Almost Heaven by Judith McNaught

Chapter 31



In the weeks that followed, Elizabeth discovered to her pleasure that she could ask Ian any question about any subject and that he would answer her as fully as she wished. Not once did he ever patronize her when he replied, or fend her off by pointing out that, as a woD1an, the matter was truly none of her concern-or worse-that the answer would be beyond any female’s ability to understand. Elizabeth found his respect for her intelligence enormously flattering-particularly after two astounding discoveries she made about him.
The first occurred three days after their wedding, when they both decided to spend the evening at home, reading.
That night after supper, Ian brought a book he wanted to read from their library-a heavy tome with an incomprehensible title-to the drawing room. Elizabeth brought Pride and Prejudice which she’d been longing to read since first hearing of the uproar it was causing among the conservative members of the ton. After pressing a kiss on her forehead, Ian sat down in the high-backed chair beside hers. Reaching across the small table between them for her hand, he linked their fingers together, and opened his book. Elizabeth thought it was incredibly cozy to sit, curled up in a chair beside him, her hand held in his, with a book in her lap, and she didn’t mind the small inconvenience of turning the pages with one hand.
Soon, she was so engrossed in her book that it was a full half-hour before she noticed how swiftly Ian turned the pages of his. From the comer of her eye, Elizabeth watched in puzzled fascination as his gaze seemed to slide swiftly down one page, then the facing page, and he turned to the next. Teasingly, she asked, “Are you reading that book, my lord, or only pretending for my benefit?”
He glanced up sharply, and Elizabeth saw a strange, hesitant expression flicker across his tanned face. As if carefully phrasing his reply, he said slowly, “I have an-odd ability-to read very quickly.”
“Oh,” Elizabeth replied, “how lucky you are. I never heard of a talent like that.”
A lazy glamorous smile swept across his face, and he squeezed her hand. “It’s not nearly as uncommon as your eyes,” he said.
Elizabeth thought it must be a great deal more uncommon, but she wasn’t completely certain and she let it pass. The following day, that discovery was completely eclipsed by another one. At Ian’s insistence, she’d spread the books from Havenhurst across his desk in order to go over the quarter’s accounts, and as the morning wore on, the long columns of figures she’d been adding and multiplying began to blur together and transpose themselves in her mind-due in part, she thought with a weary smile, to the fact that her husband had kept her awake half the night making love to her. For the third time, she added the same long columns of expenditures, and for the third time, she came up with a different sum. So frustrated was she that she didn’t realize Ian had come into the room, until he leaned over her from behind and put his hands on the desk on either side of her own. “Problems?” he asked, kissing the top of her head.
“Yes,” she said, glancing at the clock and realizing that the business acquaintances he was expecting would be there momentarily. As she explained her problem to him, she started shoving loose papers into the books, hurriedly trying to reassemble everything and clear his desk. “For the last forty-five minutes, I’ve been adding the same four columns, so that I could divide them by eighteen servants, multiply that by forty servants, which we now have there, times four quarters. Once I know that, I can forecast the real cost of food and supplies with the increased staff. I’ve gotten three different answers to those miserable columns. and I haven’t even tried the rest of the calculations. Tomorrow I’U have to start allover again,” she finished irritably, “and it takes forever just to get all this laid out and organized.” She reached out to close the book and shove her calculations into it, but Ian stopped her.
“Which columns are they’!” he asked calmly, his surprised gaze studying the genuine ire on her face.
“Those long ones down the left-hand side. It doesn’t matter, I’U fight it out tomorrow,” she said. She shoved the chair back. dropped two sheets of paper, and bent over to pick them up. They’d slid beneath the kneehole of the desk. and in growing disgust Elizabeth crawled underneath to get them. Above her, Ian said, “£364.”
“Pardon’!” she asked when she reemerged, clutching the errant sheets of paper.
He was writing it down on a scrap of paper. “£364.” “Do not make light of my wanting to know the figures,” she warned him with an exasperated smile. “Besides,” she continued, leaning up and pressing an apologetic kiss on his cheek-loving the tangy scent of his cologne, “I usually enjoy the bookwork. I’m simply a little short of sleep today, because,” she whispered, “my husband kept me awake half the night.”
“Elizabeth,” he began hesitantly, “there’s something I-” Then he shook his head and changed his mind. and since Shipley was already standing in the doorway to announce the arrival of his business acquaintances, Elizabeth thought no more of it.
Until the next morning. Rather than use his study again and disrupt his working schedule, she spread out her books and papers at a desk in the library. With her mind fresh and alert. she made quick progress and, within an hour, she’d gotten the answer she’d been seeking yesterday and double-checked it. Positive that £364 was correct, she smiled as she tried to recall what Ian’s wild guess had been yesterday. When she couldn’t recall it. she looked among her papers for the one he’d written his guess upon and found it tucked in between the sheets of the book.
With her own answer in one hand, she looked at what he had written. . . Shock sent her slowly to her feet, the paper with Ian’s answer clutched in her other hand: £364. Trembling with an uneasy emotion she couldn’t identify, she gazed at the answer he had calculated in his head, not on paper, in a matter of seconds, not three-quarters of an hour.
She was still standing there several moments later when Ian walked in to invite her to ride with him. “Still trying to find your answer, sweetheart?” he asked with a sympathetic grin, mistaking the cause of her wary stare.
“No, I found mine,” she said, her voice unintentionally accusing as she thrust both pieces of paper toward him. “What I would like to know,” she continued, unable to tear her gaze from him, “is how it happens to be the same answer you arrived at in a matter of moments.”
His grin faded, and he shoved his hands into his pockets, ignoring the papers in her outthrust hand. His expression carefully impassive, he said, “That answer is a little more difficult than the one I wrote down for you-”
“You can do this-calculate all those figures in your mind? In moments?”
He nodded curtly, and when Elizabeth continued to stare at him warily, as if he was a being of unknown origin, his face hardened. In a clipped, cool voice he said, “I would appreciate it if you would stop staring at me as if I’m a freak.”
Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open at his tone and his words. “I’m not.”
“Yes,” he said implacably. “You are. Which is why I haven’t told you before this.”
Embarrassed regret surged through her at the understand. able conclusion he’d drawn from her reaction. Recovering her composure, she started around the desk toward him. “What you saw on my face was wonder and awe, no matter how it must have seemed.”
“The last thing I want from you is ‘awe,’” he said tightly, and Elizabeth belatedly realized that, while he didn’t care what anyone else thought of him, her reaction to all this was obviously terribly important to him. Rapidly concluding that he’d evidently had some experience with other people’s reaction to what must surely be a form of genius-and which struck them as “freakish”-she bit her lip, trying to decide what to say. When nothing came to mind, she simply let love guide her and reacted without artifice. Leaning back against the desk, she sent him an amused, sidelong smile and said, “I gather you can calculate almost as rapidly as you can read?”
His response was short and chilly. “Not quite.” “I see,” she continued lightly. “I would guess there are close to ten thousand books in your library here. Have you read them all?”
“No.” She nodded thoughtfully, but her eyes danced with admiring laughter as she continued, “Well, you’ve been quite busy the past few weeks-dancing attendance on me. No doubt that’s kept you from finishing the last thousand or two.” His face softened as she asked merrily, “Are you planning to read them all?”
With relief, she saw the answering smile tugging at his lips. “I thought I’d attend to that next week,” he replied with sham gravity.
“A worthy endeavor,” she agreed. “I hope you won’t start without me. I’d like to watch.”
Ian’s shout of laughter was cut short as he snatched her into his arms and buried his face in her fragrant hair, his hands clenching her to him as if he could absorb her sweetness into himself.
“Do you have any other extraordinary skills I ought to know about, my lord?” she whispered, holding him as tightly as he was holding her.
The laughter in his voice was replaced by tender solemnity. “I’m rather good,” he whispered, “at loving you.”
In the weeks that followed, he proved it to her in a hundred ways. Among other things, he never objected to the times she was away from him at Havenhurst. To Elizabeth, whose entire life had once been wrapped up in Havenhurst’s past and future, it came as something of a surprise to realize very quickly that she rather begrudged much of the time she had to spend there, overseeing the improvements that were getting under way.
To avoid spending more time there than was absolutely necessary, she began bringing home the drawings the architect had made, along with any other problems she’d encountered, so that she could consult with Ian. No matter how busy he was or who he was with, he made time for her. He would sit with her for hours, explaining alternatives to her in a step-by-step fashion which she soon realized was evidence of his inexhaustible patience with her, because Ian’s mind did not reason in step-step fashion. With awesome speed, his mind went straight from point A to point Z, from problem to solution, without needing to plod through the normal steps between.
With the exception of the few times she had to stay at Havenhurst, they spent their nights together in his bed, and Elizabeth quickly discovered that their wedding night had been but a small preview of the wild beauty and primitive splendor of his lovemaking. There were times that he lingered over her endlessly, lavishing her senses with every exquisite sensation, prolonging their release, until Elizabeth was pleading with him to end the sweet torment; other nights, he turned to her in hunger and need and took her with tender roughness and few preliminaries. And Elizabeth could never quite decide which way she liked best. She admitted that to him one night, only to have him take her swiftly and then keep her awake for hours with his tender attentions, so that she might be better able to decide. He taught her to ask, without embarrassment, for what she wanted, and when shyness made her hesitate, he taught her by example that same night. It was a lesson Elizabeth found incredibly stirring as she listened to his husky voice grow thick with desire while he asked to be touched and caressed in particular ways, and when she did, his powerful muscles jumped beneath her touch, and a groan tore from his chest
Toward the end of the summer, they went to London, although the city was still somewhat deserted. the Little Season having not yet begun. Elizabeth agreed because she thought it would be convenient for him to be nearer the men with whom he invested large sums of money in complex ventures, and because Alex would be there. Ian went because he wanted Elizabeth to enjoy the position of prestige in society she was entitled to-and because he enjoyed showing her off in the setting where she sparkled like the jewels he lavished on her. He knew she regarded him as a combination of loving benefactor and wise teacher, but in that last regard, Ian knew she was wrong, for Elizabeth was teaching him, too. By her own example, she taught him to be patient with servants; she taught him to relax; and she taught him that next to lovemaking, laughter was undoubtedly life’s most pleasant diversion. At her insistence, he even learned to look tolerantly upon the foolish foibles of many of the ton’s members.
So successful was Elizabeth in this last endeavor that they were, within a matter of weeks, rather a favorite couple, much sought after for every sort of charitable and social event. Invitations arrived at the house in Upper Brook Street in large numbers, and together they laughingly invented excuses to avoid many of them so that Ian could work during the day and Elizabeth could occupy her time with something more interesting than social calls.
For Ian that was no problem at all; he was always busy. Elizabeth solved her problem by agreeing, at the urging of some of the ton’s most influential old guard, including the Dowager Duchess of Hawthorne, to join in a charitable endeavor to build a badly needed hospital on the outskirts of London. Unfortunately, the Hospital Fund Raising Committee, to which Elizabeth was assigned, spent most of its time mired down in petty trivialities and rarely made a decision on anything. In a fit of tired frustration, Elizabeth finally asked Ian to step into their drawing room one day, while the committee was meeting there, and to give them the benefit of his expertise. “And,” she laughingly warned him in the privacy of his study when he agreed to join them, “no matter how they prose on about every tiny, meaningless expenditure-which they will-promise me you won’t point out to them that you could build six hospitals with less effort and time.”
“Could I do that?” he asked, grinning. “Absolutely!” She sighed. “Between them, they must have half the money in Europe, yet they debate about every shilling to be spent as if it were coming out of their own reticules and likely to send them to debtors’ gaol.”
“If they offend your thrifty sensibilities, they must be a rare group,” Ian teased. Elizabeth gave him a distracted smile, but when they neared the drawing room, where the committee was drinking tea in Ian’s priceless sevres china cups, she turned to him and added hastily, “Oh, and don’t comment on Lady Wiltshire’s blue hat. “
“Why not?” “Because it’s her hair.” “I wouldn’t do such a thing,” he protested, grinning at her.
“Yes, you would!” she whispered, trying to frown and chuckling instead. “The dowager duchess told me that, last night, you complimented the furry dog Lady Shirley had draped over her arm.”
“Madam, I was following your specific instructions to be nice to the eccentric old harridan. Why shouldn’t I have complimented her dog?”
“Because it was a new fur muff of a rare sort, of which she was extravagantly proud.”
“There is no fur on earth that mangy, Elizabeth,” he replied with an impenitent grin. “She’s hoaxing the lot of you,” he added seriously.
Elizabeth swallowed a startled laugh and said with an imploring look, “Promise me you’ll be very nice, and very patient with the committee.”
“I promise, “ he said gravely, but when she reached for the door handle and opened the door-when it was too late to step back and yank it closed-he leaned close to her ear and whispered, “Did you know a camel is the only animal invented by a committee, which is why it turned out the way it has?”
If the committee was surprised to see the formerly curt and irascible Marquess of Kensington stroll into their midst wearing a beatific smile worthy of a choir boy, they were doubtlessly shocked to see his wife’s hands clamped over her face and her eyes tearing with mirth.
Elizabeth’s concern that Ian might insult them, either intentionally or otherwise, soon gave way to admiration and then to helpless amusement as he sat for the next half-hour, charming them all with an occasional lazy smile or interjecting a gallant compliment, while they spent the entire time debating whether to sell the chocolates being donated by Gunther’s for £5 or £6 per box. Despite Ian’s outwardly bland demeanor, Elizabeth waited uneasily for him to say he’d buy the damned cartload of chocolates for £10 apiece, if it would get them on to the next problem, which she knew was what he was dying to say.
But she needn’t have worried, for he continued to positively exude pleasant interest. Four times, the committee paused to solicit his advice; four times, he smilingly made excellent suggestions; four times, they ignored what he suggested. And four times, he seemed not to mind in the least or even to notice.
Making a mental note to thank him profusely for his incredible forbearance, Elizabeth kept her attention on her guests and the discussion, until she inadvertently glanced in his direction, and her breath caught. Seated on the opposite side of the gathering from her, he was now leaning back in his chair, his left ankle propped atop his right knee, and despite his apparent absorption in the topic being discussed, his heavy-lidded gaze was roving meaningfully over her breasts. One look at the smile tugging at his lips and Elizabeth realized that he wanted her to know it.
Obviously he’d decided that both she and he were wasting their time with the committee, and he was playing an amusing game designed to either divert her or discomfit her entirely, she wasn’t certain which. Elizabeth drew a deep breath, ready to blast a warning look at him, and his gaze lifted slowly from her gently heaving bosom, traveled lazily up her throat, paused at her lips, and then lifted to her narrowed eyes. ‘
Her quelling glance earned her nothing but a slight, challenging lift of his brows and a decidedly sensual smile, before his gaze reversed and began a lazy trip downward again.
Lady Wiltshire’s voice rose, and she said for the second time, “Lady Thornton, what do you think?”
Elizabeth snapped her gaze from her provoking husband to Lady Wiltshire. “I-I agree,” she said without the slightest idea of what she was agreeing with. For the next five minutes, she resisted the tug of Ian’s caressing gaze, firmly refusing to even glance his way, but when the committee re-embarked on the chocolate issue again, she stole a look at him. The moment she did, he captured her gaze, holding it, while he, with an outward appearance of a man in thoughtful contemplation of some weighty problem, absently rubbed his forefinger against his mouth, his elbow propped on the arm of his chair. Elizabeth’s body responded to the caress he was offering her as if his lips were actually on hers, and she drew a tong, steadying breath as he deliberately let his eyes slide to her breasts again. He knew exactly what his gaze was doing to her, and Elizabeth was thoroughly irate at her inability to ignore its effect.
The committee departed on schedule a half-hour later amid reminders that the next meeting would be held at Lady Wiltshire’s house. Before the door closed behind them, Elizabeth rounded on her grinning, impenitent husband in the drawing room. “You wretch!” she exclaimed. “How could your’ she demanded, but in the midst of her indignant protest, Ian shoved his hands into her hair, turned her face up, and smothered her words with a ravenous kiss.
“I haven’t forgiven you,” she warned him in bed an hour later, her cheek against his chest. Laughter, rich and deep, rumbled beneath her ear.
“No?” “Absolutely not. I’ll repay you if it’s the last thing I do.” “I think you already have,” he said huskily, deliberately
misunderstanding her meaning. Shortly afterward, they returned to Montmayne to spend September in the country, where it was cooler. For Ian, life with Elizabeth was everything he ever hoped it could be, and more. It was so perfect that he had to fight down the nagging fear that things could not go on like this-a fear which he tried to convince himself was mere superstition brought on by the fact that two years ago fate had snatched her from him. But in his heart, he knew it was more than that. His investigators had not yet been able to find a trace of Elizabeth’s brother, and he lived in daily dread that hers would succeed where his had not. And so he waited to discover the extent of his offense against her and her brother, knowing he was going to have to beg her forgiveness for it, and that-in marrying her without telling her what he did know-he was as guilty of duplicity as he was of her brother’s abduction.
In the rational part of his mind, he knew that by having Robert tossed aboard the Arianna, he had spared the hotheaded young fool a far worse fate at the hands of the authorities. But now, without knowing what fate had actually befallen him, he couldn’t be certain that Elizabeth would see his actions in that light. He couldn’t see them in that light himself anymore, because now he knew something he hadn’t known at the time. He knew that her parents had been long dead by then and that Robert had been her only buffer against her uncle.
Fear, the one emotion he despised above all others, grew apace with his love for Elizabeth until he actually began to wish someone would find out something, so that he could confess to her whatever sins he was guilty of, and either be forgiven or cast out of her life. In that, he knew his thinking was irrational, but he couldn’t help himself. He had found something he treasured beyond all bounds; he had found Elizabeth, and loving her made him more vulnerable than he’d been since his family’s death. The threat of losing her haunted him until he began to wonder how long he could bear the torment of uncertainty.
Blissfully unaware of all that. Elizabeth continued to love him without reservation or guile, and as she grew more certain of his love, she became more confident and more enchanting to Ian. On those occasions when she saw his expression become inexplicably grim, she teased him or kissed him, and, if those ploys failed, she presented him with little gifts-a flower arrangement from Havenhurst’s gardens, a single rose that she stuck behind his ear, or left upon his pillow. “Shall I have to resort to buying you a jewel to make you smile, my lord?” she joked one day three months after they were married. “I understand that is bow it is done when a lover begins to act distracted.”
To Elizabeth’s surprise, her remark made him snatch her into his arms in a suffocating embrace. “I am not losing interest in you, if that’s what you’re suggesting,” be told her.
Elizabeth leaned back in his arms, surprised by the unwarranted force of his declaration, and continued to tease. “You’re quite certain?”
“Positive.”
“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?” she asked in a tone of mock severity.
“I would never lie to you,” Ian said gravely, but then he realized that by withholding the truth from her, he was, in effect, deceiving her, which in turn, amounted to little less than lying outright.
Elizabeth knew something was bothering him, and that as time passed, it was bothering him with increasing frequency, but she never dreamed she was even remotely the cause of his silences or preoccupation. She thought of Robert often, but not since the day of her marriage had she permitted herself to think of Mr. Wordsworth’s accusations, not even for an instant. In the first place, she couldn’t bear it; in the second, she no longer believed there was the slightest possibility he was right”
“I have to go to Havenhurst tomorrow,” she said reluctantly when Ian finally let her go. “The masons have started on the house and bridge, and the irrigation work has begun. If I spend the night, though, I shouldn’t have to go back for at least a fortnight.”
“I’ll miss you,” he said quietly, but there was no trace of resentment in his voice, nor did he attempt to persuade her to postpone the trip. He was keeping to his bargain with the integrity that Elizabeth particularly admired in him.
“Not,” she whispered, kissing the side of his mouth, ‘‘as much as I’ll miss you.”

Chapter 32




Her mind on the list of provisions she was reading, Elizabeth walked slowly along the path from Havenhurst’s storage buildings toward the main house. A tall hedge on her right shielded the utilitarian buildings from view of the main house where the masons were working. A footstep sounded behind her, and before she could turn or react, she was grabbed round the waist and dragged backward, a male hand clamped over her mouth, stifling her scream of frightened protest”.
“Hush, Elizabeth, it’s me,” an achingly familiar voice said urgently. “Don’t scream, all right?”
Elizabeth nodded, the hand loosened, and she whirled around into Robert’s waiting arms. “Where have you been?” she demanded, laughing and crying and hugging him fiercely. “Why did you leave without telling me where you were going? I could kill you for worrying me so-”
His hands gripped her shoulders, moving her away, and there was urgency on his gaunt face. “There isn’t time for explanations. Meet me in the arbor at dusk, and for God’s sake don’t tell anyone you’ve seen me.”
“Not even Bentner-” “No one! I have to get out of here before one of the servants sees me. I’ll be in the arbor near your favorite cherry tree at dusk.”
He left her there, moving stealthily down the path, then vanishing into the arbor beside it after quickly glancing in both directions to ensure he hadn’t been seen.
Elizabeth felt as if she’d imagined the whole brief encounter. The sense of unreality stayed with her as she paced across the drawing room, watching the sun set with nerve wracking slowness, while she tried to imagine why Robert would fear being seen by their loyal old butler. Obviously he was in some sort of trouble, perhaps with the authorities. If so, she would ask Ian for advice and help. Robert was her brother, and she loved him despite his faults; Ian would understand that. In time, perhaps both men would come to treat one another as relatives, for her sake. She stole out of her own house, feeling like a thief.
Robert was sitting with his back against the old cherry tree, moodily contemplating his scuffed boots when Elizabeth first saw him, and he stood up quickly. “You didn’t happen to bring food, did you?”
She’d been right, she realized; he was half-starved. “Yes, but only some bread and cheese,” she explained, taking it out from behind her skirts. ‘“I couldn’t think of a way to carry more out here without causing someone to wonder whom I was feeding in the arbor. Robert,” she burst out, no longer diverted by such commonplace needs as food, “where have you been, why did you leave me like that, and what-”
“I didn’t leave you,” he bit out furiously. “Your husband had me kidnapped the week after our duel and tossed onto one of his ships. I was supposed to die-”
Pain and disbelief streaked through Elizabeth. “Don’t say that to me,” she cried, wildly shaking her head. “Don’t-he wouldn’t-”
Robert’s jaw clamped down, and he yanked his shirt out of his waistband, jerked it up, and turned around. “This is a souvenir of one of his attempts.”
A scream rose up in Elizabeth’s throat, and she pressed her knuckles against her mouth, trying to stop it. Even then she felt as if she was going to vomit. “Oh, my God,” she panted, looking at the vicious scan that crisscrossed almost every inch of Robert’s thin back. “Oh, my God. Oh, my God.”
“Don’t faint,” Robert said, clutching her arm to steady her. “You have to be strong. or he’ll finish the deed.”
Elizabeth sank to the ground and put her head against her knees, her arms clutched around her stomach. rocking helplessly to and fro. “Oh, my God.” she kept saying over and over at the thought of his tom, battered flesh. “Oh, my God.”
Forcing herself to take long. steadying breaths, she finally brought herself under control. All the doubts, the warnings. the hints, crystallized in her mind. focusing on the proof of Robert’s battered back and an icy cold stole through her, numbing her to everything. even the pain. Ian had been her love and her lover; she had lain in the arms of a man who knew what he had done to her brother.
Leaning a hand against the tree, she stood up unsteadily. “Tell me,” she said hoarsely.
“Tell you why he did this? Or tell you about the months I’ve spent rotting in a mine, dragging coal out of it? Or tell you about the beating I got the last time I tried to escape and come back to you?”
Elizabeth rubbed her arms; they felt cold and numb. “Tell me why,” she said.
“How in hell do you expect me to explain the motives of a madman?” Robert hissed, and then with a sublime effort he got himself under control. “I’ve had two years to think about it, to try to understand, and when I heard he’d married you, it all came clear as glass. He tried to kill me on Marblemarle Road the week of our duel, did you know that?”
“I’ve hired investigators to try to find you,” she said. nodding that she knew part of it, unaware that Robert had gone more pale than before. “But they thought you tried to kill him.”
“That’s garbage!”
“It was-conjecture,” she admitted. “But why would Ian want to kill you?”
“Why?” he sneered, tearing into the bread and cheese like a starving man while Elizabeth watched him. her heart wrenching. “For one thing. because I shot him in our duel.
But that’s not really it. I foiled his plans when I barged in on him in the greenhouse. He knew he was reaching above himself when he reached for you, but I put the onus on him. Do you know,” he continued with a harsh laugh, “there were people who turned their backs on him over that episode? Plenty, I heard before I was thrown in the hold of one of his ships.”
Elizabeth drew a shaky breath. “What do you mean to do?”
Robert leaned his head back and closed his eyes, looking tormented. “He’ll have me killed if he learns I’m still alive,” he said with absolute conviction. “I couldn’t take another whipping like the last one, Elizabeth. I was on the brink of death for a week.”
A sob of pity and horror rose in her throat. “Legal charges, then?” she asked, and her voice dropped to an agonized whisper. “Do you mean to go to the authorities?”
“I’ve thought of it. I want it so badly I can hardly sleep at night, but they’d never take my word now. Your husband has become a rich and powerful man.” When he said “your husband” he looked at her so accusingly that Elizabeth could scarcely meet his haunted eyes.
“I-” She lifted her hand in helpless apology, but she didn’t know what to apologize for, and tears were starting to blur her eyes and impede her speech. “Please,” she cried helplessly. “I don’t know what to do or say. Not yet. I can’t think.”
He dropped the bread and wrapped his arms around her. “Poor beautiful baby,” he said. “I’ve lain awake nights scared out of my mind for you, trying not to think of his filthy hands on you. He owns mines-deep, endless pits in the ground where men live like animals and are beaten like oxen. That’s where he gets the money for everything he buys.”
Including all the jewels and furs he’d given her, Elizabeth realized, and the need to vomit was almost overwhelming. She shuddered repeatedly in Robert’s embrace. “If you don’t bring him up before the magistrates, what will you do?”
“What will I do?” he asked. “This isn’t a question for me alone, Elizabeth. If he learns you know what he’s done, your beautiful back won’t take the punishment mine has. You won’t survive what he has his people do to you.”
At the moment, survival was unimportant to Elizabeth. Inside she was already battered. and she was already dying.
“We have to get away. Use new names. Find a new life.” It was the first time Elizabeth hadn’t paused to consider Havenhurst before making a decision. “Where?” she asked in a shattered whisper.
“Leave that to me. How much money can you get your hands on in a few days’ time?”
Tears dripped from her clenched eyes because she had no choice. No options. No Ian. “A great deal, I suppose,” she said dully, “if I can find a way to sell some jewels.”
His arms tightened, and he pressed a brotherly kiss on her temple. “You must follow my instructions exactly. Promise me you will?”
She nodded against his shoulder and swallowed painfully. “No one must know you’re leaving. He’ll stop you if he knows what you mean to do.”
Elizabeth nodded again; Ian would not let her go easily, and never without weeks of probing questions. After their torrid lovemaking. he certainly wouldn’t believe she wished for a separation because she didn’t want to live with him.
“Sell everything you possibly can without raising suspicion. Go to London; it’s a big city, and if you use another name and try to make yourself look as different as you can, you aren’t likely to be recognized. On Friday take a hack from London to Thurston Crossing on the Bernam Road. There’s a posting house there, and I’ll be waiting for you. Your husband will launch a search for you once your disappearance is noted. They’ll be watching for a blond woman, and if they find me, I’m as good as dead. If you’re with me, so are you, if he finds you first. We’ll travel as man and wife; I think that will be the best way.”
Elizabeth heard it all, she understood it all, but she could not seem to move or feel. “Where are we going?” she asked numbly. “I haven’t decided yet. To Brussels, maybe, but that’s too close. Maybe to America. We’ll travel north and stay in Helmshead It’s a little village on the seacoast, very secluded and provincial. They only get the newspapers irregularly, so they won’t know of your disappearance. We’ll wait for a ship going to the colonies up there.”
His hands tightened, moving her away. “I have to leave. Do you understand what you need to do?”
She nodded.
“There’s one thing more. I want you to quarrel with him-in front of someone, if possible. It doesn’t need to be anything serious-just enough to make him think you’re angry, so that when you leave he won’t set investigators on your path so quickly. If you disappear for no apparent reason, he’ll start searching for you at once. The other way will buy us time. Can you do that?”
“Yes,” she said hoarsely. “I imagine so. But I wanted to be able to leave him a note, to tell him”-tears clogged her throat at the idea of writing Ian a note; he might be a monster, but her heart was refusing to let go of her love at the same speed her mind was accepting Ian’s treachery to tell him why I’m leaving.” Her voice broke, and her shoulders began to shake with wrenching sobs.
Robert gathered her into his arms again. Despite the comforting gesture, his voice was icy and implacable. “No note! Do you understand me? No note. Later,” he promised, his voice softened and silky, “later, when we’ve made good our escape, you can write to him and tell him everything. You can write volumes to that bastard. Do you understand why it’s imperative that you make it look like you’re leaving over an ordinary quarrel?” “Yes,” she said hoarsely. “I’ll see you Friday,” he promised, moving away from her and kissing her cheek. “Don’t fail us.”
“I won’t.”

Mechanically going through the motions of living and survival, Elizabeth sent a note to Ian that night announcing her intention to stay overnight at Havenhurst so that she could go over the books. The next day, Wednesday, she left for London, her jewels in a velvet sack concealed beneath her cloak. Everything was there, including her betrothal ring. Scrupulously adhering to the need for stealth, she had Aaron drop her in Bond Street, then she took a rented hack to the first jeweler she saw in a neighborhood where she wasn’t likely to be recognized.
The jeweler was impressed with what she had to offer. Speechless, in fact. “They’re all exceptionally fine stones, Mrs...”
“Mrs Roberts,” Elizabeth provided with a kind of dumb inspiration. Now that nothing mattered anymore, it was easy to lie and dissemble.
The amount he offered her for the emeralds sent the first stab of feeling through her, but it was only a sense of mild dismay. “They must be worth twenty times that much.”
“Thirty, more like, but I don’t have the clientele that can pay those lofty prices. I have to sell them for what my clients are willing to pay.” Elizabeth nodded numbly, her soul too dead to bargain, to point out to him that he could sell them to a Bond Street jeweler for ten times more than he was paying her. “I don’t keep this kind of money around. You’ll have to go to my bank.”
Two hours later Elizabeth emerged from the designated bank with a fortune in notes filling the large sack and her reticule.
Before leaving for London she’d sent word to Ian that she intended to spend the night at the house on Promenade Street. using as an excuse a desire to do some shopping and look in on the servants. It was a lame excuse, but Elizabeth had passed the point of rational thought. She followed Robert’s instructions automatically; she did not deviate or improvise; she did not feel. She felt like a person who had already died but whose body was still ghoulishly propelling itself around
Sitting alone in her bed chamber on Promenade Street, she stared blankly out the window into the impenetrable night. her fingers idly twisting in her lap. She ought to send Alex a note to tell her good-bye, she thought. It was her first thought of the future in almost two days. Once the thinking began, however, she wished it hadn’t. No sooner had she decided she couldn’t risk writing to Alexandra than her mind began tormenting her with the single remaining ordeal before her. She still had to see Ian; she could not avoid him
for two more days without awakening his suspicion. Or could she? she wondered helplessly. He had agreed to let her live her own life, and she’d stayed at Havenhurst occasionally since they’d been married. Of course; the reason had owed to foul weather, not whim.
Dawn was already lightening the sky when she fell asleep in her chair.
When Elizabeth’s carriage drew up at Havenhurst the next day she half expected to see Ian’s in the drive, but everything looked normal and peaceful. With Ian’s money available, Havenhurst was filled with new servants; the grooms were walking a horse by the stable; the gardeners were laying mulch on the dormant flower beds. Normal and peaceful, she thought a little hysterically as Bentner opened the door. “Where have you been, missy?” he asked, anxiously searching her pale face. “The marquess sent word he wants you to come home.”
Elizabeth should have expected that, but she actually hadn’t. “I can’t see why I must, Bentner,” she said in a strained voice that was supposed to pass for annoyance. “My husband seems to forget we had a bargain when we wed. “
Bentner, who still resented Ian for his past treatment of his mistress-not to mention for the assault on Bentner’s person the day he forced his way into the house on Promenade Street-could not find any reason to defend the marquess now. Instead he trotted down the hall on Elizabeth’s heels, stealing anxious glances at her face. “You don’t look well, Miss Elizabeth,” he said. “Shall I have Winston make you a nice hot pot of tea with some of his delicious scones?”
Elizabeth shook her head and went into the library, where she sat down at her writing desk and composed what she hoped was a politely evasive note to her husband stating her intention to remain at Havenhurst tonight to finish working on the account books. A footman left with the note shortly afterward, with instructions to make the carriage trip in no more than seven hours. Under no circumstances did Elizabeth want Ian leaving their house-his house-and barging in here in the morning-or worse, tonight.
After the footman left, the nerves that had seemed numb in Elizabeth came to vibrant life with a vengeance. The pendulum on the old grandfather clock in the hall began to swing ominously faster, and she began to imagine all sorts of vague, disastrous things happening. Sleep, she told herself; she needed sleep. Her imagination was running rampant because she’d had so little sleep.
Tomorrow she would have to face him, but only for a few hours. . . .
Elizabeth snapped awake in a terrified instant as the door to her bed chamber was flung open near dawn, and Ian stalked into the darkened room. “Do you want to go first, or shall I?” he said tightly, coming to stand at the side of her bed.
“What do you mean?” she asked in a trembling voice.
“I mean,” he said, “that either you go first and tell me why in hell you suddenly find my company repugnant, or I’ll go first and tell you how I feel when I don’t know where you are or why you want to be there!”
“I’ve sent word to you both nights.”
“You sent a damned note that arrived long after nightfall both times, informing me that you intended to sleep somewhere else. I want to know why?”
He has men beaten like animals. she reminded herself. “Stop shouting at me,” Elizabeth said shakily, getting out
of bed and dragging the covers with her to hide herself from him.
His brows snapped together in an ominous frown. “Elizabeth?” he asked, reaching for her.
“Don’t touch me!” she cried.
Bentner’s voice came from the doorway. “Is aught amiss, my lady?” he asked, glaring bravely at Ian.
“Get out of here and close that damned door behind you!” Ian snapped furiously.
“Leave it open,” Elizabeth said nervously, and the brave butler did exactly as she said.
In six long strides Ian was at the door, shoving it closed with a force that sent it crashing into its frame, and Elizabeth began to vibrate with terror. When he turned around and started toward her Elizabeth tried to back away, but she tripped on the coverlet and had to stay where she was.
Ian saw the fear in her eyes and stopped short only inches in front of her. His hand lifted, and she winced, but it came to rest on her cheek. “Darling, what is it?” he asked. It was his voice that made her want to weep at his feet, that beautiful baritone voice; and his face-that harsh, handsome face she’d adored. She wanted to beg him to tell her what Robert and Wordsworth had said were lies-all lies. “My life depends on this. Elizabeth. So does yours. Don’t fail us,” Robert had pleaded. Yet, in that moment of weakness $he actually considered telling Ian everything she knew and letting him kill her if he wanted to; she would have preferred death to the torment of living with the memory of the lie that had been their lives-to the torment of living without him.
“Are you ill?” he asked, frowning and minutely studying her face.
Snatching at the excuse he’d offered, she nodded hastily. “Yes. I haven’t been feeling well.”
“Is that why you went to London? To see a physician?” She nodded a little wildly, and to her bewildered horror he started to smile-that lazy, tender smile that always made her senses leap. “Are you with child, darling? Is that why you’re acting so strangely?” Elizabeth was silent, trying to debate the wisdom of saying yes or no-she should say no, she realized. He’d hunt her to the ends of the earth if he believed she was carrying his babe.
“No! He-the doctor said it is just-just-nerves.” “You’ve been working and playing too hard,” Ian said, looking like the picture of a worried, devoted husband. “You need more rest.”
Elizabeth couldn’t bear any more of this-not his feigned tenderness or his concern or the memory of Robert’s battered back. “I’m going to sleep now,” she said in a strangled voice. “Alone.” she added, and his face whitened as if she had slapped him.
During his entire adult life Ian had relied almost as much on his intuition as on his intellect, and at that moment he didn’t want to believe in the explanation they were both offering. His wife did not want him in her bed; she recoiled from his touch; she had been away for two consecutive nights; and-more alarming than any of that-guilt and fear were written allover her pale face.
“Do you know what a man thinks,” he said in a calm voice that belied the pain streaking through him, “when his wife stays away at night and doesn’t want him in her bed when she does return?”
Elizabeth shook her head.
“He thinks,” Ian said dispassionately, “that perhaps someone else has been taking his place in it.”
Fury sent bright flags of color to her pale cheeks.
“You’re blushing, my dear,” he said in an awful voice.
“I am furious!” she countered, momentarily forgetting that she was confronting a madman.
His stunned look was replaced almost instantly by an expression of relief and then bafflement. “I apologize, Elizabeth. “
“Would you p-please get out of here!” Elizabeth burst out in a final explosion of strength. “Just go away and let me rest. I told you I was tired. And I don’t see what right you have to be so upset! We had a bargain before we married-I was to be allowed to live my life without interference, and quizzing me like this is interference!” Her voice broke, and after another narrowed look he strode out of the room.
Numb with relief and pain, Elizabeth crawled back into bed and pulled the covers up under her chin, but not even their luxurious warmth could still the alternating chills and fever that quaked through her. Several minutes later a shadow crossed her bed, and she almost screamed with terror before she realized it was Ian, who had entered silently through the connecting door of their suite.
Since she’d gasped aloud when she saw him, it was useless to pretend she was sleeping. In silent dread she watched him walking toward her bed. Wordlessly he sat down beside her, and she realized there was a glass in his hand. He put it on the bedside table, then he reached behind her to prop up her pillows, leaving Elizabeth no choice but to sit up and lean back against them. “Drink this,” he instructed in a calm tone.
“What is it?” she asked suspiciously. “It’s brandy. It will help you sleep.”
He watched while she sipped it, and when he spoke again there was a tender smile in his voice. “Since we’ve ruled out another man as the explanation for all this, I can only assume something has gone wrong at Havenhurst. Is that it?”
Elizabeth seized on that excuse as if it were manna from heaven. “Yes,” she whispered, nodding vigorously.
Leaning down, he pressed a kiss on her forehead and said teasingly, “Let me guess-you discovered the mill overcharged you?” Elizabeth thought she would die of the sweet torment when he continued tenderly teasing her about being thrifty. “Not the mill? Then it was the baker, and he refused to give you a better price for buying two loaves instead of one.”
Tears swelled behind her eyes, treacherously close to the surface, and Ian saw them. “That bad?” be joked, looking at the suspicious sheen in her eyes. “Then it must be that you’ve overspent your allowance.” When she didn’t respond to his light probing, Ian smiled reassuringly and said, “Whatever it is, we’ll work it out together tomorrow.”
It sounded as though he planned to stay, and that shook Elizabeth out of her mute misery enough to say chokingly, “No-it’s the-the masons. They’re costing much more than I-I expected. I’ve spent part of my personal allowance on them besides the loan you made me for Havenhurst.” “Oh, so it’s the masons,” he grinned, chuckling. “You have to keep your eye on them, to be sure. They’ll put you in the poorhouse if you don’t keep an eye on the mortar they’ll charge you for. I’ll have a talk with them in the morning.”
“No!” she burst out, fabricating wildly. “That’s just what has me so upset. I didn’t want you to have to intercede. I wanted to do it all myself. I have it all settled now, but it’s been exhausting. And so I went to the doctor to see why I felt tired. He-he said there’s nothing in the world wrong with me. I’ll come home to Montmayne the day after tomorrow. Don’t wait here for me. I know how busy you are right now.
“Please,” she implored desperately, “let me do this, I beg you!” Ian straightened and shook his head in baffled disbelief. “I’d give you my life for the price of your smile, Elizabeth.”
“You don’t have to beg me for anything. I do not want you spending your personal allowance on this place, however. If you do,” he lied teasingly, “I may be forced to cut it off.” Then, more seriously, he said, “If you need more money for Havenhurst, just tell me, but your allowance is to be spent exclusively on yourself. Finish your brandy,” he ordered gently, and when she had, he pressed another kiss on her forehead. “Stay here as long as you must. I have business in Devon that I’ve been putting off because I didn’t want to leave you. I’ll go there and return to London on Tuesday. Would you like to join me there instead of at Montmayne?”
Elizabeth nodded.
“There’s just one thing more,” he finished, studying her pale face and strained features. “Will you give me your word the doctor didn’t find anything at all to be alarmed about?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said. “I give you my word.”
She watched him walk back into his own bed chamber. The moment his door clicked into its latch Elizabeth turned over and buried her face in the pillows. She wept until she thought there couldn’t possibly be any more tears left in her, and then she wept harder.
Across the room the door leading out into the hall was opened a crack, and Berta peeked in, then quickly closed it. Turning to Bentner-who’d sought her counsel when Ian slammed the door in his face and ripped into Elizabeth, Berta said miserably, “She’s crying like her heart will break, but he’s not in there anymore.”
“He ought to be shot!” Bentner said with blazing contempt.
Berta nodded timidly and clutched her dressing robe closer about her. “He’s a frightening man, to be sure, Mr. Bentner.”

Chapter 33




When Elizabeth hadn’t arrived at the town house in Upper Brook Street by Tuesday night, all the misgivings Ian had been trying to stifle came back with a vengeance. At eleven o’clock that night he sent two footmen to Havenhurst to ask if they knew where she was, and two others to Montmayne to see if she was there.
At ten-thirty the next morning he was apprised of the fact that the Havenhurst servants thought she’d gone to Montmayne five days ago, while his servants believed her to have been at Havenhurst the entire time. Elizabeth had vanished five days ago, and no one had thought to sound an alarm.
At one o’clock that afternoon Ian met with the head of Bow Street, and by four o’clock he’d hired a private team of one hundred investigators to search for her. There was little he could tell them. All anyone knew for certain was that Elizabeth had vanished from Havenhurst, where she had last been seen that night with him; that she had apparently taken nothing with her except whatever clothes she was wearing; and no one yet knew what clothes they were.
There was one other thing Ian knew, but he wasn’t yet ready to reveal it unless he absolutely had to, and it was the sole reason he was desperately trying to keep her disappearance a secret. He knew his wife had been terrified of something, or someone, the last night she was with him. Blackmail was the only thing Ian could think of, but blackmailers didn’t kidnap their victims, and for the life of him be couldn’t imagine what in Elizabeth’s innocent young life she might have done to attract a blackmailer. Without blackmail as a motive, no criminal would be demented enough to abduct a marchioness and set the entire English justice system on his heels.
Beyond all that, he could not bear to consider the one remaining possibility. He wouldn’t let himself even imagine that she might have run away with some unknown lover. But as hour merged into day and day followed night, it became harder to banish the ugly, tormenting thought. He prowled around the house, he stood in her room to be closer to her, and then he drank. He drank to still the ache of her loss and the unnamed terror inside him.
On the sixth day the newspapers learned of the investigations into the disappearance of Lady Elizabeth Thornton, and the news was splashed across the front pages of the Times and the Gazette, along with a great deal of lurid speculation that included kidnapping, blackmail, and even broad hints that the Marchioness of Kensington might have decided to leave “for unknown reasons of her own.”
After that, not even the combined power of the Thornton and Townsende families could keep the press from printing every word of truth, conjecture, or blatant falsehood they could discover or invent. They seemed to know, and to print, every morsel of information that Bow Street and Ian’s investigators were discovering. Servants were questioned at all of Ian’s houses and at Havenhurst, and their statements were “quoted” by the avid press. Details of Ian and Elizabeth’s private life were fed to the insatiable public like shovelfuls of fodder.
In fact, it was from an article in the Times that Ian first learned that he was now a suspect. According to the Times. the butler at Havenhurst had supposedly witnessed a quarrel between Lord and Lady Thornton on the very night Lady Thornton was last seen. The cause of the quarrel, the butler said, had been Lord Thornton’s vicious attack on Lady Thornton’s moral character as it pertained to “certain things best left unsaid.”
Lady Thornton’s maid, according to the paper, had broken down and wept as she related having peeked in on her mistress and heard her “weeping like her heart would break.” The maid had also said it was dark in the room, and so she could not see whether or not any physical abuse had been done to her mistress, “but she could not and would not say it wasn’t likely .
Only one of the Havenhurst servants gave testimony that didn’t incriminate Ian, and when he read it, it caused him more agony than anything they could have hinted about him. Four days before Lady Thornton’s disappearance, a newly hired gardener named William Stokey had seen her ladyship go into the arbor from the back door of the house at dusk. and Stokey had started after her, intending to ask her a question about the mulch being laid on the flower beds. He had not approached her, however, because he had seen her embracing “a man who weren’t her husband.”
The papers promptly remarked that infidelity might cause a husband to do more than berate his wife, that it might provoke him into making her disappear. . . forever.
The authorities were still hesitant to believe Ian had done away with his wife merely because she’d purportedly met an unknown man in the arbor, which was the only motive he appeared to have.
At the end of the second week, however, a witness who had been away from England read the paper and reacted with instantaneous rage to the discovery that Lady Thornton had mysteriously disappeared. So damning, so shocking was the testimony of Mr. Wordsworth, a private investigator in the lady’s employ, against the Marquess of Kensington that it was given under the utmost secrecy, and not even the press could discover it.
The following day the Times reported its most shocking and titillating piece of news yet. Ian Thornton, Marquess of Kensington, had been taken from his London town house and brought in for official questioning to ascertain his part in the disappearance of his wife.
Although Ian was not formally charged with responsibility for her disappearance, or imprisoned while the investigation continued, he was ordered not to leave London until a tribunal had met behind closed doors to decide whether or not there was enough reason to try him either for his wife’s disappearance or on the new evidence provided by Wordsworth concerning his possible part in the disappearance of her brother two years before.
“They won’t do it, Ian,” Jordan Townsende said the night after Ian was released on his own recognizance. Pacing back and forth across Ian’s drawing room, he said again, “They will not do it.”
“They’ll do it,” Ian said dispassionately. The words were devoid of concern; not even his eyes showed interest. Days ago Ian had passed the point of caring about the investigation. Elizabeth was gone; there had been no ransom note, nothing whatever-no reason in the world to continue believing that she’d been taken against her will. Since Ian knew damned well he hadn’t killed her or had her abducted. the only remaining conclusion was that Elizabeth had left him for someone else.
The authorities were still vacillating about the other man she’d allegedly met in the arbor because the gardener’s eyesight had been proven to be extremely poor, and even he admitted that it 44might have been tree limbs moving around her in the dim light, instead of a man’s arms.” Ian, however, did not doubt it. The existence of a lover was the only thing that made sense; he had even suspected it the night before she disappeared. She hadn’t wanted him in her bed; if anything but a lover had been worrying her that night, she’d have sought the protection of his arms, even if she didn’t confide in him. But he had been the last thing she’d wanted.
No, he hadn’t actually suspected it-that would have been more pain than he could have endured then. Now, however, he not only suspected it, he knew it, and the pain was beyond anything he’d ever imagined existed.
“I tell you they won’t bring you to trial,” Jordan repeated. “Do you honestly think they will?” he demanded. lookin8 first to Duncan and then to the Duke of Stanhope, who were seated in the drawing room. In answer, both men raised dazed, pain-filled eyes to Jordan’s, shook their heads in an effort to seem decisive, then looked back down at their hands.
Under English law Ian was entitled to a trial before his peers; since he was a British lord, that meant he could only be tried in the House of Lords, and Jordan was clinging to that as if it were Ian’s lifeline.
“You aren’t the first man among us to have a spoiled wife turn missish on him and vanish for a while in hopes of bringing him to heel,” Jordan continued, desperately trying to make it seem as if Elizabeth were merely sulking somewhere-no doubt unaware that her husband’s reputation had been demolished and that his very life was going to be in jeopardy. “They aren’t going to convene the whole damn House of Lords just to try a beleaguered husband whose wife has taken a start,” he continued fiercely. “Hell, half the lords in the House can’t control their wives. Why should you be any different?”
Alexandra looked up at him, her eyes filled with misery and disbelief. Like Ian, she knew Elizabeth wasn’t indulging in a fit of the sullens. Unlike Ian, however, she could not and would not believe her friend had taken a lover and run away.
Ian’s butler appeared in the doorway, a sealed message in his hand, which he handed to Jordan. “Who knows?” Jordan tried to joke as he opened it. “Maybe this is from Elizabeth-a note asking me to intercede with you before she dares present herself to you.”
His smile faded abruptly. “What is it?” Alex cried, seeing his haggard expression. Jordan crumpled the summons in his hand and turned to
Ian with angry regret. “They’re convening the House of Lords. “
“It’s good to know,” Ian said with cold indifference as he pushed out of his chair and started for his study, “that I’ll have one friend and one relative there.”
When he left, Jordan continued pacing. “This is a bunch of trumped-up conjecture and insult. That’s all it is. The duel with Elizabeth’s brother-all of it. Her brother’s disappearance is easily explained.”
“One disappearance is relatively easy to explain,” the Duke of Stanhope said. “Two disappearances-in the same family-is another story, I’m afraid. They’ll tear him to shreds if he doesn’t do something to help himself.”
“Everything that can be done is being done,” Jordan assured him. “We have our own investigators turning the countryside upside down looking for a trace of Elizabeth. Bow Street thinks they’ve found their guilty party in Ian, and they’ve abandoned the theory of Elizabeth going away of her own volition.”
Alexandra stood up to leave and loyally said, “If she did, you may be certain she will have an excellent explanation for it-rather than a fit of missish sulks, as all you men seem to want to believe.”
When the Townsendes had left, the duke leaned his head wearily against the back of the chair and said to Duncan, “What sort of ‘excellent’ explanation could she possibly have?”
“It won’t matter,” Duncan said in a harsh voice. “Not to Ian. Unless she can make him believe that she was forcibly abducted, she’s as good as dead to him.”
“Don’t say things like that!” Edward protested. “Ian loves her-he’ll listen.”
“I know him better than you, Edward,” Duncan replied, remembering Ian’s actions after his parents’ death. “He’ll never give her another chance to hurt him. If she’s shamed him voluntarily, if she’s betrayed his trust, she is dead to him. And he already believes that she has done both. Watch his face-he doesn’t so much as flinch when her name is mentioned. He is already killing all the love he had for her.”
“You can’t just put someone out of your heart. Believe me, I know.”
“Ian can,” Duncan argued. “He’ll do it so that she can never get close to him again.” When the duke frowned in disbelief he said, “Let me tell you a story I told to Elizabeth not long ago when she asked me about some sketches of Ian’s in Scotland. It’s a story about his parents’ death and the Labrador retriever that belonged to him. . . .”
When Duncan finished the tale, the two men sat in bleak silence while the clock chimed the hour of eleven. Both of them stared at the clock, listening. . . waiting for the inevitable sound of the door knocker. . . dreading it. They did not have long to wait. At a quarter past eleven, two men arrived, and Ian Thornton, Marquess of Kensington was formally charged with the murders of his wife and her half-brother, Mr. Robert Cameron. He was placed under arrest and told to prepare himself to stand trial before the House of Lords, four weeks hence. As a concession to his rank, he was not imprisoned prior to the trial, but guards were placed outside his home and he was warned that he would be under constant surveillance whenever he went about the city. His bail was set at £100,000.

Chapter 34




Helmshead was a sleepy little village that overlooked a bright blue bay where sailing ships occasionally threaded their way into port, navigating between dozens of smaller fishing vessels dotting the harbor. Sometimes seamen came ashore hoping for a night of wenching and drinking; they sailed out again with the morning time-reminding themselves not to bother leaving their ship next time they put in there. There were no brothels in Helmshead, nor taverns that catered to seamen, nor wenches who sold their wares.
It was a community of families, of hard-bitten fishermen with hands as tough as the ropes and nets they hauled each day; of women who carried their wash to the community well and gossiped with one another while their reddened hands worked lye soap into sun-bleached cloth; of small children playing at tag, and mongrel dogs barking in ecstatic delight at the chase. Faces there were suntanned and weathered and strong, with character lines and squint lines feathered and etched upon them. There were no elegant, bejeweled ladies in Helmshead, nor finely dressed gallants offering their arms so that gloved hands could be placed upon them; there were only women carrying heavy baskets of wet clothing back home and rough fishermen who overtook them and, grinning, hoisted the heavy burdens onto their own muscular shoulders.
Standing on a grassy ledge near the center of the village, Elizabeth leaned back against the tree behind her, watching them. She swallowed past the permanent lump of anguish that had been lodged in her throat and chest for four weeks and turned her face in a different direction, looking across at the steep cliff that rose upward from the sparkling bay below. Gnarled trees clung to the rock, their bodies disfigured by their lifelong battle with the elements-twisted and ugly and strangely beautiful in their showy autumn garb of red and gold.
She closed her eyes to shut out the view; beauty reminded her of Ian. Ruggedness reminded her of Ian. Splendor reminded her of Ian. Twisted things reminded her of Ian Drawing in a long, shattered breath, she opened her eyes again. The roughened bark of the tree trunk bit into her back and shoulders, but she didn’t move away; the pain proved to her that she was still living. Except for the pain, there was nothing. Emptiness. Emptiness and grief. And the sound of Ian’s husky voice in her mind, whispering endearments when they made love. . . teasing her.
The sound of his voice. . . the sight of Robert’s battered back.

“Where is he?” Jordan demanded of Ian’s London butler, and when the servant replied he brushed past him, striding swiftly to the study. “I have news, Ian.”
He waited while Ian finished dictating a brief memorandum, dismissed his secretary, and then finally gave him his attention. “God, I wish you’d stop this!” Jordan burst out.
“Stop what?” Ian asked, leaning back in his chair. Jordan stared at him in helpless anger, not certain why Ian’s attitude so upset him. Ian’s shirtsleeves were rolled up, he was freshly shaven, and, except for a dramatic loss of weight, he looked like a man who was in control of a reasonably satisfactory life. “I wish you’d stop acting as if-as if everything is normal!”
“What would you have me do?” he replied, getting up and walking over to the tray of liquor. He poured some Scotch took them and, grinning, hoisted the heavy burdens onto their own muscular shoulders.
“No, at the moment I’m glad you’re not given to the masculine version of hysterics. I have news, as I said, and though you aren’t going to find it pleasant from a personal viewpoint, it’s the best possible news from the standpoint of your trial next week. Ian,” he said uneasily, “our investigators-yours, I mean-have finally picked up Elizabeth’s trail”
Ian’s voice was cool, his expression unmoved. “Where is she?”
“We don’t know yet, but we do know she was seen traveling in company of a man on the Denman Road two nights after she disappeared. They put up at an inn about fifteen miles north of Lister. They”-he hesitated and expelled his breath in a rush-”they were traveling as man and wife, Ian.”
Other than the merest tightening of Ian’s hand upon the glass of Scotch, there was no visible reaction to this staggering news, or to all its heartbreaking and unsavory implications. “There’s more news, and it’s as good-I mean as valuable-to us.”
Ian tossed down the contents of his glass and said with icy finality, “I can’t see how any news could be better. She has now proven that I didn’t kill her, and at the same time she’s given me irrefutable grounds for divorce.”
Biting off an expression of sympathy he knew Ian would only reject, Jordan watched him return to his desk, then he continued determinedly, “A prosecutor might try to contend that her traveling companion was a kidnapper in your pay. The next piece of news could help persuade everyone at your trial that she had planned and prepared in advance to leave you.”
Ian regarded him in dispassionate silence as Jordan explained. “She sold her jewels to a jeweler in Fletcher Street four days before she disappeared. The jeweler said he hadn’t come forward sooner because Lady Kensington. whom he knew as Mrs. Roberts, had .seemed very frightened. He said he was reluctant to give her away if she’d run from you for some good reason.”
“He was reluctant to-give away the profit on the stones in case they hadn’t actually been hers to sell,” Ian contradicted with calm cynicism. “Since the papers haven’t reported them stolen or missing, he assumed he could safely come forward.”
“Probably. But the point is that at least you won’t be tried for that trumped-up charge of doing away with her. Of equal importance, since it’s now obvious she ‘disappeared’ of her own will, things won’t look so bad for you when they try you on the charges of having her brother. . .” He trailed off, unwilling to say the words.
Ian picked up his quill and a contract from the stack next to his elbow as Jordan finished, “The investigators failed to learn the jewels were missing because the staff at Havenhurst believed they were safely at your house, and your servants believed they were in London.”
“I can see how it would have happened,” Ian said without interest. “However, the odds are it won’t carry any weight with the prosecution. They will insist I hired impostors to sell the jewels and travel together, and that argument will be believed. Now, do you want to proceed with that combined shipping venture we’ve been discussing, or would you rather forgo it?”
“Forgo it?” Jordan asked, completely unable to deal with Ian’s ruthless lack of emotion.
“At the moment, my reputation for honesty and integrity has been destroyed. If your friends would rather withdraw from the venture, I’ll understand.”
“They’ve already withdrawn,” Jordan admitted reluctantly. “I’m staying with you.”
“It’s just as well they have,” Ian replied, reaching for the contracts and beginning to scratch out the names of the other parties. “n the end, there’ll be greater profit for us both.”
“Ian,” Jordan said in a low, deliberate voice, “you are tempting me to take a swing at you, just to see if you’ll wince when I hit you. I’ve taken about all I can of your indifference to everything that’s happening.” Ian glanced up from his documents, and Jordan saw it then-the muscle clamping in Ian’s jaw, the merest automatic reaction to fury or torment, and he felt a mixture of relief and embarrassment. “I regret that remark more than I can say,” he apologized quietly. “And if it’s any consolation, I know firsthand how it feels to believe your wife has betrayed you.”
“I don’t need consolation,” Ian clipped. “I need time.” “To get over it,” Jordan agreed.
“Time,” Ian drawled coolly, “to go over these documents.”
As Jordan walked down the hall toward the front door he wasn’t certain if he’d only imagined that minuscule sign of emotion.

Elizabeth stood near the same tree where she came to stand and look out at the sea every day. A ship was expected to arrive any time now-one that was bound for Jamaica, Robert said. He was eager to be away from Britain, nervously eager, and who could blame him, she thought, walking slowly over to the edge of the ledge. It fell off sharply, dropping several hundred feet to the rocks and sand below.
Robert had rented a room for them in a cottage belonging to a Mr. and Mrs. Hogan, and he was eating well now, gaining weight from Mrs. Hogan’s excellent cooking. Like nearly everyone else in Helmshead, the Hogans were kind, hardworking people, and their four-year-old twin boys were a miracle of activity and lopsided grins. Elizabeth liked all four Hogans immensely, and if it were left to her, she rather thought she would like to stay there, hidden away forever.
Unlike Robert, she was not eager to leave Britain nor afraid of being found. In a strange sort of way she was finding a numb kind of peace there-she was close enough to Ian to almost feel his presence, far enough away from him to know that nothing he said or did could hurt her.
“That’s a long way to fall, missus,” Mr. Hogan said, coming up beside her and catching Elizabeth’s arm in his calloused hand. “Come away from that ledge, y’hear?”
“I didn’t realize I was this close to the edge,” Elizabeth said, genuinely surprised to realize the toes of her slippers had been beyond solid ground.
“You come in and rest now. Yer husband explained ter us about the bad time ye’ve had and how ye need to be free o’ worry for the time.”
The revelation that Robert had confided something of their plight to anyone-especially the Hogans, who knew they were waiting for a ship bound for America or Jamaica
or some other place he deemed suitable-pierced’ her pained daze enough to make her ask, “What did Rob-my husband-tell you about ‘the bad time’ I’ve had-”
“He explained yer not to hear nor see nothin’ to worry you.”
“What I’d like to see,” Elizabeth said as she stepped over the threshold of their cottage and inhaled the smell of baking bread, “is a newspaper.”
“Especially no newspapers,” Mr. Hogan said. “There’s not much chance of seeing one,” Elizabeth said wearily, with an absent smile at one of the twins, who ran up to put his arms around her legs. “Although I can’t conceive of anywhere in England that the newspapers don’t eventually reach.”
“Yer wouldn’t want ter read none o’ that stuff. It’s allays the same-murder and mayhem and polytics and dances.”
During the two years Elizabeth had remained in self-imposed isolation at Havenhurst she had rarely read the papers, because it only made her feel more isolated from London and life. Now, however, she wanted to see if there was any mention of her disappearance, and how much was being made of it. She supposed the Hogans couldn’t read, which wasn’t unusual, but she still thought it so very odd that Mr. Hogan couldn’t locate even an old newspaper anywhere among the villagers.
“I really do need to see a newspaper,” she said with more force than she intended, and the twin dropped his arms from her. “Would you like me to help you do something, Mrs. Hogan?” Elizabeth asked to take the sting out of her exclamation over the paper. Mrs. Hogan was in the seventh month of her pregnancy; she was constantly working and constantly cheerful.
“Not a thing, Miz Roberts. You just rest yerself right there at the table, and I’ll get you a nice cup of tea.”
“I need a newspaper,” Elizabeth said under her breath, “more than I need tea. “
“Timmy’“ Mrs. Hogan hissed. “Put that away this minute, ye hear? Timmy, “ she warned, but as usual the cheerful twin ignored her. Instead he tugged at Elizabeth’s skirt just as his father swooped down and snatched something large out of his hand.
“For lady!” he shouted, climbing onto Elizabeth’s lap. “I bring for lady!”
Elizabeth almost dumped the child on the floor in her surprise. “It’s a newspaper!” she cried, her accusing gaze shifting from Mr. Hogan to Mrs. Hogan, who both had the grace to flush beneath their tanned skin. “Mr. Hogan, please-let me see that.”
“Yer becomin’ overwrought, jes’ like yer husband said would happen if ye saw one.”
“I’m becoming overwrought,” Elizabeth said as patiently and politely as she could, “because you won’t let me see it.”
“It’s old,” he countered. “Mor’n three weeks.”
Oddly, it was a quarrel over a stupid newspaper that made Elizabeth feel the first real emotion she’d felt in weeks. His refusal to hand it to her made her angry; his previous remarks about her needing to rest and becoming overwrought made her vaguely uneasy.
“I’m not the least overwrought,” she said with a deliberate smile at Mrs. Hogan, who made most of the decisions in the household. “I merely wanted to see frivolous things like what the fashions are this season.”
“They’re wearin’ blue,” Mrs. Hogan said, smiling back at her and shaking her head at her husband, indicating he wasn’t to give Elizabeth the newspaper, “so now ye know. Ain’t that nice-blue?”
“You can read, then?” Elizabeth said, forcing her fingers not to snatch the paper out of Mr. Hogan’s hand, though she was fully prepared to do even that if necessary.
“Mama reads,” one of the twins provided, grinning at her. “Mr. and Mrs. Hogan,” Elizabeth said in a calm, no
nonsense voice, “I am going to become extremely ‘overwrought’ if you don’t let me see that paper. In fact, I will go from cottage to cottage if I have to in order to find someone else who has one or who has read one.”
It was the firm tone of a mother speaking to rowdy children who were close to getting on her nerves, and it seemed to register on Mrs. Hogan. “There’s naught to be gained if you go about the village searching for other papers,” Mrs. Hogan admitted. “There’s but one paper among us, far as I know, and it was my turn to read it. Mr. Willys got it from a sea captain last week.”
“Then may I see it, please?” Elizabeth persisted, her hand positively itching to snatch it out of Mr. Hogan’s big fist while she had a hysterical vision of herself hopping about, reaching for it while he held it over her head.
“Feelin’ as strong as you do about fashions and suchlike, I for one can’t see that it will hurt, though yer husband was very firm you shouldn’t-”
“My husband,” Elizabeth said meaningfully, “does not dictate everything to me.”
“Sounds ter me,” said Mr. Hogan with a grin, “like she wears the trousers when she’s feelin’ up to snuff, jes’ like you, Rose.”
“Give her the paper, John,” Rose said with an exasperated smile.
“I believe I’ll take it into my room to read it,” Elizabeth said as her fingers at last closed around it. From the way they watched her walk into her room, she realized Robert must have inadvertently made them think she was almost a refugee from Bedlam. Sitting down on the narrow bed, Elizabeth opened up the paper.

MARQUESS OF KENSINGTON CHARGED WITH
MURDERS OF WIFE AND BROTHER-IN-LAW.
HOUSE OF LORDS CONVENED TO HEAR TESTIMONY. CONVICTIONS EXPECTED FOR BOTH MURDERS.

A scream of hysteria and denial rose in her throat; she leapt to her feet, her gaze glued to the paper clutched in her fists. “No,” she said, shaking her head in wild disbelief. “No,” she said to the room. “No!” She read words, thousands of words, macabre words, grotesque lies, vicious innuendos-they swung past her gaze and made her senses reel. Then she read them again, because she couldn’t comprehend them. It took three readings before Elizabeth could actually start to think, and even then she was panting like a cornered animal. In the next five minutes Elizabeth’s emotions veered from hysterical panic to shaking rationality. With nervous swiftness she was weighing alternatives and trying to begin making choices. No matter what Ian had done to Robert, he had not murdered him, and he had not murdered her. According to the newspaper, evidence had been presented that Robert had twice tried to kill Ian, but at that moment none of that was truly registering on Elizabeth. All she knew was that the paper said the trial was to begin on the eighteenth-three days ago, and that there was every chance Ian would hang, and that the fastest way to London was by boat for the first leg of the journey, not by land.
Elizabeth dropped the paper, ran from her room, and dashed into the little parlor. “Mr. and Mrs. Hogan,” she burst out, trying to remember they already thought she was a little unbalanced, “there is news in the paper-dire news that concerns me. I have to get back to London the quickest possible way.”
“Now calm down, missus,” Mr. Hogan said with gentle firmness. “You know you shouldn’t have read that paper. Just like yer husband said, it got ye all upset.”
“My husband is on trial for murder,” Elizabeth argued desperately.
“Yer husband is down at the port, seein’ ‘bout a ship to take ye off explorin’ the world.”
“No, that is my brother.” “He were yer husband this afternoon,” Mr. Hogan reminded her.
“He was never my husband, he was always my brother,” Elizabeth insisted. “My husband-my real husband is on trial for murdering me.”
“Missus,” he said gently, “you ain’t dead.” “Oh, my God!” Elizabeth said in a low, explosive voice as she raked her hair off her forehead, trying to think what to do, how to convince them to have Mr. Hogan take her down the coast. She turned to Mrs. Hogan, who was watching her intently while mending her little boy’s shirt. “Mrs. Hogan?” Crouching down, she took the woman’s busy hands in her own, making her look at her, and in a voice that was almost calm and very imploring, Elizabeth began to plead her own case. “Mrs. Hogan, I am not a madwoman, I am not demented, but I am in trouble, and I need to explain it to you. Have you not noticed that I haven’t been happy here?”
“Yes, we have noticed, my dear.” “Have you read the papers about Lady Thornton?” “Every word, though I’m a slow reader and I don’t understand any of that legal gobbledygook.”
“Mrs. Hogan, I am Lady Thornton. No-don’t look at your husband, look at me. Look at my face. I am worried and frightened, but do I really look demented to you?”
“I-I don’t know.” “In all the time I’ve been here, have I ever done or said anything that would have made you think I was crazed? Or would you say I’ve merely seemed very unhappy and a little frightened?”
“I would not say you”-she hesitated, and in those moments there was an understanding, a communication that sometimes occurs when women reach out to one another for help-”I do not think you are crazed.”
“Thank you,” Elizabeth said feelingly, giving her hands a tight squeeze of gratitude as she continued speaking, half to herself. “Now that we’ve gotten this far, I need to find a way to prove to you who I am-who Robert and I are. In the paper,” Elizabeth began, groping her way through the mire of explanations, mentally searching for the quickest, the easiest proof, and then any proof. “In the paper,” she began hesitantly, “it said the Marquess of Kensington is believed to have killed his wife, Lady Elizabeth Thornton, and her brother, Robert Cameron, do you remember?”
Mrs. Hogan nodded. “But the names are commonplace,” she protested. ,
“No, don’t start thinking yet,” Elizabeth said a little wildly. “I’ll think of more proof in a minute. Wait, I have it Come with me!” She nearly dragged the poor woman out of her chair and into the tiny bed chamber with the two narrow cots that she and Robert slept in. With Mr. Hogan standing in the doorway to watch, Elizabeth reached beneath her pillow and pulled out her reticule, jerking it open. “Look how much money I have with me. It’s a great deal more than ordinary people such as Robert and I-such as you think Robert and I are-would have, isn’t it?”
“I don’t rightly know.” “No, of course you don’t,” Elizabeth said, realizing she was losing Mrs. Hogan’s confidence. “Wait. I have it!” Elizabeth ran to the bed and pointed to the paper. “Read what it says they believe I was wearing when I left.” “I don’t need to read it. They said it was green-green trimmed in black. Or they thought maybe it could be a brown skirt with a cream jacket-” “Or,” Elizabeth finished triumphantly as she opened the two valises that held what few articles of clothing she’d taken. “they thought it could be a gray traveling costume, didn’t they?” Mrs. Hogan nodded, and Elizabeth dragged all the clothes out of the valises and dumped them on the bed in triumph. She knew from the woman’s face that she believed Elizabeth. and that she would be able to make her husband believe her as well. Swinging around, Elizabeth began campaigning against a harassed Mr. Hogan. “I need to get back to London at once, and it would be much faster by boat. “
“There’s a ship due in next week what goes ter-” “Mr. Hogan, I cannot wait. The trial began three days ago. For all I know, they’ve convicted my husband of murdering me, and they’re planning to hang him.”
“But,” he cried irritably, “you ain’t dead!” “Exactly. Which is why I have to go there and prove it to them. And I can’t wait for ships to come into port. I will give you anything you ask if you’ll take me to Tilbery in your boat. From there the roads are good, and I can hire a coach for the rest of the journey.”
“I don’t know, missus. I’d like ter help, but the fishin’ has been goodes’ now, an’ . . .” He saw her look of fierce alarm and glanced helplessly at his wife, lifting his hands in a shrug. Mrs. Hogan hesitated, then she nodded. “You will take her, John.”
Wrapping the woman in a tight hug, Elizabeth said, “Thank you-both of you. Mr. Hogan. how much would you earn for a week’s excellent catch?”
He told her, and Elizabeth reached into her reticule, extracted some bills, counted them, and thrust them into his bands, squeezing his fingers closed over them. “That is five times the amount you named,” she told him. It was the first time in all her life Elizabeth Cameron Thornton had ever paid more than she absolutely had to for anything. “Can we leave tonight?’“
“I-I s’pose, but it ain’t wise to be out there at night.” “It has to be tonight. I can’t spare a moment.” Elizabeth shook off the unspeakable notion that she might already be too late;.
“What’s going on in here?” Robert’s voice rose in surprise as he noticed Elizabeth’s clothing tumbled onto the bed. Then his gaze riveted on the newspaper, and his eyes narrowed in anger. “I told you-” he began, turning furiously on the Hogans.
“Robert, you and I need to talk.” Elizabeth interrupted. “Alone.”
“John,” said Mrs. Hogan, “I think we ought to go for a nice walk.”
It was at that moment that Elizabeth realized for the first time that Robert must have had the newspaper hidden from her because he already knew what was in it. The idea that he knew and hadn’t told her was almost as unspeakable as discovering that Ian was being accused of their murder. “Why?” she began in a sudden burst of anger.
“Why what?” he snapped. “Why haven’t you told me about the things in the paper?” “I didn’t want to upset you.”
“You what?” she cried, then she realized she didn’t have time to debate the technicalities with him. “We have to go back.”
“Go back,” he jeered. “I’m not going back. He can hang for my murder. I hope he does, the bastard!”
“Well, he’s not going to hang for mine,” she said, shoving her clothes into her valise.
“I’m afraid he is, Elizabeth.” It. was the sudden softness of his tone, his complete indifference, that made her heart freeze and an awful, unformed suspicion begin to tear through her. “If I had left a note, as I wanted to do,” she began, “none of this would have been necessary. Ian could have showed the note to . . .” She broke off as a realization hit her. According to the testimony of witnesses published in the paper, Robert had twice tried to kill Ian, not the other way around. If he’d lied about that, then he could have would have lied about the rest. The old, familiar pain of betrayal began to hammer in her mind, only this time it was Robert’s betrayal, not Ian’s. It had never been Ian’s.
“It’s all a dirty lie, isn’t it?” she said with a calm that belied her rioting feelings.
“He destroyed my life,” Robert hissed, wrathfully looking at her as if she were the traitor. “And it’s not all a lie. He had me hauled aboard one of his ships, but I escaped in San Delora.”
Elizabeth drew a shaky breath. “And your back? How did that happen?
“I had no money, damn you-nothing but the clothes on my back when I escaped. I sold myself as a bond servant to pay for passage to America.” he flung at her, “and that is how my master dealt with bond servants who sto-who didn’t work fast enough.”
“You said ‘stole’!” Elizabeth flung back at him in shaking fury. “Don’t lie to me-not again. What about the mines the mines you talked about-black pits ‘in the ground?”
“I worked in a mine for a few months,” he gritted, walking toward her with menacing steps.
Elizabeth snatched up her reticule and stepped back as he grabbed her shoulders in a vicious grip. “I’ve seen unspeakable things, done unspeakable things-and all because I tried to defend your honor while you were playing the slut for that son of a bitch.”
Elizabeth tried to twist free and couldn’t, and fear began spiraling through her.
“When I finally made it back here, I picked up a paper and read all about how my little sister’s been doing the elegant at all the ton parties while I was rotting in a jungle picking sugar cane.”
“Your little sister,” Elizabeth cried in a shaking voice, “was selling everything we had to pay off your debts, damn you! You’d have landed in debtors’ gaol if you showed your face here before I stripped Havenhurst of everything.” Her voice broke, and she panicked. “Robert, please,” she choked. her tear brightened eyes searching his hard face. “Please. You’re my brother. And part of what you say is true I am the reason for much of what’s happened to you.
“Not Ian, me. He could have done much worse to you if he were truly cruel,” she argued. “He could have turned you over to the authorities. That’s what most men would have done, and you would have spent the rest of your life in a
dungeon.”
His grip tightened, and his jaw was rigid; Elizabeth lost the battle against her tears, and even her battle to hate Robert for what he had planned to do to Ian. Drawing a suffocated breath, she laid her hand against his lean cheek while tears danced in her eyes. “Robert,” she said achingly, “I love you, and I think you love me. If you’re going to stop me from going to London, I’m afraid you’re going to have to kill me to do it.”
He shoved her backward, as if the touch of her skin suddenly burned his hands, and Elizabeth landed on the bed, still clutching her open reticule. Filled with sorrow for all he had been through, she watched him pace the room like a caged animal. Carefully she pulled all her money out and put it on the bed, then she separated some bills to hire the coach she would need. “Bobby,” she said quietly. She saw his shoulders stiffen at the use of his boyhood nickname. “Please come here.”
She could see the battle going on in his mind as he continued to pace, then abruptly turned and stalked over to the bed as she stood up. “There’s a small fortune here,” she continued in the same gentle, sad voice. “It’s yours. Use it to go anywhere you want.” She touched his sleeve with her left hand. “Bobby?” she whispered, searching his face. “It’s over. There’ll be no more vengeance. Take the money and leave on the first boat going anywhere.”
He opened his mouth, and she hastily shook her head. “Don’t tell me where, if that’s what you were going to do. There’ll be questions about you, and if I don’t know the answers, you’ll know you’re safe from me and Ian and even English law.” She saw him swallow repeatedly, his forlorn gaze on the money lying on the bed. “In six months,” she continued, as desperation lent an odd clarity to her thoughts, “I’ll deposit more money into any bank you tell me to use. Put an ad in the Times for Elizabeth-Duncan,” she fabricated hastily, “and I’ll deposit it in the name of whoever signs the ad.”
When he seemed unable to move, she clutched her reticule tighter. “Bobby, you have to decide now. There’s no time to lose.”
His throat worked as he struggled to ignore what she was saying. and after an endless minute he sighed harshly, and some of the tension drained from his face. “You always had,” he said in a resigned voice as his eyes roved over her features, “the softest heart.” Without another word he walked over to his valise, threw what few articles of clothing he possessed into it, then snatched the money from the bed.
Elizabeth blinked back a flood of tears. “Don’t forget,” she whispered hoarsely, “Elizabeth Duncan.”
He paused with his hand on the door latch and looked back at her. “This is enough,” For a long moment brother and sister looked at each other, knowing it would be the last time; then his lips quirked in an odd little smile of pain. “Good-bye,” he said. “Beth,” he added.
Not until she saw him striding swiftly past the window of their room, heading for the road that twisted down to the sea, did Elizabeth relax, and then she sagged onto the bed, boneless. She bowed her head, and tears slid down her cheeks, dropping onto the reticule that covered her hand; tears of sorrow mingled with tears of relief and fell from her lashes-but all the tears were for her brother, not for her.
Because inside the reticule was her pistol.
And from the moment she realized he might not agree to let her leave, she’d been pointing it at Robert.

Chapter 35



Elizabeth made the four-day journey from Helmshead to London in two and a half days-a feat she managed to accomplish by the expedient, if dangerous and costly, method of paying exorbitant sums to coachmen who reluctantly agreed to drive at night, and by sleeping in the coach. The only pauses in her headlong journey were to change horses, change clothing, and gulp down an occasional meal. Wherever they stopped, everyone from post boys to barmaids talked about the trial of Ian Thornton, Marquess of Kensington.
As the miles rolled past, day receded into black night and gray dawn, then began the cycle again, and Elizabeth listened to the pounding hooves of the horses and the terrified pounding of her heart.
At ten o’clock in the morning, six days after Ian’s trial had begun, the dusty coach she’d been traveling in drew up before the Dowager Duchess of Hawthorne’s London town house, and Elizabeth hurtled out of it before the steps were down, tripping on her skirts when she hit the street, then stumbling up the steps and hammering on the door.
“What in heaven’s name-” the dowager began as she paused in the hall, distracted from her worried pacing by the thundering of the brass knocker.
The butler opened the door, and Elizabeth rushed past him. “Your Grace?” she panted. “I-”
“You!” the dowager said, staring woodenly at the disheveled, dusty woman who’d deserted her husband. caused a furor of pain and scandal, and now presented herself looking like a beautiful dust mop in the dowager’s front hall when it was all but too late. “Someone should take a strap to you,” she snapped.
“Ian will undoubtedly want to attend to that himself, but later. Now I need”-Elizabeth paused. trying to still her panic. to carry out her plan step by step-”I need to get into Westminster. I need your help, because they’ll not want to let a woman into the House of Lords.”
“The trial is in its sixth day, and I don’t mind telling you it is not going well.”
“Tell me later!” Elizabeth said in a commanding tone that would have done credit to the dowager herself. “Just think of someone with influence who will get me in there someone you know. I’ll do the rest once I’m inside.”
Belatedly, the dowager comprehended that regardless of her unforgivable behavior, Elizabeth was now Ian Thornton’s best hope for acquittal, and she finally galvanized into action. “Faulknerl” she barked. turning to address what seemed to be the staircase.
“Your grace?” asked the dowager’s personal maid who materialized on the balcony above.
“Take this young woman upstairs. Get her clothes brushed and her hair into order. Ramsey!” she snapped. motioning to the butler to follow her into the blue salon, where she sat down at her writing desk. “Take this note directly to Westminster. Tell them that it is from me and that it is to be given immediately to Lord Kyleton. He’ll be in his seat at the House of Lords.” She wrote quickly, then thrust the missive at the butler. “I’ve told him to stop the trial at once. I’ve also told him that we will be waiting for him in front of Westminster in my coach in one hour. He is to meet us there so that he can get us into the House.”
“At once, your grace,” said Ramsey, already bowing himself out of the room.
She followed him out. still issuing orders. “On the oft’ chance Kyleton has decided to be derelict in his duties and not attend the trial today, send a footman to his house, another to White’s, and another to the home of that actress be thinks no one knows be keeps in Florind Street. You,” she said, bending an icy eye on Elizabeth, “come with me. You have much to explain, madam, and you can do it while Faulkner attends to your appearance.”
“I am not.” Elizabeth said in a burst of frustrated anger, “going to think of my appearance at a time like this.”
The duchess’s brows shot into her hairline. “Have you come to persuade them that your husband is innocent?”
“Well, of course I have. I-”
“Then don’t shame him more than you already have! You look like a refugee from a dustbin in Bedlam. You’ll be lucky if they don’t hang you for putting them to all this trouble!” She started up the staircase with Elizabeth following slowly behind, listening to her tirade with only half her mind. “Now, if your misbegotten brother would do us the honor of showing himself, your husband might not have to spend the. night in a dungeon, which is exactly where Jordan thinks he’s going to land if the prosecutors have their way.”
Elizabeth stopped on the third step. “Will you please listen to me for a moment-” she began angrily.
“I listen to you all the way to Westminster,” the dowager snapped back sarcastically. “I daresay all London will be eager to hear what you have to say for yourself in tomorrow’s paper!”
“For the love of God!” Elizabeth cried at her back, I wondering madly to whom she could turn for speedier help.
An hour was an eternity! “I have not come merely to show that I’m alive. I can prove that Robert is alive and that he came to no harm at Ian’s hands, and-”
The duchess lurched around and started down the stair” case, her gaze searching Elizabeth’s face with a mixture of desperation and hope. “Faulknerl” she barked without turning, “bring whatever you need. You can attend Lady Thornton in the coach!”
Fifteen minutes after the duchess’s coachman pulled the horses to a teeth-jarring stop in front of Westminster, Lord Kyleton came bounding up to their coach with Ramsey “ trotting doggedly at his heels. “What on earth-” he began. .
“Help us down,” the dowager said. “I’ll tell you what I can on the way inside. But first tell me how it’s going in there.”
“Not well. Badly-very badly for Kensington. The head prosecutor is in rare form. So far he’s managed to present a convincing argument that even though Lady Thornton is rumored to be alive, there’s no real proof that she is.”
He turned to help Elizabeth, whom he’d never met, down from the coach while continuing to summarize the prosecutors’ tactics to the duchess: “As an explanation for the rumors that Lady Thornton was seen at an inn and a posting house with an unknown man, the prosecutors are implying that Kensington hired a young couple to impersonate her and an alleged lover-an implication that sounds very plausible, since it was a long time before she was supposedly traced, and an equally long time before the jeweler came forward to give his statement. Lastly,” he finished as they rushed past the vaulted entryway, “the prosecutors have also managed to make it sound very logical that if she is still alive, she is obviously in fear for her life, or she would have shown herself by now. It follows, according to them, that Lady Thornton must know firsthand what a ruthless monster her husband is. And if he is a ruthless monster, then it follows that he’d be fully capable of having her brother killed. The brother’s disappearance is the crime they believe they have enough evidence on to send him to the gallows.”
“Well, the first part of that is no longer a worry. Have you stopped the trial?” the duchess said.
“Stopped the trial,” he expostulated. “My dear duchess, it would take the prince or God to stop this trial.”
“They will have to settle for Lady Thornton,” the dowager snapped.
Lord Kyleton swung around, his gaze riveting on Elizabeth, and his expression went from shock to relief to biting contempt. He withdrew his gaze and quickly turned, his hand reaching for a heavy door beside which sentries stood at attention. “Stay here. I’ll get a note to Kensington’s barrister that he is to meet us out here. Don’t speak to a soul or reveal this woman’s identity until Peterson Delham comes out here. I suspect he’ll want to spring this as a surprise at the right moment. “
Elizabeth stood stock still, braced against the pain of his blistering look, aware of its cause. In the eyes of everyone who’d followed the stories in the newspapers. Elizabeth was either dead or an adulteress who’d deserted her husband for an unidentified lover. Since she was here in the flesh and not dead, Lord Kyleton obviously believed the latter. And Elizabeth knew that every man in the cavernous chamber on the other side of that door-including her husband-was going to think exactly the same thing of her until she proved them wrong.
The duchess had hardly spoken at all in the coach during their ride here; she’d listened closely to Elizabeth’s explanation, but she obviously wanted it proven in that chamber before she accepted it herself. That withholding of faith by the dowager, who’d believed in Elizabeth when scarcely anyone else had, hurt Elizabeth far more than Lord Kyleton’s condemning glance.
A few minutes later Lord Kyleton returned to the hallway. “Peterson Delham was handed my note a moment ago. We’ll see what happens next.”
“Did you tell him Lady Thornton is here?” “No, your grace,” he said with strained patience. “In a trial, timing can mean everything. Delham must decide what he wants to do and when he wants to do it.”
Elizabeth felt like screaming with frustration at this new delay. Ian was on the other side of those doors, and she wanted to burst past them and let him see her so badly that it took a physical effort to stand rigidly still. She told herself that in a few minutes he would see her and hear what she had to say. Just a few more minutes before she could explain to him that it was Robert she’d been traveling with, not a lover. Once he understood that, he would surely forgive her-eventually-for the rest of the pain she’d caused him. Elizabeth didn’t care what the hundreds of lords in that chamber thought of her; she could endure their censure for as long as she lived, so long as Ian forgave her.
After what seemed like a lifetime, not a quarter-hour, the doors opened, and Peterson Delham, Ian’s barrister, strode into the hall. “What in God’s name do you want, Kyleton? I’ve got all I can do to keep this trial from becoming a massacre, and you drag me out here in the middle of the most damning testimony yet!”
Lord Kyleton looked uneasily at the few men strolling about the hall, then he cupped his hand near Peterson Delham’s ear and spoke rapidly. Delham’s gaze froze on Elizabeth’s face at the same instant his hand locked on Elizabeth’s arm, and he marched her forcibly across the hall toward a closed door. “We’ll talk in there,” he said tersely.
The room into which he hauled her contained a desk and six straight-back chairs; Delham went straight to the desk and flung himself into the chair behind it. Steepling his fingers. he gazed at Elizabeth over the tops of them, scrutinizing her every feature with eyes like blue daggers, and when he spoke his voice was like a blast of ice: “Lady Thornton, how very good of you to find the time to pay us a social call! Would it be too pushing of me to inquire as to your whereabouts during the last six weeks?”
At that moment Elizabeth’s only thought was that if Ian’s barrister felt this way about her, how much more hatred she would face when she confronted Ian himself. “I-I can imagine what you must be thinking. “ she began in a conciliatory manner.
He interrupted sarcastically, “Oh, I don’t think you can. madam. If you could, you’d be quite horrified at this moment.”
“I can explain everything,” Elizabeth burst out. “Really?” he drawled blightingly. “A pity you didn’t try do that six weeks ago!”
“I’m here to do it now,” Elizabeth cried, clinging to a slender thread of control.
“Begin at your leisure,” he drawled sarcastically. “There are only three hundred people across the hall awaiting your convenience.”
Panic and frustration made Elizabeth’s voice shake and her temper explode. “Now see here, sir, I have not traveled day and night so that I can stand here while you waste time insulting me! I came here the instant I read a paper and realized my husband is in trouble. I’ve come to prove I’m alive and unharmed, and that my brother is also alive!”
Instead of looking pleased or relieved he looked more snide than before. “Do tell, madam. I am on tenterhooks to hear the whole of it.”
“Why are you doing this?” Elizabeth cried. “For the love of heaven, I’m on your side!”
“Thank God we don’t have more like you.” Elizabeth steadfastly ignored that and launched into a swift but complete version of everything that had happened from the moment Robert came up behind her at Havenhurst. Finished, she stood up, ready to go in and tell everyone across the hall the same thing, but Delham continued to pillory her with his gaze, watching her in silence above his steepled fingertips. “Are we supposed to believe that Banbury tale?” he snapped at last. “Your brother is alive, but he isn’t here. Are we supposed to accept the word of a married woman who brazenly traveled as man and wife with another man-”
“With my brother. Elizabeth retorted, bracing her palms on the desk, as if by sheer proximity she could make him understand.
“So you want us to believe. Why, Lady Thornton? Why this sudden interest in your husband’s well-being?”
“Delham!” the duchess barked. “Are you mad? Anyone can see she’s telling the truth-even I-and I wasn’t inclined to believe a word she said when she arrived at my house! You are tearing into her for no reason-”
Without moving his eyes from Elizabeth, Mr. Delham said shortly, “Your grace, what I’ve been doing is nothing to what the prosecution will try to do to her story. If she can’t hold up in here, she hasn’t a chance out there’“
“I don’t understand this at all!” Elizabeth cried with panic and fury. “By being here I can disprove that my husband has done away with me. And I have a letter from Mrs. Hogan describing my brother in detail and stating that we were together. She will come here herself if you need her, only she is with child and couldn’t travel as quickly as I had to do. This is a trial to prove whether or not my husband is guilty of those crimes. I know the truth, and I can prove he isn’t.”
“You’re mistaken, Lady Thornton,” Delham said in a bitter voice. -’Because of its sensational nature and the wild conjecture in the press, this is no longer a quest for truth and justice in the House of Lords. This is now an amphitheater, and the prosecution is in the center of the stage, playing a starring role before an audience of thousands allover England who will read about it in the papers. They’re bent on giving a stellar performance, and they’ve been doing just that. Very well,” he said after a moment. “Let’s see how well you can deal with them.”
Elizabeth was so relieved to see him stand up at last that not even his last remarks about the prosecution’s motives had any weight with her. “I’ve told you everything exactly as it happened, and I’ve brought Mrs. Hogan’s letter here to verify the part about Robert. She will come here herself, as I said, if it’s necessary. She can describe him for everyone and even identify him from portraits I have of him-”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. Perhaps you’ve described him well for her and paid her to do this,” he remarked, again assuming the prosecutor’s role. “Have you promised her money for coming here, by the way?”
“Yes, but-”
“Never mind, “ he clipped angrily. “It doesn’t matter.” “It doesn’t matter?” she repeated dumbly. “But Lord Kyleton said the prosecution’s best case, and most damning case, has always been about my brother.”
“As I’ve just told you,” he said coldly, “it is not my primary concern at this moment. I’m going to put you where you can hear what I’m saying for the next few moments without being seen by anyone. My assistant will come to escort you to the witness box.”
“Will-will you tell Ian I’m here?” she asked in a suffocated little voice.
“Absolutely not. I want him to have his first glimpse of you along with everyone else. I want them to see his initial reaction and judge its validity.” With the duchess following behind he led them to another door, then stepped aside, and Elizabeth realized they were in a secluded alcove where they could see everything and everyone without being seen. Her pulse began to race as her senses tried to take in the entire kaleidoscope of color and movement and sound. The long, chamber with its high, vaulted ceilings was buzzing loudly with hundreds of muted conversations taking place in the galleries above and on the benches below, where lords of the realm sat, waiting impatiently for the trial to continue.
Not far from their alcove the scarlet-robed and bewigged Lord Chancellor was seated on the traditional red Woolsack, from where he would preside over the trial.
Below and about him were more grim-faced men in scarlet robes and powdered wigs, including eight judges and the Crown’s prosecutors. Seated at another table were men whom Elizabeth presumed to be Ian’s solicitors and their clerks, more grim-faced men in scarlet robes and powdered wigs. Elizabeth watched Peterson Delham striding forward down the aisle, and she tried desperately to see around him. Surely Ian would be seated at whatever table. . . her frantic gaze skidded to a stop, riveting on his beloved face. His name rose to her lips, and she bit down to stop herself from crying out to him that she was there. At the same time a teary smile touched her lips, because everything about him-even the nonchalant way he was sitting-was so achingly, beautifully familiar. Other accused men must surely have sat at rigid and respectful attention, but not Ian, she realized with a pang of pride and a twinge of alarm. As if he intended to display his utter contempt for the legality, the validity, of the proceedings against him, Ian was sitting in the accused box, his right elbow resting on the polished wooden ledge that surrounded him, his booted foot propped atop his knee. He looked dispassionate, cold, and in complete control.
“I trust that you’re ready to begin again, Mr. Delham,” the Lord Chancellor said irritably, and the instant his voice rose the great hall grew instantly quiet. In the galleries above and on the benches below, lords stiffened with attention and turned alertly toward the Chancellor-everyone did. Everyone, Elizabeth noted, except for Ian, who continued to lounge in his chair, looking impatient now, as if the trial was a farce taking his time away from weightier matters.
“I apologize again for this delay, my lords,” Delham said after pausing to whisper something to the youngest of Ian’s solicitors, who was seated at a table near Delham. The young man arose abruptly and started around the perimeter of the room-heading, Elizabeth realized, straight toward her. Turning back to the Lord Chancellor, Delham said with extreme courtesy, “My Lord, if you will permit me a little leeway in procedure at this time, I believe we can resolve the entire issue at hand without further debate or calling of witnesses.”
“Explain your meaning, Mr. Delham,” he commanded curtly.
“I wish to call a surprise witness to the witness box and to be permitted to ask her only one question. Afterward my lord prosecutor may question her at any length, and to any degree he desires.”
The Lord Chancellor turned to consult with a man Elizabeth surmised must be the bead prosecutor the Attorney-General. “Have you any objection, Lord Sutherland?”
Lord Sutherland arose, a tall man with a hawk nose and thin lips, garbed in the requisite scarlet robes and powdered wig. “Certainly not, my lord,” he said in a tone that was almost snide. “We’ve waited for Mr. Delham twice already today. What is one more delay in the execution of English justice?”
“Bring your witness forward, Mr. Delham. And after this I’ll countenance no more delays in these proceedings. Is that understood?”
Elizabeth actually jumped when the young solicitor stepped into the alcove and touched her arm. Her eyes riveted on Ian, she started forward on wooden legs, her heart thundering against her ribs, and that was before Peterson Delham said in a voice that carried to the highest tiers of seats, “My lords, we call to the witness box the Marchioness of Kensington!”
Waves of shock and tension seemed to scream through the huge chamber. Everyone leaned forward in their seats, but Elizabeth didn’t notice that. Her eyes were on Ian; she saw his entire body stiffen, saw his gaze snap to her face. . . and then his face hardened into a mask of freezing rage, his amber eyes turning an icy, metallic gold.
Shaking beneath the blast of his gaze, Elizabeth walked into the witness box and repeated the oath that was being read to her. Then Peterson Delham was strolling forward. “Will you state your name, please. for the benefit and hearing of all within these chambers?”
Elizabeth swallowed and. tearing her gaze from Ian’s. said as loudly as she could, “Elizabeth Marie Cameron.”
Pandemonium erupted all around her. and white-wigged heads tipped toward one another while the Lord Chancellor called sharply for silence.
“Will the court permit me to verify this by asking the accused if this is indeed his wife?” Delham asked when order was restored.
The Lord Chancellor’s narrowed gaze swung from Elizabeth’s face to Ian. “Indeed.”
“Lord Thornton,” Delham asked calmly, watching Ian’s reaction, “is this woman before us the wife whose disappearance-whose murder-you have been accused of causing?”
Ian’s jaw clenched, and he nodded curtly. “For the information of those present, Lord Thornton has identified this witness as his wife. I have no further questions,”
Elizabeth clutched the wooden edge of the witness box. her widened eyes on Peterson Delham, unable to believe he wasn’t going to question her about Robert.
“I have several questions, my lords,” said the Attorney General, Lord Sutherland.
With trepidation Elizabeth watched Lord Sutherland stroll forward. but when he spoke she was staggered by the kindness in his voice. Even in her state of fright and desperation Elizabeth could actually feel the contempt, the male fury, being blasted at her from all around the chamber -everywhere but from him.
“Lady Thornton,” Lord Sutherland began. looking con. fused and almost relieved that she was here to clear up
matters. “Please. there is no need to look frightened. I have
only a few questions. Would you kindly tell us what brings you here at this late date, in what is obviously a state of great anxiety, to reveal your presence?”
“I-I came because I discovered that my husband is accused of murdering my brother and me,” Elizabeth said, trying to speak loudly enough to be heard across the echoing chamber.
“Where have you been until now?” “I’ve been in Helmshead with my brother, Rob-” “Did she say brother?” demanded one of the Crown’s solicitors. Lord Sutherland suffered the same shock that rocketed through the chambers causing another outbreak of conversation, which in turn caused the Lord Chancellor to call for order. The prosecutor’s shock, however, did not last very long. Recovering almost at once, he said, “You have come here to tell us that not only are you alive and unharmed,” he summarized thoughtfully, “but that you have been with the brother who has been missing for two years-the brother of whom no one has been able to find a trace-not your investigator, Mr. Wordsworth, nor the Crown’s investigators, nor even those hired by your husband?”
Elizabeth’s startled gaze flew to Ian and ricocheted in alarm from the glacial hatred on his face. “Yes, that’s correct.”
“And where is this brother?” For emphasis he made a sweeping gesture and looked around as if searching for Robert. “Have you brought him so that we can see him as we’re seeing you-alive and unharmed?”
“No,” Elizabeth said. “I haven’t, but-” “Please just answer my questions,” Lord Sutherland admonished. For a long moment he looked nonplussed, then he said, “Lady Thornton, I believe we would all like to hear why you left the safety and comfort of your home six weeks ago, fled in secrecy from your husband, and have now returned at this last desperate hour to plead that we have all somehow made a mistake in thinking your life or your brother’s life could be in danger. Begin at the beginning, if you please.”
Elizabeth was so relieved that she was being given a chance to tell her story that she related it verbatim, just as she’d rehearsed it in the coach over and over again carefully leaving out parts that would make Robert seem like a liar or a madman bent on having Ian hang for murders he didn’t commit. With careful, rehearsed words she swiftly painted Robert as she truly saw him-a young man who had been driven by pain and deprivation to wrongly seek vengeance against her husband; a young man whom her husband had saved from the gallows or lifelong imprisonment by charitably having him put on a ship and taken abroad; a young man who had then suffered, through his own unintentional actions, great trials and even vicious beatings for which he had wrongly blamed Ian Thornton.
Because she was desperate and frightened and had practiced the speech so many times, Elizabeth delivered her testimony with the flat unemotionalism of a rehearsed speech, and in a surprisingly short time she was done. The only time she faltered was when she had to confess that she had actually believed her husband guilty of her brother’s beatings. During that awful moment her gaze slid penitently to Ian, and the altered expression on his face was more terrifying because it was bored-as if she were a very poor actress playing a role in an exceedingly boring play he was being forced to watch.
Lord Sutherland broke the deafening silence that followed her testimony with a short, pitying laugh, and suddenly his eyes were piercing hers and his raised voice was hammering at her, “My dear woman, I have one question for you, and it is much like my earlier one. I want to know why.”
For an inexplicable reason, Elizabeth felt icy fear starting to quake through her, as if her heart understood that something awful was happening-that she had not been believed, and he was now going to make absolutely certain that she would never be. “Why-why what?” she stammered.
“Why have you come here to tell us such an amazing tale in hopes of saving the life of this man from whom you admit you fled weeks ago?”
Elizabeth looked beseechingly to Peterson Delham, who shrugged as if in resigned disgust. In her petrified state she remembered his words in the anteroom, and now she understood them: “What I’ve been doing to her is nothing to what the prosecution will do to her story. . . . This is no longer a quest for truth and justice. . . this is an amphitheater, and the prosecution is bent on giving a stellar performance. . . .
“Lady Thornton!” the prosecutor rapped out, and he began firing questions at her so rapidly that she could scarcely keep track of them. “Tell us the truth, Lady Thornton. Did that man”-his finger pointed accusingly to where Ian was sitting. out of Elizabeth’s vision-”find you and bribe you to come back here and tell us this absurd tale? Or did he find you and threaten your life if you didn’t come here today? Isn’t it true that you have no idea where your brother is? Isn’t it true that by your own admission a few moments ago you fled in terror for your life from this cruel man? Isn’t it true that you are afraid of further cruelty from him-”
“No!” Elizabeth cried. Her gaze raced over the male faces around and above her, and she could see not one that looked anything but either dubious or contemptuous of the truths she had told.
“No further questions!” “Wait!” In that infinitesimal moment of time Elizabeth realized that if she couldn’t convince them she was telling the truth, she might be able to convince them she was too stupid to make up such a lie. “Yes, my lord,” her voice rang out. “I cannot deny it-about his cruelty, I mean.”
Sutherland swung around. his eyes lighting up, and renewed excitement throbbed in the great chamber. “You admit this is a cruel man?”
“Yes, I do,” Elizabeth emphatically declared. “My dear, poor woman, could you tell us-all of us some examples of his cruelty?”
“Yes, and when I do, I know you will all understand how truly cruel my husband can be and why I ran off with Robert-my brother, that is.” Madly, she tried to think of half-truths that would not constitute perjury, and she remembered Ian’s words the night he came looking for her at Havenhurst.
“Yes, go on.” Everyone in the galleries leaned forward in unison, and Elizabeth had the feeling the whole building was tipping toward her. “When was the last time your husband was cruel?”
“Well, just before I left he threatened to cut off my allowance-I had overspent it, and I hated to admit it.”
“You were afraid he would beat you for it?”
“No, I was afraid he wouldn’t give me more until next quarter!”
Someone in the gallery laughed, then the sound was instantly choked. Sutherland started to frown darkly, but Elizabeth plunged ahead. “My husband and I were discussing that very thing-my allowance, I mean-two nights before I ran away with Bobby.”
“And did he become abusive during that discussion? Is that the night your maid testified that you were weeping?”
“Yes, I believe it was!” “Why were you weeping, Lady Thornton?” The galleries tipped further toward her.
“I was in a terrible taking,” Elizabeth said, stating a fact. “I wanted to go away with Bobby. In order to do it, I had to sell my lovely emeralds, which Lord Thornton gave me.” Seized with inspiration, she leaned confiding inches toward the Lord Chancellor upon the woolsack. “I knew he would buy me more, you know.” Startled laughter rang out from the galleries, and it was the encouragement Elizabeth desperately needed.
Lord Sutherland, however, wasn’t laughing. He sensed that she was trying to dupe him, but with all the arrogance typical of most of his sex, he could not believe she was smart enough to actually attempt, let alone accomplish it. “I’m supposed to believe you sold your emeralds out of some freakish start-out of a frivolous desire to go off with a man you claim was your brother?”
“Goodness, I don’t know what you are supposed to believe. I only know I did it.”
“Madam!” he snapped. “You were on the verge of tears. according to the jeweler to whom you sold them, If you were in a frivolous mood, why were you on the verge of tears?”
Elizabeth gave him a vacuous look. “I liked my emeralds.”
Guffaws erupted from the floor to the rafters. Elizabeth waited until they were finished before she leaned forward and said in a proud, confiding tone, “My husband often says that emeralds match my eyes. Isn’t that sweet?”
Sutherland was beginning to grind his teeth, Elizabeth noted. Afraid to look at Ian, she cast a quick glance at Peterson Delham and saw him watching her alertly with something that might well have been admiration.
“So!” Sutherland boomed in a voice that was nearly a rant. “We are now supposed to believe that you weren’t really afraid of your husband?”
“Of course I was. Didn’t I just explain how very cruel he can be?” she asked with another vacuous look. “Naturally, when Bobby showed me his back I couldn’t help thinking that a man who would threaten to cut off his wife’s allowance would be capable of anything-”
Loud guffaws lasted much longer this time, and even after they died down, Elizabeth noticed derisive grins where before there had been condemnation and disbelief. “And,” Sutherland boomed, when he could be heard again, “we are also supposed to believe that you ran off with a man you claim is your brother and have been cozily in England somewhere-”
Elizabeth nodded emphatically and helpfully provided, “In Helmshead-it is the sweetest village by the sea. I was having a very pleas-very peaceful time until I read the paper and realized my husband was on trial. Bobby didn’t think I should come back at all, because he was still provoked about being put on one of my husband’s ships. But I thought I ought.”
“And what,” Sutherland gritted, “do you claim is the reason you decided you ought?”
“I didn’t think Lord Thornton would like being hanged-” More mirth exploded through the House, and Elizabeth had to wait for a full minute before she could continue. “And so I gave Bobby my money, and he went on to have his own agreeable life, as I said earlier.”
“Lady Thornton,” Sutherland said’ in an awful, silky voice that made Elizabeth shake inside, “does the word ‘perjury’ have any meaning to you?”
“I believe,” Elizabeth said, “it means to tell a lie in a place like this.”
“Do you know how the Crown punishes perjurers? They are sentenced to gaol, and they live their lives in a dark, dank cell. Would you want that to happen to you?”
“It certainly doesn’t sound very agreeable,” Elizabeth said. “Would I be able to take my jewels and gowns?”
Shouts of laughter shook the chandeliers that hung from the vaulted ceilings.
“No, you would not!” “Then I’m certainly happy I haven’t lied.” Sutherland was no longer certain whether he’d been duped, but he sensed that he’d lost his effort to make Elizabeth sound like a clever, scheming adulteress or a terrified, intimidated wife. The bizarre story of her flight with her brother had now taken on a certain absurd credibility, and he realized it with a sinking heart and a furious glower. “Madam, would you perjure yourself to protect that man?” His arm swung toward Ian, and Elizabeth’s gaze followed helplessly. Her heart froze with terror when she saw that, if anything, Ian looked more bored, more coldly remote and unmoved than he had before.
“I asked you,” Sutherland boomed, “if you would perjure yourself to save that man from going to the gallows next month.”
Elizabeth would have died to save him. Tearing her gaze from Ian’s terrifying face, she pinned a blank smile on her face. “Next month? What a disagreeable thing to suggest! Why, next month is-is Lady Northam’s ball, and Kensington very specifically promised that we would go,” thunderous guffaws exploded, rocking the rafters, drowning out Elizabeth’s last words-”and that I could have a new fur.”
Elizabeth waited, sensing that she had succeeded, not because her performance had been so convincing, but because many of the lords had wives who never thought beyond the next gown or ball or fur, and so she seemed entirely believable to them.
“No further questions!” Sutherland rapped out, casting a contemptuous glance over her.
Peterson Delham slowly arose, and though his expression was carefully blank, even bemused, Elizabeth sensed rather than saw that he was silently applauding her. “Lady Thornton,” he said in formal tones, “is there anything else you have to say to this court?”
She realized that he wanted her to say something else, and in her state of relieved exhaustion Elizabeth couldn’t think what it was. She said the only thing she could think of; and she knew soon after she began speaking that he was pleased. “Yes, my lord. I wish to say how very sorry I am for the bother Bobby and I have caused everyone. I was wrong to believe him and to dash off without a word to anyone. And it was wrong of him to remain so angry with my husband all this time over what was, after all, rather an act of kindness
on his part.” She sensed that she was going too far, sounding
too sensible, and she hastily added, “If Kensington had had Bobby tossed into gaol for trying to shoot him, I daresay Bobby would have found it nearly as disagreeable a place as I. He is,” she confided, “a very fastidious person!”
“Lady Thornton!” the Lord Chancellor said when the fresh waves of laughter had diminished to ripples. “You may step down.” At the scathing tone in his voice Elizabeth dared a look in his direction, and then she almost missed her step when she saw the furious scorn on his face. The other lords might think her an incorrigible henwit, but the Lord Chancellor looked as if he would personally have enjoyed throttling her.
On shaking limbs Elizabeth permitted Peterson Delham’s assistant to escort her from the hall, but when they came to the far wall and he reached for the door leading to the corridor, Elizabeth shook her head and looked imploringly into his eyes. “Please,” she whispered, already watching over his shoulder, trying to see what would .happen next, “let me stay over there in the alcove. Don’t make me wait out there, wondering. “ she begged, watching a man striding swiftly down the long aisle from the main doors at the back of the chambers, heading straight for Peterson Delham.
“Very well,” he agreed uneasily after a moment, “but don’t make a sound. This will all be over soon,” he added consolingly.
“Do you mean. “ she whispered, her gaze glued to the man walking up to Peterson Delham, “that I did well enough up there for them to release my husband now?”
“No, my lady. Hush, now. And don’t worry.” Elizabeth was more puzzled than worried at that moment, because for the first time since she’d seen him, Ian seemed to take an interest in something that was happening. He glanced briefly toward the man talking to Peterson Delham, and for a split second she actually thought she saw a look of grim amusement flicker on Ian’s impassive face. Following the assistant into the alcove, she stood beside the dowager, unaware of the gruff, approving look that lady .was giving her. “What’s happening?” she asked the assistant when he evidenced no sign of needing to return to his seat.
“He’s going to pull it on,” the young man said, grinning. “My Lord Chancellor,” Peterson Delham raised his voice as he nodded quickly at the man who’d been talking to him. “With the court’s permission-indulgence, I might say-I would like to present one more witness who, we believe, will provide indisputable proof that no harm came to Robert Cameron as a direct or indirect result of the time he spent on board the ship Arianna. If this proof is acceptable to the court, then I feel confident this entire matter can be put to rest in short order.”
“I feel no such confidence’“ snapped Lord Sutherland. Even from there Elizabeth could see the Lord Chancellor’s profile harden as he turned to glance at the prosecutor.
“Let us hope for the best,” the Lord Chancellor told Lord Sutherland. “This trial has already exceeded the limits of decorum and taste, and that is due in no small part, my lord, to you.” Glancing at Peterson Delham, he said irritably, “Proceed.”
“Thank you, my Lord Chancellor. We call to the witness box Captain George Granthome.”
Elizabeth’s breath stopped as a suspicion of what was going to happen was born in her mind. From the side of the room the doors opened, and a tall, muscular man came striding down the aisle. Behind him a cluster of burly, tanned, and weathered men gathered as if waiting to be called. Seamen. She’d seen enough fishermen in Helmshead to recognize those unmistakable features. The man named Captain Granthome took the witness box, and from the moment he began to answer Peterson Delham’s questions, Elizabeth realized Ian’s acquittal of Robert’s “death” had been a foregone conclusion before she ever walked in. Captain Granthome testified to Robert’s treatment on board the Arianna and to the fact that he had escaped when the ship made an unscheduled stop for repairs. And he smoothly managed to indicate that his entire crew was also prepared to testify. It hit Elizabeth then that all her terror during the trip down, all her fears while she testified, were actually groundless. With Ian able to prove that Robert had come to no harm at his hands, Elizabeth’s disappearance would have lost all sinister implications.
She rounded in angry stupefaction on the grinning assistant, who was listening attentively to the captain’s testimony. “Why on earth didn’t you say in the papers what had happened to my brother? Obviously my husband and Mr. Delham knew it. And you must have known you could provide the captain and crew to prove it.”
Reluctantly, the assistant tore his gaze from the bench and said softly, “It was your husband’s idea to wait until the trial was under way before springing his defense on them.”
“But why?”
“Because our illustrious prosecutor and his staff showed no sign of dropping the case no matter what we claimed. They believed their evidence was enough for a conviction, and if we’d told them about the Arianna, they’d have kept stalling for time to look for more evidence to disprove Captain Granthome’s potential testimony. Moreover, the Arianna and his crew were on a voyage, and we weren’t completely certain we could locate them and get them back here in time to testify. Now our frustrated Lord Prosecutor has nothing readily at hand to use as rebuttal, because he didn’t anticipate this. And if your brother is never seen again, there’s still no point in his digging about for more circumstantial, incriminating evidence, because even if he found it-which he won’t-your husband cannot be tried twice for the same crime.”
Now Elizabeth understood why Ian had looked bored and disinterested, even though she still couldn’t comprehend why he’d never softened when she’d explained it was Robert she was with, not a lover, and offered the proof of Mrs. Hogan’s letter and even the promise of her testimony.
“Your husband orchestrated the entire maneuver,” the assistant said, looking admiringly at Ian, who was being addressed by the Lord Chancellor. “Planned his own defense. Brilliant man, your husband. Oh, and by the by, Mr. Delham said to tell you that you were splendid up there.”
From that point on, the rest of the proceedings seemed to move with the swiftness of a necessary, but meaningless ritual. Obviously realizing that he hadn’t a chance of discrediting the testimony of the Arianna’s entire crew Lord Sutherland put only a few perfunctory questions to Captain Granthome, and then allowed him to be dismissed. After that, there remained only the closing statements of both barristers, and then the Lord Chancellor called for a vote.
In renewed tension, Elizabeth listened and watched as the Lord High Steward called out the name of each lord. One after another, each peer arose, placed his right hand upon his breast, and declared either “Not guilty upon my honor,” or “Guilty upon my honor.” The final vote was 324 to 14, in favor of acquittal. The dissenters, Peterson Delham’s assistant whispered to Elizabeth were men who were either biased against Ian for personal reasons, or else they doubted the reliability of her testimony and Captain Granthome’s.
Elizabeth scarcely heard that. All she cared about was that the majority were for acquittal, and that the Lord Chancellor had finally turned to pronounce judgment and was speaking.
“Lord Thornton,” the Lord Chancellor was saying to Ian as Ian slowly rose, “it is the finding of this commission that you are innocent of all charges against you. You are free to leave.” He paused as if debating something, then said, in what struck Elizabeth as a discordant note of humor, “I would like to suggest informally that if it is your intention to abide under the same roof as your wife tonight, you seriously reconsider that notion. In your place I would be sorely tempted to commit the act that you have already been accused of committing. Although,” he added as laughter began to rumble through the galleries, “I feel certain you could count on an acquittal here on grounds of justifiable cause.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes against the shame that she hadn’t let herself feel over her testimony. She told herself that it was better to be mistaken for an absurd henwit than a scheming adulteress, but when she opened them again and saw Ian striding up the aisle, away from her, she no longer cared one way or another.
“Come, Elizabeth,” the dowager said, gently putting her hand on Elizabeth’s arm. “I’ve no doubt the press will be out there. The sooner we leave, the better our chance to evade them.”
That proved to be pure whimsy, Elizabeth saw as soon as they emerged into the sunlight. The press, and a mob of spectators who’d come to hear firsthand news of the day’s trial, had gathered in front of Ian’s path. Instead of trying to dash around them Ian shouldered his way through them, his jaw clenched. Drowning in agony, Elizabeth watched as they called epithets and accusations at him. “Oh, my God,” she said, “look what I’ve done to him.”
The moment Ian’s coach thundered away, the crowd turned, looking for new prey as the lords began emerging from the building.
“It’s her!” a man from the Gazette who wrote about the doings of the ton shouted, pointing toward Elizabeth, and suddenly the press and the mob of spectators were descending on her in terrifying numbers. “Quick, Lady Thornton,” an unfamiliar young man said urgently, dragging her back into the building, “follow me. There’s another way out around the corner.”
Elizabeth obeyed automatically, clutching the duchess’s arm as they plowed back through the lords who were heading for the doors. “Which coach is yours?” he asked, looking from one to the other.
The duchess described her vehicle, and he nodded. “Stay here. Don’t go out there. I’ll have your coachman drive around this side to fetch you.”
Ten minutes later the duchess’s coach had made its way to the side, and they were inside its safety. Elizabeth leaned out the door. “Thank you,” she told the young man, waiting for him to give his name.
He tipped his hat. “Thomas Tyson, Lady Thornton, from the Times. No, don’t look panicked,” he said reassuringly. “I haven’t any notion of trying to barge in there with you now. Accosting ladies in coaches is not at all my style.” For emphasis he closed the door of the coach.
“In that case,” Elizabeth told him through the open window with her best attempt at a grateful smile, “I’m afraid you’re not going to do very well as a journalist.”
“Perhaps you’d consent to talk to me another time-in private?”
“Perhaps,” Elizabeth said vaguely as their coachman sent the horses off at a slow trot, wending their way around the vehicles already crowding into the busy street.
Closing her eyes, Elizabeth leaned her head wearily against the squabs. The image of Ian being chased by a mob and called “Murderer!” and “Wife killer!” dug viciously into Elizabeth’s battered senses. In an aching whisper she asked the duchess, “How long have they been doing that to him? Mobbing him and cursing him?”
“Over a month.” Elizabeth drew a shattered breath, her voice filled with tears. “Do you have any idea how proud Ian is?” she whispered brokenly. “He is so proud. . . and I made an accused murderer out of him. Tomorrow he’ll be a public joke.”
The dowager hesitated and then said brusquely, “He is a strong man who has never cared for anyone’s opinion except perhaps yours and Jordan’s and a very few other’s. In any case, I daresay you, not Kensington, will look the fool in tomorrow’s papers.”

“Will you take me to the house?” “The one on Promenade?”
Elizabeth was momentarily shocked out of her misery. “No, of course not. Our house on Upper Brook Street.”
“I do not think,” the duchess said sternly, “that is a wise idea. You heard what the Lord Chancellor said.”
Elizabeth disagreed, with only a tremor of doubt. “I would much rather face Ian now than dread doing it for an entire night.”
The dowager, obviously determined to give Ian time to get his temper under control, remembered a pressing need to stop at the home of an ailing friend, and then at another. By the time they finally arrived in Upper Brook Street it was nearly dark, and Elizabeth was quaking with nerves-and that was before their own butler looked at her as if she were beneath contempt. Obviously Ian had returned, and the servants’ grapevine already had the news of Elizabeth’s testimony in the House of Lords. “Where is my husband, Dolton?” she asked him.
“In his study,” Dolton said, stepping back from the door.
Elizabeth’s gaze riveted on the trunks already standing in the hall and the servants carrying more of them downstairs. Her heart hammering wildly, she walked swiftly down the hall and into Ian’s study, coming to a halt a few feet inside, pausing to gather her wits before he turned and saw her. He was holding a drink in his hand, staring down into the fireplace. He’d removed his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves, and Elizabeth saw with a fresh pang of remorse that he was even thinner than he’d seemed in the House. She tried to think how to begin, and because she was so overwhelmed with emotions and explanations she tackled the least important-but most immediate-problem first, the trunks in the hall. “Are-are you leaving?”
She saw his shoulders stiffen at the sound of her voice, and when he turned and looked at her, she could almost feel the effort he was exerting to keep his rage under control. “You’re leaving,” he bit out.
In silent, helpless protest Elizabeth shook her head and started slowly across the carpet, dimly aware that this was worse, much worse than merely standing up in front of several hundred lords in the House.
“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” he warned softly. “Do-do what?” Elizabeth said shakily.
“Get any nearer to me.” She stopped cold, her mind registering the physical threat in his voice, refusing to believe it, her gaze searching his granite features.
“Ian,” she began, stretching her hand out in a gesture of mute appeal, then letting it fall to her side when her beseeching move got nothing from him but a blast of contempt from his eyes. “I realize,” she began again, her voice trembling with emotion while she tried to think how to begin to diffuse his wrath, “that you must despise me for what I’ve done.” “You’re right.” “But,” Elizabeth continued bravely, “I am prepared to do anything, anything to try to atone for it. No matter how it must seem to you now, I never stopped loving-”
His voice cracked like a whiplash. “Shut up!” “No, you have to listen to me,” she said, speaking more quickly now, driven by panic and an awful sense of foreboding that nothing she could do or say would ever make him soften. “I never stopped loving you, even when I-”
“I’m warning you, Elizabeth,” he said in a murderous voice, “shut up and get out! Get out of my house and out of my life!” ,
“Is-is it Robert? I mean, do you not believe Robert was the man I was with?”
“I don’t give a damn who the son of a bitch was.” Elizabeth began to quake in genuine terror, because he
meant that-she could see that he did. “It was Robert, exactly as I said,” she continued haltingly. “I can prove it to you beyond any doubt, if you’ll let me.”
He laughed at that, a short, strangled laugh that was more deadly and final than his anger had been. “Elizabeth, I wouldn’t believe you if I’d seen you with him. Am I making myself clear? You are a consummate liar and a magnificent actress.”
“If you’re saying that be-because of the foolish things I said in the witness box, you s-surely must know why I did it.”
His contemptuous gaze raked her. “Of course I know why you did it! It was a means to an end-the same reason you’ve had for everything you do. You’d sleep with a snake if it gave you a means to an end.”
“Why are you saying this?” she cried.
“Because on the same day your investigator told you I was responsible for your brother’s disappearance, you stood beside me in a goddamned church and vowed to love me unto death! You were willing to marry a man you believed could be a murderer, to sleep with a murderer.”
“You don’t believe that! I can prove it somehow-I know I can, if you’ll just give me a chance-”
“No.”
“Ian-”
“I don’t want proof.”
“I love you,” she said brokenly.
“I don’t want your ‘love,’ and I don’t want you. Now-” He glanced up when Dolton knocked on the door.
“Mr. Larimore is here, my lord.”
“Tell him I’ll be with him directly,” Ian announced, and Elizabeth gaped at him. “You-you’re going to have a business meeting now?”
“Not exactly, my love. I’ve sent for Larimore for a different reason this time.”
Nameless fright quaked down Elizabeth’s spine at his tone. “What-what other reason would you have for summoning a solicitor at a time like this?”
“I’m starting divorce proceedings, Elizabeth.” “You’re what?” she breathed, and she felt the room whirl. “On what grounds-my stupidity?”
“Desertion,” he bit out. At that moment Elizabeth would have said or done anything to reach him. She could not believe, actually could not comprehend that the tender, passionate man who had loved and teased her could be doing this to her-without listening to reason, without even giving her a chance to explain. Her eyes filled with tears of love and terror as she tried brokenly to tease him. “You’re going to look extremely silly, darling, if you claim desertion in court, because I’ll be standing right behind you claiming I’m more than willing to keep my vows.”
Ian tore his gaze from the love in her eyes. “If you aren’t out of this house in three minutes,” he warned icily, “I’ll change the grounds to adultery.”
“I have not committed adultery.” “Maybe not, but you’ll have a hell of a time proving you haven’t done something. I’ve had some experience in that area. Now, for the last time, get out of my life. It’s over.” To prove it, he walked over and sat down at his desk, reaching behind him to pull the bell cord. “Bring Larimore in,” he instructed Dolton, who appeared almost instantly.
Elizabeth stiffened, thinking wildly for some way to reach him before he took irrevocable steps to banish her. Every fiber of her being believed he loved her. Surely, if one loved another deeply enough to be hurt like this. . . It hit her then, what he was doing and why, and she turned on him while the vicar’s story about Ian’s actions after his parents’ death seared her mind. She, however, was not a Labrador retriever who could be shoved away and out of his life.
Turning, she walked over to his desk, leaning her damp palms on it, waiting until he was forced to meet her gaze.
Looking like a courageous, heartbroken angel. Elizabeth faced her adversary across his desk, her voice shaking with love. “Listen carefully to me, darling, because I’m giving you fair warning that I won’t let you do this to us. You gave
me your love, and I will not let you take it away. The harder you try, the harder I’ll fight you. I’ll haunt your dreams at night, exactly the way you’ve haunted mine every night I was away from you. You’ll lie awake in bed at night, wanting me, and you’ll know I’m lying awake, wanting you. And when you cannot stand it anymore,” she promised achingly, “you’ll come back to me, and I’ll be there, waiting for you. I’ll cry in your arms, and I’ll tell you I’m sorry for everything I’ve done, and you’ll help me find a way to forgive myself-”
“Damn you!” he bit out, his face white with fury. “What does it take to make you stop?”
Elizabeth flinched from the hatred in the voice she loved and drew a shaking breath, praying she could finish without starting to cry. “I’ve hurt you terribly, my love, and I’ll hurt you again during the next fifty years. And you are going to hurt me, Ian-never, I hope, as much as you are hurting me now. But if that’s the way it has to be, then I’ll endure it, because the only alternative is to live without you, and that is no life at all. The difference is that I know it, and you don’t-not yet.”
“Are you finished now?” “Not quite,” she said, straightening at the sound of footsteps in the hall. “There’s one more thing,” she informed him, lifting her quivering chin. “I am not a Labrador retriever! You cannot put me out of your life, because I won’t stay.”
When she left, Ian stared at the empty room that had been alive with her presence but moments before, wondering what in hell she meant by her last comment. He glanced toward the door as Larimore walked in, then he nodded curtly toward the chairs in front of his desk, silently ordering the solicitor to sit down.
“I gathered from your message,” Larimore said quietly, opening his legal case, “that you now wish to proceed with the divorce?”
Ian hesitated a moment while Elizabeth’s heartbroken words whirled through his mind, juxtaposed with the lies and omissions that had begun on the night they met and continued right up to their last night together. He recalled the torment of the first weeks after she’d left him and compared it to the cold, blessed numbness that had now taken its place. He looked at the solicitor, who was waiting for his answer.
And he nodded.

Chapter 36





The 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.”

Epilogue




Standing on the terrace near the balustrade, Ian gazed out at the magnificent gardens of Montmayne, where Elizabeth and their three-year-old daughter, Caroline, were kneeling among the geraniums, examining the vivid blooms. Their heads were so close together that it was impossible to distinguish where Elizabeth’s bright golden hair stopped and Caroline’s began. Something Elizabeth said caused Caroline to give forth a peal of happy laughter, and Ian’s eyes crinkled with a smile at the joyous sound.
Seated at a wrought-iron table behind him, his grandfather and Duncan were indulging in a game of chess. Tonight seven hundred guests would arrive to attend the ball Ian was giving to celebrate Elizabeth’s birthday. The silent concentration of the chess players, was abruptly interrupted by the arrival of a six-year-old boy, who already bore a remarkable resemblance to Ian, and the boy’s tutor, who looked like a man driven to the brink of despair at having to cope with a six-year-old intellect that also bore a remarkable resemblance to Ian’s.
“I beg your pardon,” Mr. Twindell said, bowing apologetically to the chess players, “but Master Jonathon and I have been engaged in a debate which I have just realized that you, Vicar, can settle. if you will be so kind?”
Dragging his gaze from the chessboard, and his mind from the victory that was almost in his grasp, Duncan smiled sympathetically at the harassed tutor. “How may I be of assistance?” he asked, looking from the tutor to the handsome six-year-old whose attention had momentarily shifted to the chessboard.
“It concerns,” Mr. Twindell explained, “the issue of heaven, Vicar. Specifically, a description of said place which I have, all morning, been attempting to convince Master Jonathon is not loaded with impossible inconsistencies.”
At that point Master Jonathon pulled his bemused gaze from the chessboard. clasped his hands behind his back, and regarded his great-uncle and his great-grandfather as if sharing a story too absurd to be believed. “Mr. Twindell,” he explained, trying to hide his chuckle, “thinks heaven has streets made of gold. But of course, it can’t.”
“Why can’t it?” said the duke in surprise. “Because the streets would be too hot in summer for the horses’ hooves,” Jon said, looking a little stricken by his great-grandfather’s shortsightedness. Turning expectantly to his great-uncle, Jon said, “Sir, do you not find the idea of metal streets in heaven a highly unlikely possibility?”
Duncan, who was recalling similar debates with Ian at a similar age, leaned back in his chair while an expression of gleeful anticipation dawned across his face. “Jon,” said he with eager delight, “ask your father. He is right over there at the balustrade.”
The little boy nodded agreeably, paused to cup his hand over the duke’s ear and whisper something, then he turned I to do as bidden.
“Why didn’t you answer Jon’s, question, Duncan?” the duke asked curiously. “A description of heaven ought to be right in your line.” Duncan’s brows lifted in mocking denial. “When Ian was six years old,” he said dryly, “he used to engage me in theological and rhetorical debates just like this one. I used to I lose. It was most disconcerting.” Shifting his gaze to the little boy who was waiting for his father to notice him,” Duncan said gleefully, “I have waited for this day for decades. By the by,” he added, “what did Jon whisper to you just now?”
The duke flushed. “He. . . ah . . . said you’ll have my queen in check in four moves if I don’t move my knight.”
It was the burst of laughter from the two men at the chess table that made Ian glance over his shoulder and see Jonathon waiting beside, and slightly behind, him. Smiling, he turned to give his full attention to the son who was conceived that snowy night he’d returned to the cottage in Scotland. “You look,” he teased, “like a man with something on his mind.” He glanced at the harassed expression on the tutor’s face, then back at his son, and added sympathetically, “I gather you and Mr. Twindell have had another polite disagreement? What is it about this time?”
A relieved grin lit up Jon’s face and he nodded. While everyone else might be shocked by his thoughts or baffled by his questions, his father, he knew, would not only understand but provide acceptable answers. “It’s about heaven,” Jon confided, almost rolling his eyes in amusement as he explained in a low, conspiratorial voice, “Mr. Twindell wants me to believe heaven is a place with gold streets. Can you imagine,” he added with a chuckle, “the temperature pure gold would reach if the sun were to hit it for ten consecutive hours in July? No one would want to walk on the streets’“
“What did Mr. Twindell say when you mentioned that?” Ian asked with amused gravity.
“He said we probably wouldn’t have feet.” “Now that’s an alarming thought,” Ian agreed “What do you think heaven will be like?”
“I haven’t the foggiest idea. Do you?” “Yes, but it’s only my opinion,” Ian explained to his puzzled son. Crouching down, he put his arm around the little boy’s shoulders and gestured toward the garden. As if Elizabeth and Caroline sensed that they were being observed, they both looked up at the terrace, and then they smiled and waved-two green-eyed girls with gilded hair and love shining in their eyes. “In my opinion,” Ian solemnly confided to his son, “that is heaven, right there.”
“There are no angels,” Jon noted. “I see two of them,” his father quietly replied, then he glanced at his son and amended with a grin, “three of them.”
The little boy nodded slowly, a smile of comprehension drifting across his face. Turning to look up at the tall man beside him, he said, “You think heaven will have whatever a person most wants it to have, is that it?”
“I think it’s very possible.” “So do I,” Jon agreed after another moment’s thought. He started to turn, saw his tutor and his relatives looking expectantly in his direction, then he turned back to his father and said with a helpless smile, “They’re going to ask what you said. And if I tell Mr. Twindell you said heaven will be like this, he’ll be very disappointed. He’s counting, you know, on gold streets and angels and horses with wings.”
“I see where that could be a problem,” Ian agreed, and he tenderly laid his hand against his son’s cheek. “In that case, you can tell him I said this is almost heaven.”






The end.