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and he whistled softly under his breath. “Hinting for some fun? Can’t take you up on it. Might get frostbite.”
    Caroline grimaced. This was hopeless. “I’m not goingto ask you to tell me your name. Primitive organisms don’t have names. But I assure you that you’ll hear about this from the owner.”
    “Already heard.” It was obvious that he’d been waiting for this moment. He bowed and smiled with grand satisfaction. “That’s me. The owner.”
    Her back stiffened slowly. Then one corner of her mouth drew up in sardonic amusement.
    Watching, Paul gave her credit for having a sense of humor.
    “Dr. Belue, I presume,” she said flatly.
    “
Blue
to my friends.” He paused. “But you can call me Dr. Belue.”
    “Oh, I intend to.”
    Even behind the dark sunglasses he could tell that her eyes were wide with astonishment over his identity. What color were those eyes? He had an overwhelming need to find out. With a quick, catlike flick of his hand he slipped the glasses off her face.
    He’d never forget her reaction as long as he lived. Her eyes—he didn’t even notice their color—narrowed in distress. One hand flew toward the left side of her face, then wavered as if she were ashamed of her reaction, and dropped back to her side.
    She glared up at him, knowing that he couldn’t help staring at the jagged white scar that ran from the corner of her left eye back into the hair at her temple, hating the fact that the good, honest challenge in his gaze softened with pity.
    Caroline jerked her sunglasses out of his hand and nearly stabbed herself in the eyes putting them on again. Then she turned the air blue with invective. She’d do anything to make him fight again. Anything was better than sympathy.
    He cocked his head to one side and gave her a rebuking look that was even more upsetting because she sensed that he understood her defensiveness.
    Shaking, Caroline withdrew behind her icy facade. Her voice dropped to a low level that was at least formal, if not calm. “You’re about as likable as a bad fungus, and I’d rather spend time in hell than in this sweltering little backwoods Eden. But I’ll survive. I want a room. Your best room, with air-conditioning. It better have a telephone. And I’ll give your cook a grocery list. I’m a vegetarian.”
    Anger clouded his gaze again. “You’re a pain in the ass, Mademoiselle Fitzsimmons,” he corrected her.
    “Precisely. I’ve had years of practice and the best teachers.”
    She turned on one heel and went back to the car. She slammed the door and sat in the dim, quiet interior, staring straight ahead, tears glittering in her eyes.
    Her triumphant return to Louisiana didn’t feel that way at all.

Two
    Her visions of Scarlett and Rhett faded as soon as she saw the main house. This was Tara
after
the war.
    “This is a punishment,” she said numbly. “I’ve been cursed.”
    The driver set her luggage on the patio and waited expectantly. Caroline dabbed at her dewy face with a pink tissue and tried to forget what Dr. Belue had just done to her emotions.
    Grande Rivage hadn’t been grand for at least fifty years. She leaned against the limousine, staring up at large columns devoid of paint and an upstairs gallery that sagged slightly on one side. Dingy, torn curtains fluttered in the windows. Peeling white shutters hung askew from the dormer windows on top.
    But the ghost of majesty was still evident, and she couldn’t deny that it appealed to her. A parade of tall doors fronted the house on both stories, and most of them were open to let the breeze through.
    The house was sturdily built of handmade red brick; the years couldn’t ruin such craftsmanship. A beautiful filigreed iron balustrade decorated the gallery, and huge azaleas nestled against the red-tiled patio thatskirted the bottom story. The first floor opened directly onto that ground-level patio.
    Thick honeysuckle and jasmine climbed the trunks of overhanging oaks that must have been