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could bear that!'
    He caught her by the wrist and pulled her after him through the french windows into what was obviously his study. A coal fire burned in the grate, giving out a welcome heat after the cool air from outside. There was a desk on one side of the room, on which were some papers that he had been working on when he had seen her feet appearing through the window. In front of the fire were two leather armchairs, dark with age, but as comfortable now as they had been when they had first been acquired in the latter days of Queen Victoria.
    Domenico switched on a light over his desk and another one behind one of the chairs, snapping out the overhead with his free hand. Deborah made a small effort to reclaim her wrist from his hold, but his only response was to tighten the grasp of his fingers, pulling her round to face him. The shadows on his face gave him an arrogant look that sent her heart rushing into a new and painful tattoo of half joyful, half fearful anticipation.
    'The clothes are yours!'
    She shook her head. 'I can't accept them from you.
    You must see that I can't! If my father pays for them, I'll wear them then.'
    'You'll wear them now if I have to put them on you with my own hands!' he threatened her grimly.
    'Domenico, I have to go!' she insisted.
    'Back to Michael Doyle?'
    'And to the others too. You must see that it's the best thing—for both of us!'
    He sat down on the nearest chair, pulling her on to his knee with a firmness that came as a relief to her trembling limbs. She didn't object at all when he pushed her head back on to his shoulder and anchored her there with a loving hand.
    'You had better forget all about Michael Doyle,' he said at last. 'If I had my way you'd never see him again!'
    It was hard to think clearly about Michael or anyone else with his dark, Roman face so close to hers. If she stayed in the same room with Domenico any longer, she would never want to leave at all.
    'I like Michael!' she said loudly.
    His anger was every bit as exciting as she had expected it to be, but she could not allow him to cloud her judgment by kissing her again. 'Why won't you let me go?' she asked sadly.
    'You ask me that?' he demanded. 'You ask me that now} Can't you feel how much I want you, sweetheart? If I had my way with you, would you still want to run away from me, back to this Michael of yours?'
    She tossed her head in the air, breaking free of his restrictive hold on her. 'Why shouldn't I? It wouldn't change Alessandra's position in your life, would it? So why should it change Michael's in mine?'
    Her heart missed a beat at the contemptuous look on his face. 'He would accept you as his wife knowing you had already given yourself to another man?'
    She shrugged her shoulders, trying not to cry. 'Why not? Alessandra must know she isn't the first woman in your life!'
    Domenico ripped her off his knee and stood up, his face as bleak as she could have wished. 'Alessandra is better not discussed by you!' he bit out. 'I think you had best go back to your room, signorina , before the temptation to still your tongue becomes too much for me! I am trying to remember that you are a guest in my house and that your defences are unlikely to be as strong against me as you pretend. In fact I could bend you to my will as easily as that!' He flicked his fingers under her nose. 'Could I not, Miss Beaumont?'
    'Yes,' she whispered, more scared than she liked to admit.
    His expression softened. 'Yes,' he repeated after her. 'Remember that, cara mia, the next time you pit your strength against mine! You can only win if I allow you to!'
    'But '
    He bent his head, brushing his lips against hers. 'There are no buts, Miss Beaumont. As my prisoner you must learn to do as you're told. Is it understood?'
    And not try to escape again? Was she a coward not to even want to try?
    'Yes, signore ,' she said meekly, too meekly. Then she flung back her head and looked him straight in the eyes. 'But you can't stop me thinking about