clothed bodies, obeying without shrinking the eager demands of his hands, his mouth, and his tongue. Her mind, which had been still in a half-trance when she rose to stand before him, awoke fully at his touch. She knew against whose body she pressed her own. She knew who was kissing her and wanting her with a hot physical urgency. And she could feel neither dismay nor guilt nor shame.
She was with the man she loved, the man she had always been meant to love, the man she had recognized at their first encounter. Nothing else mattered at that moment. Nothing else existed.
Rachel found herself gazing up into the shadowed eyes of the man who held her, her head bent back over his arm. She could not see if his eyes registered ardor or dismay. 'David,' she said, and she knew quite clearly what she said. Her mind deliberately formed the words. 'I have always loved you. There is only you.'
He did not immediately answer. He did not release her. She was still pressed to his warm length. Her head still rested comfortably against his strong arm. But he had gone away from her. She felt his withdrawal.
'I cannot say I am sorry,' he said carefully. 'An apology would imply that I feel regret. Perhaps I do feel sorrow for myself, that I have given in to a temptation that I thought in my pride I had under control. I had determined never to touch another woman-or even think of her in this way-until I had asked her to be my wife and she had consented. I have done you a great wrong, my dear, and knowing that, I shall suffer greatly for this night's indulgence.'
'I can marry you,' Rachel said eagerly. 'We love each other, do we not? And once one admits to love, nothing else matters. I will be happy with you. It does not matter that you do not have rank or fortune. Those things are quite unimportant. And I will make you happy, David. You will see.'
He was shaking his head. He had loosened his hold on her. He held her now by the hands. Looking at him, Rachel let her voice trail away.
'No,' he said. 'No, Lady Rachel, we can never marry. We both know that. My life can never be yours. I have done you a great wrong tonight.'
'You think I cannot give up my life of luxury?' Rachel cried. 'You think that I will miss all the assemblies and all the fashionable dresses? I would live in rags in a mud hut with you, David. I would!'
He was shaking his head still, a look of great gentleness in the eyes that looked down into her earnest face. 'No, my dear,' he said, 'you will never be my wife. And with the rational part of your mind, the part that has not been affected by the magic of the moonlight, you know that it could never be. And so we must never be together like this again. We must never think of each other this way again.'
Rachel's face was becoming stormy. 'Give me a reason,' she said, 'Give me one good reason why I may not marry you.'
He looked at her in silence and squeezed her hands. 'I am not asking you,' he said at last.
'Oh!' Rachel recoiled almost as if he had slapped her. 'But you wish to, do you not? You wish to marry me? You do love me, David. Admit that you love me.'
His hands tightened on hers once more and then released them altogether. 'I do not love you, Lady Rachel,' he said, clasping his hands behind his back and looking her very deliberately in the eye. 'For a few mad moments I wished to possess you, that is all.'
'Oh!' Rachel stood very still, trying to make out the expression in his eyes. 'I don't believe you,' she whispered eventually. 'It is not true. Why do you want to hurt me? Because you are hurting so badly yourself? I… Oh.'
She gathered the sides of her flimsy gown in her hands and turned from him to stumble and then run along the winding path to the terrace and along to the front doors of the Hall. She left behind her a young man whose hands clasped each other tightly behind his back as if only by clinging together could they hold him from collapse. The pallor of his face was not evident in the moonlight.
***
It was two days later before Lord Rivers paid a call at Oakland. He had been busy the day before seeing Vicar Ferney on his way to his new home and then going with David to the vicarage. He had wanted David to stay with him for a few more days. Indeed, his original offer had been for David to live with him permanently. But for some reason his cousin had been as eager to move into his new home as if he had just inherited a grand mansion.
And Algernon was feeling restless, as he always did for a week or so after his return from town. It was not that he disliked the country. In fact, he was always glad to return to what seemed to him a more normal way of life. But the change of pace was disconcerting after weeks of constant activity.
He had decided to walk over to Oakland to take Rachel out. Though that was not as straightforward a matter as it usually was, he realized. Her guests had not yet arrived, but Miss Barnes was there. Miss Barnes must have a walking partner too. He had thought immediately of David. He was the obvious choice. He knew Miss Barnes, and it had certainly appeared when they were in London that he had a preference for that young lady. She would be a good choice of wife for David. She was a calm, sensible woman. Algernon could imagine her as a vicar's wife, soothing the ruffled spirits of those who came to the vicarage to find David from home.
However, on this occasion it seemed unlikely that his cousin would be willing to come. He would still be too wrapped up in the novelty of his new life. Algernon chose Raymond Holland instead, and the four of them decided to walk across the hills to the Red Fox Inn, where they might refresh themselves with cider or lemonade before returning.
It had seemed like a good plan. Algernon had envisaged a quiet and peaceful afternoon stroll. But it was evident almost as soon as they left the house, Celia Barnes on Holland's arm, Rachel on his, that all was not well. Rachel's manner was bright and brittle, her chatter loud and constant. She pulled at his arm and strode on ahead of the other two so that they were a noticeable distance ahead before the house was even out of sight.
'What is it, Rache?' he asked, patting her hand on his arm during one of the rare moments when he was able to put in a word.
He might as well have taken a fork and burst a bubble. She stopped chattering immediately and seemed to collapse inward on herself.
'I have missed you, Algie,' she said in such a tone that he thought she was about to cry. 'I did not see you for five whole days. And now I have not seen you since the dinner the night before last. I have missed you.'
'I did not call yesterday mainly because I thought you would need to rest after your long journey and the busy evening immediately after it,' Algernon said. 'I wish I had come now, Rache.'
'I feel a little lost when I do not see you frequently,' she said. 'That is all. I don't think I altogether enjoyed London, Algie. I feel a little frightened.'
He patted her hand again and looked closely at her. 'What is this?' he said. 'Is this the young lady who took the ton by storm, who had every eligible gentleman dangling after her? Is this the young lady who has been the envy of every other female because the Marquess of Stanford has been paying court to her? Is that the trouble, Rache?' His tone had gentled. 'Did he not come to the point?'
'Yes, he did,' she said, 'and I am so bewildered. I know that I should be delighted, you see, but I can't be. If I marry him, I shall have to leave home. And I am not old enough to leave here, Algie. I would not know how to go on.'
'You, Rache?' he said kindly. 'You will be a success wherever you go, you know. I am confident of that.'
'Oh, Algie,' she said, turning a face of such unhappiness up to him that he gripped her hand tightly and leaned his head toward her, 'I want you to offer for me. I have always thought we had an understanding. We have, have we not? But when I try to think about when we have spoken of it, I cannot remember a time. And then I think it is all in my imagination and you do not mean to offer for me at all. And I think I would die if you do not want me, Algie. I don't feel safe with anyone but you.'
Her voice was thin and breathless, quite unlike her usual bright and happy prattle.
Algernon turned quite pale. He continued to grip her hand but said nothing for a moment. 'Rache!' he said at last. 'Don't upset yourself. Of course I am very fond of you. You know that, you little goose. And of course you are safe with me.'
'But that is all?' She looked back at him distraught. 'There is no understanding between us? It has all been in my imagination? You are not going to offer for me?'
'I don't think this is the time to talk about such a thing, Rache,' he said, patting her hand, trying to soothe her. 'You are upset about something and of course you turn to me. As you should. We have always been dear friends. But I think perhaps that is all I am to you, Rache. You are very young, and you have had great success this
