avid felt free, as if a chain around his neck had come loose. He really didn't care whom Norton told. No notoriety could be worse than what he'd already experienced.

"Be quiet!" Norton hissed.

"Is your wife inside?" David asked politely. "Perhaps we should awaken her."

"All right, you've won," Norton said between gritted teeth.

"You'll leave the Perrys alone?"

"Yes."

"If I hear you've threatened any of them— "

"What's the point? He'll have already turned over his shares to your company."

"You're a smart man, Norton." David tossed the henchman through the door, and he groaned as he landed on the floor. "Do something about this, won't you?"

The directors gathered around David, talking and laughing as they escorted him the few steps to the street. They clapped his back, they offered to take him out for a drink, but in the end, Victoria was waiting for him. He could just see her head through the open door of the carriage. The dispersal of the caravan took a few more minutes, and then he was finally able to climb up beside her, after telling the coachman to take them home. The door closed, the carriage pulled away from the curb, and they were alone.

"That was wonderful," she said.

"So you like to see me bullying people?" He arched a brow.

"Only for a good cause. Do you think he'll really leave the Perrys alone?"

"What else can he do? He wants to keep doing business in this city. He tried blackmail; it didn't work. I think he'll go onto his next little project."

Victoria hesitated.

"Go ahead, ask," he said.

"Did you mean what you said, that you'd go public with your part in the railway if Norton didn't cease his pressure?"

"Yes. I'm not going to let innocent people get hurt because of my pride." He softened his voice. "And it really wouldn't have mattered. It only matters what you think, Victoria."

He looked down at her with a very thorough gaze.

"You can't stay in those wet clothes," he said.

She stared at him. "Well, of course I can. The journey home won't take long."

"It's at least a half hour's drive farther into the city. Now turn around."

"I— "

"Victoria, when a husband wishes to remove his wife's clothes, she usually lets him."

She gave him her back. "Even in a carriage?"

"Especially in a carriage."

He wanted to rip the peacock feathers from Victoria's back. He couldn't stand another item between him and his wife's smooth body.

Finally the feathers were gone, and he could feel the cool skin on the back of her shoulders. He kissed her there, running his tongue along her neck, kissing behind her ear, all while his fingers finally managed to undo the tiny buttons down her back. The lantern behind them swayed, chasing shadows across her creamy skin. He peeled the sodden gown down her body, and had her stand hunched over, to get the skirt off.

When everything was gone but her chemise, he whispered against her mouth, "Your drawers, too."

She released a little sigh that mingled with his own quick breaths.

"Hurry," he urged. "I'm impatient for you."

She stood again before him, leaning over him so that her head didn't hit the ceiling. When the carriage jostled from the uneven roads, she clutched his shoulders for balance. He could see her breasts hanging before him, bobbling gently with the motion, and he groaned, reaching up beneath her chemise himself for the tie of her drawers.

"I've thought of this all day," she whispered softly.

He didn't think he could get any harder, but he did.

"Well, I didn't exactly imagine the carriage," she added, "but— touching you, like you touched me."

When her drawers were gone, he pulled her forward so that she sat on him, straddling his thighs. His trousers were too tight, and he started to release them, when she put her hands on his.

"Let me."

Those two words were almost as arousing as her damp near-nakedness. He put his hands on the bench, barely realizing he was gripping the leather tightly. Didn't she know how she looked, her chemise translucent across her breasts? He liked her rising above him, and the way she worked so intently at loosening his cravat.

He put his hands on her waist. "We don't have much time."

"I know. I don't need all your clothes removed— just some."

He laughed. And then she was loosening the buttons of his shirt and waistcoat, pushing his evening coat wide open so that she could tug his shirt from his trousers. When her cool hands touched his stomach, he shuddered.

"You feel so warm," she whispered.

Her hands tentatively moved higher, and he held his breath, waiting. "Don't stop."

Her fingers caressed his nipples, and he pulled her hips against his and arched into her from below.

"I need to remove some more clothes," he said hoarsely.

Her fingers on his trousers were almost his undoing. He wasn't sure she would be brave enough to touch his erection, not yet, but just the thought made him groan into her mouth as he kissed her. He knew she'd made progress with his trousers when he felt less constricted. A sudden draft let him know he could pull her higher against him. Her hot moistness caressed the length of him, but he couldn't take her, not yet. With his mouth he tugged at the neckline of her chemise, exposing her breasts. Her flesh was cool and wet, and he tasted everything, from the puckered tips of her nipples to the hidden curves just beneath.

She was rocking against him, her head thrown back, her hands clasping his shoulders. When she cried out his name, he thrust up inside her, feeling the tug of her inner muscles, knowing that nothing else could ever feel this good. With his hands he guided her to ride him, with his mouth he worshipped at her breasts, until he felt the shudder of her climax all around him. He let go of his control and ground into her, his head thrown back, arching upward to take everything she offered.

As the world settled back into place, he pulled Victoria to his chest and held her there for a moment, stroking her damp hair where it hung in curls down her back.

She shivered.

"I'm a selfish bastard," he said abruptly, "using you without a thought to your comfort."

"I didn't even notice the chill until now," she protested. "You forget you're not exactly dry yourself."

He sat her up a bit— trying not to pull out of her— and leaned forward to reach around her. She laughed and clutched his shoulders. From beneath the far bench he pulled a blanket and wrapped it around her. With a sigh she hugged him and cuddled against his chest.

He moved within her, enjoying this connection, both physical and otherwise. He didn't try to think, didn't try to act as he thought he should. He just…existed.

Victoria experienced such a deep feeling of contentment. This was love, she thought, this wondrous feeling that one is sharing everything with the right person. She felt a part of him— and she still was— and wished the carriage ride could go on forever. Every turn of the wheels jostled them, so they rubbed pleasantly together. Was this incredible tenderness rare? Could David tell that? Or had he experienced all this before?

"We must be close to home," he murmured against her hair.

"Home." It was a whisper of promise, a prayer of thanks. He finally slid out of her, and she wanted to protest the return of such a solitary feeling.

He chuckled and sat her upright. "One of us has to be decently dressed. And since I'm the one who'll be doing the carrying, it had better be me."

"Carrying?" She slid from his lap, clutching the blanket tight around her shoulders, and watched him quickly fasten all his clothing. "I can put my gown on and walk."

"We barely got it off you. I'm going to wrap you warmly in that blanket and carry you up to a hot bath."

She didn't protest after that, just tried to keep her pleased smile to herself.

"David, what about my gown? Everyone will know I…removed it in the carriage."

"Leave it. We'll send Anna for it in the morning. And who will know at this time of night?"

David carried her up the front steps. Smith the butler opened the door just as Victoria leaned from David's arms to reach for it. She gave a gasp of surprise and pulled back inside the depths of the big blanket, feeling one of David's arms securely behind her back, the other beneath her thighs. Only her stocking-clad ankles and her shoes peeped out the far side.

She thought they might make it through the entrance hall, but the light was on in the library, and her mother peered through the doorway, retreated, and then pushed the earl's wheelchair before her. Both of their parents simply stared.

"She's fine," David said before Victoria could speak. "We got caught in the rain, and I don't want her to catch a chill."

His father let out a bark of laughter, and by the surprised look on David's face, Victoria knew that laugh hadn't been heard in this house in years.

"Set those damn nobles on their ears, I bet she did," the earl said.

She tried to hide her smile at the pleasure in his voice. What could she say? Probably not the truth.

She elbowed David, who was looking far too amused at her expense.

"Send for Anna," the earl said.

Victoria heard her mother chuckle. "I don't believe they'll need her."

David looked over his shoulder. "Tell her Victoria needs a hot bath."

In her bedroom, they found that Anna was already well prepared. The hip bath was surrounded by towels in front of the hearth, and the maid was arriving behind them with the first steaming buckets.

The footmen followed to fill the tub quickly, and Victoria groaned and sank as far into David's arms as she could, leaving just her eyes to peer out of the blanket.

Anna lit candles about the room.

"Anna," David said, "you can leave now. My wife is getting rather heavy."

"Of course, milord," the girl said, smiling. "Shall I come later to remove the bath?"

"No," he said, rolling his eyes.

"Very well, milord."

When the door had shut, Victoria gave a cry of surprise as David set her on her feet and started stripping her of garments.

"I suggest, Lady Thurlow, that you take the quickest bath possible, because I will be watching you every minute."

She didn't think she had any more red left to blush, but she did. She stepped into the hip bath, sank into its heat, then stared with fascination as David began to remove his clothing. He stalked about the tub, watching her from every angle. She found herself using the soap in rather provocative ways she hadn't ever imagined before.

He couldn't seem to find the buttons of his shirt as she slowly washed her breasts.

He ripped a button from his trousers when she arched to reach her back.

He was finally naked and looming over her as she soaped between her legs.

"You're done," he said, in a voice she might once have thought menacing. "Stand up."

"But there's still soap— "

"Stand up."

She did. He had a bucket in his hands, and he poured fresh water down the front of her. The heat cascaded over her, and she sighed.

"Turn around."

He poured more down her back, then suddenly enveloped her from behind in a big, warm towel. With a powerful display of muscles, he lifted her and she was suddenly sprawled on her back in bed. He dried her off as if she were too delicate to help herself, and made love to her as if she were too fragile. More than once, Victoria had to wipe tears of happiness from her eyes when he wasn't looking.

She loved him so.

But again he went back to his own room when they were finished. Would he ever invite her in there— or into his heart?

In the morning, David went off to his railway announcement, looking as proud as if he'd given birth. Victoria fondly watched him go, and then toyed with her breakfast as her thoughts coalesced. Her marriage was beginning to succeed, but not at the pace she'd like. She was still not quite the Perfect Wife. She could slowly try to win over David's peers, one visit at a time, one dinner at a time, or she could host another party, only this time with members of the ton. She would not attempt something so formal as an evening event, which might remind too many people of the earl's parties.

She would do something different, like maybe a regular afternoon reception, with a theme such as…the arts. Something she could converse intelligently about! They could meet every few days. People could discuss their work, or the work of other artists, and maybe ladies would play or sing.

Not her of course. She would be too busy as hostess.

The first time she mentioned her idea to David, he seemed impressed with her endeavor, but could not promise to be able to attend. She understood— in fact, she wondered if it might be better that he heardwhat a glowing hostess she was, instead of seeing her flaws for himself.

Her invitations went out that day, for a reception to be held three days hence. She spent each day in between in a nervous state of planning, using every list-making skill she possessed. Her mother watched thoughtfully, but Victoria would not ask if Mama thought she was doing the right thing for her marriage. Victoria had set her goal on settling David's past, and she had to achieve it.

Her nights were spent in delicious abandon with David, and they were so vigorous in the efforts, she knew she would be with child soon. Better to hold her party now while she still could!

On the afternoon of the reception, the town house glowed with polish and sunlight. Even the servants seemed to be whistling, and though she was nervous, Victoria felt light at heart. The Fogges arrived first, both mother and daughter.

Miss Fogge went to the drawing room piano and stared at it. She looked over her shoulder at Victoria. "This is it, then?"

"Yes, but you must promise not to tell anyone," Victoria said, hiding her amusement. "Would you like to play it?"

"Oh no, I couldn't, my lady. But perhaps you would do me the honor?"

Victoria agreed to play, and soon Miss Fogge was singing. Victoria felt as if she'd found a new friend.

Maybe her only one, because no one else seemed to be coming.

After several songs, Victoria said, "Since this is a party to discuss the arts, shall we take a tour of the rooms? There's some lovely artwork in the library that the Bansteads have collected through the centuries."

She tried not to feel too disappointed. This was her first effort, after all. They happened to be on the staircase just above the entrance hall when the front bell rang. Smith answered the door, and Lord Wade and several men spilled in below them, all talking and laughing. They brought in fresh air and deep masculine voices, and Victoria knew her reception was saved.

Miss Fogge's mouth sagged open quite indecorously. "Mama," she began.

"Oh, hush, my girl." Lady Fogge's expression turned hopeful. "Lady Thurlow, you don't suppose most of these gentlemen are eligible."

"If I know Lord Wade, they're very eligible." Victoria knew exactly what he was doing— helping her reception the only way he could.

He looked up and saw her and grinned.

She smiled back with fondness.

Within a half hour, more people began arriving. Victoria was standing alone with Lord Wade when the rush began.

"You did this as well, didn't you," she said to him.

He spread his hands and shrugged his shoulders in innocence. "I brought my friends. And I might have mentioned at the club that we were attending your elegant affair. Several men might have heard me, but that is all."

"And they told their wives and daughters," she said. "Ah, Lord Wade, you don't know the effect you have. Some fine woman will be very lucky someday."

"Someday perhaps," he said with a grin, "but not anytime soon."

Though David tried to be home for the reception, he did not arrive until it was almost over. Guests were leaving as he entered, and he enjoyed hearing their compliments about his wife. He went up to the drawing room, and stopped in the doorway as he realized that Victoria was playing the piano. There were several ladies and gentlemen still gathered around her. Simon saw David and strolled over.

"So it was a success?" David asked.

"Yes, naturally," Simon said. "I think your wife puts guests at ease so well because she understands deep down how nervous most people feel in a new situation."

"Not these jaded people," David scoffed.

Simon shrugged. "Even these people. Perhaps it was not easy to enter your house after all these years. Ghosts, eh?"

David rolled his eyes, and together they turned back to watch Victoria play.

"She composed that, you know," Simon said.

David looked at him sharply. "She did?"

"You didn't know how talented she is?"

"No," he said slowly.

"You missed her singing. Her voice…ah, like the angels."

David spoke quietly. "I've never heard her sing. I never thought she would do something like that in front of strangers."

"But it's easier in front of strangers," Victoria said as she walked toward them.

David looked toward her, and he couldn't help his smile. He kissed her hand. "Simon tells me you are a complete success."

"Only because of him," she responded lightly. "He brought all his friends. Strange how single young women will flock to a house because of that."

Simon was grinning, Victoria was smiling, and David felt…left out. Simon had been able to help Victoria. David wanted to be the one to do that.

"So if you'll sing to strangers," he said, finding it hard to speak lightly, "then you'll sing for me."

"Oh no, I couldn't. You're teasing me."

Simon was staring at him, and David felt as if it was his turn to blush. She would sing for strangers, but not for her husband?

She was called away to discuss a painting at the far end of the room. He watched her, and felt Simon's gaze on him. David didn't like that Simon guessed he felt hurt.

Why would Victoria reveal her passion in the bedroom, but not grant him something as easy as a song? He knew he didn't know everything about her, and for the first time it bothered him.

Did she feel the same? Was he hurting her, too?

She was challenging herself in so many ways, blossoming into a confident woman before his eyes. He liked that about her, but…what did it say about him? Was he stuck in the same old place, retreating from emotions he hadn't wanted to face for years? Was he obsessed with the past?

She was creating a new world for herself, and he was taking himself out of it, except in the dark of the night. Was that all he wanted?

Could he be falling in love with her?

Victoria awoke alone in the morning, but she could smell David on her skin. She lay still in the dusk before dawn, her eyes closed, trying to make sense of his mood last night. He had seemed so…urgent, his every movement passionate and intense. He hadn't wanted to talk, so she hadn't forced him. She hadn't told him she loved him, because she didn't know if she could say the words first, and risk his pity.

She was such a coward.

With song, she had revealed her emotions in front of strangers. But with David—

There was movement next to her in the bed and she froze, slowly opening her eyes.

He had stayed through the night.

She watched in astonishment as he sat up and stretched, his short hair tousled. She heard the bones in his back creak, watched as he looked over his shoulder at her. And then he smiled, and there was a pillow crease across his cheek that she could have gladly kissed.

"Go back to sleep," he murmured, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "I have an early appointment."

She let him go, still too amazed to put anything into words. But that had always been her problem. She was a writer at heart.

Of course she couldn't sleep. She rose and put on her dressing gown, and tried to distract herself by imagining what it could possibly mean that David had finally slept all night with her.

She would have to distract herself by thinking about her next endeavor. During the reception, it had come to her that every fear she faced turned out to be manageable. She needed to host a bigger event, one where David would be at her side, showing all of society that he was back for good. She would host a ball, an event to overshadow any memory of a scandal.

There were so many lists to make! She sat down at her desk and spread her journals around her and stared at them, but she knew deep in her heart that her excitement wasn't real, that she would use planning a ball as just one more excuse not to do something about her real problem.

Her marriage.

She needed to know how David felt about her. Why was she so afraid to say, I love you?

Maybe because there were so many other words left unsaid. Her mother had been right; as long as those forbidden words remained between them, there would always be a shadow of darkness in their marriage, a place both of them were afraid to go.

She had a chance for the kind of life she'd always dreamed of, back when only the fantasy of Willow Pond offered glimpses of a glowing future. Fantasy was all she had as a girl— and the reality of Tom, there on the written page.

If she couldn't speak the words, maybe she could write them, and reach David the way she'd always reached Tom. She opened their childhood journal to a fresh page, and began to write.

She had to tell the truth to him— to David— even if he rejected her in the end.