he next day Elizabeth was anxiously waiting in the hall on Promenade Street for deliveries of both the newspapers. The Times exonerated Ian by splashing across the front page:

MURDEROUS MARQUESS ACTUALLY HARASSED HUSBAND

The Gazette humorously remarked that “the Marquess of Kensington is deserving, not only of an acquittal, but of a medal for Restraint in the Face of Extreme Provocation!”

Beneath both those stories were lengthy and-for Elizabeth-deeply embarrassing accounts of her ridiculous explanations of her behavior.

The day before the trial, Ian had been shunned and suspect; the day after it, he was the recipient of most of an entire city’s amused sympathy and goodwill. The balance of the populace believed that where there was accusation, there was bound to be some guilt, and that rich people bought their way out of things that poor people hanged for. Those people would continue to associate Ian’s name with evil, Elizabeth knew.

Elizabeth’s status had altered dramatically as well. No longer was she an abused or adulterous wife; she was more of a celebrity admired by women with drab lives, ignored by women with no lives, and sternly frowned upon-but forgiven-by society’s husbands, whose wives were very like the woman she’d seemed to be in the House of Lords. Still, in the month that followed Ian’s acquittal, if it hadn’t been for Roddy Carstairs, who insisted she appear in society the same week the papers announced the verdict, she might well have retired to the house on Promenade Street and hidden behind its wrought-iron gate, waiting for Ian.

That would have been the worst possible thing she could do, for she soon realized that despite her belief to the contrary, Ian evidently found it easy to thrust her out of his mind. Through Alexandra and Jordan, Elizabeth learned that Ian had resumed his work schedule as if nothing had happened, and within a week after his acquittal he was seen gambling at the Blackmore with friends, attending the opera with other friends, and generally leading the life of a busy socialite who enjoyed playing as hard as he worked.

It was not exactly the image Elizabeth had of her husband -this endless round of social activity-and she tried to ease the ache in her heart by telling herself sternly that his hectic social schedule merely proved that he was fighting a losing battle to forget that she was waiting for him. She wrote him letters; they were refused by the servants at his instruction.

Finally she decided to follow his example and keep busy, because it was the only way she could endure the waiting; but with each day that passed it became harder not to go to him and try again. They saw each other occasionally at a bailor the opera, and each time it happened Elizabeth’s heart went wild and Ian’s expression grew more distant. Ian’s uncle had warned her it would be no use to ask Ian’s forgiveness again, while his grandfather patted Elizabeth’s hand and naively said, “He’ll come around, my dear.”

Alex ultimately convinced Elizabeth that perhaps a bit of competition would be the thing to bring him around. That night at Lord and Lady Franklin’s ball, Elizabeth saw Ian talking with friends of his. Gathering up her courage, she flirted openly with Viscount Sheffield, watching Ian from the comer of her eye as she danced and laughed with the handsome viscount. Ian saw her-he looked straight at her, and straight through her. That evening he left the ball with Lady Jane Addison on his arm. It was the first time in their separation that he’d singled out any woman for particular attention or behaved in any way except like a married man who might not want his wife, but who was not interested in amorous affairs either.

His action made Alex angry and confused. “He’s fighting the battle with your weapons!” she cried when Elizabeth and she were alone that night. “It is not at all the way the game is supposed to be played. He was supposed to feel jealous and come to heel! Perhaps,” she said soothingly, “he was jealous, and he wanted to make you jealous.”

Elizabeth smiled sadly and shook her head. “Ian once told me he’s always been able to think like his opponent. He was showing me that he knew exactly what I was doing with Sheffield, and’ telling me not to bother trying it again. He really does want to drive me away, you see. He’s not merely trying to punish me or to make me suffer a little before he takes me back.”

“Do you truly think he wants to drive you away forever?” Alexandra asked miserably, sitting down on the sofa beside Elizabeth and putting her arm around her shoulders.

“I know he does,” Elizabeth said. “Then what will you do next?”

“Whatever I have to do-anything I can think of. So long as he knows there’s a possibility he’ll see me wherever he goes, he can’t put me entirely out of his mind. I still have a chance to win.”

In that Elizabeth was proved mistaken. One month after Ian’s acquittal Bentner tapped on the door to the salon where Elizabeth was sitting with Alexandra. “There is a man-a Mr. Larimore,” he said, recognizing the name of Ian’s solicitor. “He says he has papers he must hand to you personally.”

Elizabeth went pale. “Did he say what sort of papers they were?”

“He refused until I told him I wouldn’t interrupt you without being able to tell you why I must.”

“What sort of papers are they?” Elizabeth asked, but, God help her, she already knew.

Bentner’s eyes slid away, his face harsh with sorrow. “He said they are documents pertaining to a petition for divorce.”

The world reeled as Elizabeth tried to stand. “I really think I could hate that man,” Alexandra cried. wrapping her friend in a supportive hug, her voice choked with sorrow. “Even Jordan is becoming angry at him for letting this breach between you continue.”

Elizabeth scarcely knew she was being consoled; the pain was so great it was actually numbing. Turning out of Alexandra’s embrace, she looked at Bentner, knowing that if she accepted the papers there’d be no more delaying tactics she could use, no more hope, but the anguished uncertainty would end. That at least would give her a blessed respite from a terrible, draining torment. Gathering all her courage for one last herculean battle, Elizabeth spoke, slowly at first. “Tell Mr. Larimore that while you were having your dinner, I left the house. Tell him you checked with my maid, and that she said I planned to go to a play with”-she glanced at Alexandra for permission, and her friend nodded emphatically-”with the Duchess of Hawthorne tonight. Invent any schedule you want for me this afternoon and tomorrow-but give him details, Bentner-details that explain why I’m not here.”

Another butler, who was not addicted to mysteries, might not have caught on so easily, but Bentner began to nod and grin. “You want to keep him looking elsewhere so you’ll have time to pack and get away without his guessing you’re leaving.”

“Exactly,” Elizabeth said with a grateful smile. “And after that,” she added as he turned to do as bidden, “send a message to Mr. Thomas Tyson-the man from the Times who’s been pleading for an interview. Tell him I will give him five minutes if he can be here this evening.”

“Where will you go?” Alex asked. “If I tell you, Alex, you must swear not to tell Ian.” “Of course I won’t.”

“Nor your husband. He’s Ian’s friend. It would be wrong to put him in the middle.”

Alex nodded. “Jordan will understand that I’ve given my word and cannot reve3i what I know, even to him.”

“I’m going,” Elizabeth confided quietly, “to the last place on earth Ian will think to look for me now-and the first place he’ll go when he really believes he needs to find me, or find peace because he can’t. I’m going to the cottage in Scotland. “

“You should not have to do that!” Alex exclaimed loyally. “If he weren’t so heartless, so unjust-”

“Before you say all that,” Elizabeth said gently, “ask yourself how you would feel if Jordan made it look to all the world that you were a murderess, and then he breezed into the House of Lords in the nick of time, after putting you through humiliation and heartbreak, and made it all seem like one big joke.” Alex didn’t reply, but some of the anger drained from her face; more as Elizabeth continued wisely, “Ask yourself how you would feel when you found out that from the day he married you he believed there was a chance you really were a murderess-and how you would feel when you remembered the nights you spent together during that time. And when you’ve done all that, remember that in all the time I’ve known Ian, all he’s ever done is to try in every way to make me happy.”

“I-” Alex began, and then her shoulders drooped. “When you put it that way, it does give it a different perspective. I don’t see how you can be so fair and objective when I cannot.”

“Ian,” Elizabeth teased sadly, “taught me that the quickest and best way to defeat an opponent is to first see things from his viewpoint.” She sobered then. “Do you know what a post boy asked me yesterday when he realized who I was?”

When Alex shook her head, Elizabeth said guiltily, “He asked me if I was still afraid of my husband. They haven’t all forgotten about it, you know. Many will never believe he’s completely innocent. I made a terrible and lasting mess of things, you see.”

Biting her lip to hold back her tears, Alex said, “If he hasn’t gone to Scotland to get you by the time our baby comes in January, will you come to us at Hawthorne? I can’t bear the thought of you spending all winter alone up there.”

“Yes.”

* * *

Leaning back in his chair, Ian listened to Larimore’s irate summation of the wild and fruitless chase he’d been sent on for two days by Lady Thornton and her butler: “And after all that, “ Larimore flung out in high dudgeon, “I returned to the house on Promenade Street to demand the butler allow me past the stoop, only to have the man-”

“Slam the door in your face?” Ian suggested dispassionately.

“No, my lord, he invited me in,” Larimore bit out. “He invited me to search the house to my complete satisfaction. She’s left London, “ Larimore finished, avoiding his employer’s narrowed gaze.

“She’ll go to Havenhurst, “ Ian said decisively, and he gave Larimore directions to find the small estate.

When Larimore left, Ian picked up a contract he needed to read and approve; but before he’d read two lines Jordan stalked into his study unannounced, carrying a newspaper and wearing an expression Ian hadn’t seen before. “Have you seen the paper today?”

Ian ignored the paper and studied his friend’s angry face instead. “No, why?”

“Read it,” Jordan said, slapping it down on the desk. “Elizabeth allowed herself to be questioned by a reporter from the Times. Read that.” He jabbed his finger at a few lines near the bottom of the article about Elizabeth by one Mr. Thomas Tyson. “That was your wife’s response when Tyson asked her how she felt when she saw you on trial before your peers. “

Frowning at Jordan’s tone, Ian read Elizabeth’s reply:

“My husband was not tried before his peers. He was merely tried before the Lords of the British Realm. Ian Thornton has no peers.”

Ian tore his gaze from the article, refusing to react to the incredible sweetness of her response, but Jordan would not let it go. “My compliments to you, Ian,” he said angrily. “You serve your wife with a divorce petition, and she responds by giving you what constitutes a public apology!” He turned and stalked out of the room, leaving Ian behind to stare with clenched jaw at the article.

One month later Elizabeth had still not been found. Ian continued trying to purge her from his mind and tear her from his heart, but with decreasing success. He knew he was losing ground in the battle, just as he had been slowly losing it from the moment he’d looked up and seen her walking into the House of Lords.

Sitting alone before the fire in the drawing room, two months after her disappearance, he gazed into the flames, trying to concentrate on the meeting he was going to have with Jordan and some other business acquaintances the next day, but it was Elizabeth he saw in his mind, not profit and cost figures.... Elizabeth kneeling in a garden of flowers; Elizabeth firing pistols beside him; Elizabeth sinking into a mocking throne-room curtsy before him, her green eyes glowing with laughter; Elizabeth looking at him as she waltzed in his arms: “Have you ever wanted something very badly-something that was within your grasp-and yet you were afraid to reach out for it?”

That night he had answered no. Tonight he would have said yes. Among other things, he wanted to know where she was; a month ago he’d told himself it was because he wanted the divorce petition served. Tonight he was too exhausted from his long internal battle to bother lying to himself anymore. He wanted to know where she was because he needed to know. His grandfather claimed not to know; his uncle and Alexandra both knew, but they’d both refused to tell him, and he hadn’t pressed them.

Wearily, Ian leaned his head against the back of his chair and closed his eyes, but he wouldn’t sleep, and he knew it, even though it was three o’clock in the morning. He never slept anymore unless he’d either had a day of grueling physical activity or drunk enough brandy to knock himself out. And even when he did, he laid awake, wanting her,’ and knowing-because she’d told him-that she was somewhere out there, lying awake, wanting him.

A faint smile touched his lips as he remembered her standing in the witness box, looking heartbreakingly young and beautiful, first trying logically to explain to everyone what had happened-and when that failed, playing the part of an incorrigible henwit. Ian chuckled, as he’d been doing whenever be thought of her that day. Only Elizabeth would have dared to take on the entire House of Lords-and when she couldn’t sway them with intelligent logic, she had changed tack and used their own stupidity and arrogance to defeat them. If he hadn’t felt so furious and betrayed that day, he’d have stood up and given her the applause she deserved! It was exactly the same tactic she’d used the night he’d been accused of cheating at cards. When she couldn’t convince Everly to withdraw from the duel because Ian was innocent. she’d turned on the hapless youth and outrageously taken him to task because he’d already engaged himself to her the next day.

Despite his accusation that her performance in the House of Lords had been motivated by self-interest, he knew it hadn’t. She’d come to save him, she thought, from hanging.

When his rage and pain had finally diminished enough, he’d reconsidered Wordsworth’s visit to her on her wedding day and put himself in her place. He had loved her that day and wanted her. If his own investigator had presented him with conjecture-even damning conjecture-about Elizabeth, his love for her would have made him reject it and proceed with the wedding.

The only reason she could have had for marrying him, other than love, was to save Havenhurst. In order to believe that, Ian had first to believe that he’d been fooled by her every kiss, every touch, every word, and that he could not accept. He no longer trusted his heart, but he trusted his intellect.

His intellect warned him that of all the women in the world, no one suited him better in every way than Elizabeth.

Only Elizabeth would have dared to confront him after the acquittal and, after he’d hurt and humiliated her, to tell him that they were going to have a battle of wills that he could not win: “And when you cannot stand it anymore.» she’d promised in that sweet, aching voice of hers, ‘You’ll come back to me. and I’ll cry in your arms and tell you I’m sorry for everything I’ve done. And then you’ll help me find a way to forgive myself.”

It was, Ian thought with a defeated sigh, damned hard to concede the battle of wills when he couldn’t find the victor so that he could surrender.

Five hours later Ian awoke in the chair where he’d fallen asleep, blinking in the pale sunlight filtering in through the draperies. Rubbing his stiff arms and shoulders, he went upstairs, bathed, and shaved, then came back downstairs to bury himself in his work again, which was what he had been doing ever since Elizabeth disappeared.

By midmorning he was already halfway through a stack of correspondence when his butler handed him an envelope from Alexandra Townsende. When Ian opened it a bank draft fell out onto his desk, but he ignored that to read her brief note first. “This is from Elizabeth,” it said. “She has sold Havenhurst.” A pang of guilt and shock sent Ian to his feet as he read the rest of the note: “I am to tell you that this is payment in full, plus appropriate interest, for the emeralds she sold, which, she feels, rightfully belonged to you.”

Swallowing audibly, Ian picked up the bank draft and the small scrap of paper with it. On it Elizabeth herself had shown her calculation of the interest due him for the exact number of days since she’d sold the gems, until the date of her bank draft a week ago.

His eyes ached with unshed tears while his shoulders began to rock with silent laughter-Elizabeth had paid him half a percent less than the usual interest rate.

Thirty minutes later Ian presented himself to Jordan’s butler and asked to see Alexandra. She walked into the room with accusation and ire shooting from her blue eyes as she said scornfully, “I wondered if that note would bring you here. Do you have any notion how much Havenhurst means-meant-to her?”

“I’ll get it back for her,” he promised with a somber smile. “Where is she?”

Alexandra’s mouth fell open at the tenderness in his eyes and voice.

“Where is she?” he repeated with calm determination. “I cannot tell you,” Alex said with a twinge of regret. “You know I cannot. I gave my word.”

“Would it have the slightest effect,” Ian countered smoothly, “if I were to ask Jordan to exert his husbandly influence to persuade you to tell me anyway?”

“I’m afraid not,” Alexandra assured him. She expected him to challenge that; instead a reluctant smile drifted across his handsome face. When he spoke, his voice was gentle. “You’re very like Elizabeth. You remind me of her.”

Still slightly mistrustful of his apparent change of heart, Alex said primly, “I deem that a great compliment, my lord.”

To her utter disbelief, Ian Thornton reached out and chucked her under the chin. “I meant it as one,” he informed her with a grin.

Turning. Ian started for the door, then stopped at the sight of Jordan, who was lounging in the doorway, an amused, knowing smile on his face. “If you’d keep track of your own wife, Ian you would not have to search for similarities in mine.” When their unexpected guest had left, Jordan asked Alex, “ Are you going to send Elizabeth a message to let her know he’s coming for her?”

Alex started to nod, then she hesitated. “I-I don’t think so. I’ll tell her that he asked where she is, which is all he really did.”

“He’ll go to her as soon as he figures it out.” “Perhaps.”

“You still don’t trust him, do you?” Jordan said with a surprised smile.

“I do after this last visit-to a certain extent-but not with Elizabeth’s heart. He’s hurt her terribly, and I won’t give her false hopes and, in doing so, help him hurt her again.”

Reaching out, Jordan chucked her under the chin as his cousin had done, then he pulled her into his arms. “She’s hurt him, too, you know.”

“Perhaps,” Alex admitted reluctantly. Jordan smiled against her hair. “You were more forgiving when I trampled your heart, my love,” he teased.

“That’s because I loved you,” she replied as she laid her cheek against his chest, her arms stealing around his waist.

“And will you love my cousin just a little if he makes amends to Elizabeth?”

“I might find it in my heart,” she admitted, “if he gets Havenhurst back for her.”

“It’ll cost him a fortune if he tries,” Jordan chuckled. “Do you know who bought it?”

“No, do you?”

He nodded. “Philip Demarcus.”

She giggled against his chest. “Isn’t he that dreadful man who told the prince he’d have to pay to ride in his new yacht up the Thames?”

“The very same.”

“Do you suppose Mr. Demarcus cheated Elizabeth?” “Not our Elizabeth,” Jordan laughed. “But I wouldn’t like

to be in Ian’s place if Demarcus realizes the place has sentimental value to Ian. The price will soar.”

In the ensuing two weeks Ian managed to buy back Elizabeth’s emeralds and Havenhurst, but he was unable to find a trace of his wife. The town house in London felt like a prison, not a home, and still he waited, sensing somehow that Elizabeth was putting him through this torment to teach him some kind of well-deserved lesson.

He returned to Montmayne, where, for several more weeks, he prowled about its rooms, paced a track in the drawing room carpet, and stared into its marble-fronted fireplaces as if the answer would be there in the flames. Finally he could stand it no more. He couldn’t concentrate on his work, and when he tried, he made mistakes. Worse, he was beginning to be haunted with walking nightmares that she’d come to harm-or that she was falling in love with someone kinder than he-and the tormenting illusions followed him from room to room.

On a clear, cold day in early December, after leaving instructions with his footmen, butler, and even his cook that he was to be notified immediately if any word at all was received from Elizabeth, he left for the cottage in Scotland. It was the one place where he might find peace from the throbbing emptiness that was gnawing away at him with a pain that increased unbearably from day to day, because he no longer really believed she would ever contact him. Too much time had passed. If the beautiful, courageous girl he had married had wanted a reconciliation, she’d have done something else to bring it about by now. It was not in Elizabeth’s nature to simply let things happen as they may. And so Ian went home to try to find peace, as he had always done before, except now it was. not the pressures of his life that brought him up the lane to the cottage on that unusually frigid December night; it was the gaping emptiness of his life.

Inside the cottage Elizabeth stood at the window, watching the snow-covered lane, as she’d been doing ever since Ian’s message to the caretaker had been delivered to her by the vicar three days before. Ian was coming home, she knew, but he obviously hadn’t the slightest notion she was there. His message had simply said to have the cottage stocked with wood and food, and cleaned, because he intended to stay for two months. Standing at the window, Elizabeth watched the moonlit path, telling herself she was ridiculous to think he would arrive at night, more ridiculous yet to be dressed for his arrival in her favorite sapphire wool gown with her hair loose about her shoulders, as Ian liked best.

A tall, dark form appeared around the bend of the lane, and Elizabeth pulled shut the new, heavy curtains she’d made, her heart beginning to hammer with a mixture of hope and dread as she recalled that the last time she’d seen him, he’d been leaving a ball with Jane Addison on his arm. Suddenly the idea of being here, where he didn’t expect her to be-and probably didn’t want her to be-didn’t seem good at all.

After putting his horse in the barn Ian rubbed him down, then made certain he had food. Dim light shone through the windows of the cottage as he walked through the snow, and the smell of woodsmoke rose from the chimney. The caretaker was evidently there, awaiting his arrival. Kicking the snow off his boots, he reached for the door handle.

In the center of the room Elizabeth stood stock still, clasping and unclasping her hands, watching the handle turn, unable to breathe with the tension. The door swung open, admitting a blast of frigid air and a tall, broadshouldered man who glanced at Elizabeth in the firelight and said, “Henry, it wasn’t necess-”

Ian broke off, the door still open, staring at what he momentarily thought was a hallucination, a trick of the flames dancing in the fireplace, and then he realized the vision was real. Elizabeth was standing perfectly still, looking at him. And lying at her feet was a young Labrador retriever.

Trying to buy time, Ian turned around and carefully closed the door as if latching it with precision were the most paramount thing in his life, while he tried to decide whether she’d looked happy or not to see him. In the long lonely nights without her, he’d rehearsed dozens of speeches to her-from stinging lectures to gentle discussions. Now, when the time was finally here, he could not remember one damn word of any of them.

Left with no other choice, he took the only neutral course available. Turning back to the room, Ian looked at the Labrador. “Who’s this?” he asked, walking forward and crouching down to pet the dog, because he didn’t know what the hell to say to his wife.

Elizabeth swallowed her disappointment as he ignored her and stroked the Labrador’s glossy black head. “I-I call her Shadow.”

The sound of her voice was so sweet, Ian almost pulled her down into his arms. Instead, he glanced at her, thinking it encouraging she’d named her dog after his. “Nice name.”

Elizabeth bit her lip, trying to hide her sudden wayward smile. “Original, too.”

The smile hit Ian like a blow to the head, snapping him out of his untimely and unsuitable preoccupation with the dog. Straightening, he backed up a step and leaned his hip against the table, his weight braced on his opposite leg.

Elizabeth instantly noticed the altering of his expression and watched nervously as he crossed his arms over his chest, watching her, his face inscrutable. “You-you look well,” she said, thinking he looked unbearably handsome.

“I’m perfectly fine,” he assured her, his gaze level. “Remarkably well, actually, for a man who hasn’t seen the sun shine in more than three months, or been able to sleep without drinking a bottle of brandy.”

His tone was so frank and unemotional that Elizabeth didn’t immediately grasp what he was saying. When she did, tears of joy and relief sprang to her eyes as he continued: “I’ve been working very hard. Unfortunately, I rarely get anything accomplished, and when I do, it’s generally wrong. All things considered, I would say that I’m doing very well-for a man who’s been more than half dead for three months.”

Ian saw the tears shimmering in her magnificent eyes, and one of them traced unheeded down her smooth cheek.

With a raw ache in his voice he said, “If you would take one step forward, darling, you could cry in my arms. And while you do, I’ll tell you how sorry I am for everything I’ve done-” Unable to wait, Ian caught her, pulling her tightly against him. “And when I’m finished,” he whispered hoarsely as she wrapped her arms around him and wept brokenly, “you can help me find a way to forgive myself.”

Tortured by her tears, he clasped her tighter and rubbed his jaw against her temple, his voice a ravaged whisper: “I’m sorry,” he told her. He cupped her face between his palms, tipping it up and gazing into her eyes, his thumbs moving over her wet cheeks. “I’m sorry.” Slowly, he bent his head, covering her mouth with his. “I’m so damned sorry. “

She kissed him back, holding him fiercely to her while shattered sobs racked her slender body and tears poured from her eyes. Tormented by her anguish, Ian dragged his mouth from hers, kissing her wet cheeks, running his hands over her shaking back and shoulders, trying to comfort her. “Please darling, don’t cry anymore,” he pleaded hoarsely. “Please don’t.” She held him tighter, weeping, her cheek pressed to his chest, her tears soaking his heavy woolen shirt and tearing at his heart.

“Don’t,” Ian whispered, his voice raw with his own unshed tears. “You’re tearing me apart.” An instant after he said those words, he realized that she’d stop crying to keep from hurting him, and he felt her shudder, trying valiantly to get control. He cupped the back of her head, crumpling the silk of her hair, holding her face pressed to his chest, imagining the nights he’d made her weep like this, despising himself with a virulence that was almost past bearing.

He’d driven her here, to hide from the vengeance of his divorce petition, and still she had been waiting for him. In all the endless weeks since she’d confronted him in his study and warned him she wouldn’t let him put her out of his life, Ian had never imagined that she would be hurting like this.

She was twenty years old and she had loved him. In return, he had tried to divorce her, publicly scorned her, privately humiliated her, and then he had driven her here to weep in solitude and wait for him. Self-loathing and shame poured through him like hot acid, almost doubling him over, Humbly, he whispered, “Will you come upstairs with me?”

She nodded, her cheek rubbing his chest, and he swung her into his arms, cradling her tenderly against him, brushing his lips against her forehead. He carried her upstairs, intending to take her to bed and give her so much pleasure that-at least for tonight-she’d be able to forget the misery he’d caused her.

Elizabeth knew, the moment he put her down in the bed chamber and began gently undressing her, that something was,different. Confusion fluttered through her as he took her in his arms in bed, his body rigid with desire, his mouth and hands skillful as he kissed and caressed her, but the moment she tried to caress him in return, he forced her back onto the pillows, evading her touch, gently imprisoning her wrists. Kissed and caressed into near insensibility, desperate to please him as he had taught her to do, Elizabeth reached for him the moment his grip loosened on her hands. His body jerked away from her touch. “Don’t,” he whispered, but she heard the passion thickening his voice, and so she obeyed”

Refusing to let her do anything to increase his pleasure, he brought her to the very brink of fulfillment with his hands and mouth before he shifted on top of her and entered her with one sure, powerful thrust. Elizabeth strained toward him in trembling need, her nails biting into his back as his rhythmic thrusts began, and then slowly, he started increasing their tempo. The sweetness of being filled by him again, combined with the fierce power of his body driving deeply into hers again and again, sent pleasure streaking through her and she instinctively arched herself upward in a fevered need to share it with him. His hands gripped her hips, while he quickened the pace of his deep plunging strokes, circling his hips, forcing the trembling ecstasy to overtake her until she cried out, shuddering with the sweet violence of it, her arms locked fiercely around his broad shoulders.

Slowly, Elizabeth began to surface from the stormy splendor of his lovemaking, aware in some passion-drugged part of her mind that she had been the only one to find that quaking fulfillment. She opened her eyes, and in the firelight, she could see the harsh effort Ian was exerting to stop himself from moving within her and finding his own release. His hands were braced on either side of her shoulders, and he was holding his upper body away from hers; his eyes were clenched shut, and a muscle jerked spasmodically in his cheek. They had been so attuned to each other during the months of their marriage, that Elizabeth instinctively realized what he was doing, and the knowledge filled her with poignant tenderness. He was trying to atone to her in the only way he could right now-by unselfishly prolonging their lovemaking. And in order to do that, he was deliberately denying himself the release that Elizabeth knew he desperately wanted. It was, she thought tenderly, a loving gesture-and a futile one. Because this was not at all what she wanted, and Ian had taught her to show him what she wanted. He had also taught her the power she had over his body-and he had shown her how to use it. Always an excellent Student, Elizabeth put her knowledge into immediate-and very effective use.

Since his weight prevented any sort of seductive movement, Elizabeth used her hands and her voice to seduce him. Her voice shaking with love and desire, she shifted her hands down his back, caressing the bunched muscles of his shoulders and the hollow of his spine. “I love you,” she whispered. He opened his eyes and Elizabeth met his smoldering gaze as she continued achingly, “I’ve dreamed of this for so long... dreamed of the way you always hold me in your arms after we make love-and of how beautiful it is to lie beside you, knowing a part of you is still inside of me and that you might have given me your child.” Lifting her hands, Elizabeth took his face between her palms, her fingers moving over his hard cheekbones in a trembling caress as she slowly drew his mouth toward hers. “But most of all,” she whispered, “I dreamed of how exquisite it feels to have you moving deep inside of me-”

Ian’s restraint broke under her sweet assault. A tortured groan tore from his chest, and he seized her mouth in a devouring kiss, wrapped his arms tightly around her, and drove into her, thrusting fiercely again and again, seeking absolution within her... finding it when she molded herself to him while his body jerked convulsively, shuddering violently, and he poured himself into her. His heart thundering against his ribs, his breath coming in deep, painful pants, Ian kept thrusting into her, willing her body to again respond to the fierce hunger of his driving strokes, determined to pleasure her again. She cried out his name, her hips arching, her body racked with tremors.

When some of his strength returned, he slid one arm beneath her hips, the other around her shoulders, and moved onto his side, taking her with him, still intimately joined to her, his seed deep inside her. It was, he thought, the most profound moment of his life. Stroking her hair, he swallowed and spoke, but his voice was shattered. “I love you,” he said, telling her what she had told him that terrible day in his study. “I never stopped loving you.”

She raised her face to his, and her answer made his chest ache. “I know.”

“How did you know, sweetheart?” he asked, trying to smile.

“Because,” she said, “I wanted it so badly to be true, and you’ve always given me everything I wanted. I couldn’t believe you wouldn’t do it, just one more time. Just once more.”

She moved slightly and Ian checked her, tightening his arms. “Stay still, darling.” he whispered tenderly, and seeing her confusion, he told her, “because our child is being conceived. “

Her eyes searched his. “Why do you think so?” “Because,” he said, slowly smoothing her hair off her cheek, “I want it so badly to be true, and you’ve always given me everything I wanted.” A lump of emotion swelled in Ian’s chest as she pressed closer against him, cradled in his arms, not moving. She was willing it to be true; he knew it as surely as he knew that, somehow, it was.

Bright morning sunlight was glancing off the windowpanes when Ian finally began to surface from his deep slumber. A sense of well-being, absent from his life for more than three months, filled him, and oddly, it was the very unfamiliarity of the sensation that awakened him. Thinking some dream had caused it, he rolled onto his stomach, keeping his eyes closed, reaching for the dream, for unconsciousness, rather than awakening to the emptiness that normally inhabited his waking hours.

But awareness was already returning. The bed felt smaller and harder than it should; and, thinking he was at Montmayne, he decided dully that he’d fallen asleep on the sofa in his bedchamber. He’d drunk himself into oblivion on that sofa dozens of times, and slept there, rather than in the cavernous emptiness of the huge bed he’d shared with Elizabeth. Ian felt it start again-the dull ache of regret and worry, and, knowing sleep would evade him now, he flung himself onto his back and opened his eyes. His pupils recoiled from the glaring sunlight, his dazed eyes taking in the familiarity of his unexpected surroundings. And then it hit him, where he was, who had spent the night with him in naked splendor and uninhibited sharing. Joy and relief swept over him and he closed his eyes, letting it wash over him.

Slowly, however, his nose became aware of something else-the aroma of bacon cooking. A smile tugged at his lips, evolving into a lazy grin as he remembered the last time she had cooked bacon for him. It had been here, and she had burned it. This morning, he happily decided, he would eat charred paper-so long as he could feast his eyes on her while he did.

Clad in a soft gown of green wool with a bright yellow apron tied around her waist, Elizabeth stood at the stove, pouring tea into her mug. Unaware that Ian had just sat down on the sofa, she glanced at Shadow who was concentrating hopefully on the bacon cooling in the skillet. “What do you think of your master?” Elizabeth asked the Labrador as she added milk to her tea. “Didn’t I tell you he was handsome? Although,” she confided with a smile, bending down to pat the satiny head, “I’ll admit I’d forgotten just how handsome he is.”

“Thank you,” Ian said with a tender smile. Surprise brought her head around so quickly that Elizabeth’s hair spilled over her shoulder in a gilt waterfall. She stood up, smothering a laugh at the picture of absolute, masculine contentment she beheld before her. Clad in a chamois peasant shirt with coffee-colored breeches, Ian was sitting on the sofa, his hands linked behind his head, his feet crossed at the ankles and propped on the low table in front of him. “You look like a Scottish sultan,” she said with a chuckle.

“I feel like one.” His grin faded to a somber smile when she handed him a mug of coffee. “Can breakfast wait a little while?” he asked.

Elizabeth nodded. “I thought I heard you moving about almost an hour ago, and I put the bacon on then. I intended to make more when you finally came down. Why?” she finished, wondering if he was afraid to eat her cooking.

“Because we have some things to talk about.” Elizabeth felt an unexpected lurch of dread. Last night, she’d lain beside him and explained everything that had happened from the time Robert appeared at Havenhurst until she arrived at the House of Lords. By the time she was finished, she’d been so exhausted from her tale and from Ian’s lovemaking that she’d fallen asleep before he could explain his own actions. Now he obviously wanted to discuss the subject, and she wasn’t entirely certain she wanted to spoil the beauty of their reconciliation by reopening it.

“We’ve wronged each other,” Ian said quietly, seeing her reluctant expression. “If we try to hide from it, to pretend it didn’t happen, it will always be there, lurking. It will come back to haunt both of us at odd times, for odd reasons, and when it does, it will come between us. Some little thing I say or do will rip open your scar from this, and I won’t know why you’re angry or hurt or mistrustful. Neither will you. Last night, you made your explanations to me, and there’s no need to go into it again. I think you have a right to some explanations from me.”

“How did you become so wise?” she asked with a soft smile.

“If I were wise,” he said dryly, “this separation would have ended months ago. However, I’ve had several agonizing weeks to try to think how we could best go on after this-assuming you ever let me find you, and it seemed to me that talking about it, openly and thoroughly, was the only way.”

Elizabeth still hesitated, remembering the murderous fury he’d turned on her in his study the day of his acquittal. If talking about it would make him angry again, she wasn’t certain it was worthwhile.

Reaching for her hand, Ian drew her down onto the sofa, watching as she tucked her skirts around her, fidgeted with each fold, and then looked apprehensively at the snowcovered windowpane. She was nervous, he realized with a pang. “Give me your hand, sweetheart. You can ask me anything you want to know without fear of any anger from me.”

The sound of his deep, reassuring voice, combined with the feeling of his strong warm fingers closing around hers, did much to dissolve her misgivings. Her gaze searching his face, Elizabeth asked, “Why didn’t you tell me Robert had tried to kill you and you’d had him taken aboard your ship? Why did you let me go on believing he’d simply vanished?”

For a moment he leaned his head against the back of the sofa, closing his eyes, and Elizabeth saw his regret, heard it in his voice when he looked at her and said, “Until the day you left here last spring, and Duncan greeted me with a list of my crimes against you, I had assumed your brother returned to England after he got off the Arianna. I had no idea you’d been living alone at Havenhurst since he’d left, or that you’d become a social outcast because of what I did, or that you had no parents to protect you, or that you had no money. You have to believe that.”

“I do,” she said honestly. “Lucinda ripped up at Duncan and told him all that, and you came to London to find me. We talked about it before we were married, except the part about Robert. Why didn’t you tell me about him as well?”

“When?” he asked, his voice harsh with self-recrimination and futility. “When could I have told you? Consider the way you felt about me when I came racing to London to ask you to marry me. You were already half-convinced my proposal was made out of pity and regret. If I’d have told you my part in Robert’s disappearance, you’d have been sure of it. Besides, you didn’t like me very well as it was, and you didn’t particularly trust me, either,” he reminded her. “You’d have flung my ‘bargain’ in my face if rd confessed to kidnapping your brother, no matter how valid my excuse was.

“There’s one more reason I didn’t tell you,” Ian added with blunt honesty. “I wanted you to marry me, and I was prepared to do almost anything to bring it about.”

She gave him one of the disarming, sideways smiles that always melted him and then she sobered. “Later, when you knew I loved you, why didn’t you tell me then?”

“Ah yes, later,” he said wryly. “When rd finally made you love me? For one thing. I wasn’t anxious to give you a reason to change your mind. For another, we were so damned happy together, I didn’t want to spoil it until I absolutely had to. Lastly, I didn’t know exactly what I was guilty of yet. My investigators couldn’t find a trace-Yes,” he said, seeing her startled look, “I hired investigators the same time you did. For all I knew, your brother had stayed away to hide from his creditors, exactly as you suspected. On the other hand, it was possible he died, somehow, trying to make his way back here, in which case, rd have had that crime to confess to you.”

“If no information, no word of him ever came, would you have ever told me why he originally left England?”

He’d been looking down at her hand, his thumb idly tracing her palm, but when he answered, he lifted his eyes to hers. “Yes.” After a silence, he added, “Shortly before you vanished, rd already decided to allow the investigators six more months. If no trace of him was discovered by then, I intended to tell you what I did know.”

“I’m glad,” she said softly. “I wouldn’t like to think you’d have gone on deceiving me forever.”

“It was not an entirely noble decision,” Ian admitted. “Fear had something to do with it. I lived in daily dread of Wordsworth appearing at the house one day and handing you proof that rd caused your brother some irreparable harm, or worse. There were times,” he added, “near the end when I honestly wished one of the investigators would produce evidence to either damn me or acquit me, so that I could put an end to my uncertainty. I had no idea, you would do what you’d do.”

Ian watched her, waiting for her to comment, and when;he didn’t, he said, “It would mean a great deal to me, and to our future together, if you could believe the things I’ve told you. I swear to you it’s the truth.”

Her eyes lifted to his. “I do believe you.” “Thank you,” he said humbly. “There’s nothing to thank me for,” she said trying to cease. “The fact is that I married a brilliant man, who taught me to always put myself in the opponent’s place and try to lee things from his point of view. I did that, and I was able to guess long ago your reasons for keeping Robert’s disappearance a secret from me.” Her smile faded as she continued, “By putting myself in your place, I was even able to guess how you might react when I first came back. I knew, before I ever saw the expression on your face when you looked at me in the House of Lords, that you would find it extremely difficult to forgive me for hurting you, and for shaming you. I never imagined, though, -,’ the extent you would actually go to retaliate against

me.” Ian saw the pain in her eyes, and despite his belief that all this had to be said, it took an almost physical effort not to try to her hurt with his hands and silence her with his mouth.

“You see,” she explained slowly, “I anticipated that you might send me away until you got over your anger, or that you’d live with me and retaliate in private-things that an ordinary man might do. But I never imagined you would try to put a permanent end to our marriage. And to me. I should have anticipated that, knowing what Duncan had told me about you, but I was counting too much on the fact that, before I ran away, you’d said you loved me-”

“You know damned well I did. And I do. For God’s sake if you don’t believe anything else I’ve ever said to you, at least believe that.’

He expected her to argue, but she didn’t, and Ian realized that she might be young, and inexperienced, but she was also very wise. “I know you did,” she told him, softly. “If you hadn’t loved me so deeply, I could never have hurt you as much as I did-and you wouldn’t have needed to put an end to the possibility I could ever do it again. I realized that was what you were doing, when I stood in your study and you told me you were divorcing me. If I hadn’t understood it, and you, I could never have kept fighting for you all this time.”

“I won’t argue with your conclusion, but I will swear to you not to ever do anything like that again to you. “

“Thank you. I don’t think I could bear it another time.” “Could you enlighten me as to what Duncan told you to

make you arrive at all that?’“ Her smile was filled with tenderness and understanding. “He told me what you did when you returned home and discovered your family had died.”

“What did I do?” “You severed yourself from the only other thing you loved-a black Labrador named Shadow. You did it so that you couldn’t be hurt anymore-at least not by anything over which you had control. You did essentially the same thing, although far more drastically, when you tried to divorce me.”

“In your place,” Ian said, his voice rough with emotion as he laid his hand against her cheek, “I think I’d hate me.”

His wife turned her face into his hand and kissed his palm. “Do you know,” she said with a teary smile, “how it feels to know I am loved so much...” She shook her head as if trying to find a better way to explain, and began again, her voice shaking with love. “Do you know what I notice whenever we are out in company?”

Unable to restrain himself, Ian pulled her into his arms, holding her against his heart. “No,” he whispered, “what do you notice?”

“I notice the way other men treat their wives, the way they look at them, or speak to them. And do you know what?”

“What?” “I am the only wife,” she whispered achingly, “with the exception of Alex, whose husband adores her and doesn’t care if the whole world knows it. And I absolutely know,” she added with a soft smile, “that I am the only wife whose husband has ever tried to seduce her in front of the Hospital Fund Raising Committee.”.

His arms tightened around her, and with a groaning laugh, Ian tried, very successfully, to seduce his wife on the sofa.

Snowflakes were falling outside the windows, and a log tumbled off the grate sending bright sparks up the chimney. Sated and happy, wrapped in Ian’s arms beneath the blanket he’d drawn over them, Elizabeth’s thoughts drifted lazily from the breakfast they hadn’t eaten yet to the sumptuous breakfast he would have undoubtedly been served, had they been at Montmayne. With a sigh, she moved away from him and got dressed.

When she was turning the bacon, he came up behind her, his hands settling on her waist as he peered over her shoulder. “That looks awfully edible,” he teased. “I was rather counting on our ‘traditional’ breakfast.”

She smiled and let him turn her around. “When do we have to return?” she asked, thinking whimsically of how cozy it was up here with him.

“How does two months sound?” “It sounds wonderful, but are you certain you won’t be bored-or worried about neglecting your business affairs?”

“If they were going to suffer overmuch from my neglect, my love, we’d have pockets to let after the last three months. Evidently,” he continued with a grin, “I’m much better organized than I thought. Besides, Jordan will let me know if there’s a particular problem that needs my attention.”

“Duncan has provided me with nearly a hundred books, If,” she said, trying to think of ways he could occupy his time if they stayed, “but you’ve probably read them already, and even if you haven’t,” she said with laughing exaggeration, “you’d be done with the lot of them by Wednesday. I’m afraid you’ll be bored.”

“It will be difficult for me,” he agreed dryly. “Snowbound up here with you. Without books or business to occupy my time, I wonder what I’ll do,” he added with a leer. She blushed gorgeously, but her voice was serious as she studied his face. “If things hadn’t gone so well for you-if you hadn’t accumulated so much wealth-you could have been happy up here, couldn’t you?”

“With you?” “Of course.” His smile was as somber as hers. “Absolutely.” “Although,” he added, linking her hands behind her back and drawing her a little closer, “you may not want to remain up here when you learn your emeralds are back in their cases at Montmayne.”

Her head snapped up, and her eyes shone with love and relief. “I’m so glad. When I realized Robert’s story had been fabrication, it hurt beyond belief to realize I’d sold them.”

“It’s going to hurt more,” he teased outrageously, “when you realize your bank draft to cover their cost was a little bit short. It cost me £45,000 to buy back the pieces that had already been sold, and £5,000 to buy the rest back from the jeweler you sold them to.”

“That-that unconscionable thief,” she burst out. “He only gave me £5,000 for all of them!” She shook her head in despair at Ian’s lack of bargaining prowess. “He took dreadful advantage of you.”

“I wasn’t concerned, however,” Ian continued teasing, enjoying himself hugely, “because I knew I’d get it all back out of your allowance. With interest, of course. According to my figures,” he said, pausing to calculate in his mind what it would have taken Elizabeth several minutes to figure out on paper, ‘‘as of today, you now owe me roughly £151,126.”

“One hundred and-what?” she cried, half laughing and half irate.

“There’s the little matter of the cost of Havenhurst. I added that in to the figure.”

Tears of joy clouded her magnificent eyes. “You bought it back from that horrid Mr. Demarcus?”

“Yes. And he is ‘horrid” He and your uncle ought to be partners. They both possess the instincts of camel traders. I paid £100,000 for it.”

Her mouth fell open, and admiration lit her face. “£100,000! Oh, Ian-”

“I love it when you say my name.”

She smiled at that, but her mind was still on the splendid bargain he’d gotten. “I could not have done a bit better!” she generously admitted. “That’s exactly what he paid for it. and he told me after the papers were signed that he was certain he could get £150,000 if he waited a year or so.”

“He probably could have.”

“But not from you!” she announced proudly.

“Not from me,” he agreed, grinning. “Did he try?”

“He tried for £200,000 as soon as he realized how important it was to me to buy it back for you.”

“You must have been very clever and skillful to make him agree to accept so much less.”

Trying desperately not to laugh, Ian put his forehead against hers and nodded. “Very skillful,” he agreed in a suffocated voice. “Still, I wonder why he was so agreeable?” Swallowing a surge of laughter, Ian said, “I imagine it was

because I showed him that I had something he needed more “ than he needed an exorbitant profit.”

“Really?” she said, fascinated and impressed. “What did you have?”

“His throat.”