A WHISPER OF ETERNIT

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He didn't argue; instead, he took her by the hand and they walked down the tree-lined path that circled the main house. The air was heavy with the scent of honeysuckle and magnolias. If she tried hard enough, she could pretend that nothing had changed, that there was no war.

When they were out of sight of the house, Dominic drew her into his embrace again, not as a friend this time, but as the man who loved her. To her shame, she went into his arms willingly. He was her only comfort, the only security in a world gone mad, and she clung to him with mindless desperation while he held her and stroked her. It was wrong, so wrong. Her husband, Warren, had been dead less than two years and now her son had gone to war. But, right or wrong, she needed Dominic, needed his strength.

She rested her cheek against his chest, remembering the night they had met three years ago. She had been at a cotillion with her husband when she looked up and saw a tall, dark stranger with piercing gray eyes watching her. She had stared at him, bemused by the feeling that she had met him before—though of course that was impossible. She would never have forgotten a man like that. He lifted one dark brow under her frank regard,then sketched a bow in her direction.

She had been appalled when he asked her to dance. She was a married woman. He was a stranger. Warren had started to protest but she had waved off his objections, saying they must make the newcomer welcome in their midst.

They danced together as though they had done it for years, fit together as though they had been molded one for the other.

They had said little but there was no need for words. When the music ended he had escorted her back to her husband, bowed over her hand, and bid her good evening. They had both known they would meet again. And they had. He seemed always to know whenWarren was away from the plantation. He came to her always in the dark of night, appearing out of the shadows as if he were a part of the darkness itself. He spoke to her of faraway places, read poetry to her, brought her gifts—a hat from Paris, a bit of silk from the Orient, a pair of tortoiseshell combs for her hair, a book of Shakespeare's plays, a silver-backed comb and brush, a gold heart on a fine gold chain. She felt guilty for accepting his gifts, yet she could not refuse.

He was there to comfort her when her mother passed away from a fever. He was there to hold her whenWarren was swept away while trying to save one of the Negro children from drowning in the river.

And he was here tonight, when she needed him most.

"I'll never see Jacob again."

"Libby, you cannot know that. Even I cannot foretell the future."

"I know." She lifted a hand to her heart, a heart that was slowly breaking. "In here."

"Then come away with me, my best beloved one.Now.Tonight. Charles can run the plantation. There is no need for you to stay."

She looked up at him, tears stinging her eyes once again. "Don't you understand? I have to be here for… for Jacob when he… when he comes home. Later, when he doesn't need me anymore, then…"She looked up at Dominic and dissolved into tears .

"As you wish,"he said, drawing her body close to his. "I will not force you, or rush you." He