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flitting around the emotional edges and attack the primary enemy - his mother's madness. Thus, she needed the library, no matter how poorly it fit with her persona.

She bluntly asked for permission to find something new to read, and it was given without question.

When she entered the big room, many books tempted her, but she searched only for the ones that might tell her about Bey's mother's family. Soon she had established that the family appeared to be normal, with only the usual number of untimely deaths.

To check, she consulted different volumes in search of obituaries of his two uncles and an aunt who hadn't lived to a great age. All three obituaries were brief, showing no sign of the brilliance that burned in Bey, but they indicated normal lives and natural deaths. His aunt, mother of six children, had died of smallpox; one uncle of some internal rupture and infection; and the other after eating bad shellfish.

An investigation of two previous generations threw up Mad Randolph Prease, but further research showed that he'd been a hero on the king's side during the civil war, known for his death-defying feats of bravery.

She replaced the last book, sure in her mind that there was no particular hazard in Bey having children, but also knowing she hadn't changed anything. Bey must know his family history. He would have carried out this investigation himself, perhaps more than once. His character, his course in life, was to strive for absolutes. For perfection. Why risk children at all when there was the slightest chance of passing on insanity?

Sitting quietly at a library table, Diana wondered how that could be changed. She had to persuade him to accept fallibility, to accept risk of imperfection. Somehow he had to let go of his belief that the world would falter and fall if he missed one tiny step.

Could any person change that much?

She almost despaired, but then she remembered the kiss. The kiss she'd stolen from him in the shadows the day before. A week ago, he would have stopped her and escaped, but yesterday he had submitted and accepted.

At the White Goose, he had not intended their joining, but it had happened, the first break in his control. That had been in extremis, however. The kiss had not. Though troubled, he'd had his wits and strength, and still he had accepted it. In the end, she had been the one to step apart. The thought gave her blessed hope. Perhaps he could allow himself the gift of human fallibility.

She rose and looked around at the walls filled with books, containing the wisdom of the ages. Ironic that in the end it came down to human will and action, imperfect though it was.

She was determined, however. At the masquerade she would be Diana. Pray God her hunt did not end in tragedy.

To account for her time in the library she picked two books, one of poetry and one of travels in Virginia. When she returned to the queen she was commanded to read from the latter, and it proved to be entertaining, passing the time.

When she eventually retired for the evening, Diana planned a focused analysis of her situation, and the drawing up of a strategy for the masquerade. However, she found that the Diana costume had arrived, and had to try it on. She stripped down to her shift then put it on top.

"No stays, milady?" Clara asked, scandalized.

"They would be ridiculous under this." All the same, Diana was a little taken aback by the revealing nature of the gown.

The fine linen was opaque and the artless folds were constructed over a sturdy lining. All the same, it left one shoulder naked, and seemed to cling to her figure. Her hips and bottom, normally hidden beneath hoops and skirt, were clear beneath the drape of cloth. Her breasts, normally confined and kept still, protruded and... moved! She took a few dancing steps, and they definitely moved. What was worse, in moments, her nipples pushed forward at the fabric.

"Stays," said Clara firmly. "Or at least a binding, milady."

It was tempting, but it would ruin the effect. This gown was supposed to be worn like this. And anyway, she remembered Bey's reaction to her breasts, the way he'd looked at them, touched them, tasted them...

Her nipples poked forward shamelessly, and she knew her cheeks were turning red. Oh, she couldn't -

When her whole life lay in the balance?

Of course she could. She'd seduce him at the ball if