The soft glow from thousands of candles settled gently on the crowded ballroom, and lingered over the heads of the cream of San Francisco Society. No harsh gas globe lights for this special evening. It was a night of celebration, of honor. History in the making, as the French Ambassador was feted by the Governor of California and his carefully chosen guests with all the finery and elegance the young state of California could provide.

Victoria and Nick Barkley joined a large throng swelling through the massive archway opening into the elaborate room. They exchanged conspiratorial smiles.

"Do you suppose he’s here, yet?" Victoria asked her son, as she made her way to the relatively quiet haven of a distant wall. Not hearing an immediate response, she looked behind her, to see Nick skirt a group of revelers, and approach her. She watched him maneuver in the crowded room with admiring eyes. Rarely did her rough and tumble second son don evening attire. But when he did, the effect was stunning. Tall, well built, muscular, with thick black hair that refused to be tamed by a comb, this son of hers was a most attractive man. While he was normally seen in the hard wearing dusty clothes of the working rancher who earned his wealth through sweat and honest toil on the range, he seemed equally at easy in the elegance and grace of his formal clothes.

He returned her smile, delighted with the mischievous light in her clear blue eyes. He felt a wave of gratitude sweep over him. If he hadn’t been engaged in prolonged and unexpected negotiations over a shipment of cattle with the Governor’s younger brother - - still unresolved - - he and his mother would never have remained in San Francisco a week longer than planned, and their schedules never would have coincided with that of his older brother, Jarrod.

Indeed, they hadn’t seen Jarrod in over two months, as the eldest Barkley offspring and family lawyer, was engaged in protracted hearings over new shipping regulations for the West Coast. Until today, Jarrod had been mired in bureaucratic negotiations in Sacramento. But, the talks had shifted to San Francisco, at the Governor’s request. And that meant that, for the space of one week, Victoria, Nick, and Jarrod would all be in the same place at the same time.

Their plan was to surprise Jarrod. Enjoy this most special social event with him, and spend a few days in San Francisco. Together. A bit of an impromptu family vacation. A break from their regular routine.

"I don’t see him, Mother," Nick's hazel eyes sweeping the glittering throng for the aristocratic profile of his older sibling.

"I’m so glad we were able to attend this function, tonight, Nick. Two months is too long to go without seeing one of my children. And to surprise Jarrod on this special night is . . ." she caught Nick’s broad smile.

As he saw her expression, Nick threw back his head and howled, delighted with his mother’s excitement and pleasure. And that he was the one to provide it for her.

She tapped him on the arm with her fan in a gesture of mock censure. "Decorum, Nicholas. Remember where you are."

Nick shook his head, still smiling broadly. "Yessss, ma’am," he saluted her.

Victoria turned away to can the crowded room. "I can’t wait to watch his face when he spots us," Victoria said. "Nick, I can’t see over these heads."

Dutifully, Nick turned his attention back to the throng of partygoers. "No . . . no I don’t think he’s here - - - wait a minute. Over by the main entrance. He’s just walked in. See him?"

Victoria turned towards the arched doorway just in time. There he was. Magnificent in his evening attire. Elegant to the bone, was her oldest son.

But he was not alone. On his arm, was one of the most beautiful women she had ever seen.

"Who is THAT?" Nick inhaled, having caught sight of Jarrod’s companion.

"I don’t know," Victoria said, softly, studying the young lady.

She was of medium height, very slender. Glowing dark hair framed a perfectly oval face. Her features were fine, aristocratic - - narrow nose, high forehead and defined cheekbones. Full lips were finely shaped. She wore the latest in Parisian attire. A soft rose gown, glimmering silk, with sprays of flowers creatively arranged across the skirt and down the length of a long train. A low neckline revealed creamy skin and proudly square shoulders belong a long, graceful neck.

But, it was her manner that was most intriguing to Victoria. For, as she watched Jarrod and the lady passed through the receiving line, it was obvious that this woman was known by all the dignitaries. Well known. And someone they deemed important, as the men bowed low over her hand, and the women curtsied to her. And yet, in the face of their obvious admiration and deference, she was graceful, aristocratic without being haughty. At ease in her formal surroundings, natural. Not at all pretentious. Indeed, she seemed quite. . . friendly.

Victoria watched as she laughed at a comment made by the French Ambassador. Jarrod had joined in the laughter, looking down at her with unabashed enjoyment.

And, then, the woman looked up and met his eyes.

Even across the crowded room, with throngs of people interposed between herself and the couple, Victoria could feel the electricity that passed between them. They had eyes only for each other in that moment. And Victoria was mesmerized by the sight.

A soft whistle broke her concentration. "Who IS she?" said Nick.

And in that moment, Victoria knew who she was. She turned to her son. "She’s the one."

"The one? What are you talking about?" Nick’s tone was impatient.

Victoria placed a steadying hand on her son’s arm. "Patience, Nick. And you will find out."

"Well, aren’t we going over to him? After all, that is why we’re here . . ."

Her hand tightened on the black broadcloth of Nick’s sleeve. "Not just yet," she said, thoughtfully. "Besides, the waltz is about to begin. We don’t want to interrupt him."

Nick followed her eyes to Jarrod and the woman in time to see him bow low to her in a gesture of elegant courtliness. She responded with a deep, graceful curtsey. As Jarrod held his hand out to her, they looked deeply into each other’s eyes. And then, he swept her into his arms and they joined the swirl of dancers on the center floor of the ballroom.

"It’s as if they’ve been doing that all their lives," Nick said, softly.

Victoria nodded. "Exactly what I was thinking."

"Who IS she?"

hapter 2       Jarrod and Lady Anne reminisce about their shared past. Nick catches up with Jarrod.

Jarrod smiled down at Anne as he guided her around the dance floor. The lilting melody of the waltz embraced them in its gentleness.

Sweetness.

Memories.

She lifted her eyes to his, sensing him, knowing him. She returned his smile and spoke to him in her firm voice, her Americanized British accent mingling softly with the delicate refrain of the violins. "This music will always remind me of a certain cotillion at the President’s Mansion. Back in the early days of the war. Do you remember?"

"Of course," Jarrod nodded. "The first time we danced together was to this waltz. At that cotillion." His blue eyes searched her face, covering it with his tender scrutiny.

"I had spent the better part of that night watching the brilliant young Major Barkley in his spotless dress uniform. Charming Washington Society with little effort."

"My love, the cotillion revolved around you, that night. In your pale yellow gown, with the yellow roses in your hair. All the soldiers tripped over themselves to win a dance, or just a word from you."

She smiled slightly at the memory. "As far as I was concerned, there was only one soldier there, that night, Jarrod. I remember dreaming about us dancing in each other’s arms. Imagining what it would be like to be in your arms, forever." She strove to make her voice airy. She couldn’t hide her sadness. Not from him.

He sobered, but managed to keep his tone light. "We made that dream come true, that night, Anne. And as for ‘forever,’ we can make that dream come true, as well."

She looked at him, then. Sharply. Her green eyes flashing with suppressed emotion. "Can we? Really?"

He watched her for a long moment, his clear blue eyes taking in her sudden pallor. "Anne, are you all right?" His voice was deep, husky with concern.

She nodded slowly, and smiled slightly. "Of course. Sorry to turn morose on you."

"Don’t ever feel the need to apologize, Anne. Not to me."

He led her into a whirling turn, expertly. Easily. She followed his lead with grace and certainty, diamonds flashing in her hair, as she swept passed candelabra bright with the fire of two dozen candles.

Jarrod’s eyes searched her beautiful face.

"Anne - - ."

She extricated her gloved right hand from his firm grasp, and quickly raised it to his face, brushing across his sensuous, full lips before she nestled her fingers around his once again. "Please stop examining me with those sharp eyes of yours," she said, softly. "Truly, I’m having a wonderful time, this evening. Such a glittering occasion. We have so few opportunities to be together like this . . .. We should make the most if it. Besides," she added, lightly. "We’re being scrutinized, quite closely, at the moment. It wouldn’t do to have the honorable Jarrod Barkley look too serious. People might get the wrong idea."

"Their eyes on not for me, beautiful lady. They’re watching the magnificent Lady Anne Devereaux."

Anne laughed, then. A light-hearted, contagious sound of joy that brought a smile to Jarrod’s face.

"Jarrod, you are the target of every mother on both the West and East Coasts, who has a daughter between the ages of 16 and 26. Now, you know that’s true."

"My Lady, I believe we are both on the front-line in the matrimonial wars . . .. Targets of the advance scouting parties commanded by fierce, ambitious maternal forces. Out for our very blood."

"How appropriate for you to allude to a military war. Well done, my dear. Actually, there are times when I look around me, seeing the bachelor set sizing me up during a social occasion such as this one, and I don’t feel so much like a soldier, as I do a member of the herd from the famous Barkley cattle ranch for sale at a livestock auction!"

Jarrod flung his head back in a hearty laugh. "Your irreverent attitude about your own social standing is one of the most amazing parts of you."

Anne shrugged. "How can you take seriously something you had nothing to do with? The fact that I’m the daughter of the ninth Duke of Ebbingshire is an accident of birth. Pure and simple. It’s what I choose to do with the wealth and privilege accompanying that title that tells the story."

"I’d say you’ve done your ancestors proud."

Anne flashed a quick smile. "I wonder. After all, let’s look at the facts. Not only do I cold-bloodedly use my social position to maintain my independence, I use it to flaunt the very social constraints that dictate every move of those matrons who, even now, are watching me like angry mother hawks." Anne sobered, suddenly. "And we both know where that unorthodox perspective of mine has led me. I’m not certain that past generations of Devereaux’s would be proud of many of the things I’ve done."

Jarrod shook his head. "My dear, you’ve accomplished more things of genuine importance in your young life than most people do in an entire lifetime. That IS something to be proud of."

Anne looked at him sharply. "But, at what cost, Jarrod? Wouldn’t you say the price I’ve paid . . . the price we’ve BOTH paid, is too high? And it still isn’t over - - ." She shook her head impatiently. "Bloody hell, I hadn’t meant to - - ."

"It’s all right, you know. You have every right."

Anne looked into Jarrod’s eyes, and saw the bottomless supply of love and support, there. All for her. She blinked tears from her eyes.

"No tears, young lady," he said, lightly. "Remember the mother hawks are watching!"

They smiled, then. And swirled deeper into the midst of dancing couples.

As the waltz ended, they were still smiling. Jarrod offered her his arm, and they walked leisurely towards the side of the room.

"Can I offer you a glass of punch before your next admirer claims the upcoming polka?"

Anne shook her head.

"Lady Devereaux!"

Anne turned to see the French Ambassador’s nephew approach.

"I believe I have the honor of the next dance, My Lady."

Jarrod bowed to the foppish young man, and turned back to Anne. "My Lady," he said, solemnly, with a devilish light in his eyes. "I thank you for the pleasure of your company. Until the next auction."

Anne dropped into a slight curtsey. "Mr. Barkley," she murmured, looking up at him through lowered eyelids with an impish twinkle. "I harbor the cherished hope that you will be the highest bidder."

Jarrod turned away from her just before he broke out laughing.

The young Frenchman didn’t notice their interplay, so intent was he on not stumbling over his nervousness as he looked at the beautiful woman. The fact that he had obtained a dance from her, at all, was a minor miracle, as far as he was concerned. Lady Devereaux’s dance card filled up immediately. Everyone knew that. And this Jarrod Barkley had virtually monopolized her attention since she’d entered the Governor’s residence. He threw the lawyer an angry look.

Anne noticed his expression. "Monsieur DePries?" Her voice was puzzled.

He collected his wits about him, and faced her. Pleading with the spirit of his long-since deceased dancing coach to look after his stumbling feet and not embarrass him, he bowed stiffly to her and extended his arms.

Anne smiled graciously, dipped into a curtsey, and accepted his clumsy embrace.

Jarrod watched them from the sidelines. The young man, awkward, oafish. The young woman, gracious, skillful in bringing out the very best in her smitten dance partner. He smiled, slightly. Appreciating Anne’s style and unselfishness. Not many members of British nobility would be so generous. And then, sobered as he realized how difficult the evening was her. What spending part of the evening with him had cost her.

"Jarrod!"

He started in surprise as he recognized the voice, and turned to face Nick, who was advancing towards him with an extended hand and broad smile.

Jarrod shook the hand of his younger brother, and then clapped him on the back, saying, heartily, "Well, now! Where did you come from? And in those clothes! I didn’t know you owned such finery."

Jarrod’s mind was racing. How much had Nick seen? Had he arrived in time to see him dancing with Anne? He searched his brother’s face for a clue to his mental question, and didn’t have to wait long for the answer. The mischievous glint in those hazel eyes told him all he needed to know. And Nick’s words confirmed his suspicions.

"Well, well, well, big brother! You talk about my finery! Just look at those tails and white waistcoat! I don’t think I’ve ever seen those particular articles of clothing hanging in your closet at the ranch. Could it be, big brother, that you have a secret life here in San Francisco? One that includes a beautiful raven-haired maiden, perhaps?"

Jarrod submerged his concerns, and smiled in spite of himself; Nick’s broad grin was contagious and filled with well-intentioned humor.

He clapped his brother on the back. "Nick, my boy. Has anyone ever told you that you are too nosy for your own good?"

A female voice floated towards him from behind his back. "I tried to warn him, dear. But, your younger brother never listens to me."

Jarrod turned to look into the face of his smiling mother. He embraced her in a warm hug, looking down at the beloved face, and leaned down to kiss her cheek.

"He listens to you, dear. He just doesn’t ACT as if he’s listening." He pulled back and gave his mother a long look. "Mother! You are exquisite tonight. And in a new gown. The dark green suits you."

Victoria wrapped Jarrod’s arm with her fan. "This is not a new gown. Not that I expect you boys to pay a bit of attention to my wardrobe."

Jarrod bowed slightly. "I stand corrected, lovely lady. You should have told me you and Nick were still in San Francisco. I could have escorted you to this fete!"

"We thought the surprise would be fun."

"Yes, well . . . you did take me by surprise. That’s for certain."

Victoria watched Jarrod’s eyes flicker - - a hint of emotion, there. Then, it was gone. Her mind flashed to the young woman she had seen dancing with her son.

Who was she?

"So, I suppose you’ve heard why my business has moved from Sacramento to this fair city," Jarrod was saying. "What good fortune enables me to cross your path?"

"Oh, that fool brother of the Governor," grumbled Nick.

"Nicholas!" Victoria’s tone was stern. "You are conducting business with him. I don’t think your personal feelings about the man are appropriate to share in this place, at this time!"

"Sorry, Mother," Nick smiled sheepishly. Turning to Jarrod, he went on. "We’ll be here for the rest of the week. Wrestling a decent price out of him. Thought we could spend a bit of time with the mysterious, phantom-like Jarrod Barkley who we haven’t seen in months! IF you can get away, that is. What d’y think?"

Jarrod bowed slightly. "I think it’s a splendid notion."

"How are the hearings progressing, dear?" Victoria knew that Jarrod and his committee held the economic future of the entire state in their hands. They had assumed an awesome task. And Jarrod was at the heart of it all. It would be his actions, his sophisticated negotiating maneuvers, that would shape the economic future of their family, since a significant part of the Barkley fortune depended upon shipping regulations that defined the manner in which their citrus crops, mined metals and minerals, and livestock were transported to competitive markets.

"I’ve met with some . . . challenges." He turned his clear blue eyes to his mother, and smiled easily. "Nothing I can’t handle."

"Yes, well, you’ve probably been receiving some . . . moral support to make it all better. Am I right?" Nick dug an elbow into Jarrod’s side. "Sooooo... who is she, big brother?"

Jarrod’s eyes were carefully expressionless as they studied the younger man.

Nick continued, "Oh, now, don’t give me that blank look. You know, the beauty with the flowing black hair? Or, have you grown so accustomed to beautiful women in the months you’ve been away from home that you no longer pay attention to them?"

Jarrod did not respond immediately. He had looked past Nick to the crowded ballroom, and had seen Anne and her nervous dance partner swirling in his direction. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that his mother had followed his gaze, and had also seen Anne. Now, his mother had fixed her wise, perceptive eyes on him.

Steady, old man, he told himself. You knew this was bound to happen. Inevitable that they would find out about her. Eventually. Might as well be now, as opposed to later. Quickly, he made up his mind on a course of action. There was no use in attempting to distract these two. He would deal with them as openly and honestly as he could without revealing too much too soon. The situation was complex. He and Anne would need to prepare themselves for it.

Victoria watched her oldest son’s face. She might not have been able to fathom what his exact thoughts were. But, she knew, with certain accuracy, the subject matter.

"Nick, old man, as usual you have the gentle touch of a bull in a china shop!" Jarrod clasped them each by an arm, and gently led them towards a pair of towering French doors at one end of the ballroom. "Let’s talk in here."

Passing through the doors, the trio found themselves in the dim coolness of the Governor’s conservatory.

"So . . . are you going to tell us about her. Or what?" Nick’s impatient voice sliced through the quietness of the peaceful room.

"Nick, that’s quite enough," Victoria said, sharply.

"Now, Mother, you are just as curious as I am. You’re just too nice to say anything." Nick clapped Jarrod on the arm. "Waiting for a response, big brother. Confession is good for the soul, remember. And don’t try to dismiss her away as merely one in a long line of dance partners. We saw you two together, and if I’m any judge, I’d say you know her quite well!"

Jarrod absent-mindedly stared at a raised bed of tropical lilies that were flourishing in the humid, controlled environment of the Governor’s conservatory. Their cloying, sweet scent seemed to suffocate him, and he took a deep breath.

Victoria shook her head slightly. "I apologize for your brother’s bad manners."

Jarrod turned to face her. "It’s all right, Mother. You saw me dancing with a woman you’ve never seen before. It’s obvious that she is no stranger to me, and you’re curious about her. Well, she is an old friend. Someone I met during the war." He turned to Victoria. "Actually, you know of her, Mother. She’s Anne Devereaux. Edward Devereaux’s daughter."

Victoria nodded. In fact, the Duke of Ebbingshire had been a good friend of her husband’s, and they had worked closely together during the war. In those years, Tom Barkley had spent a great deal of time in Washington, D.C., serving as liaison between a consortium of West Coast ranchers and businessmen, and President Lincoln. The West Coast had represented a powerful economic and political lobby that Lincoln was intent to cultivate and nurture in order to gain their support for his war effort. Tom Barkley had been the man that had made this possible.

During the course of his early visits to Washington, before hostilities broke out, Tom had made the acquaintance of Devereaux within the close-knit group of Lincoln advisors and confidants. They had quickly become friends; each appreciating the strength and power of the other.

Victoria frowned as she thought back to the multitude of trips Tom had made to the East Coast during the war. So many. He’d always justified them, explained them easily. She’d always sensed there was far more going on than her husband was willing to talk about. Edward Devereaux had seemed to be at the core of that mystery.

She shook off her thoughts and turned to Jarrod.

"I only met His Grace once. During a visit I made to Washington before the war started. I remember also meeting his son . . ."

Jarrod nodded. "Charles. Anne was probably still abroad, at school."

Victoria thought for a moment. "Yes, yes, you’re quite right. I do remember, now. She was in Switzerland, at a finishing school, I believe." She gave her oldest son a swift look. "So, you met Anne through your Father?"

"Yes. I’d visit Father, when he was in Washington. When I could get away, that is. Usually, he stayed with the Devereaux’s when he was visiting the area. As you know. By the time the war had begun, Anne had graduated from school, and had returned home."

Victoria looked at Jarrod with sharp eyes. She said in a deceptively soft voice, "You've never mentioned her, before."

Jarrod met her eyes squarely. "No," he said, quietly. "I haven't."

Neither said anything for a long moment. Then, Victoria said, softly, "I would like to meet her. I was so sorry to hear of her father’s death, last year. I sent a letter expressing our condolences, but somehow that seemed so impersonal. I’d appreciate the opportunity to offer my sympathy to her in person."

Jarrod smiled slightly. "Of course, Mother. I’ll see if I can find her in the sea of admirers she always has clustered around. Wait here." He turned on his heel and left the room.

Nick gave his mother a wicked grin. "You are too clever by half."

Victoria gave her son a wide-eyed look of innocence. "Why, Nicholas. I have no idea what you mean by that."

Jarrod spotted Anne across the ballroom. In a far corner, near the main entrance. Predictably, she did have a group of young gentlemen circulating around her. As Jarrod drew closer to the scene, he saw that Anne’s jawbone was stiffly set to accommodate an unflinching smile. She was idly tapping her fan on the arm of her chair. Sure signs of forced conviviality in the face of dwindling patience with her impromptu entourage.

Jarrod smiled slightly. He didn’t know anyone who hated mindless social functions more than Anne. And the scenario before him was a major reason why that was the case. It was time that he pulled her out of there.

Standing apart from the knot of eager young men, Jarrod fixed his gaze intently on her. He knew she’d become aware of him. They were always able to sense each other presence, thoughts, feelings. Part of the unshakable link that connected them to their very cores.

As if on cue, she looked up and met his eyes. Her forced smile became genuine. He inclined his head slightly towards a nearby set of doors leading out to a balcony. She raised an eyebrow to indicate her surprise, then nodded, almost imperceptibly, and rose. Immediately, the men clustered around her clambered to their feet.

Jarrod moved away, passing through the doors and onto the balcony. As he stood there, leaning against the ornate wrought-iron railing, he inhaled deeply, appreciating the cool evening air. It helped to clear his head. He felt a wave of concern sweep over him as he considered how to tell Anne what had just transpired in the conservatory. Straightforward approach, he supposed. How else could he deal with Anne?

"You called?" Her lyrical voice was laced with humor. He turned to her, and caught his breath as he looked at her. Framed by the soft candlelight in the doorway, she was impossibly beautiful.

Vulnerable.

He wanted to pull her into his arms. Press her against him, and never let her go. Instead, he held out a hand to her, and she grasped it firmly in her own. They stood like that for a long moment, at arms length. Each absorbing the essence of the other. Then, reluctantly, Jarrod let go of her hand.

He was keenly aware of the social propriety that dictated their every move. Even on the West Coast where standards were comparatively relaxed. For a man and woman who were not engaged, nor married, to be alone together on the balcony, unchaperoned in this public place, could raise serious questions. To touch each other was beyond the pale. He knew Anne didn’t care if she shocked proper society by being discovered in an uncompromising position. But, he did. For her sake.

"We have a . . . situation . . . on our hands," he said to her.

"A situation?"

"Actually, it’s my family."

She shook her head. "My love, I don’t understand."

"Mother and Nick are here, this evening, Anne. Unexpectedly. At least, I had no idea they’d be here."

"I see," she said, softly, walking to the railing. She turned away from him, and stood quietly in the shadows for a long moment. When she finally spoke, her voice was carefully composed.

"They saw us together?"

"Yes."

"And being the perceptive people I understand them to be, they’ve sensed that we are far more than casual acquaintances. They’re highly curious. Wondering who in the bloody hell I am."

"Something like that."

"This is happening sooner than I thought - - " Anne broke off.

"Certainly, this isn’t the way I’d intended for you to meet them." Jarrod’s gentle voice thickened with suppressed emotion.

"I know that, dear." She took a deep breath. "Well, it does make our current scenario a bit . . . interesting. But, perhaps it is time."

"Only you can ascertain that." Although he had spoken calmly, evenly, Jarrod’s words were heavily coated with his worry and concern.

Anne turned, and faced him squarely. Then, she approached him, not stopping until she was standing as close to him as was possible without actually touching him. The proximity generated a heat of its own that pulsed between their bodies. It was born from a heady intensity, an attraction between them that was exquisite and tortuous all at the same time. It burned from a fire that had never been able to be extinguished.

Looking up into his face, she whispered, "I’ll be fine, Jarrod. I’ll be fine."

Abruptly, she stepped away from him, her heavy skirts swirling around her as she did so. He took a quick breath, almost feeling a physical pain as Anne widened the physical distance between them.

He watched her move again into the shadows, and stand quietly in the shrouded gloom. Sharply, he said, "Are you sure, Anne? Sure you want to go through with this?"

She closed her eyes, steadying herself with effort, before she said, firmly, "Introduce me to them, darling."

He searched her face, and seemed satisfied with what he saw there. He nodded. "All right. In a moment, though." He hesitated.

"Anne, beyond the introductions that are about to take place, we need to decide how to proceed. With the rest of it."

"Can you come to me, tonight, Jarrod?"

He offered her his arm, and began to escort her back into the ballroom, saying, "I was planning on it."

Victoria watched the pair make their way to the Conservatory. She could see that Jarrod had a firm grasp of the young woman’s - - Anne Deferral’s - - arm. He was looking down at her with a protective air.

Protective. From whom was he protecting her? His family?

Anne, on the other hand, floated across the gleaming parquet floor with an easy assurance. Nodding and smiling, pausing to exchange a word with the many guests she knew.

As the two neared the conservatory, another pair of eyes was scrutinizing them. Burning, crazed with anger and a need for revenge, they seared into the two backs as they passed through the doorway of the conservatory. The eyes watched them pause on the threshold for just a moment, as if the two were aware of the impending danger. Then, they entered the room, and were hidden from view.

Anne entered the conservatory with a gentle rustle of her skirts, the faint scent of lavender accompanying her movement.

Jarrod’s voice was firm, relaxed, as he said, "Mother, Nick I have the honor to present to you the Lady Anne Devereaux. Anne, my mother, Mrs. Victoria Barkley, and my brother Nick."

Anne smiled and extended a steady, sure hand to Victoria, who clasped it warmly.

"How do you do, Lady Devereaux," Victoria murmured.

Anne sketched a hint of a curtsey. "Mrs. Barkley, it is a pleasure." She turned to Nick, who seemed to be at a loss for words. Her smile widened.

"Mr. Barkley, how do you do?"

Jarrod laughed. "My dear, you have rendered my brother speechless. Not an easy feat to achieve, I assure you."

Nick accepted Anne’s proffered hand as he glared at Jarrod. "Lady Devereaux. It’s a pleasure."

"The pleasure is mine, I assure you."

Jarrod moved farther into the room. Turning back to the group, he gestured to a grouping of chairs by an ornate stone fountain in the center of the conservatory. "Shall we?" he murmured.

Victoria settled in her chair, and leaned towards Anne, who was seated beside her. "Lady Devereaux, I remember Tom talking about your father. They were such good friends."

"Mrs. Barkley, please. My name is Anne. And yes, they were dear friends. We were all stunned by the news of his death. I’m so sorry for your loss. He was a great man who will be missed."

Victoria heard the genuine sorrow in Anne’s voice.

"Oh, my dear. You’ve taken my words away from me. I wanted to express my condolences to you over the death of your father. Only six months ago, wasn’t it?"

A flash of pain crossed Anne’s eyes. "Yes. Thank you," she murmured. "I know time will dull the grief, but, at the moment that seems quite impossible."

Impulsively, Victoria reached a gloved hand out to the young woman, and placed it lightly on Anne’s arm. "I understand."

Victoria paused, then withdrew her hand, saying, "When you think about it, it’s such a tragic coincidence that they died within months of each other."

She looked up in time to see Anne and Jarrod exchange swift looks. A fleeting message, that obviously said a great deal to each of them. Yet, so subtly communicated that she never would have noticed it if she hadn’t been watching them closely.

"Ya know," Nick's voice broke into her thoughts. "Ever since Jarrod first mentioned your name, I’ve been sitting here, trying to figure out why ‘Devereaux’ was familiar. Now, it’s come to me where I’ve heard it before. Devereaux Stables. The one in Sacramento. And ‘A. Devereaux.’ That’s you, isn’t it, Anne?"

"Guilty as charged," she smiled at him. "I believe we have conducted business with your ranch in the past."

"I finally meet the mysterious A. Devereaux."

Anne exchanged an amused glance with Jarrod.

"Mysterious, Mr. Barkley?"

"It’s Nick. Yes, indeed. I knew you were a woman, of course." He reddened as laughter broke out in response to his choice of words. "Well, you know what I mean."

Anne nodded. "Yes?"

"I just mean that I’ve always dealt with your stable manager when I’ve made my purchases. And never you."

"Devereaux Stables encompasses a number of establishments. Anne can’t be everywhere at once," said Jarrod with a smile.

"Goodness, Anne. How large a concern is it?" asked Victoria, genuinely interested. "And, my name is Victoria, by the way."

Anne inclined her head in acknowledgment. "Our main stable facility is outside Washington, D.C., in Maryland. We also have a smaller concern in New York. In England, we operate extensive stables at my family’s ancestral home in Ebbingshire."

"Well, I have to tell you that some of the best blooded horses I’ve seen on the West Coast come out of your stables." Nick looked at Anne with friendly speculation in his eyes.

"And Nick has a good eye for horseflesh," Victoria smiled at her younger son.

Anne bowed slightly to Jarrod’s brother. "I thank you, sir. I’ll be certain to pass your compliment along to Richard."

"Do you find it difficult. Running such a business?" Victoria was frankly curious.

Anne looked at the older woman, amused, understanding. IT was a common question. Ever since her father had named her head of the stable operations for Devereaux Holdings some three years earlier, she had dealt with a wide range of reactions to her business dealings; from shock, to approval.

"You mean, because I am a woman. Operating in a man’s world? Yes, Victoria. It is a constant challenge. Muted somewhat by the power and money I have supporting me through my family name. And a shameless use of my managers as front men, when necessary."

Victoria’s raised eyebrows spoke of her surprise at Anne’s bluntness.

Anne continued with a broad smile. "And it’s even worse than running the stable operations, I fear. I am also a Director of Devereaux Holdings. Between my brother, Charles, and me, we own controlling interest in the entire series of enterprises that my family has operated for centuries. So, you see, I am quite the shock to polite society."

Victoria returned her smile. "Yes, I certainly do see."

"You seem to be handling it well," said Nick.

Anne appreciated Nick’s dry words. "My father, the Duke, prepared me for this challenge from the time I was in the cradle. Until I left for school, I had the same tutors as my brother, for example. I had actually planned to attend college. But . . . the war made that quite impossible."

Jarrod spoke up. "Anne’s family has never confined their women to traditional roles." He caressed Anne with loving eyes. "It’s one of the things that make them so . . . fascinating."

Anne met his eyes, and they looked at each other for a long moment, frankly unconcerned about their show of affection being observed by Jarrod’s family.

Victoria was struck by their interaction. How natural it seemed. As natural as breathing. She felt a wave of sadness. Loss. This was how she had felt about Tom. It was a rare gift that few couples ever received. Or earned. Because it bespoke of a solid relationship that had been nurtured and tended.

Tested.

She forced her attention back to the conversation swirling around her. Nick was brimming over with curiosity, and had barraged Anne with questions about her stables.

Anne was answering good-naturedly, then turned the tables on Nick, asking him about his ranching operations.

She was good, Victoria thought. Very skillful at deflecting attention away from herself. Drawing the other person out, choosing just the right subject matter guaranteed to encourage the person to open up to her. Nick was responding to her maneuver with all the gusto and enthusiasm he brought to bear when anyone asked him about his beloved ranch.

And then, Anne was asking about Audra and Heath, and Victoria found herself brought under the spell of Anne’s magic.

Jarrod sat back and assessed the scene before him, as he would size up a jury who held the fate of one of his clients in the palms of their hands. Anne’s manner was easy, gracious. Victoria was smiling at her with a genuine friendliness and frank curiosity. Nick was smitten. He smiled to himself. Leave it to Anne to charm them and deflect attention away from herself.

Some minutes later, movement behind Jarrod caught Anne’s eye. It was the figure of her next dance partner outlined in the doorway, clearly distressed, and desperate to catch her eye. The lull between the dance sets had ended. The mazurka had begun.

She turned back to Victoria and Nick. "I’m afraid the Viscount DuMarie is most unhappy with me. I have promised him this dance. If I could presume . . . Jarrod tells me that you will be staying in San Francisco for the next few days. I would consider it an honor if you would agree to join my brother, Charles, and me for dinner at our home here in San Francisco, one night. A quiet evening at Nob House would give us an opportunity to became better acquainted."

Victoria inclined her head graciously. "That would be delightful."

"Splendid," Anne rose, gesturing for the men to remain seated. "I will contact you with details. Until then." She winked ever so slightly at Jarrod. And with a curtsey to the group, she joined the agitated Viscount.

No on spoke for a long moment after she had left the room on the Viscount’s arm. The only sound that could be heard was that of water slipping over decorative stonework in the ornate fountain behind them.

Finally, Victoria said, quietly, "She’s lovely, Jarrod."

Jarrod response was brisk, and matter-of fact. "Yes, she is." He stood up. "How would you both like some punch?"

Nick watched his older brother leave the room. Then, he said, softly, "Well, well, well. I had no idea Pappy had it in him. She’s quite something." He looked at his mother. "Yep. I now know what you meant earlier, Mother. No doubt about it, she is the one. He’s crazy about her."

Victoria was thoughtful, staring into the distance for a long moment. "The feelings appear to be mutual, my dear."

"So, where’s she been all this time?"

It was late that same evening. Anne was pacing in front of the library fireplace in Nob House. Agitated. Struggling to organize her churning thoughts.

Too much was happening too soon. She felt as if she was caught at the heart of a rock slide, plummeting down a cliff to oblivion. She thought of Jarrod. And the significance of meeting his family. Impatiently, she fought down rising panic. She’d come too far, worked too hard, to lose, now. She could not allow her past to control her any longer. Not if she was to have a future with him.

She heard Jarrod enter the room. He crossed the long, elegant room in quick strides, his formal black cape billowing behind him. And then, she was in his arms. And he was kissing her.

She felt the passion rise between them, and she began to be swept away in it, returning his kiss, pressing against him. And then, felt the panic return.

He sensed the change in her, and pulled back slightly to look at her face. In time to see the fear and pain flash across her eyes as she left his arms, and turned away from him.

He reached a hand out and placed it lightly on her shoulder.

"Easy," he gently. "Easy. It’s all right."

She nodded, and dropped her head to the side so that it rested on the top of his hand. They stood like that for a long time. Then, Anne turned back to him and cupped his chin in her hands. She lowered his face to hers, and kissed him gently.

"I love you," she whispered. Then, she released him and walked across the Persian rug to the opposite side of the room.

"How can I make it easier for you, Anne? What can I say to make the past go away?"

She smiled sadly. "The fact that I have you in my life, again, is more than enough."

"But that was through your doing, my dear. Your brave strength. I never left your life."

"No," she said, softly. "I was the one who did that."

She flung herself into an armchair by the fireplace impatiently.

Jarrod sat down in a chair across from her. "Well, the report from the home front is good. They liked you.

She smiled at that. "I’m glad. And I liked them. Just as I knew I would."

"Of course, they’re bursting with curiosity."

"Of course."

They gave each other a long look. Earnest. Searching.

Jarrod said, "We should be as honest as we can with them. Share as much as is possible."

Anne nodded. "We’ll ease them into the truth. In stages, yes?"

"Yes. After the hearings end, I think you should come back to the ranch with me. For a visit. Audra will be bursting at the seams to meet you. And so will Heath, although he won’t show it."

Anne nodded. "Yes. I think that’s a good idea. Assuming we’re both free to make the trip."

Jarrod gave her a swift look. "Have you heard something?"

Anne nodded. "Jonathan will be joining us in - -," she looked at the brass clock on the mantel. "Just about fifteen minutes."

"What the devil does he want with you? You’re already - - ."

"Not just me, my dear. He wants to talk to both of us. On a matter of some urgency. I’m guessing that it will take precedent over our . . . current work."

"It’s always urgent with him."

"Well, I could tell Justin not to answer the door." They both smiled at this. The idea of Jonathan being put off by an unanswered door was preposterous, and they both knew it.

Jarrod rose and walked over to the mantel. "Who would have thought we’d still be involved with him so long after the war?"

"None of us realized that the war wouldn’t end with Appomatox."

"Hell, we’re busier now than we were during the war." He turned to her angrily. "I’m tired of seeing you in the middle of this mess. It’s time Jonathan let you go."

Anne sighed. "We’ve had this conversation . . . how many times in the last year? Grant will never let the organization dissolve. And as long as it exists, we’re involved. We’re simply in too deep to be allowed loose by him."

Jarrod’s eyes burned with their intensity. "Alive, you mean."

They both turned towards the library door as Justin knocked.

"Yes, Justin," Anne called to the butler. "Come in."

Behind the Devereaux servant was a tall, gray-haired man with pale gray eyes that were on fire with intensity.

Anne and Jarrod turned to their Control.

The Dark Watch was in need of their services. Again.