Love Thy Enemy

Chapter 1

April 23, 1940

The weather was very different from the evening when Duncan Macleod had first met Elysabeth de Grandmesnil. That evening the wind had picked up and the dark storm clouds over head had finally grown too heavy to contain the torrent rains that had swept down upon the lush green countryside of France. It had been because of the upcoming storm that Beth had sought shelter rather than continuing on to Paris. And it had been because of the driving sheets of rain that made visibility impossible that Duncan had chanced to stop at the inn and met this enchanting woman.

This was by far the most irrational thing he had done in over two centuries, perhaps even three, but she made him feel youthful and young, and for the moment he forced aside the fact that war waited on the horizon. Recent news, that Germany had invaded more than Poland and Norway should have steered him clear of the lovely Beth with her downy soft brown hair, and warm, sparkling brown eyes. This relationship could go nowhere, but like a child who sees the sweets he most craves, the temptation to indulge had been overwhelming.

The day was bright and warm with a soft breeze to stir the blossoms of the trees, and the beautiful and majestic Bois de Boulogne was filled with strolling, péétanque -loving people. Couples, like them, were sharing a picnic on the lush emerald green grass, or strolling hand in hand like lovers along the broad, leafy pathways that criss-crossed the famous park. Duncan had brought Beth here to impress her. Imagine that. He was over three hundred years old and in need of the admiration of this mere child of twenty-five. He grinned, acknowledging again that she had the uncanny knack for making him feel like a gullible youth.

He watched her now as the strong breeze tangled her hair and whipped new color into her cheeks. He wanted to laugh for no reason. He continued to watch her, smiling, and she smiled back slowly, a slight question reflected in her eyes. Beth was not unaffected by this Scotsman. He had a devastatingly sensual mouth. Something, perhaps, she should not be thinking about, nor studying so closely. His hair was dark, cut short in the back as was the style. He was perhaps the most handsome man she had ever encountered. And his body, strongly muscled, perfectly proportioned, seemed to be like fly tape to her eyes. She could not seem to concentrate on anything, especially the normal forms of social intercourse. She was a rather private woman, and to find herself divulging all her many private pains and future hopes had never happened before during any social engagement-and yet, she did not fear his knowing her secrets. She did not cringe with dread that he would somehow betray her trust. It wasn't often that she spoke of the loneliness that no amount of money could make up for, the father who had had little time for her and the mother who had loved her but not as much as she loved the bottle.

“Her drinking ruined Father's social standing,” Beth told him. “That was one of the many things I used to blame Mother for. He wanted to be a diplomat, you know, but with a drunk for a wife that was never going to happen. Divorce was out of the question, and even their separation was too much scandal. So, you see, no matter what he did, or how right he was in what he did, everyone knew he could never become an ambassador. Advising was all he could do. Troubleshooting. Correcting other people's mistakes, steering them down the correct path.”

“There is often more power wielded that way-from behind the right man.”

Beth nodded soberly. “Oui, but it was the recognition that Father wanted. It was what he could never have.”

“You said, you `used to blame' your mother. Not any longer, Beth?”

She smiled sheepishly, glancing down and away from his demanding gaze, before deciding that she was in for the inch, she might as well tell him the mile. Meeting his caramel-colored eyes steadily, her expression became most serious.

“I idolized my father when I was young. I thought he could do no wrong. But the older I've become, the more I've realized how difficult he must have been to live with. He was a cold man, completely dedicated to his job. My mother and me came in a poor second, and were advantageous to him only as ornaments he could show on his arm-we were of no use when we became tarnished. He did not protect us or support us- what he did, was turn his back on us.”

Duncan's hand engulfed her slim fingers with warmth and comfort. She sighed audibly, before continuing, “I think I transferred much of my resentment toward Father, for not being near me, onto my mother, and God Knows, she already had it rough enough. She was under public scrutiny all the time; there's no such thing as privacy when your name is as old as Normandy itself, and your husband has aspirations in the diplomatic corps. She was simply not suited for the life. She didn't like to travel; she wanted a secure home. She was nervous meeting new people and rather frightened of foreigners. Mother was sweet and pretty, but she wasn't strong. My grandmother never approved of her as a wife for Father. Obviously grandmother was right. But they loved each other very much. Still do, though they haven't lived together for years.”

“You don't sound much like your mother, except for the beauty.”

“You mean I'm not sweet?” she teased, widening her eyes and adopting her mother's breathy tone of voice.

“Oh, I am more than willing to discover just how sweet you are, Elysabeth.” He smiled, adding, “What I meant, however, is that there is little weakness in you. You're a strong woman.”

“What makes you think that?”

“It's obvious. The way you carry yourself, the way you talk. The fact that you live on your own, that is very independent for the times.”

“I'm obstinate. That is a little different than strong, Duncan. My Grandmother told me that I am donkey related.”

He chuckled and repeated, “Donkey-related. What an expression.”

Beth chuckled in agreement, the gleam back in her eye. “Since it was Grandmother-I never took that turn of phrase as an insult-more as a means for her to voice her frustration with me.”

“And I take it she was displeased often?” Duncan bantered back. “You are strong. Stubbornness helps combat fear. It will either help to drown it out or simply disguise it from others.”

“I am surprise that you know fear,” Beth commented softly. “That was not a feeling I faced until I left home. You see, I lived with Grandmother and Father but would visit Mother often. Mother did not like it that I was stubborn either-she would tell me to be sweet and soft, and I'd be able to get a man to do anything.” Beth fluttered her eyelashes in demonstration.

Duncan grinned, his caramel colored eyes lighting in response, and placed a hand over his heart as if stricken. “I would do anything for you, Beth.”

“Hmmm,” was her rather questioning response to that, before she added, “Then I'd go back home to Cherbourg, and Grandmother would tell me to be strong. One didn't manipulate men; one set an example for them.”

“Ah, so it was she who taught you to be so prickly!”

Beth chuckled, his words reminding her of the stormy evening they met, and her not so kind words of discouragement to him-which had not stop him by any means. In fact, if truth was to be faced, perhaps her mother's way would have been the quickest way to be free of this man's company. It was a good thing she never listened to her mother.

“Duncan, I learned that from experience.” Her eyes danced as she cast a sidelong glance that had felled more than one man. “I lived in France all my life and learned from an early age that Frenchmen are all the same.”

“I am thrilled,” he exclaimed dramatically, “since I am from Scotland.”

“The Highlands of Scotland I believe you said…”

“Yes.”

“And what reputation does a man from the highlands of Scotland have to brag about I wonder?” Beth mocked, and then because the subject seemed to be upper most in her mind, she added, “Can they top the Frenchman's boast at being the world's greatest lover?”

“Undeserved.”

“You mean they are not the world's greatest lovers?”

His eyes went to her mouth. His lips softened. “We could test the theory.”

“An experiment? Right here in the busy park?”

She told herself she should be appalled at the way she was flirting with him. She was leading him down a path that most young ladies steered clear of, especially when dealing with a man who needed no encouragement. Duncan Macleod was not safe-he was primeval. He was a predator, and as she sat before him, willingly tempting him, she was a most willing victim. The thrill of having his eyes upon her, that dash of charm in his smile made her feel very much alive, giddy and ever so daring. The spring air was infectious. He was infectious. And she didn't really want safe from this man.

Duncan reached out to touch her face; his thumb ran slowly along her cheekbone and down to her mouth. He traced the line of her lip that his tongue had sought that first night they had met and he had stolen a rain-drenched kiss. Beth tasted the trace of salt upon his skin. The tip of her tongue came out to taste more.

His hands tangled in her hair on either side of her face, and he came to his knees, taking Beth with him. Their bodies were less than an inch away from each other. Beth imagined she could feel the material of his shirt, the heat of his body through her clothing. She swallowed. She was fast tumbling toward an uncertain fate-almost out of control with longing for this man. This was so unlike her it was almost unforgivable. Duncan controlled the situation now, if anyone did. Beth had surrendered most willingly. He held her head fast, gazing into her eyes. She couldn't move, couldn't look away. Oh God, would he please hurry?

First, he kissed her upper lip, then her lower, pulling it between his lips. Beth trembled as she felt the nip of his teeth, his fingertips digging into her scalp with increasing pressure. She smelled his scent and the fragrance of spring--blossoms, earth and a hint of rain in the air. His hands were hard and flat against her head; his mouth was soft. He tested, tasted, explored. His tongue came into her mouth, and she released a tiny sigh of satisfaction. She hardly knew she uttered it, but Duncan felt it through every muscle and nerve of his body.

He kissed her more deeply, more urgently. His hands clenched in the silky softness of her unbound hair. Neither remembered moving, but now their bodies were pressed tightly together. Duncan felt the full softness of her breasts pressing through her soft cashmere sweater, the hardening points of her nipples. His arms went around her, crushing her even closer to him.

He moved his head, changing the angle of their kiss, and his lips dug fiercely into hers. His hands trailed down her back and caressed the curve of her ass. Beth could feel the full urgency of his desire, the stiff thrust of his cock against her abdomen, and the passion within her bubbled up even higher.

Finally, reluctantly, Duncan raised his head. He gazed down into her face, his eyes dark with desire, his face flushed with need. His chest rose and fell in rapid pants. “We have to leave. We can't-someone will surely take notice.” His voice was hoarse and barely coherent.

Beth wanted to stay. She wanted to melt into his arms, give herself up to him mindlessly, brazenly. But he was already moving away, helping her to her feet, and she knew somewhere deep inside her heated brain that he was right. They had to be alone together, for she didn't just want to feel his kiss upon her lips, she wanted to make love to him. That was most likely not an activity conclusive to the park-famous as it might be as a haven for lovers. They gathered up the small basket of food neither of them had touched, and walked to his car. Any other time, Beth would have walked calmly at his side, but she was not feeling calm, she was feeling far to excited, stimulated, and in need of more-more of him. She wrapped herself quite intimately at his side so she could feel the brush of his clothing against hers, feel the heat from his body wash threw hers, could smell his uniquely masculine scent.

He opened the car door for her and caught her about the waist. His head bent and his lips claimed hers again in a long kiss of promise and need. The basket in her hand was tossed behind her and fell onto the car seat. Her fingers reached out to touch then, to trace and massage the muscles she had been eying with such appreciation. His hand cupped the back of her head as their mouths worked at pleasuring each other, and Beth could not control the impulsive desires he made her feel. She grounded her pelvis into his and felt his willing response. Slipping a foot out of her high heel, she ran the silk-stocking toes under the cuff of his trousers until she felt the skin above his sock.

“I think your grandmother was wrong,” Duncan commented against her mouth. “You are not stubborn, you are a temptation.”

“A most willing one, Duncan,” she offered and caught his lower lip between her teeth and nibbled briefly before slipping her foot back into her high heel. She turned her back to him as she reached to take up the discarded picnic basket from the seat. She could feel his eyes running hotly over her and as she lowered herself into the passenger seat, she paused to smile enticingly up at him. “I am most impatient as well.”

He closed the car door behind her and walked around to the driver's door. Beth was a little surprised that he never once looked at her again, but rather started up the vehicle and drove with great speed and apparent concentration. Duncan was not ignoring Beth by any means. In fact, he was all too aware of her come hitherto eyes and wonderfully willing body seated beside him. Duncan parked the car on the street in front of his apartment and took her hand to help her out of the car. There was a new lift to take them up to the second floor. The apartment was spacious and pleasantly furnished, but Beth hardly noticed it. She was too excited, too eager-she could look at the furniture later!

Duncan led her into his bedroom. Her hand was icy in his. He took her into his arms and Beth looked up into his face, not realizing that her eyes were wide and dark. Her expression was a mixture of longing and fear. The sight shook him. There was nothing of the sophisticated socialite in her now, only a woman about to embrace the unknown.

“Don't look so frightened,” he whispered, nuzzling her neck. “We both want this.”

Beth's hands came up and curled into his shirt. She felt as if she were holding on for dear life, as if she could at any moment be swept away again as she had been in the park. Her desire for him had made her completely immune to propriety. It frightened her that she had lost control. It frightened her even more that she knew she would lose that control again when his lips touched hers.

He ran his hands lightly up her arms and over her shoulders, his fingers reassuring her of his desire. He kissed her neck and nipped lightly at her earlobes. He buried his face in the softness of her hair. He twisted her hair around in his hand and lifted it up to kiss the nape of her neck. Beth moaned softly at that, moving a little to give him better access to the sensitive spot.

Duncan turned her and pulled her back against him, still nuzzling the side and back of her neck. He cupped her breasts in his hands, molding the plush sweater against her so that her pebbly nipples were outlined against the material. Caressing the turgid points with his thumbs, he murmured in French against her skin, using words that expressed the urgency he felt. He undressed her, pulling the soft sweater over her head but leaving clasped the delicate strand of pearls around her neck. He unzipped her narrow skirt and tugged it down. He wasn't surprised to find that her undergarments were silky and soft. The silken slip fluttered down to the floor and he pushed her down on the bed so he could unfasten her garters. He lifted one of her legs and slid the gleaming silk stocking down her thigh and calf and off her foot. Beth`s breath caught in her throat at the gentle caress of his rough fingertips. He kissed her instep, and she shivered. With equal slowness he smoothed the other stocking from her leg.

He undressed, his eyes never leaving her as he pulled off his clothes and dropped them on the floor. Beth stared at the lean beauty of his body, the graceful curve of long muscle and hard bone. Black hair roughened his arms and legs, and dusted the skin of his chest and stomach.

He came to stand beside the bed, reaching down to caress her face. His fingers drifted over the smooth skin of her neck and chest, toying with the string of pearls, before moving on to the silk that covered her breasts and hips, the soft extension of her thighs. His touch was callous-tough, but excitingly intimate, and her skin felt on fire wherever he touched. She wondered if one could die from the sheer pleasure of a man's hands.

Duncan stretched out on the bed beside her and removed the last fragile wisps of her under things. Beth moaned low in her throat with anticipation. He kissed the thin line of her collarbone and the soft hollow nestled at its center. Her hands dug into the bedspread beneath her. She had never felt anything as exquisitely warm and soft as his mouth while his tongue lapped at her skin. She trembled with need, still fighting to maintain control as his mouth moved lower, laving the tender skin of her breasts and coming at last, with aching slowness, to the crown peaks that throbbed and burned from his love play.

“Duncan!” she murmured softly as his mouth found her nipple, and the teeter she had on her self-control snapped free, leaving her arching up against him. Her fingers fled the bedspread and buried themselves into the thickness of his hair. She heard his sigh of satisfaction but it was almost buried beneath the riot of sensations pouring over her. His dark head lay between the softness of her breast, with the thrusting fleshy button of her nipple lost in the heat of his mouth. Her hands grasped him to her, her arms locked about him, demanding, needing, wanting more. There was a hot ache inside her stomach as he moved over her, his weight pressing her back into the feather bed. His mouth moved to her other breast. Blood pounded in her head, in her throat as she felt the rush of sensual pleasure drown out all reason.

Beth's leg moved against his, sliding over his hair- roughened skin. His hand went to her leg, stroking up and down the length of her thigh, fingertips digging into its softness. She wanted him to savor her breast forever, but the tempting prospect of being able to explore every inch of his skin was far too alluring. He felt wonderful. He tasted even better. She moved her pelvis against him, her hand moving down so she could stroke his cock with fingers that seem to know exactly how to drive him wild with an urgency he fought to control.

“Le non, non, pas!” she moaned as his hand closed around her wrist and forced her stroking fingers away. He grinned down at her, capturing the other arm that was sneaking down to take over where her other hand had been at play. He shook his head.

“Beth, let me love you,” he offered in a husky, passion-laden voice. “If you touch me now, I may not be able to love you for long. You make me want to sink into you.”

Holding both her wrists above her head with a single hand, he slid his other hand in between her legs and found her satin folds. She was slick with desire, heated and waiting for him. She arched against his hand and he groaned. The frustration behind the sound made her chuckle. She wiggled against his fingers, grunting her approval as his long finger moved up inside her, preparing her for that first hard stroke, that she silently insisted upon, and he could not withhold. She was a she-devil, angling herself, wagging her backside against the softness of the bedspread and opening her legs so that he found he couldn't hold back any longer.

He came into her in one fierce and satisfying thrust. She managed to break her wrists free of his hold so that her fingers could bite down into the muscle of his shoulders. She moved against him, arching, rocking, inciting him to thrust deeper. He moaned as he began to move inside her, obeying the demand of her body. Duncan was startled upon finding that he fit into the tight silken cocoon of her center as if she had been made exclusively for him. She was exquisite! She was precious! She set him afire and with hardly any effort. The heat rushed over him turbulently! A single soaring heat that grew past all bearing until at last it exploded, shooting them out of themselves and through an eternity of thundering, sparkling sensations. They sank down into the softness of the featherbed, still locked in passion, their thoughts at sea, but contented, rewarded. A tender kiss and their drowsy eyes closed as sleep claimed them.

It was twilight outside when Beth awoke. The room was dim. She felt a little sore, still tired, but glowing. She smiled and, pushing her hair back from her face, looked at Duncan Macleod. He lay sprawled on his stomach, arms flung out above his head. Five-o'clock shadow showed on his cheeks, softening the straight-edged planes of his face. Beth ran her hand lightly across his hair. It was thick and springy to the touch, and she couldn't stop her fingers from straying back to play in it.

Duncan's eyelids fluttered open. The dark, sensual caramel color of his eyes still startled her. He smiled. “Bonjour.”

“Bon soir,” she commented with a glance at the bedroom windows that were emitting no light in whatsoever. “We must have slept for hours.”

He rolled over onto his back and crossed his arms behind his head, looking at her with definite male satisfaction. “You tired me out.” His grin was full of meaning. “Besides, I haven't slept well the past few evenings.”

“Oh, really?” Beth arched one brow. “They do say there is little rest for the wicked.”

“Wicked?” His eyes were alight with amusement. “I seem to remember you insisting…”

She wiggled her eyebrows at him. “What did you expect? You did say I was a temptation.”

“I may have understated the truth,” Duncan bantered back as one of his arms snaked out and wrapped around her. He pulled her back flat on the bed and turned to rest on his elbow, looming over her, all in one smooth motion. “I think you learn your lessons well, ma petite. You dangle your virtue before my hungry eyes and surrender it so enthusiastically, that not only am I happy to have taken it, but am more than willing to even bare the sin for doing so.”

“Oh, but what fun would that be,” she murmured back, lifting her head up just a fraction, just enough to capture his mouth. Upon easing back, she smiled. “Perhaps it would be more pleasurable to share. That way we will have twice the joy.”

“Twice the pain,” Duncan warned.”

“I'll take that as well,” Beth contended. “I'll take all of you. That is all I want. All of you.”

He adorned her mouth with soft nibbles and murmured, “I take all of you as well, Elysabeth.” His mouth covered hers, the pressure of his lips deepening the kiss, becoming persuasive. Her breathing became his as he continued to kiss her, exploring slowly, enjoying her renewed enthusiasm.

She could feel his hands moving down over her body, caressing her flesh in a hypnotic fashion-touching her intimately, encouraging her wild passions for him all over again. He was like a demon, knowing her innermost desires, and using them to further suit his sensual cravings. Her arms became entwined about his neck as she laid back allowing him to play with her like some master puppeteer, pulling the strings that controlled her every movement-the arch of her back to make the contact of heated skin on heated skin, the grasp of her fingers on his skin, into the straining muscles of his back as he came to his knees between her legs and wrapped his large hands around her slender waist. Lifting her, positioning her, he buried his cock deep inside her.

His hands continued to support her back and hips as he drove into her, causing that now familiar pressure within her to burst forth in a sea of joy. She gasped aloud as everything exploded from deep within her, taking her into that same world of delight they had shared this afternoon. Duncan was far from done with her she was to learn. He made love to her again, with the leisure he had wanted to before, exploring and experimenting, discovering her body's pleasure points, and learning just how far his own threshold for gratification would take him. Beth felt drained and pleasantly exhausted as the dawn of a new day started to brighten the shadows in the bedroom.

Duncan looked down into her face and pulled her closer against his side, smoothing her tangled hair about her face with a gentle hand. She closed her heavy eyelids and sighed deeply, feeling comforted by his tenderness. He made her feel loved. He made her feel cherished. He made her feel safe, as her hand curled about his neck. Beth knew as she lay sweetly sated in his arms, that she was in love. In love with a man who only three days before she had not known existed. She must be crazy. Beth smiled. It was insane and she should be worried, but the thought didn't bother her at all.

They had skipped lunch and missed supper all together so hunger finally pulled them from his bed. Duncan put on a dark silk dressing coat and handed a light blue velvet dressing gown to Beth. She took it, frowning at the fact that it was a feminine garment, and made to fit a woman of about her same height and proportions.

“I hope this isn't when you tell me your wife is out of town for the week and I was last evening's entertainment.”

Duncan looked startled, but whether it was from her question or that harshness in her tone as she asked it, was unclear to Beth. He gave her that wonderful-you're forgive me anything smile of his, and simply stated that the robe belonged to a good friend of his who had left it behind when she last stayed for a visit. Not knowing this man-actually only knowing him for three-nay, four days--surely didn't give her the courage to ask him who this good friend of his was-or if she visited him often. Not to mention, what he and this good friend did when she did visit him.

His hand engulfed hers, and he tugged at her arm, urging her to follow him out of the bedroom and into the living area of the apartment. He paused beside the counter that separated the kitchenette from the living space and kissed her briefly. Her arms came around his neck and she felt his hands closed around her waist, lifting her up. He released her so her bottom could settle on a stool.

She returned his warm smile and rested her chin in her hand, watching him move about the small kitchen, making coffee, starting bacon to sizzling and eggs to cooking. She had a feeling he cooked for himself often-that he liked cooking for himself. She rather thought he liked living on his own as well. The thought didn't bother her in the least-they were kindled spirits in that at least. She liked her independence. She needed her independence-what she didn't need was any type of control loss. Of course, given the options of staying here with a man who made her lose control, or walking out the door on him-she was bound to pick staying-at least until after breakfast.

Chapter 2

Duncan closed the door to the apartment. The newspaper he had gone to retrieve was his primary focus as he returned to the small kitchenette where Beth sat eating the eggs he had prepared for her. With surprising violence, the newspaper was slapped down on the counter, and the sober expression on Duncan's face caused Beth to send him a questioning glance. Indicating the newspaper, Duncan said, “It says Germany invaded Holland and Belgium today.”

She looked so startled Duncan regretted mentioning it at all. Especially since she stopped eating her eggs, and she looked as if she could use the food. Her fork stayed poised above her plate for all of a minute before she set it down firmly beside her plate. If truth was to be known about how she was feeling, it was more than stunned. Beth felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. The war could no longer be looked upon as something that was happening only in Germany-not if German tanks were rolling into the Holland and Belgium. That simple fact made it seem so much closer and more real then when they had invaded Poland and Norway. She had been to Holland and Belgium. She could imagine their roads choked with German Army, their skies filled with Luftwaffe planes.

“The Dutch are flooding the land to try to stop them, but, of course . . . Duncan shrugged his shoulders eloquently. What could the little country do against the might of Germany? “Do you have a means of leaving France, Beth?”

“What? Now?”

“Yes . . . you could get the first train out. Go to Spain.”

She drew back, hurt by his sudden forceful insistence that she go away. “Why?”

“Why!” he repeated, his jaw dropping. “Because there's a war on. They're fighting it even as we speak. You can't stay; you could get hurt!”

Beth almost smiled in relief at the realization that he only wanted to protect her, not get rid of her. She'd been on her own for so long and had always been able to handle whatever came to her that it hadn't even occurred to her that Duncan would be afraid for her. The mere thought of leaving France because of the War had not even had time to enter her mind as of yet! She smiled and the look Duncan gave her almost made her want to laugh as well. He thought she was crazy. He thought she needed protection, but all she really needed was him. She sighed embracing the warm glow deep inside of her that his concern had produced.

“But, Duncan,” she pointed out reasonably, “that's in Holland. We're in Paris. It's miles and miles away. A different country.”

“You heard what they did to Poland. Denmark was taken without a fight and Norway almost as easily. It will be sheer luck if the Netherlands last two weeks. Do you realize where they'll be when they conquer Belgium? Above the Maginot Line. What protection will the line be if the German's simply go around it?”

“But I am a woman. I'm no threat to Germany.”

“Bombs and bullets don't stop to ask your gender or even where your loyalty might lie.”

“It's miles and miles to the border, and the French and English armies are in between. Surely they'll stop the Germans. Even if they don't, it would take months for the Germans to reach Paris. I'd be able to leave before then. Most likely many people will be trying to leave France today anyway. It will be easier to leave later.”

There was some truth in that, he knew. There was bound to be a panicked rush to exit the country after today's news. He had little faith in the French Army's ability to defeat the Germans, but Beth might well be correct in believing that there would be plenty of time to leave France before the German's reached Paris. If it began to look like too much of a risk, he would take her to Sean Burn's country house in Limay. And when news came that the German's had taken Paris, he could have her on a ship out of Le Harve destined for England in a matter of hours.

“Well. . . as long as you promise me that you'll leave as soon as it looks bad.”

“Of course.”

Duncan moved around the counter and pulled her off the stool. He held her close, wrapping his arms around her, and kissing the top of her head. Guilt pricked at his conscience. He knew he'd allowed himself to be persuaded because he didn't want to part with her. Not just yet. Let her stay for a few days, even weeks. She would be safe that long, and when the time came he would see that she got to safety. Surely he deserved at least this much, to have her for a little while longer, considering what lay ahead of him.

The soothsayers of gloom were correct. Holland surrendered in five days, and it was obvious that Belgium would not hold out much longer, despite the French and English troops rushed from France to their aid. The French established a line south of the Somme River and sent thirty-seven divisions to shore it up. The people of Paris looked at each other in shock. A line of defense within France? For so long they had lived secure in the knowledge that France was impregnable, safe behind its row of enormous forts. Now their security had been smashed. They waited, and fear rose.

Beth felt guilty for her happiness. In the midst of the fear and tension, she was head over heels in love, and every day sparkled with life and hope. Beth knew that she had at last found the magical love that had eluded her all these years. She had no thought except for Duncan; her entire spirit and being were wrapped up in him. And she knew why she had never loved this way before; she had never known Duncan before. It was obvious to her that there could never be any man other than Duncan in her life.

She was with him every possible moment, and when he was away from her, Beth did little but think about him. They talked and laughed and made love, learning about each other with the thirst that only lovers have. They went to the theater, to the cinema, to nightclubs. They dined in the finest restaurants in Paris and at little cafes on the Left Bank. They strolled along the Seine, holding hands, aware of nothing but each other. They sat up until all hours, talking and sipping wine in a dark bistro. They danced, arms tight around each other, oblivious to the world around them. But most of the time they simply stayed inside Duncan's apartment, too content in each other's company to want anything more.

At first Beth retained her room at the hotel, but she spent little time there. One evening, as they sat curled up cozily on the couch, Duncan twining her hair around his fingers, he asked casually, “Why don't you move in here?”

“Ce qui?” Beth glanced at him, her eyebrows rising.

“I'd like for you to move out of the hotel. What point is there in keeping a room there?”

“I don't know. I hadn't thought about it. I had not been asked-before.”

He smiled faintly. “Such a well-brought up lady.” He leaned over and kissed her eyelids, his lips soft and feather light. “You fascinate me.”

“Do I?” Beth smiled up into his face. He was so handsome. Just to look at him made her heart squeeze with such happiness and love that it was almost painful.

“You must know it.” His mouth brushed her cheek, her ear. “You've played havoc with my life. I can think of nothing but you. Many of my friends actually believe I am mad; when I am not with you I stare off into space thinking of you!” He nuzzled her neck. “Say you'll come to live here with me. I want to think of you at home-here-in my bed.”

“Such possessiveness, Duncan,” Beth retorted lightly, but her breath caught at the soft, sensual exploration of his lips.

“Mmm, I am sorry. You bring out the primitive male in me.” There was no exaggeration there. Duncan could only think of one other woman who had aroused such feelings in him, such basic and intense desire. But Sarah was someone better forgotten. She had brought him great pain, while Beth brought him joy. He wanted her every way imaginable-heart, body, soul-and he wanted her all the time. “Well, will you leave the hotel?”

He spread one hand out across her chest and moved it slowly downward to cup her breast. Her nipple tightened beneath his touch, and she drew in a quick, sharp breath. “Oui, I will.”

She moved out of the hotel the next day. It was wonderful to be there in the apartment when he left each morning, to lie in bed, deliciously sated from a night of lovemaking, and watch him shave and dress. When he was ready to leave, he would come over to kiss her, very proper in his suit and tie, and Beth would smile, remembering how he had looked in bed hours earlier, flushed and naked. Sometimes she would decide teasingly to test her powers when he kissed her goodbye, and then the suit and tie would be rapidly discarded, and it would be another hour before he left her alone.

During the day Beth had little to do. She went to fittings for clothes she had purchased at several of the fashion houses. It was originally why she had left Cherbourg-to replenish her wardrobe. That, and to meet with old schoolgirl friends, friends like Loraine, who made a few half-hearted shopping expeditions with her. Frequently she met with Jeanette for lunch or a bit of coffee at one of the many cafes all over Paris. Beth had been surprised when Lorraine and Jeanette didn't leave Paris, but Lorraine had told her that her husband Jean-Paul was in the middle of a very large real estate deal and would not even consider leaving until the chateau he was the agent for sold. Beth wondered-with the news of War-if the Chateau would sell at all, but Lorraine seemed most confident that it would. As for Jeanette, there was no reason for her to delay except that she loved Paris in the Spring and Summer, and with the war looming on the horizon she feared this might be the last chance to enjoy it's splendor.

Duncan just shook his head at their refusal to accept the approach of the German Army. It was no longer feasible, believing that it would take months before the German Army could get as far as Paris. And then one day, less then two weeks after Holland surrendered to the Germans, Duncan returned to the apartment early. His face was drawn in grim lines, and Beth gasped and rose to her feet when he came in.

“Duncan! What is it?” She hurried forward to take him in her arms.

He laid his cheek against her hair, breathing in her sweet fragrance. He knew it wouldn't be long now before he would never smell that scent again and feel Beth's softness against his body. “Belgium has surrendered.”

“What? Already?” Beth drew back to look up into his face. There was a depth of sadness and resignation there that she had never seen before.

He nodded. “Yes. It gets worse. They didn't even hold out long enough for their allies to get out their troops. The British Army and part of the French Army are trapped at Dunkirk.”

“Ah, mon Dieu!”

“Almost four hundred thousand men!”

“But the navy, the British Navy-can't they get them out?”

“That many? It would be impossible for all the fleet to get there in time to get them out. The navy can't even get close enough to load them. They need smaller ships for that. It will be a disaster.” He ran his hands through his hair and walked past her into the room. “Now we can expect the Germans to pour into France.”

Beth went cold. Duncan would want her to leave now. She had said she would when the danger drew near, and it was obvious that the time was fast approaching. But she couldn't leave Duncan. Her heart ached at the thought. She tried desperately to think of a good reason why it wasn't necessary for her to leave.

“You better pack your bags,” Duncan went on. “We're leaving for a friend of mine's country house tomorrow. It's north of Paris, Limay, not too far from the English Channel. You should be safe there for a while.” He looked at her, pain blazing in the caramel depths of his eyes, and she knew that Duncan wanted her to leave no more than she wanted to go.

Beth sighed with relief and went to him. At least they had a little more time together. She slipped her arms around his waist and leaned against his chest, enjoying the security of his heavy, steady heartbeat. “All right. I'll be ready to leave tomorrow morning.”

Beth went to visit her friends, first Jeanette, then Lorraine to urge them to travel to Limay-Duncan had said that his friend Sean Burns would welcome the company. Now that Germany was poised to attack France, it was only a matter of time before the Luftwaffe began to bomb Paris. Jeanette refused to even consider it, and Lorraine was still insisting that until the Chateau sold her husband would remain in Paris.

“You know him,” she told Beth with a smile. “He's like a dog with a bone-nothing short of a bomb will make him leave Paris.”

“Then you come by yourself. I am sure Jean Paul would rather have you safely away.”

“Probably. But I don't want to leave him. Who knows what he'd take into his mind to do next? Sell the Notre Dame Cathedral to the Germans, or the like! Besides, I wouldn't do that to two lovers about to be parted.”

Beth knew how Lorraine felt. If Duncan were remaining behind in Paris, she would have stayed, too. So she wrote down the name of the village near Sean Burn's house and the highway to take to reach it and handed the slip of paper to Lorraine. “Here. This is where I'll be. If you need to get out of Paris just come and ask the way to Sean Burn's house.”

“Okay, thanks,” Lorraine smiled. “Here's hoping we won't need it.

“Yeah.” Beth hugged her, and Lorraine returned the embrace fiercely. Tears glistened on their lashes. It was impossible not to feel as though the world were coming to an end.

The next morning Duncan and Beth left Paris. Just outside of the city, at the top of one of the foothills, Duncan stopped the car, and they looked back at Paris, spread out before them in the sun, a jumble of white buildings on rolling land. Beth felt a pang of sadness. She had always loved Paris, and these past few weeks had made it very special to her. She thought of the tree-lined avenues where she and Duncan had strolled, the romantic small cafes and bistros where they had sat and talked and sipped their drinks, never tiring of gazing at each other or hearing the other's voice. Leaving Paris was bittersweet and it brought tears to her eyes.

Duncan wiped the tears away with his thumb, giving her a reassuring smile that seemed almost a lie because as he started up the car again he was scowling and he slammed the car into gear with far more force than was necessary.

They drove out into the rolling hills just north of Paris. The highway seemed to follow the Seine River. Limay was really not too far from Paris-only a mere twenty-nine miles, but Sean Burns home was about fifteen miles further north, and only a mere sixty miles from Le Harve.

After driving through Limay, a wooded area seemed to take over the land on either side of the highway. Duncan turned onto a narrow dirt lane lined with tall poplars. At the end of it were a few outbuildings and a graceful symmetrical chateau of white limestone and black slate. It was not as large as most of the palaces, Beth knew of, not nearly as large as her own home in Cherbourg, but, standing framed by the towering dark pines, it was quite impressive. And it was definitely not-a house.

She glanced at Duncan, eyebrows raised, and he grinned. “A little too grand?”

“I was expecting something more like an old farmhouse or a cottage.”

“Well, Sean has referred to it on occasion as a mere hunting lodge,” he offered, stopping the car in the circular gravel drive and coming around to help her out.

“A hunting lodge?” Beth repeated. “”Really.”

“Yes, he acquired the place from a nobleman. This region was a favorite for hunting. I understand that this chateau is actually considered rather small.”

“Uh-huh-tiny even,” she mocked.

“You should have seen it years ago when I first visited. It didn't look so grand then. Sean had to renovate a good deal. He uses only about half the house. The rest is closed off.”

A man with red hair hurried down the front steps to greet them. Beth waited uneasily to meet Duncan's friend. She had not been introduced to even one of his friends in Paris and now that she was about to meet one she wasn't sure if she would see disapproval in his eyes or not. Did he really offer his home to her or had Duncan pressured him into it? She found that her worry was misplaced because as Duncan introduced her to Sean Burns she could see nothing but respect and friendship in his bright blue eyes. Kind eyes, old eyes, eyes she suspected that saw much more than what was on the surface.

“I am off then, Duncan,” Sean said, tossing a set of keys that were caught deftly in Duncan's outreached hand. “I only waited until you arrived. M. and Mme Dumont are available to see to all you might need, and if all goes as anticipated I will be back within a month.”

“You-you are not staying…” Beth looked between Sean and Duncan, a frown marring the skin between her brows. “I do not understand. I thought I would be staying with you-“

Sean smiled kindly. “I have a lecture to give in London this coming week, then another in Glasgow.” He winked at her, adding, “Surely you would rather spend your last few days in France alone with Duncan-without me underfoot.”

“But this is your home.”

“And my home is Duncan's home-he knows that.”

The two men clasped hands and Sean moved past them and down toward one of the outbuildings they had past. A minute or two later she saw him backing out a large black car, and driving down the lane they had just came up. Duncan took Beth's hand and led her up the steps into the house. She felt like an intruder, but for the slight pressure of Duncan's hand and his encouraging smile.

“I am surprised that he's so…accepting of me,” Beth whispered.

Duncan frowned at her, surprise reflecting in his eyes. “What do you mean? Why wouldn't he accept you?”

“Well, I can't imagine my father or any other man of my acquaintance introducing his mistress to a friend in such a casual manner.”

Duncan's brows rushed together harshly. “That is ridiculous! To begin with, Sean knows you mean a great deal to me. But more than that, you must know you are not my mistress. A mistress is someone a man uses for sex, Elysabeth. You are the woman I love-I do not use you.”

Beth's eyes widened and she came to a halt, staring at him. “Duncan!”

He turned to her. She knew full well that she loved this man, but she never dreamed that the softer, more important emotion of love was what he felt for her. He was smiling at her, a twinkle in his eye.

“Surely you don't think I act this way about every woman for whom I have a passing fancy? If I did, Sean would have to open up the rest of the house and possibly build an addition.”

“I don't know how you act.”

His hands came up to cup her face. His thumbs lightly caressing her cheeks as he gazed down into her eyes, his warm caramel colored eyes alive with feeling. “When I met you, I wanted you with a great passion. You were beautiful, desirable. But it was more than that. I have never wanted another woman in the same way I want you, even a beautiful one. Even my first love who I thought was the love of my life-and was taken from me-did not stir me the way you do. The more I've been with you; the more I realized it is far more than simply desire I feel for you. I rush home at night to see you. I want to be with you every minute of the day. When I make love to you, I touch heaven and rejoice when you touch it as well. Your smile makes my soul lighter. It pleases me just to hear your voice. I love you.”

He pulled her against him, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in her hair. “God help me, I love you so much I've been foolish and reckless with your safety. I knew I should have sent you out of the country long ago, when Germany invaded Holland. Certainly I should have put you on a train to Le Harve today. But I couldn't. I had to have these last few days with you. I need to fill myself up with your sweetness. It's insanity!” His voice was harsh with barely suppressed emotion. “I couldn't have found a worse time to fall in love. I want to ask you to marry me, stay with me for as long as you live.”

“I will, I will,” Beth whispered, holding him as tightly as he held her. “I love you, Duncan. Please, ask me to marry you. I want to live with you forever.”

“No!” He pulled away.

Beth frowned as she watched him. “Why? I love you. I was in love with you our first night together. I want to marry you. I want to be your wife and share my life with you.”

“It's not a good time. Let's not talk about it.”

“But-“

“Please!” He came back to her and took her hands. “Later. We'll talk about it after we've been here awhile. But right now, I don't want to talk.” He bent to kiss her, his lips urgent and seductive, and any argument Beth might have made flew straight from her mind.

He picked her up in his arms, cradling her, still kissing her, blindly or by pure memory finding his way up the wide marble staircase that lead to the 2nd floor. He turned left and moved about halfway down the hall before lifting his head. His eyes were deep and glittered back at her darkly. She felt his hand close about the handle of the door, turning, and the door opened into a large salon, and just beyond she could see the corner edge of a bed.

“M. Dumont will bring our luggage up later,” he offered and dropped his arm so that her feet could touch the soft blush carpet in the room. He walked her through the door to the bedroom, and closed it before turning back to take her in his arms once more.

She walked backward until the back of her knees touched the mattress, and then her arms were closing about him as he lowered himself upon her. Her eyes widened as she felt the hard demand of his cock throbbing against her stomach. Her eyes half-closed, her breathing became rapid as she began to touch him, than impatiently tug at his clothing. His coat and shirt came off easily, but she became distracted while removing his trousers, and he had to kick the garment free of the tangle they had become about his ankles.

Her heart was pounding as Duncan kissed her deeply, demandingly and no portion of her body seemed safe, not her temples, the line of her cheeks, her throat, or her moist, parting mouth. His roaming lips moved downward across her throbbing breasts with their hardening nipples, to touch the quivering skin of her soft belly and hips, the softer skin inside her thighs. His hands closed over her thighs, spreading them, opening her up wide so he could lower his head. The hotness of his breath brushed her skin before the warmth of his tongue invaded her body.

Beth's body jumped convulsively. She moaned softly, arching up into his diabolical caress. She had never dreamed how quickly such a caress could excite, could cause pleasure to creep down your spine, pool in your abdomen, and finally feather out into one satisfying climate. His lips closed over her mouth, cutting off her keening cry of release and she could taste herself on his lips, could feel his caresses on her breasts and hips become rougher, more demanding.

Duncan's hand skimmed down over her ass, squeezing, caressing, and finally moving to her thighs where he opened her wide for his entry. She gasped in renewed pleasure as he entered her. For a moment she was completely still, her breasts heaving with her driving emotion, and then she began to move with him to his first slow, even strokes. His tempo changing, Duncan's hands slid beneath her ass, urging her upward. The beating of his heart almost suffocated him as she obeyed the pressure and raised her legs to circle his waist, then her legs moved even higher and her ankles locked themselves about his neck. His cock glided into her with savage, battering strokes as he felt Beth's hands clutching him, urging him on, her nails digging into his flesh. Then he was swept beyond awareness of the small, stinging pain. There was only pleasure and the promise of more which urged him to mover faster still, carrying her along with him on a wave of sensual delight. The wave finally crashed, then subsides and as her legs dropped back to the bed, he collapsed beside her and smiled as she turned in his arms and curled up snuggly against him.

She was already asleep.

Chapter 3

The next week was the happiest Beth had ever known. She and Duncan rode horses across the land and picnicked by the lake. They strolled through the small formal garden and the trees beyond. She sat cuddled up in an easy chair reading a book while he worked at Sean's desk. They explored the closed-off section of the house. They kissed, whispering their love, and usually wound up making love together in the huge, canopied bed in Duncan's bedroom. It was a brief piece of time, disconnected from reality; for the moment there was nothing but each other, and they could ignore the War rushing down upon them.

There moment of tranquility couldn't last long. The German Army swept into France, moving inexorably to Paris. Two fingers of the German Army rushed straight for the city. And the stream of refugees from the city began. Though Sean Burns' home was somewhat off the main road north from Paris, Duncan and Beth saw the edges of the exodus-those taking the side roads to escape some of the congestion. There were trucks and cars, carts pulled by people walking, bicycles, even horse-drawn wagons, all piled high with possessions. People stopped by the estate, asking for water, food, or shelter, even requesting permission to sleep in the barn or stable.

Beth's heart was wrenched by the frightened, confused people, unsure where they were going, only knowing they must flee the devil behind them. She kept thinking about her two friends. Had Jeanette taken the train to Spain as she promised she would? Where was Lorraine and Jean-Paul? Were they stuck in the flood of refugees-or, worse yet, still inside the city?

The only good news they received as the days passed was the report of the evacuation of the armies at Dunkirk, where hundreds of civilian vessels, from pleasure yachts to fishing vessels, had ferried the British troops back to England. It had been an almost miraculous recovery and a shining example of the spirit of the British people. But even so, nothing could mask the fact that Dunkirk had been a tremendous defeat for the Allies.

One evening as Beth sat in the drawing room listening to the crackling radio report of the latest disasters for the French Army; a blue open roadster puttered up the drive and came to a halt in front of the door. Beth glanced out the window, mildly curious. Usually the refugees stopped at the stables or the manager's cottage. They didn't come straight to the house. There were several people in the car. She saw a glimpse of glittering blond hair.

Beth jumped to her feet and pulled aside the sheer curtain, her heart beginning to race. Two men and a woman stepped out of the car. The woman wore sunglasses and a scarf. As Beth watched she whipped the scarf off her head and shook out her hair.

“Lorraine!”

Beth ran to open the heavy front door. “Lorraine! Jean-Paul!”

Lorraine looked up and smiled, taking off her sunglasses. “Hello, Elysabeth! We thought we'd drop by for a visit.”

Beth rushed down the steps to embrace her, than gave Jean-Paul a hug for good measure. “I was worried to death about you.”

Duncan stepped out onto the porch. “Mme. Gerabaldi. Messieurs. Please, come inside.”

The three travelers were dusty and wrinkled and looked horribly tired. Jean-Paul managed to smile. “We left yesterday. It took us this long to get here.”

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes,” the stranger of the group answered. “It is a madhouse out there-everyone has gone utterly insane!”

“Everyone's trying to get out.”

“You can't imagine,” Lorraine told Beth, taking her arm as they climbed the steps of the house. “People started leaving days ago. We thought we'd wait a while for the crowd to thin, but it never did. The roads are jammed. You could hardly move an inch. It took hours to go even a few miles. We had to sleep in the car last night.”

“I'll have baths drawn for you, and you can have a nice, long soak and a good sleep.”

“Sounds heavenly.”

“And some food. You must be hungry.”

“Yes. The picnic hamper Philippe fixed for us didn't last long,” Jean-Paul put in.

“You poor things.”

“It was horrible,” Lorraine went on in a rush. “Outside of Paris, with all the cars almost at a standstill, the German planes flew over and started shooting at us!”

“Ce qui!” Beth gasped.

Jean-Paul nodded. “They were strafing the roads. No military purpose. Just to frighten and create even more chaos.”

“Elysabeth, I saw someone shot! Right there, two cars in front of us. We had to jump out of the car and run to the trees for cover.” Lorraine's eyes were wide with remembered horror. “I'll never forget it till the day I die.”

Beth linked her arm through Lorraine's comfortingly and led her up the stairs to the second floor, where the bedrooms lay. The stranger followed the two women, but Jean-Paul lingered for a moment with Duncan.

“It was very bad then?” Duncan asked. His voice was low and drained of emotion.

“Yes. The road to Les Mureaux was packed. We will split off now-and go to the port of Le Harve. Perhaps it will be better.”

“Perhaps. You must stay and rest with us awhile.”

“Thank you. M. Delanoë's car needs some work, too. I was afraid we weren't going to make it here. When the planes strafed the road, a couple bullets hit the engine. I managed to patch the radiator, but it needs a more permanent repair, and there's other damage as well.”

“I'll have the Chateau manger look at it. He works quite a bit with farm engines.”

“Thank you.”

“Are the Germans close to Paris?”

“Days away, I'd say,” Jean-Paul replied. “The army's in an uproar and the government's expecting to flee any day now.”

“Elysabeth must go to England with you.”

“We are not going to England-we are staying to join the resistance.”

“The resistance?” Duncan exclaimed, frowning darkly. “How so?”

“There are groups forming on the coast and in small pockets throughout the French countryside.” Looking about the elegantly decorated hallway, Jean-Paul's eyes gleamed with avarice. “This Chateau would be a perfect headquarters,” he said, and then added quite persuasively, “You and Beth could stay together-as Lorraine and I intend to-fighting these dirty Nazi bastards!”

Duncan's smile thinned. “No, I will not be fighting the Nazis with Beth at my side.” Ignoring the surprise in the other man's eyes, he added, “This Chateau belongs to a friend of mine-he will not welcome your ideas, so do not think to pursue them.”

“Are you planning to turn tail and run then man?” Jean-Paul asked harshly. “If so, enjoy the mob you will have to fight-that is, if the German's do not shoot you like a fleeing rabbit.”

“Elysabeth will leave,” Duncan commented. “I did not say I intended to leave as well.” And with that he turned and left Jean-Paul standing alone in the empty hallway.

Duncan lay quietly in bed, his eyes open, staring at the ceiling. Sleep had been hard to come by these last few weeks and he had done this too often in the evening and early morning. He glanced over at Beth, who lay on her side turned away from him, sleeping peacefully. He eased out of bed, glancing back to make sure he hadn't disturbed her, and pulled his shirt and trousers from the chair where he had tossed them earlier. It took him only seconds to dress. Then he opened the door of the wardrobe and took out a pair of work boots. Carrying them and his watch, he slipped through the door into the hall, gently closing the door behind him.

He crept down the hall past the closed doors where the Gerabaldis and M. Delanoë lay. They had been here two days now; they would be leaving soon. Tomorrow he must tell Beth that she had to leave as well. He hoped she would let him drive her to Le Harve; he wanted that extra day or two with her. But he was afraid she would fight so hard against going that they would come to an open rift. There was an ache in his chest at the thought.

At the bottom of the stairs, he sat down and pulled on his boots, then fastened the watch around his wrist. Making his way by feel through the dark Chateau, he opened the front door and went outside. There it was only a little lighter; there was no moon tonight. He circled around the house and cut through the trees. In the woods it was almost pitch black; he wished he could have carried a lantern or flashlight, but that might have attracted attention, and he couldn't afford that. He ran into a stump and banged his shin and let loose a low string of curses.

He left the woods and crossed a field. Beyond lay a road and another stand of trees. A dark car was parked at the edge of the road. Duncan moved past it into the trees and stood for a moment, trying to discern the shape of a man in the darkness.

“There was a disembodied voice, “Hello, Macleod.”

“Hello, Paul.”

A man came forward. Duncan recognized the height and shape and voice, though he couldn't see the light brown, thinning hair or the fair skin. He would know Paul Karros anywhere. Sometimes he heard this man's voice in his nightmares. 1867 and the Mexican revolution wasn't really all that long ago-and like then, a man like Karros was needed. Duncan just hoped his friend would remember when to stop being needed. If there was a man to raise the spirits of depressed peoples it was this ancient gladiator and slave of Rome. He had caused insurrection back in 73 B.C. and could always be counted on to be in the thick of things, fighting for some cause.

Paul came to Duncan and held out his hand. Metal glittered in his palm. Duncan reached out and took the heavy ring of keys from him.”

“You got into the factory without trouble?”

“Yes. Sean's keys were a great help. The factory's destroyed.” He paused. “The military supplies inside that place could have benefited the German's too much if they had learned of the factory's existence. It was a sacrifice that needed to be made.”

Duncan shrugged. “It's nothing compared to what I'm about to do.”

“Ah, love! Why does it always spring forth around wartime?” Paul replied with a sympathetic tone that Duncan mistrusted.

Duncan pocketed the keys. “When we began, I thought I wouldn't care what anyone thought of me. Now I find I do.”

Paul Karros' eyes glittered in the darkness. “Are you saying you're backing out?”

Duncan shook his head. “No. Of course not. I just kept hoping that somehow it wouldn't come to this.”

“I've heard from others of your infatuation with this moral…”

Humor touched Duncan's face for a moment and his teeth flashed white in the darkness. “Have you now?”

“Yes. You were always one to take sympathy on the ladies. I am sorry! I never dreamed you would meet Jacque de Grandmesnil's daughter. I still work for the man! It is a shame he has no control over his family. His wife is pretty, but a lush and as for that very independent and wayward Elysabeth-“

“Careful,” Duncan warned, no longer smiling.

“Got your dander up, huh?” There was a wealth of amusement in Karros' voice. “I simply wanted to let you know that if I had known you would meet her on the road to Paris last month I would have tried to delay her departure.”

“I do not regret meeting Beth. I feel fortunate to have known her. She is a treasure. Her memory will be . . .something to remember in the coming months.”

“You are sending her away?

“Of course. You think I would allow her to stay in this coming hell? She will be across the channel-hopefully safe in England.”

“You will have to do it soon.”

“I know. I'll tell her tomorrow.”

Paul hesitated. He knew just how resistance Elysabeth de Grandmesnil could be when confronted with a demand to do something she did not want to do. He had been an assistant to her father for nearly a decade. He had dealt with the problems Jacque's family had caused him. He knew that Duncan would have to set aside this so called love he felt for the chit. The world at war was too important to be ignored because of love. The only thing love ever got a man was a sword in the gut or/and a broken heart.

“I will hear from you then, Duncan?”

“Yes.”

“Goodbye then . . . highlander.”

That brought a wry smile to Duncan's face. Always, it was the battle cry for Paul Karros. Find the object of a man's loyalties and encourage it, make it a driving force so that the man will fight for you-thinking he is fighting for himself.

“Goodbye, Paul.”

They parted. Paul Karros climbed into the waiting car and was driven away. Duncan walked back across the corner of the field and into the trees, as he had come. It was not long before he was home at the Chateau again and climbing the stairs to his room. Beth lay on her back, her pale skin shining in the dark. Duncan shed his clothes quietly and came to stand over the bed, looking down at her. One arm was flung above her head. The sheet had worked down to Beth's waist, exposing her full, pink-tipped breasts.

Duncan sat down beside her, his hand reaching out to caress her bottom lip, so full, so sensual. She stirred and his fingers skimmed down to cup her breast. In her sleep she moved into the caress. He began to caress her body, memorizing the feel of her skin. His fingers slipped between her legs, and one long digit moved up inside her. Beth's eyes fluttered open and she smiled sleepily at him, wiggling her bottom a little in unconscious encouragement. He bent to take one breast in his mouth, stroking the nipple to life with a few strokes of his tongue. He moved to the other nipple and aroused it with the same gentle skill.

“Hmm, what a talented tongue you have, Duncan,” Beth murmured and gave a soft gurgle of pleasure when his lovemaking seemed to become even more intense-certainly, it was more stimulating for her. She could feel her climate growing and spreading, and if it wasn't his tongue taunting her body to life, it was his insistent fingers stroking her clit, laving it with her moisture, rubbing, kneading before stroking deep inside her again.

He groaned and buried his face in her neck. “Beth, I love you.” His mouth turned fierce on her skin, hungry and searching. He took her lips, his tongue thrusting deeply into her mouth. He kissed her wildly, desperately, as if he would consume her, and Beth responded with helpless arousal and desire. Her hands moved over his body; his skin was slightly damp and cool. A delicious outdoorsy scent clung to him. Her hands came between them to stroke the hard buttons of his nipples, then slide downward over the hard muscles of his abdomen, to finally close around his big, willing cock. She stroked it, gliding her hand down its length, then back up.

He moved down her body, his mouth touching her everywhere, and came again to suckle at her breast. The suction of his mouth was hard, pulling at the very center of her being. Beth could feel warmth flooding her and a rising sense of urgency. She moved beneath him, urging him on. Duncan slipped down further, his hand spreading her legs apart. His tongue sought out her clit, his lips closed over it to gentle suckle and nibble. Beth pushed against the bed with her heels, thrusting up into the caress. His hands came down to her hips, digging into the softness and holding her against his questing mouth. He brought her trembling to the brink, than retreated to start again until Beth was sobbing with passion.

He rose above her, his cock teasing at the slick satin folds of her flesh. “Look at me, Elysabeth.” His voice was hoarse, barely under control.

Her eyes fluttered open and gazed into the deep dark depths of his caramel colored eyes. She saw such pain there and it confused her, but most of all it hurt her. She lifted her hand and cupped his prickly cheek in a comforting caress. “I love you,” she whispered. “You know I love you.”

He came into her then, his hard throbbing cock filling her emptiness.” Love me always,” he murmured against her neck.

“I will.” She shivered at the uncontrollable pleasure of his movements, the rhythmic, hungry, urgent strokes of his cock. She moved against him, following his lead, allowing him to lift her, to angle her, to flip her about until she was on all fours and he stood behind her, stroking her with that big cock, milking all the pleasure there was to have, before picking her up, flinging her down on the feather bed, and mounting her again.

Beth had made wild passionate love with Duncan before. He was an extremely passionate man-and he was quite knowledgeable-almost frighteningly so-on what pleasures of the flesh were most entertaining, but the way he made love to her tonight was nothing like anything she had every dreamed possible. He was insatiable and he made her that way as well. She stroked him, and he groaned from it, his fingers digging into the sheets beneath her. She wiggled her bottom in circling strokes and his hands closed around her hips, lifting her, forcing her movements to pause as he began to thrust into her, his cock driving firmly and determinedly into her softness again and again. Beth felt the now familiar and urgent orgasm building in her. She ached, she wanted, she needed more and so did he. She could feel him start to tremble and her arms and legs twined around him, and he pressed ever closer, as if they could break through their flesh and merge together as one being. Then, at last, poised on the abyss of pleasure, he gave one long final, all-consuming thrust and poured his immortal seed into her. The damned-up delight burst its bounds, flooding out to every part of Beth's body.

Duncan collapsed upon her, and as his big body pressed her deep into the feather bed, he buried his face in her soft brown hair. His own hair was damp with sweat and his breath was hard and rasping in her ear. “I love you,” he whispered huskily. “Never forget that I love you.”

Chapter 4

They were awakened the next morning by Mme. Dumont's discreet tapping at the door. Duncan rose and wrapped his dressing robe around himself and went to open the door. Sean Burns' housekeeper held out an envelope toward him.

“Sorry to disturb you, Duncan, but this telegram arrived from Paris. I thought it might be important.”

“Yes, thank you. Any news from Sean?”

Mme. Dumont shook her head. “Non, monsieur. But this is good. He is much safer in England then here.”

Duncan nodded his agreement as the housekeeper moved back down the hall. He turned and walked toward the bed, slipping a thumb beneath the flap of the envelope to open it.

Beth sat up in bed, pushing back her sleep-tangled hair, watching Duncan's face. Telegrams usually meant urgent news, but his face remained impassive, only a slight flaring of his nostrils indicating that the news affected him. “Duncan? What is it?”

For a moment he didn't reply. Carefully he refolded the paper and slipped it back into the envelope. “One of the plants I invested in exploded last night and burned to the ground.”

“What! How could it explode?”

He shrugged. “They suspect sabotage. Several small explosions in strategic locations, probably dynamite.”

“Mon Dieu, why?”

“A factory for trucks and heavy machinery is easily turned to producing military equipment. I imagine some of your countrymen decided they didn't want it to fall into German hands.”

“Oh.” A shiver ran through Beth. Somehow it made the steady advance of the German Army seem frighteningly closer. “I see. But how terrible for you-you told me how much money you had put into these various enterprises…and many of the other factories could be used by the German's as well! What if these saboteurs decide to destroy them all?”

His face tightened, and Beth wished she could call back her words. What a clumsy thing to say-he was doubtlessly already aching at the loss. Beth came up on her knees and moved against his back, giving him a comforting hug. Duncan crumpled up the telegram almost violently in his fist, than tossed it carefully into the trash.

“It can be rebuilt-unlike other things,” he replied shortly. He seemed to shrug off her sympathy as he came to his feet. “Get dress, Elysabeth. We will take a walk. I need to talk to you.”

Beth scrambled into the first clothes she found and ran a brush through her hair. Duncan took her hand, and they went down the servants' stairs in the back. They strolled through the formal gardens of flower-trimmed squares, circles and triangles of grass, not speaking. Duncan slipped his arm around Beth's shoulders and squeezed her close to his side. He led her up the shallow steps into a small orangerie.

They sat down on one of the stone benches in the long, cool hall. Duncan took Beth's hand and gently rubbed it, watching the slow, circular motion of his thumb. Still not looking at her face, he rose and walked across the gallery to the lattice-framed window. He shoved his hands in his pockets and stared out the window. After a long moment, he turned back to Beth. His face was set in hard lines that made him look older than his years and his caramel colored eyes were carefully blank.

“Elysabeth, it's time for you to leave.”

Beth drew in a shaky breath. She hadn't expected this. She had thought his quiet and sorrow was solely for the ruin of his business plans. “No.” she protested automatically.

“Yes.”

“But-“

“In a matter of days, the German Army will be in Paris. It can't be long before they reach here-they know the escape routes for the refugees and will want to stop the exodus.”

“You think there's no hope.”

“None. I'm so in love with you I've tried to pretend that it could be otherwise, that by some miracle the army would hold its ground. It was foolish. I knew before the Germans attacked that the military would collapse. It's run by blind fools. So is the French government. You have to leave now. I don't want you caught in the last-minute panic as the Gerabaldis were in Paris. You mustn't be on the road with the Luftwaffe strafing the cars. The Gerabaldis are leaving for Le Harve this afternoon. We will accompany them there, and I will see to it that a plane flies you to England!”

“No.”

He glanced up at her sharply, surprised by the quiet, flat negative. “What? What do you mean? You have to leave.”

“Are you planning to fly with me to England?” Duncan started to speak, but Beth shook her head and held up her hand to stop him. She rose and went to him, her brown eyes soft and pleading. “I've thought about this a great deal the past few days. In fact, I've thought of little else. Darling, you must come with me.”

“That's impossible.”

Beth gripped his hands hard. “Listen to me before you refuse. You said yourself that all of France will fall to the Germans. But there will still be one country left fighting them-England. Perhaps soon the United States can be persuaded to come into it, too. They will have to if England stands alone! The War will not be over when Paris falls. Come with me to England. The Poles who were able to escape are in England fighting alongside the British, and I'm sure there are Frenchmen in the same position-those who escaped at Dunkirk, if no one else. You are from England's northern country-Scotland! Isn't your place in England? They'd welcome you, I know. They'll need all the help they can get in the next months.”

“No.”

“Why not? There's nothing left for you here, especially now that your plant has burned down. But in England you could help win France from the Germans. I'm sure there are hundreds of ways you could be invaluable. I've never told you, but Jean-Paul and his good friend M. Delanoë both work for a secret operation out of London. Lorraine told me the day she arrived here that all the talk about waiting for that real estate deal to become final had just been a cover for some of the investigating Jean-Paul was doing.”

“You stay away from them-from that!”

“No.” Beth retorted sharply. He was beginning to stir her anger. Why was he being so difficult? “They have asked me to join them and when I reach London with Lorraine, I am to be trained along with her -then returned to the northern coast of France. I am sure Jean-Paul would welcome your involvement, Duncan. Darling, we would be together and free and working for France's liberation. Don't you-“

“No!” Duncan's voice boomed out. He scowled at her. “I don't want you working for him. Do you understand? It's dangerous. Don't go near either of those men again.”

“What is the matter with you? So what if it's dangerous? It's necessary. For a Scotsman you are being very European. Just because I'm a woman doesn't mean I can't do something. I have beliefs and principles too, and I'm as capable as you are of backing them up. Maybe I don't know how to fight, but there are lots of things I can do. I'm smart; I can learn what I don't know. I hate the thought of the German's in my country. They simply cannot be allowed to swallow up the world! Don't you dare tell me I can't fight them!”

“I can't bear for anything to happen to you.”

“Then come with me.” She smiled her most beguiling smile. “Be there to make sure it doesn't. Please, Duncan. Let's go to England together.”

“I can't. I won't leave France. Whatever happens to her, this is where I must stay.”

“Then I'll stay with you.”

“Elysabeth! You can't!”

“I can.”

“I won't allow it. Don't you have any idea what it will be like, being ruled by the Nazis?”

“It will be less hard for me than for you,” Beth replied reasonably. “At least as a woman I am not seen as a threat.”

“No, just as an instrument that can be used.”

She ignored his comment, scowling her displeasure. “I love you, Duncan. I need you! Please, I want to be with you. I want to give you whatever comfort I can. I know you. You're planning to fight them here, aren't you? You'll need someone to help you. To listen to you. To love you. To protect-“

For an instant Duncan's eyes soften and he reached out to cup her face. “You are so beautiful. So full of fire and strength. You'd give courage to any man.” He bent and kissed her, his mouth sinking into hers desperately.

Then he jerked away, his features becoming harsh. Not looking at Beth, he growled, “You don't know me at all. Believe me, you don't want to stay. You have a picture of me that's not true, one that's colored with your own courage and ideals. I don't have them.” He swung back to her, facing her squarely, his jaw set and his eyes hard. “Within two weeks you'll be cursing me. I don't plan to fight the Germans, outside the country or in. I plan to join them.”

Beth's jaw sagged. She was as stunned as if someone had bashed her over the head. She couldn't speak.

“I've been trading with German companies for months now-Nazi owned companies. I have several friends in Germany, some of them rather influential. Some in the Army. When I return to Paris, I'll remind them of our friendship. With their help, I'll see the bombed plant reopened-and see that no other plants are bombed. I don't intend to languish in poverty simply because a little ego-maniac has managed to make his power-hungry dreams come true. I will do whatever it takes to maintain my present position here in this country.”

Beth managed to reach the stone bench before her legs gave way. “You-you're going to cooperate with the Nazis? Help them?”

“Exactly. They've won, or they will in a few days' time. Whatever this country has been in the past, it will belong to the Nazis from now on. The only sensible thing to do is to recognize that. I don't plan to be on the bottom ever again, so I have to join whoever's on top.”

Bile rose in Beth's throat, and she pressed her hand against her mouth to hold back the wounded cry trying to burst forth. It couldn't be true! It simply couldn't! Yet it was. Duncan Macleod had just told her, without any apologies or embarrassment. He cared more for his wealth and position than for protecting the countries the Nazis had invaded. He cared more for his wealth than he did for her. Her love lay shattered around her like pieces of lovely, fragile-blown glass.

Beth rose clumsily to her feet and started toward the door. Duncan took a step after her, than stopped. His face was bleak. “I'll drive you to Le Harve.”

“No!” Her shoulders stiffened. She didn't turn around. “I could not stand to be in the same car with you.”

His eyes closed briefly. When he opened them, they were hard and expressionless as cat-eye marbles. “Very well. I'm sure M. Dumont can drive you. I will speak