She shivered to illustrate, and Stephen grinned in spite of himself.

"That is what I meant," she said, smiling back at him. "When you grow cold and angry, I know how-" Her breath caught as his large hand slipped down beneath the sheet and covered her breast, his fingers tantalizing her.

"I merely wish to warm you," he said, as she reached her arms around his neck and drew him down on the bed.

"And distract me."

"I think a fur would do a far better job of that."

"Of warming me?"

"Of distracting you," he said as his mouth covered hers, and then he went about the pleasurable business of warming, and distracting, both of them.

It was nearly five o'clock in the morning when he was dressed again.

"Stephen?" she whispered sleepily as he bent and pressed a farewell kiss upon her smooth brow.

"Mmmm?"

"I have a confession."

"No confessions," he reminded her. "We agreed on that from the beginning. No confessions, no recriminations, no promises. That was the way we both wanted it."

Helene didn't deny it, but this morning she couldn't make herself comply. "My confession is that I find myself rather annoyingly jealous of Monica Fitzwaring."

Stephen straightened with an impatient sigh, and waited, knowing she was determined to have her say, but he did not help her do it. He simply regarded her with raised brows.

"I realize you need an heir," she began, her full lips curving into an embarrassed smile, "but could you not wed a female whose looks pale a little in comparison with mine? Someone shrewish too. A shrew with a slightly crooked nose or small eyes would suit me very well."

Stephen chuckled at her humor, but he wanted the subject closed permanently, and so he said, "Monica Fitzwaring is no threat to you, Helene. I've no doubt she knows of our relationship and she would not try to interfere, even if she thought she could."