compelling hi m toThis, too, was a battle, but one he must fight with his wits. Reynaud strode through the great vaulted hall, passing under the watchful eyes o f the angels that lined the eaves, and proceeded to a dark back passage. This led down a short flight of stairs and to a series of dark-paneled doors. Outside one was a somberly dres sed servant. The servant bowed to Reynaud. They re waiting within, my lord. Reynaud nodded. Thank you. The dark little room he entered was sparsely furnished. Four rows of wooden benc hes sat facing a large wood table. Beside the table was a single tall chair. The room wa s loud with the voices of men, for the benches were nearly full. There were twenty members of th is Select Committee for Privileges, appointed from the House of Lords to decide the matter of his title.

As Reynaud found a seat, the chairman of the committee, Lord Travers, got up fro m where he d been sitting with Beatrice s uncle on the front bench. He saw Reynaud, nodded, and went to stand before the tall chair. My lords, shall we begin? The room gradually quieted, although total silence was not achieved, because sev eral members continued to murmur, and one elderly lord was cracking walnuts in the co rner, apparently oblivious to the proceedings around him. Lord Travers nodded, gave a brief, dry outline of the case before the committee, and then called on Reynaud. Reynaud took a deep breath, his fingers moving to touch where his knife usually hung by his side before he remembered he d left it at home. He stood and strode to the fro nt of the room and faced his peers. The faces that looked back at him were mostly old. Would they understand? Did they still have pity? He took a breath. My lords, I stand before you and plead for the title my father, my grandfather, my great-grandfather, and his father before him held. I ask you for what is only mine by birth. You have papers attesting to my identity. That, I think, is not a t issue. He paused and looked at the men sitting in judgment of him. Not a one looked partic ularly sympathetic. What is at issue is what my opponent intends to claim: that I am mad . That caused several lords to frown and put their heads together. Reynaud felt hi s shoulder blades twitch. The tack he was taking was a risk, but a calculated one. He let the murmurs die and then lifted his chin. I am not mad. What I am is an of ficer of His Majesty s army, one who has seen perhaps more than his fair share of combat an d hardship. If I am mad, then every officer who ever saw battle, who ever came hom e missing limb or eye, who ever dreamed in the night of blood and war cries, is mad as wel l. Shame me and you shame every brave man who has fought for this country. The voices had grown louder at his assertion, but Reynaud raised his voice to be heard over the murmuring. Grant me, then, my lords, what is mine and mine alone. The ti tle that belonged to my father. The title that in time will descend to my son. The earldo m of Blanchard. Myearldom. There were frowns and voices raised in argument as he made his way back to his s eat. As Reynaud sat down he wondered if he d just won back his title or lost it forever. ALGERNON DOWNEY, THE Duke of Lister, was on the way to the House of Lords, but h e paused on the front steps of his town house to give his secretary some additional instr uctions. I ve run out of patience. Tell my aunt that if she cannot keep figures, then she shou ld hire someone literate to do it for her. Until then, I do not intend to give her any further m

onies this quarter. A few refusals of service from tradesmen may help her to be more frugal with her a llowance. Yes, Your Grace. The secretary made a low bow. Lister turned to descend his steps to the waiting carriage. Or at least that was what he intended. Instead he stopped so suddenly that he ne arly lost his footing. Waiting for him at the bottom was a tiny, beautiful woman in a brig ht green frock. Lister frowned. Madeleine, what are you doing here? The woman thrust out her chest, imperiling the fine silk of her bodice. What am I doing here? Behind him, Lister heard a dry cough. He turned to see his secretary goggling at his mistress. Go inside and make sure Her Grace doesn t take a notion to come oMaddock didn t tell him the route they were brothers, after all then it wouldn t have been very hard to discover it. Elmsworth may ve made him privy to it himself. He would ve had to get the information to the French, Munroe pointed out. Reynaud shrugged, pushing away his tankard of ale altogether. He was in Quebec. D o you remember? It was swarming with the French troops we d captured, French citizen s, and Indians who d supported both sides. It was chaos. He could ve done it easily, Hartley said. The question now is did he indeed do it? We have supposition and conjecture but no real facts. Then we ll have to find the facts, Reynaud said grimly. Agreed? The other men nodded. Agreed, they said in unison. To discovering the truth, Vale said, and raised his tankard. They all raised their tankards and knocked them together, solemnizing the toast. Reynaud toasted the sentiment with the rest. He drained his tankard and slammed it down on the table. And to seeing the traitor swing, goddamn his eyes. Hear, hear! Another round on me, Reynaud called. Vale leaned close, blasting Reynaud with the ale on his breath. Shouldn t a newly wedded man such as yourself go home? Reynaud scowled. I ll go home soon. Vale wagged his shaggy eyebrows. Had a falling-out with the missus? None of your goddamned business! Reynaud hid his face in his tankard of ale, but when he lowered it, Vale was still staring at him rather blearily. And had it no t been for the ale, Reynaud probably wouldn t have said, She thinks I don t know how to care, if you must know. Doesn t she know you care for her? Hartley asked from across the table. Wonderful. Both he and Munroe had been listening in like a pair of gossiping bid dies. Munroe stirred. She needs to know, man. Go home, Vale said solemnly. Go home and tell her you love her. And for the very first time Reynaud began to think that Vale s romantic advice mig ht just might be correct. Chapter Eighteen Now, although Princess Serenity had married Longsword as a reward for saving her father, she had, in the many months she had lived with him, come to love her husband dee ply. Hearing his terrible fate, she became quiet and withdrawn, contemplating silentl

y what this news meant to her. And, after many long walks in the castle garden, she came to a decision: she would offer herself to the Goblin King in Longsword s stead. And so, on the night before Longsword was to return to the kingdom of the goblin s, Princess Serenity drugged Longsword s wine. As her husband slept, she kissed him tenderly a nd then set out to meet the Goblin King . from Longsword Seven years of planning. Seven years of careful moves on a giant chessboard. Som e of them so infinitesimally small that even his most intelligent enemies had been blind to t heir true meaning. Seven years that should have culminated in his becoming prime minister and the d e facto leader of the most powerful country on earth. Seven years of patient waiting and secret lusting. Seven years destroyed in one afternoon by one man Reynaud St. Aubyn. He d seen the knowledge in Hartley s eyes when he d mentioned Thomas. Poor, poor Thomas. His brother had never been cut out for greatness. Why should Thomas have the title when it would serve him so much better? But now that old decision had come back to haunt him. Vale, Blanchard, Hartley, and Munroe. All in London at once, all putting th eir heads together. Hasselthorpe could read the writing on the wall. It was only a matter of time before they had him arrested. All because St. Aubyn had returned home. He glared across the carriage at his en emy s wife. Beatrice St. Aubyn, Countess of Blanchard now, ne Corning. Little Beatrice Corning sat across from him bound and gagged. Her eyes were closed over the cloth tied acros s her mouth. Perhaps she slept, but he doubted it. He d never really paid much attention to her before, besides noting that she made a good hostess for her uncle s political parties. She was pleasant enough to look at, he supposed, but she was no immortal beauty. Hardly the typeMaddock didn t tell him the route they we re brothers, after all then it wouldn t have been very hard to discover it. Elmsworth may ve made him privy to it himself. He would ve had to get the information to the French, Munroe pointed out. Reynaud shrugged, pushing away his tankard of ale altogether. He was in Quebec. D o you remember? It was swarming with the French troops we d captured, French citizen s, and Indians who d supported both sides. It was chaos. He could ve done it easily, Hartley said. The question now is did he indeed do it? We have supposition and conjecture but no real facts. Then we ll have to find the facts, Reynaud said grimly. Agreed? The other men nodded. Agreed, they said in unison. To discovering the truth, Vale said, and raised his tankard. They all raised their tankards and knocked them together, solemnizing the toast. Reynaud toasted the sentiment with the rest. He drained his tankard and slammed it down on the table. And to seeing the traitor swing, goddamn his eyes. Hear, hear!

Another round on me, Reynaud called. Vale leaned close, blasting Reynaud with the ale on his breath. Shouldn t a newly wedded man such as yourself go home? Reynaud scowled. I ll go home soon. Vale wagged his shaggy eyebrows. Had a falling-out with the missus? None of your goddamned business! Reynaud hid his face in his tankard of ale, but when he lowered it, Vale was still staring at him rather blearily. And had it no t been for the ale, Reynaud probably wouldn t have said, She thinks I don t know how to care, if you must know. Doesn t she know you care for her? Hartley asked from across the table. Wonderful. Both he and Munroe had been listening in like a pair of gossiping bid dies. Munroe stirred. She needs to know, man. Go home, Vale said solemnly. Go home and tell her you love her. And for the very first time Reynaud began to think that Vale s romantic advice mig ht just might be correct. Chapter Eighteen Now, although Princess Serenity had married Longsword as a reward for saving her father, she had, in the many months she had lived with him, come to love her husband dee ply. Hearing his terrible fate, she became quiet and withdrawn, contemplating silentl y what this news meant to her. And, after many long walks in the castle garden, she came to a decision: she would offer herself to the Goblin King in Longsword s stead. And so, on the night before Longsword was to return to the kingdom of the goblin s, Princess Serenity drugged Longsword s wine. As her husband slept, she kissed him tenderly a nd then set out to meet the Goblin King . from Longsword Seven years of planning. Seven years of careful moves on a giant chessboard. Som e of them so infinitesimally small that even his most intelligent enemies had been blind to t heir true meaning. Seven years that should have culminated in his becoming prime minister and the d e facto leader of the most powerful country on earth. Seven years of patient waiting and secret lusting. Seven years destroyed in one afternoon by one man Reynaud St. Aubyn. He d seen the knowledge in Hartley s eyes when he d mentioned Thomas. Poor, poor Thomas. His brother had never been cut out for greatness. Why should Thomas have the title when it would serve him so much better? But now that old decision had come back to haunt him. Vale, Blanchard, Hartley, and Munroe. All in London at once, all putting th eir heads together. Hasselthorpe could read the writing on the wall. It was only a matter of time before they had him arrested. All because St. Aubyn had returned home. He glared across the carriage at his en emy s wife. Beatrice St. Aubyn, Countess of Blanchard now, ne Corning. Little Beatrice Corning sat across from him bound and gagged. Her eyes were closed over the cloth tied acros s her mouth. Perhaps she slept, but he doubted it.

He d never really paid much attention to her before, besides noting that she made a good hostess for her uncle s political parties. She was pleasant enough to look at, he supposed, but she was no immortal beauty. Hardly the type a man might choose to die for. He grunted and glanced out the window. The night was black with barely any moonl ight, and he couldn t make out where they might be. He let the curtain fall. However, he knew by the number of hours they d traveled that they must be nearing his estate in Hampshire. He d told Blanchard that he d wait until dawn and he would; the boat he d arranged to pick him up at Portsmouth wouldn t come until eight. He could wait until dawn and no longer befor e fleeing to the prearranged rendezvous spot. First to France and then perhaps Prussia or even the East Indies. A man could change his name and start a new life in the more remote corn ers of the world. And with enough capital, he might even make his fortune again. If he had enough capital. Damnably stupid he could see that now tying up most of his monies in investments. Oh, they were good investments, solid investments that wo uld yield a healthy return, but that wasn t much good to him at the moment, was it? He had a l ittle cash, a man might choose to die for. He grunted and glanced out the window. The night was black with barely any moonl ight, and he couldn t make out where they might be. He let the curtain fall. However, he knew by the number of hours they d traveled that they must be nearing his estate in Hampshire. He d told Blanchard that he d wait until dawn and he would; the boat he d arranged to pick him up at Portsmouth wouldn t come until eight. He could wait until dawn and no longer befor e fleeing to the prearranged rendezvous spot. First to France and then perhaps Prussia or even the East Indies. A man could change his name and start a new life in the more remote corn ers of the world. And with enough capital, he might even make his fortune again. If he had enough capital. Damnably stupid he could see that now tying up most of his monies in investments. Oh, they were good investments, solid investments that wo uld yield a healthy return, but that wasn t much good to him at the moment, was it? He had a l ittle cash,