“And we are never, ever going to be allowed to forget it,” snapped the Duke, bending over the fireplace and at the same time wondering why he was being so harsh with the girl. He busied himself lighting the fire while his mind turned over the problem. He decided it was the responsibility of taking care of Alice that irked. He came to the conclusion that his behavior was, however, at fault. And so in the manner of his kind of aristocrat, he decided to apologize sincerely and openly to Alice.

He swung around on his heels and smiled up at her. “I have been in the devil of a temper this evening,” he said. “I think perhaps my spleen is disordered.”

“Damn your spleen, sir!” cried Alice, “and damn you.”

He stood up slowly and towered over her, his eyes like chips of blue ice. “You guttersnipe,” he said, slowly and carefully enunciating each syllable. “I make you a handsome apology and all you can do is scream at me like a fishwife.”

Alice stared at him, her wide eyes dark and amazed. “That was an apology?” she exclaimed. Then she buried her face in her hands and turned her back on him.

He stood looking at her in baffled rage. He noticed her shoulders were shaking and suddenly his rage died as quickly as it had sprung up.

The Duke moved forward and put his hands on her shoulders and turned her gently around, holding her slim shaking body against his own.

“There now,” he said, tilting up her chin and then glaring down at her in amazement. For Alice was laughing—not crying as he had believed. Her bright eyes were sparkling and she was shaking with mirth. “Oh, y-you are s-so f-funny,” she gasped when she could. “An apology, indeed.”

The Duke held her a little away from him, looking down at her. All of a sudden a mocking smile lit up his blue eyes and he slowly pulled her close to him again and bent his head.

“No!” whispered Alice, closing her eyes.

She trembled against him, all laughter gone. She could feel his long fingers biting into her shoulders and smell the musky perfume he wore. Then one hand released one shoulder and came under her chin and pushed her head up and his lips met hers in a long exploring kiss, deeper and deeper and biting, parting her lips, his tongue sliding into her mouth, darting and searching. She felt her body burning and throbbing and melting until she was almost too weak to stand. His hand released her chin and dropped to her breast and she gave a plaintive little sigh of surrender and wound her arms around his neck, standing on tiptoe, and returning passion with passion.

And then quite suddenly he raised his head and put her firmly away from him, turning his face away so that she could not read the expression in his eyes.