Whitney, My Love

He was watching her, his expression pleased and confident. "You do that very well," Whitney complimented, hoping to sound as if she were competent to judge.

"Thank you," Paul said, looking mildly irritated. "Is that conclusion based upon your vast experience in France?"

Whitney sat down on the swing, smiled at him, and said absolutely nothing. Pushing hard with the toe of her slipper, she sent the swiag backward. On the second sweep, Paul's strong hands shot out, caught her at the waist and plucked her unceremoniously off her moving chair and into his arms. "You infuriating, outrageous brat." He chuckled. "If I don't watch myself I'll be more insane about you than those mincing fops in Paris were."

"They weren't," Whitney protested weakly as his mouth covered hers, "mincing fops."

"Good," he murmured huskily, "because I would hate being in such poor company."

Whitney's heart somersaulted. "Meaning?" she whispered against his lips.

"Meaning," Paul answered, his arms tightening around her, his mouth begi

Two hours later, Whitney floated dreamily into the house, inquired after her aunt and was informed by Sewell that her aunt, her father, and Mr. Westland were together in her father's study. She shot a cautious glance down the hall to be certain she hadn't been seen, then hurried up the stairs to her room. Nothing, absolutely nothing, would spoil her happiness, and seeing Clayton Westland was about the only thing that could do it. With a sigh of relief, Whitney closed the door to her room and flopped across the bed, hugging her memories of the afternoon to her heart.

Tears sparkled in Lady A

Chair legs scraped against the floor as Martin Stone stood up and came around from behind his desk. "I would not have told you about all this yet; however, his grace felt that you should be made aware of the arrangements. I hope I don't have to remind you that you gave your solemn word to remain silent about everything we discussed?"

A

Apparently encouraged by her silence, Martin softened his tone slightly. "I will admit to you that I was not best pleased when I saw that you had accompanied Whitney, but since you're here, you could be of great assistance. I want you to express approval of the duke to Whitney. She respects your opinion, and the sooner she develops a fondness for him, the better off we'll all be."

At last, A

"Rubbish! She scarcely knows him."

"She knows him well enough to despise him. I have it from her own lips."

"Then I shall rely upon you to change her opinion."

"Martin, are you blind? Whitney is in love with Paul Sevarin."

"Paul Sevarin is hard put to hold his own place together," Martin snorted. "All he could offer her is a life as a house drudge."

"Nevertheless, it is still Whitney's decision to make."

"Poppycock! The decision was mine to make, and I made it."

A

Having delivered this diatribe, he stalked to the door. "I shall expect your cooperation in all this, for Whitney's sake, if not for mine."

Chapter Thirteen

WHTTNEY GREETED THE NEWS THAT CLAYTON WAS TO DINE WITH them the following evening with all the enthusiasm she would have felt for a public flogging. Nevertheless, her father liked the man, and Whitney was prepared to endure him for her father's sake.

They dined at eight o'clock, with her father at one end of the long, damask-covered table and Lady A

Surprisingly, the other three managed quite well without her, and the conversation became animated as the evening wore on.

As soon as dessert was cleared away, Whitney stood and excused herself, pleading an impending attack of the vapors. She thought she saw Clayton's lips twitch, but when her narrowed gaze searched his face, he seemed to be regarding her with polite concern and nothing else. "Whitney has the constitution of an ox," her father was reassuring his guest as Whitney walked out of the room.

During the next two weeks, Paul called for her every day. Her life took on a dreamlike quality, spoiled only by the frequency with which she had to endure Clayton's company in the evenings. However, she bore it without complaint for her father's sake. No matter what Clayton said or did, Whitney was unfailingly cool, polite, and distant. Her withdrawn formality pleased her father (who mistook it for ladylike reserve); irritated Clayton (who apparently never mistook anything); and, for no reason Whitney could understand, seemed to worry her aunt.

In fact, Whitney thought A

Whitney decided that the cause of her aunt's odd behavior was loneliness for her husband. "I know how dreadfully you must miss Uncle Edward," Whitney sympathized one evening two weeks later, when they were to dine with Clayton at his house for the first time.

Aunt A

"Childhood romances," her aunt replied, "always seem so real, so enduring, when we are separated from the object of our affection. But usually, when we return, we find that our dreams and memories quite surpassed reality."

Whitney jerked around without a thought for poor Clarissa, who was busily applying a brush to Whitney's long hair. "You can't think Paul is a 'childhood romance.' Well, he was of course, but not any longer. We are going to be married, precisely as I always dreamed we would be. And very soon."

"Has Paul mentioned marriage to you?"

When Whitney shook her head and started to reply, A