She had laughed and held out her hand to him, a living treasure at rainbow's end. Even then he had known that the magical image was a mere trick of weather and light, but it had seemed like the deepest reality he would ever know.

A fortnight later the affair ended, and so did his illusions.

His deepest regret came from the knowledge that it was his own jealousy and anger that had ended their engagement. If he had possessed at twenty-one the cool composure he developed later-if he had been able to accept her deceitfulness-he could have had her friendship for all these years.

For when all was said and done, her companionship was what he missed most. He knew that time had enhanced his memories, for no woman could possibly be is desirable as recollection painted her. But he had never stopped missing the way Margot had shared his laughter, or the impact of her changeable eyes meeting us across a room with such intimacy that he would forget that the rest of the world existed.

His reverie ended when the stem of the goblet in his and snapped, cutting his fingers and splashing brandy cross his lap. Scowling at the mess, he stood up. He'd had no idea the stems were so fragile. The butler would sulk for days when he discovered that the set of crystal goblets was now two short.

Rafe rose and headed upstairs to his bedchamber. A little self-indulgent melancholy was poetic, but he was beginning a hard journey early the next morning. It was time to bury thoughts of youthful foolishness and get some rest.