Shoving the letters into the waistband of her skirt, she spoke without turning around. "I'm afraid you won't be able to take all the books. You'd sink the dinghy. Perhaps even the steamer."


"What do you think you're doing?" he asked.


"Packing," she replied, jamming the sugar bowl into a wicker basket. She folded the tablecloth, refusing

to halt her frenetic activity long enough to look at him.


She heard the betraying shuffle of claws across the dirt floor. Fluffy had taken advantage of the open door to skitter in.


She picked up another teacup, praying her clumsy motions would not betray her. "You'd best leave the lizard with me. You'd look odd walking him on a leash in Kensington Gardens. I suggest you buy a nice English bulldog instead."


Justin's footfalls sounded behind her. The cup slipped from her hand and struck the edge of the table, shattering.


"You're going with me, Emily."


She crouched and gathered up the fragile bits of china. There would be no gumming them back together this time. The pieces were too jagged to fit.


"No," she said softly. "I'm not."


He caught her arm and pulled her around to face him. "Why not?"


She inclined her head, fearful of finding her own pain mirrored in his tawny eyes. "I can't go back to England with you."


He was silent for a long moment. She could almost hear the facile little wheels of his mind clicking.

"If you're in trouble with the law, Emily, I can help you. I'm an influential man now. I'll have an army

of barristers at my disposal."


She laughed weakly. "Probably a few judges as well."


His fingers bit into her arm. "What is this? Your brave attempt at gallows humor?"


Tilting her face to his, she flattened her quavering voice to dead calm. "Unless you care to tie me up

and put me on that ship, I'm not going."


Justin was tempted to do just that. But as he gazed down at her, he didn't see her pale and drawn as she was now. He saw her pelting down the beach with the children, her curls dancing, her merry, freckledface turned to the sun. He saw her swaying in the firelight with sensual abandon, her skirt billowing around her ankles. Try as he might, he could not imagine her trapped in the winter chill of London, her glow fading to pallor beneath a gray sky dulled with soot.


Grief stabbed him, fresher than anything he'd felt at the news of his father's death. Emily was right. She didn't belong in London any more than he did. She belonged here, bathed by sunlight and sea, cloaked in the sweet melodies and loving grace of the Maori. Despite her tough veneer, she was a wild, fragile

bloom that would surely wither if transplanted.


He paced away from her, raking a hand through his hair. If it weren't for David's child, he would stay. But he couldn't offer Emily a heart unfettered by the past until he'd repaid that old debt. "I have to go.

I have no choice."


"I know."


Why didn't she cry? Why didn't she throw herself at his feet and beg him to stay? Her damnable pride was tearing him apart. A fierce regret touched him. He should have taken her last night, forged the bond between them that much stronger. What a joy it would have been to return to find her splashing through the waves, rosy and plump with his child!


"I shouldn't be gone for more than a few months. I'm leaving Perifeld with you."


"You can't. You'd break his heart. He'd never forgive you if he missed a shopping expedition to Fleet Street. Trini can look in on me if you'd like, but I'm really quite good at looking after myself."


He snorted. "This from a woman who fell off a boat in the middle of the Tasman Sea?"


She shrugged. "I tripped over my boot lace."


His shoulders slumped in helpless laughter. "Christ, Em, what am I going to do without you?" Aching

with longing, he reached to fold her in his arms.


She backed away, her dark eyes aflame with the dangerous sparkle of tears. "Please, don't. I detest good-byes."


With those words she spun around and fled the hut, leaving him to gaze at the barren table and wonder how she could have swept his heart so empty with a single careless stroke.


* * *


Emily stood alone on the bluff, gazing out to sea. Her fingers trailed absently over the blunt peak of the wooden cross.


The sun's splintered rays bathed her face in warmth. She closed her eyes. The wind raked her with

tender fingers, fresh and pure like a melody never to be heard by any ears but her own. Its beauty made her ache. But when she opened her eyes they felt as dry and barren as the withered husks of the flowers rustling at the base of the cross.


She was waiting for Justin. She knew he would come. She had seen him on the beach below saying his good-byes -embracing Trini, grasping the sun-browned hands of the solemn natives, lifting Dani to his shoulders for a last ride.


The Winthrop steamer loomed like a dark blot on the misty azure and jade of a wet painting. Justin

didn't make a sound, but Emily knew he was behind her.


"I hate ships," she said. "They're always taking people away."


"But they bring them back too."


She turned to face him, hugging back a shiver as if the wind were cold instead of warm. A jolt of shock raced through her. She had never seen Justin in anything but his faded dungarees. Seeing him fully clothed now was somehow more erotic than his near nakedness. He wore no coat, but a handsome waistcoat covered a shirt pressed to crisp perfection. Her mouth went dry with unexpected longing.


The shirt hung loosely over his broad shoulders. Tenderness washed over her for the brawny young prospector who had come to New Zealand filled with dreams and hope. But she wouldn't have traded

a single thread of silver from his temples to have that man back.


His lean form suited the elegance of his garb. Emily felt sorely lacking in her primitive skirt. She shuffled her feet in the sand, fighting a desperate shyness. "I've never seen you with shoes before."


He cast the polished leather a woeful glance. "They pinch like hell."


She drew in a breath, but instead of the laugh she had intended, a broken sob burst forth. Justin reached for her. She melted into him, throwing her arms around him like a bereft child.


He held her as if he would never let her go, kissing her nose, rubbing his stubbled chin against her cheek, mingling her tears into a salty balm against his seeking lips.


He buried his mouth in her hair. "I'll be back for you, Emily. I swear it."


Her slender shoulders convulsed beneath Justin's hands. Her small fists opened and closed against his back, and in the desperation of her grasp he realized something that cut him almost as deeply as leaving her.


She didn't believe him.


With staggering reluctance he dragged himself out of her embrace. He reached in the inner pocket of his waistcoat and drew out a box.


"I have no ring to give you. All I have is this." His hands shook as he dropped the lid in the sand and

drew out the shining rope of gold.


The watch dangled between them, casting shards of sunlight across Emily's tear-stained face. She sucked in a shuddering breath as he lowered the chain over her head. The watch fell between her breasts, golden bright against her tanned skin.


He cupped her face between his palms and gave her one last kiss, hot, sweet, and fierce with promise. Then he started down the hill, nearly stumbling in his haste to leave her before his will faltered.


"Justin Connor!"


The croaked bellow brought him to a sliding halt. He shaded his eyes against the sun and looked back

at the bluff.


Emily was jumping up and down, waving her arms. "Show them you're the best damned duke England has ever seen! Better than Prince Albert. Better even than the Duke of Wellington. And tell

Mr. Thaddeus Swinestocking his spit isn't fit to polish your shoes!"


He wouldn't have to. The hefty agent was standing beside the dinghy, his fat jowls drooping in consternation.


Justin touched his fingers to his lips, then spread them toward Emily in a silent salute.


"Buy Penfeld some china!" she shouted, cupping a hand around her mouth. "Wedgwood jasperware

with a floral pattern."


The natives watched with solemn eyes as he climbed into the dinghy. The sailors used the long oars to shove them away from the shore. Penfeld perched awkwardly in the bow, clutching the sides of the boat with whitened fingers. Justin didn't dare look at him. If his valet's fat little chin quivered the tiniest bit, Justin feared he would throw himself overboard and swim back to Emily even if they were halfway to England.


"Don't forget that English bulldog! He'll need a spiked collar. Keep him away from poodles. They're not real dogs, you know, just rats with curly hair and you mustn't breed . . ." Her hoarse voice was fading.


The oars parted the water in long, rippling strokes, shoving away the shoreline. A plaintive melody filled the air, sonorous and sweet.