a thing to you. I'm not asking anything from you. All I want is to play my grandfather's piano when you are not using it. What problem could that possibly pose you? What do you want?”

“I want you to go away. I don't like you,” Aimée said brutally.

Katerina shrugged. “You don't have to like me. You have Grandfather. Isn't

that enough?”

A flash of something… softer appeared for a moment behind the singer's

eyes.

She does care for him, in her way, Katerina realized, though she didn't quite understand how to integrate that knowledge with Mme St. Jean's threats towards

Christopher.

Aimée's expression hardened. “I don't want you in my space. This room is mine. I belong here. You're intruding. You're not a real musician.”

“I disagree.” Katerina met Aimée's eyes with a squinty glare.

“You think you're better than me?” Aimée challenged, puffing up in

indignation.

“I have no way of knowing,” Katerina snapped, growing even more annoyed

by the woman's continuing rudeness. “I've never heard you perform. Besides, it's

not a competition. I just want to share this space from time to time. I can't

imagine why you have such a problem with that.”

“Competition?” The French woman's sea-blue eyes turned considering. “Yes,

very good. A competition. I challenge you, Mrs. Bennett, to a musical

competition. It can take place during the party. Each of us will sing three songs

and then everyone will choose who is the better musician, you or me. The winner gets exclusive rights to the music room for the remainder of your visit.”

“I would rather play than sing,” Katerina requested, swept along by the

emotion of the conversation and agreeing to something she hadn't taken the time

to consider.

“Non. A singing competition. It won't be fair if we are not on the same instrument.”

Katerina felt trapped. How can I refuse? Maybe on the piano I would stand a

chance, but singing? On voice, she felt very much like the dilettante she'd been named. Casting about for any logical objection, she blurted, “Who will

accompany?”

“We accompany ourselves.”

If I can play as well, I might have a chance. Heart pounding, she took a deep breath and released it in a wave of nausea that almost rivaled the worst of her seasickness. She swallowed down a gag. “Very well. I accept your challenge, on

two conditions.”

“Yes?” One blonde eyebrow shot upward.

“You have to let me practice,” Katerina replied with all the firmness she had left in her.

“I suppose.” Mme St. Jean rolled her eyes. “You get one hour in the morning,

six to seven, and one in the evening.”

Katerina nodded. I hope it's enough. “And you stay away from Christopher.”

The woman's smile turned feral. “Worried, are you? How do you know I will

keep my word?”

Katerina didn't reply and Aimée didn't promise. Instead, she stalked from the

room.

Katerina turned back to the pianoforte and began to practice for all she was

worth. What in the world have I done? Gotten caught up in a silly quarrel over a

musical instrument? Let myself get so angry I made a foolish decision? What's

wrong with me? The piano isn't that important, but Christopher is. I cannotallow that little tramp to seduce my precious husband.

It was a feeling the likes of which Katerina had never imagined; sharp,

painful and disconcerting. Christopher is mine, and no brassy French tart will threaten what we have.

In the master suite, Alessandro woke to the pleasurable sensation of Aimée's luscious naked curves pressed against him. He had met her over a year ago when

he was planning his son's birthday party. Entranced by her golden beauty and her

flirtatious manner, he had boldly invited her to share his bed and had been shocked when she agreed. In the years since his wife's death, he'd been rather chaste, but Aimée drove all such thoughts from his mind.

Their affair had progressed from occasional encounters when he hired her to