She awakened with a start to find Macon standing at the foot of the bed,...

She awakened with a start to find Macon standing at the foot of the bed, watching her with a grin stretched across his face. His finger and thumb still lingered on her big toe. Stunned, she scooted toward the headboard, as if it could lend her some protection, her eyes wide. Steven's .45 was in the drawer of the nightstand on his side of the bed. She inched in that direction. "What are you doing here?" she croaked. Macon dragged his eyes over her lush figure, her sleep-rumpled underthings made of the thinnest lawn, and smiled. "You might say I've come to admire the spoils. It won't be long now, Emma, dear. Things are going very badly for Steven. Soon you'll be giving me fine, redheaded sons. Of course, I won't be able to keep you here at Fairhaven-that would be indiscreet. We'll have to get you a place in town." Emma tried to shield her breasts with one arm as she moved nearer and nearer the side of the bed. "You're vile, Macon Fairfax, and I'd sooner die than let you touch me. Now, get out of here before I scream!" "You can scream all you want," he chuckled, spreading his hands wide of his lithe body. "There's nobody here but the servants, and they wouldn't dream of interfering, believe me." Emma swallowed hard. She couldn't be sure whether he was bluffing; after all, this was Macon's house as well as Cyrus's. If he gave instructions, they were probably obeyed. "Get out," she said again. Her hand was on the knob of the nightstand drawer, but she knew she wasn't going to have time to get the pistol out and aim it before Macon was on her. He was too close, and his eyes showed that he knew exactly what she meant to do. "It won't be so bad, Emma," he coaxed, his voice a syrupy croon by then. "I know how to make you happy, and you're in just the right place for me to prove it." "Don't touch me," Emma breathed, shrinking back against the headboard, her eyes wide with horror. "Steven will kill you if you touch me!" "You wouldn't tell him." Macon was standing over her by then, looking down into her face. She could see a vein pulsing at his right temple as he set his jaw for a moment. "You'd keep it to yourself because he wouldn't have a chance in hell of winning this case if he assaulted me in a fit of rage-would he?" Emma's heart was thundering against her ribs and she was sure she was going to throw up. She tried to move away from Macon, but he reached out and grasped her hard by the hair. "Please," she whispered. He indulged in a small, tight smile. "Don't humiliate yourself by begging, darling. It won't save you. Keep your pleas for those last delicious moments before pleasure overtakes you." Bile rushed into the back of Emma's throat. "Let me go." He pressed her flat against the mattress, his hand still entangled in her hair. She gazed up at him in terror, unable to speak at all. The crash of the door against the inside wall startled them both. Emma's eyes swung to the doorway, and so did Macon's. Nathaniel was standing there, still dressed in the suit he'd worn to Steven's trial, his tie loose, his Fairfax eyes riveted on his cousin's face. In his shaking hand was a derringer, aimed directly at Macon's middle. "Let her go," he said furiously. Macon released Emma, but only to shrug out of his coat and hang it casually over the bedpost. "Get out of here, Nathaniel," he said, sounding as unconcerned as if he were about to open a book or pour himself a drink. "This is business for a man, not a boy." Emma was breathing hard, her eyes fixed on Nathaniel, pleading with him. With everything in her, she longed to dive for the other side of the bed and run for her life, but she knew she wouldn't escape Macon. Not without Nathaniel's help. "I won't let you hurt her," the boy said with quiet determination. The derringer, wavering before, was steady now. Macon

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