«No,» the older woman interrupted. «I have heard your pleas for much too long. I have spoiled you, but that is at an end. Your engagement to Lord Gore will be announced at midnight. You will marry within the month. If the old drunkard can coax his staff into readiness, you will produce an heir within a year and your duty will be fulfilled. Then you may live as you please.»

«OH, Lady Jessica,» Betsy said unhappily, «I don’t think you should go to Mr.Lonetree’s rooms.»

Jessica pushed away from the vanity where Betsy had been at work undoing her mistress’ elaboratejewelled coiffure and brushing out the long, silky hair. Normally, the ritual soothed Jessica, but tonight it had made her impatient. She began pacing the room like a caged cat. As she moved, the lacy peignoir which she wore while attending to her toilet billowed and rustled in pale shades of blue.

«There’s no choice.»

«But —»

«I won’t hear any more,» Jessica interrupted sharply. «You are forever telling me how women in America have more freedom in the choosing of their husbands and the living of their lives. If I must marry, I will choose my husband and live my life as it pleases me.»

«You aren’t American.»

«I shall be.» Jessica tied the peignoir’s robe around her waist with a firm yank. «American men don’t have titles or great wealth, so they don’t need heirs. I won’t have to endure revolting marital duties or ruinous pregnancies with an American husband.»

Hesitantly, Betsy said, «American men do like a warm bed, my lady.»

«Then they can sleep with hounds.»

«Oh dear. I fear I’ve led you astray. Just because American men aren’t titled doesn’t mean that —»

«No more arguing,» Jessica interrupted, putting her hands over her ears.

For a moment she stood very still, fighting the fear that threatened to choke her. The feel of Lord Gore’s sweating palms closing over her hand was too fresh, as was the memory of the lechery in his bloodshot eyes. The thought of those same hands touching her in the marriage bed made bile climb in Jessica’s throat.