Free Thunder and Roses by Mary Jo Putney

masculine mystery, so that if he behaved so outrageously again she would be able to take it more in stride?
     
    Even as she formulated the thought, she knew it was a lie. The simple truth was that her willpower was not strong enough to prevent her from returning. Face tight with self-reproach, she turned and quietly retraced her steps through the grove. When she reached the edge of the woods, she concealed herself behind a shrub, knowing that if Nicholas saw her, she would die of shame.
     
    His back to Clare, he was walking into the water, his skin glowing golden in the sunlight. She stared, fascinated, at the strong arc of his spine and the taut muscles of his buttocks and thighs as they flexed with every step. He was gloriously pagan, as much in harmony with nature as the wind and the trees.
     
    She caught her breath, heart aching with the knowledge that she could never be Eve to his Adam.
     
    When the water was thigh-high, a penguin whizzed by him. Instantly he dived forward and vanished, staying under so long that Clare began to feel concerned. Then he surfaced halfway across the lake, laughing and surrounded by penguins, his black hair slicked over his head and neck.
     
    How many other women had seen him like this and yearned over his beautiful, masculine body?
     
    How many women had he casually seduced and forgotten?
     
    The thought instantly sobered her. Nicholas was a rake and a philistine who made no attempt to deny that he had done despicable things. Clare’s presence in his life was accidental and temporary; instead of mooning over him like a lovestruck milkmaid, she must concentrate on surviving the next three months with her dignity and reputation intact.
     
    And yet the sight of him stirred emotions that she had not known she was capable of feeling.
     
    Blindly she slipped into the woods and made her way back to the horses. Feeling shaky and horribly alone, she put her arms around Rhonda’s neck and hid her face against the warm skin.
     
    With a sick feeling in her stomach, she recognized that she was vulnerable to Nicholas’s lethal charm. When she had accepted his challenge, she had believed herself too strong, too moral, to succumb to the weaknesses of the flesh. Yet a few hours in his company made her suspect that his wiles might be more potent than her principles.
     
    If Clare was the woman people thought she was, she would have the strength to resist, but she wasn’t.
     
    She was a fraud.
     
    All her life, she had worked hard to convince those around her that she was truly spiritual. She had been the model of a devout Methodist, helping those in need, offering comfort to those who were afflicted. And her charade had been successful, for it had never occurred to anyone to doubt the faith of Thomas Morgan’s daughter.
     
    Yet in her heart, she carried the shameful knowledge that she was an impostor. Never had she experienced the passionate inner knowledge of God that was the heart and soul of her religion. Not once had she known the ecstasy of divine grace, though she had seen it in those around her.
     
    That failure had been her dark secret, never revealed to anyone. Not to her father, who assumed that her spirit was as true as his own; not to Owen Morris, who as her class leader was also her spiritual director.
     
    It wasn’t that she lacked faith. She truly believed that the world was shaped by divine purpose; that it was better to behave with kindness than cruelty; that service was life’s highest purpose. Most of all, she believed—she needed to believe—that deeds were more important than words. When the time came for her to be judged, perhaps her works would outweigh her spiritual failings.
     
    She pressed her fist to her mouth to suppress a despairing sob. It was horribly unfair— she was not an innocent pagan who could respond to Nicholas without guilt. Yet neither was her faith powerful enough to give her the strength to withstand him serenely.
     
    But of one thing she