he dull, endless chores of domesticity had a settling effect, Victoria mused. It had been a week since her marriage, a week in which she had thrown herself into the duties of running the household in an effort to make herself too busy to think. She admitted that the larger portion of her growing serenity was due to the Major's continued absence from her bedroom, but mending had its own soporific effect. She stifled a yawn.

Emma chuckled. "Here we are, about to doze in the sun like two doddering old tabbies." She took two more tiny stitches, then smothered her own yawn.

"It's so pleasant here," Victoria said. She was coming to appreciate more and more both the weather and the landscape of her new home. It was June; the sun could be quite hot at noon, but the air was dry. The result was wonderful, after the humidity of the South. The nights were chilly and crisp, perfect for snuggling under blankets.

"Especially here, in the courtyard. I don't believe I care if this hem is mended." Emma replaced the skirt in her basket, looking enormously satisfied with the decision. She yawned again. "But I do believe a nap is necessary."

"Siesta must be contagious."

"It seems to be. Not that they're totally foreign to us. Remember when we used to take naps before evening dances?"

"A long time ago." Victoria looked down the past five years.

"Yes." They said no more about the days past. Neither of them liked to discuss it. The changes brought by war had been too violent, the difference in their lives too complete. Too many people had died.

Emma got to her feet and Victoria did also, her brows knit as she realized she hadn't seen her sister in at least an hour. "I think I'll look for Celia," she said. "She didn't tell me where she was going."

"And wherever Celia is, Mr. Garnet will be close by," Emma said grimly.

Victoria wondered how Garnet attended to his job when he seemed to spend so much of his day lurking around Celia. He hadn't made any untoward moves, but his constant hovering made Victoria uneasy. If she found him near Celia again, she would inform the Major of his foreman's behavior, although she grimly suspected he was fully aware of it.

"Shall I come with you?" Emma asked.

It was tempting to accept her offer. Victoria often felt as if she needed support, and she knew Emma would stand unflinchingly by her side to face anything. But Emma, for all her willingness, was sensitive enough that conflict could upset her to the point of nausea. So Victoria smiled and shook her head. "No. She'll be in the stable, as usual. I'll just tell her we need help with the mending."

"If only she understood," Emma said.

"If she did, she wouldn't be Celia."

Rather than go through the house, Victoria left the courtyard by the rear gate. The ranch buildings were spread in a semicircle about the house, with the smithy to the right, the springhouse far in the rear, a couple of storage buildings, and two bunkhouses, the stable, an enormous barn, and various corrals extending to the left. It was almost a hundred yards to the stable; by the time she reached it, she wished she had put on a bonnet. The sun was deceptively hot on her bare head.

The stable, in contrast, was cool and dark, and redolent with the earthy scents of horses, oiled leather, and hay. Temporarily blind, she stood for a moment just inside the door, letting her eyes readjust to the dim light. When she could see again she quickly spied Celia at the far end of the barn. Celia had climbed halfway up the door of a huge corner stall and was leaning over it with her hand outheld.

Victoria recognized the horse. It was Rubio, the Major's prize stallion. He had boasted about the horse at length, taking delight in the tales of its kicks and bites as if they were admirable. The stallion had killed the Mexican who had been taking care of him the year before. Seeing Celia like that, so close to the big animal, made Victoria's heart stop. She took a step forward but didn't call out, not wanting to startle the horse..

A man came through the open doors at the other end, a black silhouette painted against the bright sunshine. Even without seeing his features, Victoria recognized Garnet. She hurried her step.

Rubio neighed warningly as Garnet approached. The horse withdrew to the back of the stall, stamping his feet and snorting.

Celia turned to the man and said, "You've scared him! He was just about to take this sugar from my hand."

Garnet hadn't seen Victoria even though she was no more than twenty feet away when he put his hand on Celia's leg, then slid it up to her hip. "Let me help you down."

Celia laughed, a silvery sound. "I can get down by myself."

Angered almost beyond control, Victoria still managed to keep her voice even. "Of course you can. Let's go back to the house; I need help with the mending."

Always amenable, Celia gathered her skirts and jumped to the hay-strewn floor. "I forgot about the mending," she said apologetically. "I was just talking to Rubio." She turned back to the stall. "Isn't he beautiful?"

He was beautiful, and savage. He was a big horse, superbly muscled, dark red in color. Victoria would have been as enthralled as Celia if it hadn't been for his eyes; they held not just spirit, but a viciousness that chilled her. The horse was a killer, but Celia saw only beauty.

"Yes, he's beautiful," Victoria agreed. "Why don't you run ahead and wash your hands before we start the mending?"

"All right." Celia happily left the barn, humming to herself.

Victoria turned back to Garnet, and inwardly braced herself against the hostility in his expression. She kept her voice cool. "Mr. Garnet, I shall tell you this only once: stay away from my sister. Don't touch her again."

He sneered and took a step toward her. "Or you'll do what?"

"I'll tell Mr. McLain you've been neglecting your duties and pestering Celia."

Garnet laughed, a brutal sound. His eyes were dark pits. "Now, that really scares me. He'll tell you to mind your own business, Miz McLain. I run this ranch, and the Major knows it. He can't get along without me."

"I can." The emotionless voice came from the open double doors behind Garnet. "I can get along without you just fine, Garnet. In fact, I like the idea."

Garnet whirled, and a spasm of hate twisted his features. If he had been angry before, now he was furious. "This is none of your business, Roper."

"It is if I make it my business." He hadn't moved from the doorway. With the light behind him it was impossible to see his face, but Victoria found that it wasn't necessary; his voice, flat and cold as it was, stated his intent. "Leave the girl alone."

"So you can have her?"

"No. I don't want her. But you're not going to have her, either."

Garnet's right hand moved, but Roper moved faster. The big revolver was in his hand before Garnet touched the butt of his. Victoria hadn't even seen Roper's hand move. Garnet froze, and even in the coolness of th& stable a sheen of sweat covered his face.

"Pass the word," Roper said flatly. "Everyone leaves the girl alone."

Just for a second Garnet froze, unwilling to retreat. Watching him, Victoria saw the exact moment when he realized he didn't have any choice, if he wanted to live. He turned and stalked off. Victoria quietly exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She forced herself to look at Roper as he stepped farther into the stable, though she wanted to flee like Garnet. "Thank you."

He said, "You made an enemy."

Wryly, she answered, "So did you."

He watched the way the small amusement tilted the corners of her lips upward. "That was nothing new between me and Garnet. One of us will kill the other before it's over."

"So you did it just to annoy him?" For some reason that angered her. She thought of leaving, but didn't. She didn't even step back when Roper walked so close by her that his legs brushed her skirt.

"What difference does it make, as long as it keeps him away from your simpleminded sister?"

Her fists knotted. "She's not?" she hissed. "Celia reads and writes; she's as intelligent as most. She's just… different." Temper burned in her cheeks. "Don't you dare call her simpleminded."

"Different, how?"

How, indeed? How did you explain a near adult who still had the innocence and glee of a child without using the label of simplicity? Celia was as fey and otherwordly as a wood nymph. It was as if she was so sensitive to everything that she had to block out the darkness of life in order to survive, leaving her with only sunlight. Victoria sought for the words. "She… doesn't see ugliness, or evil. She expects everyone to be as open and good-natured as she is."

He snorted as he swung a saddle down from the railing. "That's worse than simplemindedness. That's plain stupid, and out here it'll get you killed." He towered over her, and as Victoria refused to step back in retreat she was forced to tilt her head back to look at him. Their eyes met and a strange little frisson of fear raced down her spine. His eyes glittered under the low brim of his hat, and she saw that they were a clear, dark hazel green. He was so close to her that she could see the black specks in his irises, so close that she could smell the sweat on his skin, and feel the heat emanating from him. Her skirts were brushing his dusty boots, and she didn't care. She felt paralyzed as she stared up at him, held immobile by a strange, frightening excitement that knotted her stomach and set her heart to pounding. All of her life she had associated the scents of shaving soap and cologne with men, very civilized smells that she had thought pleasant and nothing more. Yet now the hot, primal smell of Roper's sweaty skin was making her weak, making her think she might have to have support just to stand.

He shouldn't be that close to her. She knew it, yet she couldn't retreat.

"Get on back to the house," he said. His lips barely moved. "You don't belong out here."

She didn't know if he meant the stable or the entire territory, but she suspected he meant the latter. She squared her shoulders and said, "Thank you again, Mr. Roper." She left with as much dignity as she could summon. Had he sensed her shameful, illogical response to his closeness? He angered her and frightened her, but something about him touched a primitive part of her that she hadn't known existed, a part that she knew she must suppress.

She shaded her eyes with her hand as she emerged into the bright sunlight again, and paused when a flash of color caught her attention. To her left lounged a voluptuous young woman, with a thick mass of black hair spilling down her back. She had large dark eyes, lush red lips, and she was brazenly displaying the deep cleft of her full breasts under a white blouse worn off her shoulders. She obviously wore no petticoats beneath her skirt. The young woman met her gaze insolently, her dark eyes raking down Victoria's neatly coiled hair, starched long-sleeved, high-necked shirtwaist, and prim blue skirt.

This was the woman Victoria had seen on her arrival, whom she had taken for Carmita's daughter. What had Carmita said was her name? Victoria had an excellent memory for names, and she produced it after only a short moment. The woman was Angelina Garcia, a remarkably lovely name for a woman whose own beauty was as vivid as that of an overblown rose.

Since she obviously didn't work in the house, Victoria assumed that she must be married to one of the men. She wondered where they lived. She approached the young woman with a smile, determined to be friendly even though Angelina's manner wasn't welcoming.

"Hello," she said. "I'm Victoria Wav—McLain." She wondered if she would ever be accustomed to her married name.

The woman regarded Victoria for a moment longer in sullen silence, then tossed back her long black hair. "I'm Angelina."

"I saw you the day I arrived. I apologize for not speaking to you before now. Which one of the men is your husband?"

Angelina laughed, a sound of deep satisfaction. "None of them. Why should I marry?"

Not married? That was confusing… unless she lived with someone without benefit of marriage? Victoria felt her cheeks heat at her mistake. The poor girl, what an unstable, humiliating existence. But Angelina didn't act humiliated; she seemed positively gloating. Her eyes were alive with it.

In that instant Victoria knew she should walk away and return to the house where she was insulated from these people who were so very different from her. A lady would never dream of talking with a woman of ill-repute, which Angelina obviously was or she would never live with a man not her husband. Nor would a lady have confronted one of her husband's employees in the stables, as she had just done. But perhaps she was less of a lady than she'd thought, because she didn't walk away from Angelina.

Instead she said, "You have a man?" It was an inelegant question, but she didn't know how else to phrase it.

Angelina laughed again, a gloating sound that grated. "I have many men. All of them are my men. They all come to me—including your husband." Again the laugh, and the dark eyes glittered with spite. "He came back to me the night after your wedding! We all thought that was very interesting, no?"

White-faced, Victoria at last turned and walked away, but it was too late. The woman had scored her victory. Humiliation blinded her, and she didn't see the man until she walked into him. His hard hands grasped her shoulders to steady her, holding her soft body so close to him that her breasts were against his ridged abdomen.

It was Roper, leading his horse across the yard. She was too distressed to realize he could easily have avoided her and instead had deliberately put himself in front of her. She backed up, not looking at him. "I beg your pardon," she said tonelessly.

Roper glanced to where Angelina still lounged against the wall, smirking her triumph, and guessed what had happened. The shock was plain on Victoria's white face.

He felt an unaccustomed impulse to comfort. "Don't pay any attention to Angelina," he said. "She's a vicious little bitch." He wanted to put his arm around her, feel the softness of her against him again. God, she had smelled so clean and sweet. A fire smoldered low in his belly, swelling his groin.

If anything, Victoria went even whiter, but she lifted her head with a proud motion and stepped away from him. "Thank you, Mr. Roper," she said steadily. "I'm quite all right."

He watched her walk away again, then went over to Angelina. She straightened, her red lips assuming a seductive smile. It was wasted on Roper; Angelina had been trying to get him into bed with her since he'd come to the ranch, but he wasn't interested. Angelina couldn't believe any man could be unresponsive to her beauty, and Roper had resisted her longer than any man she'd ever wanted. But it was not, she thought, because he didn't want her. He was jealous of all the others who enjoyed her favors, she was certain. He was just being difficult. She didn't mind; it made him more attractive in her eyes, and she was certain that sooner or later he'd come to her. His difficultness would make his surrender that much sweeter.

She thrust her breasts out for him, but he didn't even glance down. His cold eyes never left hers. "What did you say to her?"

"The fancy lady?" Angelina shrugged and pouted. "Nothing. I don't like women. I like men." She tried another smile on him.

Neither his expression nor his tone changed as he repeated, "What did you say to her?"

Many men before her had felt afraid when Roper spoke like that. Angelina felt a chill and straightened with a jerk. "I told her that the Major came to me the night after her wedding," she replied sullenly, then insisted, "It was the truth! You know that."

He did know it. Everyone on the ranch knew it and had snickered about it, joking that the Major's high-nosed lady must have near frozen him to death, and Angelina had had to thaw him out. Roper had been glad that McLain hadn't found any pleasure in his wife's bed, glad that she hadn't clung to him in ecstasy. He was sure Victoria hadn't been spared her husband's attentions, but he'd been relieved to think that, though the Major would occasionally bed Victoria out of duty, Angelina would still bear the brunt of McLain's perversions.

But what had it done to Victoria to discover that her husband had deserted her for a whore's bed one day after their wedding, and that everyone on the ranch knew it? She was a proud woman, and while she couldn't care about McLain, his actions must have wounded her all the same. No woman would like being the butt of raunchy jokes and sniggers, but for a woman like Victoria…

To Angelina he said, "McLain's mighty proud of his wife."

She spat on the ground. "If he cared about her, he wouldn't have come to me." She started to say that McLain hadn't been able to do it to his wife, but caution stilled her tongue. No man liked for it to be known that he'd failed so intimately; McLain would likely have her killed if she told.

"She's his wife, like Rubio's his stallion. What do you think he'd do if you let his stallion go, or if his wife left because of you?"

Angelina blinked her great dark eyes, for the first time realizing that her gloating triumph hadn't been very smart. She wasn't intelligent, but she was cunning in her self-interest. She remembered how the Major had bragged for months about the real Southern lady coming to marry him, and shivered, thinking of how brutal the Major could be at times, when it seemed as if he enjoyed sex more if he could hurt her in some way. She knew he liked to hurt her, and she didn't want to provide him with any excuses to do so.

Her lips trembled, and she moved closer to Roper. "Will she tell him?"

He was unmoved by her distress, for he'd noticed that she took advantage of her nearness to rub her breasts against his arm. "She might," he said to make her worry about it, and mounted his horse before she could rub anything else against him.

Roper shook his head at himself as he rode off. He was a hard man; he'd seen his father murdered, his mother raped and killed when he'd been only thirteen years old. Roper had killed his first man when he'd been fourteen, when the man had tried to rob the two boys of their pitiful store of food. For twenty years the brothers had worked for their revenge, biding their time, gathering money and making plans. Nothing had been allowed to stand in their way. Nothing had mattered but putting Frank McLain in the ground and reclaiming their heritage. Roper kept his nose out of other people's business and expected them to keep theirs out of his. That was why it was so out of character for him to interfere, and he'd done it twice in a matter of minutes, all for the same woman. What did he care if Garnet got in the little sister's bloomers? He'd never have interfered if Victoria hadn't tried to face Garnet down, but she had, and he hadn't been able to stand by and let Garnet abuse her. He was the one man on the ranch Garnet wouldn't stand up to, but now he'd have to watch his back every minute.

All for a woman. He'd had women since he was fifteen, but they were always casual encounters that had never meant more to him than the temporary easing of his sexual needs. He loved women, though he'd never been in love; he loved their softness, the sweet musky scent of their skin, their lighter voices and smaller bodies, the clinging of their hands around his strong neck and the way their legs locked around his hips, their soft cries as he gave them pleasure. He always tried to please his woman, no matter how casual the bedding; it was a reflection of his own strong, sure sexuality that he enjoyed the act more when the pleasure was mutual.

But of all those women, he'd never wanted one the way he wanted Victoria. It was more than physical, though God knew that was strong enough and getting stronger. He wanted to see her smile. He wanted to protect her. He didn't know what made her different, but she was. She was also forbidden to him. She was a lady, and the wife of his enemy. He had blood on his hands, and would have more: the blood of her husband.

He found that it didn't matter. He thought of the way she'd lifted her chin with evident pride even though she had just been slapped in the face with her husband's infidelity. He thought of the way she protected her sister, and of the way she looked him full in the face when so few people did. She was alone and vulnerable, trapped in an unhappy marriage, but she had courage.

Damn it, why didn't she go back to Augusta where she belonged? Maybe if she was out of his sight, he wouldn't think about her, and she couldn't threaten his plans.

Victoria went straight to her room and sat on the chaise, forcing herself to take slow, deep breaths to calm herself. She had never before felt so angry and humiliated. Gradually she realized that she was angry because of the humiliation, not because she had learned that her husband had been unfaithful. She didn't care that the Major had gone to another woman; in fact, she was grateful, if it would continue to keep him away from her.

But the public nature of his betrayal upset her deeply. He had gone to that—that whore—barely twenty-four hours after their wedding, and everyone on the ranch knew it. She wouldn't have believed Angelina's word, but she'd seen the truth in Roper's usually impassive eyes.

The house staff knew, of course. The ranch was a small world in itself, so insular that everyone knew what everyone else was doing. No wonder Carmita had been so solicitous this past week.

She was Victoria Madelyn Marie Waverly; her mother was a Creighton. She had learned that lineage and tradition counted for little without money behind it, but pride had been bred into her as surely as the aristocratic bones of her face. Her husband had offended her in a way that no woman could forgive, exposing her to public humiliation. She also had to live with the galling knowledge that she had no means of recourse. Her husband did not love her, did not desire her, so she had no power in his life. She could threaten to expose his impotence, but it wasn't in her nature to publicly humiliate him. So she could only sit and let the realization creep into her that she could do nothing. She would have to continue as if she didn't know anything about it and therefore force everyone else to ignore it, too, at least in her presence.

But she was still outraged at Angelina's presence on the ranch. Though now she understood the whispers she'd heard as a girl about men who had kept fancy women on the side, she knew that the mistresses and the wives were always kept well separated. Again, she would have to ignore it, for if she tried to force Angelina to leave, everyone would know that she was aware of her husband's infidelities and would think she was acting out of jealousy. To be thought jealous of her husband and that whore was unbearable, and so she would let things remain as they were.

A soft tap on her door distracted her, and Celia poked her head in. "I thought we were going to do the mending." There was no accusation in her voice, only puzzlement.

Victoria forcefully composed herself and patted the chaise. "Come sit with me for a moment." As difficult as it might prove to be, she knew she had to try to make Celia understand why she must stay away from Garnet, from any man who tried to touch her. Given the realities of the world they now lived in, Victoria knew this was a duty that could not wait.

Celia happily sat down beside her sister. She had something on her mind she wanted to ask her sister. She had complete faith in Victoria. She loved and trusted Emma, too, but it was her sister who had washed and bandaged her skinned knees, who had patiently answered all of her questions, soothed her after bad dreams, and returned her love unstintingly. She twirled a strand of her blond hair and mustered her courage. "Do you think the Major would let me ride Rubio? I so want to!"

Victoria was startled, and worried, because Celia often acted on her desires. "I don't think he would, darling. Rubio is a stallion, and stallions aren't used for pleasure riding. They're too strong-willed and dangerous."

"Mr. Roper rides him. I've seen him." Awe and envy mingled in Celia's tones.

Something deep in Victoria tingled at the mention of his name. "I'm sure he just rides Rubio to exercise him. And Mr. Roper is a man, sweetheart. He is much larger and stronger than you are."

Celia thought a minute, admitting the truth of that. But she wanted to ride Rubio so much that she couldn't let it go. "I'm a good rider, aren't I?"

"It's been a long time since any of us were on a horse." Another change wrought by war; all of the horses had been taken by the armies. "I suspect we're all sadly out of shape and practice, and you were just barely off of ponies when we lost the horses."

Celia looked so forlorn that Victoria hugged her and stroked her bright hair. "Would you like it if I asked the Major for horses we could use for pleasure riding? It would be good for us to get some exercise. Emma and I used to ride for hours." A faint wistful note crept into her own voice, and Celia immediately forgot her own disappointment as she rushed to give her own sort of comfort to Victoria.

Comfort took the form of a cheerful smile and a rush of enthusiasm. "Could you? I'd like that so much!"

"Then I'll ask the Major tonight." Victoria paused, trying to gather her thoughts. She still had to explain Garnet to Celia. She took a deep breath. "Sweetheart, I want to explain something very important to you."

Celia nodded, her expression becoming serious.

"Mr. Garnet—" She paused again, frowning a little. "Mr. Garnet is an evil man. He would like very much to hurt you. You must be careful. Don't let him touch you or catch you alone."

"Hurt me? How?" Celia still didn't look alarmed, merely interested.

Victoria had been afraid that Celia wouldn't take the warning at face value, but would want details. Finding the words was more difficult than she'd imagined. "There are—things—that a man can do to a woman that will hurt her."

Celia nodded. "Hitting hurts," she said.

"Yes, it does. And he might hit you, to make you do these other things that would hurt you even worse."

"What things?"

There was no way out of it. She inhaled deeply again. "He would pull up your skirt and touch you on—on your privates."

Celia jerked upright, her young face indignant. "I'll be damned!" she said. She'd heard one of the cow-punchers say that, and liked it. All of the best words were forbidden, it seemed, so she said them only in her head, but that one had slipped out in her surprise.

Victoria almost laughed. She knew she should scold, but she was too relieved at Celia's vehement reaction. "Yes," she said. "Exactly."

Celia was still huffy. "I'll hit him if he even speaks to me again," she declared.

"You must try your best not to be alone with him. And please be cautious with the other men, too. I don't trust some of them." It was an odd feeling, but some of the Major's employees seemed to be just what they were, cowhands, while others seemed—meaner, and somehow disassociated with ranch work.

"Mr. Roper?"

Again Victoria felt that funny little jolt, and an even funnier feeling spread behind it. "No," she said slowly. "I think you'd be very safe with Mr. Roper. He even warned Mr. Garnet to leave you alone."

Celia gave a decisive nod. "I like Mr. Roper."

Victoria hugged her sister again, feeling much better now that she knew Celia understood at least part of the danger. It was odd how safe she felt in telling Celia that Roper wouldn't harm her, would in fact protect her, when she herself didn't feel that safe with him. Her heart had begun pounding again. She remembered the hot smell of him, the hardness of his body when she had collided with him, the way his hands had held her. She felt weak and strangely warm. She would take her own advice and avoid him as much as possible.