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"You locked me out just the way she does," he snapped. "It's not right. I won't have it." He came closer. When he was only a few feet away, I smelled the whiskey on his breath. That frightened me even more. I cringed, pulling the blanket up against my body.

"Please, go away, Tony. I'm afraid of you and I can't stand what you did to me. Just thinking about it makes me sick. Please, just leave."

"Oh, you must not feel that way. You must fight these fears. Is that why you lock your door and find excuse after excuse to stay away from me?" he asked, confusing me with my mother again.

"No, Tony. I'm not Jillian. I'm Leigh. Can't you understand? Don't you listen?"

"Still full of anger, but anger is a passion. Don't you see? You're full of desire, full of yearning and lust. You must not ignore that voice within yourself," he said and sat down quickly on the bed. I backed away, thinking I would hop off the bed on the other side and run from him; but he was too quick, anticipating my avenue of escape. He reached out and seized my wrist, turning it until I could keep my hands clasped to the blanket no longer. I cried out in pain and he released me, but he leaned over my legs and waist.

"It's a beautiful night, a romantic night, a night lovers dream of having."

"We're not lovers, Tony," I moaned through my tears. "Sure we are. Forever and forever, I am linked to you through my work."

"GET AWAY FROM ME!" I cried when he put his hand on my thigh. "My mother will know of this, of all of it. She will know what you did to me last night and she will hate you forever and ever and leave you," I said, spitting my words. Anger was better than fear.

But he laughed again.

"You're going to tell your mother? Tell her what? What she already knows, or I should say, hopes. Who do you think drove me to you, pushed me forward, encouraged me? Who suggested I use you as my model, my nude model? I'm not stupid. I know why she's done this; but I've accepted it, desired it myself. You are beautiful, and will be more beautiful than she is. Don't you think she knows that too and don't you think it eats away at her?"

"No," I screamed. "These are all lies."

"Are they?" He laughed. "She thought you and I made love in the cottage and tolerated it.

"Liar!" I swung out at him, but he caught my tiny fist in the air and held- it.

"We don't keep secrets from each other. I tried to get her jealous, to get her to want me more, so I told her, told her how you got excited and demanded I make love to you once I had you pose and once I touched you. Do you know what she said? She said at least you learned from a master, from a consummate lover. Oh, I knew she was just flattering me, but she really wasn't upset."

"She wouldn't say that," I said shaking my head. "She wouldn't." I pulled my wrist free. "You don't even know her. You say you don't keep secrets from each other, but she has kept a big one from you," I said as spitefully as I could. "You don't even know her true age. You think she's years and years younger than she really is. She would never confide in you completely."

"Oh, I know her true age, my sweet," he said calmly, so calmly it made my heart sink. "I looked into her past fully. Unfortunately my love for her blinded me and I waited until after the wedding to do so. She'll never know how betrayed I felt--that she would have kept such a thing from me--ME who worshipped the very ground she walked on. Now I let her live in her dream world. What harm does it do?"

"No, you're lying again. Get away, get out!" I pushed at him, but he took hold of both my wrists this time and pulled me to him, kissing me roughly on the lips. I struggled to break free, but he was too strong. My mouth was left with the taste of his whiskey and it made me sick.

He stood up on his knees to lean over me and press my hands back to the pillow.

"You're more beautiful now because you're fresh and far more innocent. You're right: there's no deceit in you. You are truly the portrait doll," he added and brought his lips to my neck again.

Once again, I twisted and turned beneath his body, and once again he fit himself between my legs, taking me the same way. It was like a recurring nightmare. I cried, I pleaded, I begged, but his ears were closed to everything but the voices he heard within himself, voices of desire and lust that would not be denied.

All through his forced lovemaking, he confused me with my mother, alternatingly calling me "Jillien" and then moaning, "Leigh." I closed my eyes and turned my head away from him to deny what was happening, what he was doing to me. My body lifted and fell beneath his. There was no way I could stop it.

Opening my eyes before he was finished, I saw Angel on the pillow beside me. I struggled to get my right hand free of his and worked it loose enough to take hold of my precious portrait doll and turn her face away, for in her eyes, I saw my own terror and sorrow.

After that, I just squeezed my eyelids shut and waited for it to end.

After he had spent himself, he lay over me for some time before rising like a sleepwalker and leaving me. I didn't move. My wrists ached and my face felt as if he had brought sandpaper to it. I wept until I thought my heart would break.

Finally when I had cried ten waterfalls of tears, I closed my eyes and pulled the blanket back over me and Angel. Then I turned, buried most of my face in the soft pillow, and waited for sleep.

In the morning I rose with the first rays of sunlight and scurried out of my mother's suite and back to my own, where I crawled into bed. Troy came looking for me, but told him I wasn't feeling well

. He went running out to tell Tony and the servants. Moments later, Mrs. Carter, one of our older maids, appeared to see what was wrong, All I told her was I wasn't feeling well. She said she would bring up some breakfast.

"Do you want me to have Mr. Tatterton see you?"

"No," I cried quickly. "I don't want to see anyone until my mother arrives."

"No doctor?"