Shattered Rainbows by Mary Jo Putney Page A

her the tabby, because her fragile peace of mind vanished along with him. She had not realized how safe he had made her feel until he was gone.
    When she glanced down and saw the scorched hem of her nightgown, panic began rising again. She pulled Michael's jacket closer around her shoulders. It still carried his body heat. When he had wrapped the garment around her, the tenderness of the gesture had brought her near tears again. She had not felt so cared-for since she was a child.
    Tartly she reminded herself that she had escaped unscathed and there was no excuse for hysteria. A towel was draped over the arm of her chair, so she lifted it and blew her nose. Then she concentrated on soothing the nervous cat. By the time Michael returned, the tabby was purring and Catherine had regained a semblance of calm.
    "Drink up. You need this." He splashed brandy into two glasses and gave her one, then settled in the opposite chair. He sat casually, one arm resting on his upraised knee, but his watchful gaze was on
her face.
    "Thank you." She sipped the brandy, grateful for the way it warmed her bones. "Since we couldn't live without fire, I've had to suppress my fear of it. I didn't know how much terror was lurking inside me. If you hadn't been here, I probably would have stood like a frightened rabbit while I burned."
    "You're entitled to your fear," he said quietly. "Quite apart from your parents' tragedy, far too many women have died or been horribly injured in accidents exactly like yours."
    "Thanks to you, that didn't happen." She leaned back in her chair, rubbing the cat's chin with one finger as she drank.
    Odd how the fire that had terrorized her was now so pleasant, its ruddy glow finding auburn highlights in Michael's hair. At their first meeting, she had found his austere good looks unsettling. He had reminded her of a finely honed sword, a quality she had glimpsed in other men who were born warriors. Very quickly she had discovered his humor, but it had taken near-catastrophe for her to recognize his kindness.
    She did not realize that she had emptied her glass until he rose and poured more for both of them. She regarded the brandy doubtfully. "You're going to get me tipsy."
    "Perhaps, but with luck you'll sleep soundly."
    She thought of the nightmares she had experienced after her parents had died, and took a deep swallow. Wanting to talk about something safe, she said, "Charles Mowbry mentioned that you were a member of a group called the Fallen Angels. It that a club?"
    He made a deprecating gesture. "It's only a foolish label that fashionable society slapped on four of us who have been friends since Eton. It originated in the fact that two of us have archangel names, and the other two, Lucien and Nicholas, acquired the rather sinister nicknames Lucifer and Old Nick."
    She smiled. "I've known a lot of young officers over the years, and from what I've observed, I'd bet that you enjoyed having diabolical reputations."
    Laughter showed in his eyes. "We did, actually, but now that I am respectably adult I don't like to admit it."
    "Are you all still friends?"
    "Very much so." His expression was wry. "Nicholas's wife, Clare, said we adopted each other because our families were less than satisfactory. I suspect she was right. She usually is."
    The oblique comment made Catherine wonder what Michael's family was like. Now that she thought of it, when his noble relations were mentioned, he was always curt to a point just short of rudeness. But it wasn't hard to see him as a fallen angel, handsome and dangerous. "What are your friends like?"
    He smiled a little. "Imagine a great long wall blocking the path as far as one can see in both directions. If Nicholas came to it, he would shrug and decide he didn't really need to go that way. Rafe would locate whoever was in charge of the wall and talk his way past it, and Lucien would find some stealthy way to go under or around without being seen."
    "What about you?"
    His smile turned