She was gazing out the window, but she turned as he entered. The simple style of her dark hair and her modest gray gown only emphasized her beauty.

When they had parted, he had uttered a silent prayer that they would never meet again. He had spent considerable time and energy in the last year trying to forget her. Yet now that she was here, he didn't give a damn how much it would cost him later; seeing her was like a breath of fresh air in a coal mine.

She said uncertainly, "I'm sorry to bother you, Lord Michael."

He spent a moment mastering himself, then crossed the room. "Are we on such formal terms, Catherine?" he said easily. "It's good to see you. You're as lovely as ever."

He caught her hands, and for a precarious instant he feared he would do something unforgivable. The moment passed and he gave her a light kiss on the cheek. The kiss of a friend.

Releasing her hands, he withdrew to a safe distance. "How is Amy?" Deliberately he forced himself to add, "And Colin?"

Catherine smiled. "Amy is wonderful. You'd scarcely know her. I swear she's grown three inches since last spring. Colin-" she hesitated briefly, "is still in France."

Her tone was neutral, as it always was when she referred to her husband. Michael admired her quiet dignity. "I'm forgetting my manners," he said. "Please, sit down. I'll ring for tea."

She looked down at her clasped hands. Her profile had the sweet clarity of a Renaissance saint. "I'd better state my piece first. I need some rather unusual aid. You-you may want to throw me out when you hear what it is."

"Never," he said quietly. "I owe you my life, Catherine. You can ask anything of me."

"You give me more credit than I deserve." She looked up, her amazing aqua eyes piercing in their frame of dark lashes. "I'm afraid that… that I need a husband. A temporary husband."