Eve had always liked the area in the east wing the Bissets had converted to a gym. She was a physical woman, and one who could appreciate the beauty and contrast of a room with lofted, carved ceilings and steel machines and weights. There was no scent of the sea here, no pretty cut flowers in crystal vases, but the stained glass windows were rich and ancient.

She passed through the exercise room. Normally she would have admired the first-rate equipment and setup. Now she did no more than glance around to assure herself the room was empty.

The tang of chlorinated and heated water hit her as she entered the solarium, where a red fiberglass spa dominated. Steam rose up; the sun poured in. Through the clear glass you could see the sky and touches of the sea with its deeper blue. Another time she might have been tempted to relieve her tensed muscles in the soothing water. Again she passed through with only a glance. And when she opened the next door, she heard the clash and scrape of swords.

The tall, windowless room had a floor of dull hardwood, spread now with the piste, the fencing mat, of linoleum. Along one wall ran a mirror and dance barre. Two men in white were reflected in the glass as they moved together, knees slightly bent, backs straight, left arms curled up and behind.

Both men were tall, both slim and dark headed. The mesh masks hid and protected their faces through the thrusts and parries. Eve had no trouble recognizing Alexander.

It was the way he moved. Regally, she thought with a sniff, and crossed her arms over her chest while fighting to ignore the quick surge of need. It would always be there when she saw him. She had to acknowledge, even accept it, and go on.

The room rang, metal on metal. The men were silent but for their breathing. And well matched, Eve decided as she watched and analyzed styles and movement. Alexander would never have chosen an inferior fencer as his partner. He’d want the challenge. Little thrills ran up her arms. And the triumph.

In another century, another life, he would have defended his country with the sword, wielding it in battle to protect his people, his land, his birthright.

He could use it still, Eve realized as he moved steadily forward, offense rather than defense. More than once Eve saw him drop his guard to attack, parrying his opponent’s thrust just before the safety tip made contact.

Would he fight so recklessly, she wondered, if the points were honed sharp? Another thrill passed through her, this time to twist in her stomach as she answered her own question.

In this one-on-one he would indeed be reckless in the way he never allowed himself in matters of state. His outlet would be the physical, which she understood, and the sense of danger, which she did not.