"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, pa.s.sionate 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 h.e.l.l 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-"

"d.a.m.n 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 h.e.l.l 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 HARa.s.sED 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 embarra.s.sing 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 a.s.sociate 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 pa.s.sed 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 compet.i.tion 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, G.o.d help her, she already knew.

Bentner's eyes slid away, his face harsh with sorrow. "He said they are doc.u.ments pertaining to a pet.i.tion 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 d.u.c.h.ess 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 dispa.s.sionately.

"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 pet.i.tion, and she responds by giving you what const.i.tutes 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 pet.i.tion 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 d.a.m.ning 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, d.a.m.ned 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 sc.r.a.p 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 a.s.sured 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."