"But you . . . you can't do that! I'm in mourning!"

"Wrong. You were in mourning. It's obvious you've mourned quite enough." He shredded another dress from collar to waist. Glory stared at him in amazement. He ignored her. She made no move to stop him as he ripped a third gown up the seam and it joined the pile of dresses on the thick Persian carpet at his feet. Glory stood stock still, book gripped between her fingers, staring at him as if she couldn't quite believe what her eyes were seeing.

He ripped up another dress, determined to get a reaction.

She took a hesitant step toward him, blue eyes huge in her too-pale face. "But what will I wear?" she finally asked.

"Look in those boxes on the bed. There's a day dress and an evening gown. I hope they'll come close to fitting you." He paused long enough to flash her a smile. "I've always had a pretty fair eye for a lady's figure." Reaching into the armoire, he dragged another black dress from its hanger and threw it onto the pile.

Glory walked toward the boxes on the bed, glancing back over her shoulder. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I'm sick and tired of all this sadness. You've suffered enough. We both have. If I never see you in another black dress for as long as I live it'll be too soon." He turned to face her. "Speaking of which, I want you out of the one you have on."

Glory gasped, hand creeping to the base of her throat. "You can't be serious!"

"Madam, I assure you I'm quite serious. Take it off."

"Now?" She seemed incredulous.

"Right now."

She stiffened her spine in the first show of spirit Nicholas had seen in weeks. "No."

Nicholas could have leaped for joy. "You'll take it off now, or I swear I'll tear it off."

She glared at him defiantly until he took a long stride toward her. "All right!" she shrieked, backing away. "Send Betsy in."

"You have a husband who is quite capable of helping you unbutton your clothing."

She eyed the door, looking as if she might bolt.

"Don't even think about it," Nicholas warned.

She watched him a little longer, then straightened her spine. Accepting defeat with as much dignity as she could muster, she presented her back, shoulders proud, chin held high. "You know you're acting like a madman," she told him. "What on earth has gotten into you?"

Nicholas grinned so broadly, his cheeks dimpled. If Brad had been there, Nicholas would have kissed him. After unfastening her buttons with his long-fingered hands, Nicholas stepped away. "Now I'll send Betsy up," he told her, not wanting to press his luck. "Then we're going out."

"Out?"

"For a ride in the country. I think it's high time you took a look at your new home." Without waiting for an answer, Nicholas strode from the room.

Glory appeared a few minutes later, dressed in a silver-blue serge day dress that brightened the blue of her eyes. Her hair had been brushed and coiffed in ringlets that curled on either side of her face. Though her skin still looked pale, twin spots of color stained her cheeks.

"If you must drag me out to catch my death of cold, let's get on with it." She accepted his arm and allowed him to lead her from the salon. Her gloved hand rested lightly on the fabric of his gray wool cutaway coat and Nicholas reveled in the contact.

He wrapped her in a fur-lined mantle and presented her with the matching fur muff. "We won't be gone long."

Since a fresh layer of snow had fallen in the night, Nicholas helped her into his black and gold two-horse sleigh. Taking his place beside her, he spread a horsehair robe across her lap. Glory stared ahead, her spine ramrod straight.

"I'll expect you to come down to supper this evening," he told her as he gathered up the reins. "And every evening from now on."

Glory's head came up.

"From now on you'll take your meals with me, not in your room." He clicked the horses into a trot, and the sleigh slid smoothly away.

"I should have known you couldn't resist bullying me for long."

"I prefer to think of my recent behavior as neglect. I've already neglected you far longer than I should have."

"What if I refuse to come down?"

"Then I shall simply come up, toss you over my shoulder, and haul you down. I'm sure the servants will find it a rousing show."

"You wouldn't!"

"Wouldn't I?"

But she knew he would. And didn't know why she suddenly felt pleased.

The sleigh ride passed swiftly. Nicholas pointed out the boundaries of his property, and Glory found herself enjoying the scenery, stark with the hoar of winter though it was. Each tree and hedge was covered with a dusting of fresh snow, and a tiny white rabbit scurried across their path and into its burrow. Glory pointed excitedly, and Nicholas grinned at her obvious pleasure.

Inhaling the frosty morning air, she caught a whiff of hickory smoke from a neighboring chimney. The fresh air felt exhilarating after the long days of confinement in her room.

She wondered at Nicholas's sudden change of attitude, then grudgingly admitted she preferred him this way. He seemed more himself-arrogant, domineering, and downright infuriating. Still, there was something about him. . . . For the first time in weeks, she found herself thinking of Nicholas instead of the child she no longer carried.

As the light jingle of harness combined with the soft tinkle of sleigh bells to lull her, she leaned back against the carriage seat, feeling content. She hardly noticed when Nicholas halted the sleigh in front of the marble mansion. Handing the reins to a waiting groom, he jumped to the ground and rounded the sleigh to help her. A tiny shiver rushed up her spine as he leaned close. He smelled of musk and the leather reins he'd held.

"Now, that wasn't so bad," he teased. Stirring a misty pattern in the cold morning air, his breath felt warm against her cheek. When his hands circled her waist to lift her down, her heart did a queer little twist and hammered uncomfortably against her ribs.

They supped with Brad that night, and Glory found she enjoyed his charming company. He was handsome and intelligent, though a bit frail, it seemed to Glory.

"How was your ride?" Brad asked, hazel eyes light.

"Chilly," she told him, adding, "but I suppose I enjoyed myself."

"Splendid," Brad said. "There's something about the winter air that revives one's lagging spirits."

"I couldn't agree more," Nicholas put in.

Glory noticed he watched her all evening, no longer with that strained, worried look, but with a bit of the old hunger. She refused to admit she felt it, too.

They went into Tarrytown the following day. Glory already felt stronger, healthier somehow. Nicholas surprised her by ordering an entire wardrobe of dresses, gowns, shoes, jackets, and mantles, in serge, flannel, camel's hair, and merino for day; silk, crepe, velvet, and satin for evening, all in rich colors. True to his word, Nicholas refused to let her choose even one gown of dull hue.

By the time they arrived back at the hall, Glory was exhausted, yet she felt an exhilaration she hadn't known in weeks. That night after supper, Nicholas escorted her upstairs to her room. The hallway was empty, lit by flickering candles set in brass sconces. She could feel his hand at her waist, his breath a whisper against her hair.

"Thank you for the clothes," she said softly. "I'm sure they're going to be lovely."

"No matter how lovely they are, they won't do you justice."

Feeling a rush of warmth to her cheeks, she watched him for a moment. With the worry lines gone from his face, he looked roguishly handsome, even a little younger.

Without thinking she lifted her hand to his cheek. Abruptly she pulled away. "I'd better go in." She turned to take her leave.

"Not yet."

Before she could protest, he pulled her into his arms and captured her lips. Though the contact was brief, Glory's knees went weak. She hoped Nicholas hadn't noticed, but his satisfied smile said he had.

The following morning Nicholas roused Glory early, insisting she ride with him. Dressed in fawn-colored breeches, shiny black Wellingtons, a snowy white shirt, and a cashmere coat, he met her at the foot of the stairs. Glory wore a new sapphire velvet riding gown that Nicholas had paid extra to have finished in a rush. She had to admit it felt good to be dressed in beautiful clothes again. She knew her father would have approved. Then she thought of the tiny infant she also mourned and fought an urge to return to dreary black.

"I have a surprise for you," Nicholas told her, taking her arm and guiding her from the room. Isaac, the ancient black butler who had come to the estate from the city, stood in the foyer, holding Nicholas's warm woolen overcoat. He helped Nicholas slip it on. Glory found the old ex-slave a quiet reminder of home, his warm smile and cheerful manner always brightening her day.

Wearing the fur-lined mantle over her habit, Glory clung to Nicholas's arm. They moved through the vaulted foyer and out beneath the portico. The sun shone brightly through the leafless trees, but its heat was lost in the brisk winter air. They headed straight for the stables where several soft whinnies sent a thrill of pleasure up Glory's spine. How long had it been since she'd ridden along the land beside her father's rice fields? How long since she'd felt the excitement riding always stirred?

Nicholas led her to the pasture beside the massive stone bam where a lovely chestnut mare and a tiny foal raced across the snowy fields.

"That's Siren's Song," he told her proudly. The foal is Windsong. They're yours."

"Mine?"

"We can race the colt or you can keep him for breeding stock, whichever you choose."

"Oh, Nicholas. They're beautiful. I don't know what to say."

"How about starting with thank you?"

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Of course a kiss would be better."

Glory hesitated only a moment. She rose on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, but Nicholas turned his face at the last instant, and her lips closed over his. His hard arms pulled her against him, and Glory's heart began to race. She knew it was unseemly to kiss a man-even one's husband-out in the open in the middle of the day, but couldn't persuade herself to end the embrace.

Nicholas coaxed her mouth open with his tongue, then teased the inside, sending shivers along her spine. Glory heard a tiny mewling sound and realized the sound was coming from her. Shaken and more than a little embarrassed, she pulled away. Bright color stained her cheeks.

"Come on," Nicholas said, inordinately pleased with himself, it seemed to Glory. "The groom has our horses saddled and waiting."

They rode along the country lanes, Glory loving the feel of the strong animal beneath her. She nudged the big sorrel gelding faster, and soon they were cantering across the fields. A low box hedge loomed in their path. Before Nicholas could stop her, Glory had taken the hedge and reined up on the other side. He took the hedge with ease, but rode up beside her scowling, furious she had disobeyed his unspoken order to take it slowly this first day.

Frowning, he started to speak, then caught her wide, impish grin-and a look of pure pleasure warmed his light gray eyes.

"Will you never behave?"

"I hope not."

He bent down and captured her lips in a brief warm kiss. "So do I."

They cantered easily back to the house, where Nicholas lifted Glory from her sidesaddle. The brisk air had flushed her cheeks even more than his kiss, and Glory felt more alive than she had in weeks.

That night after supper, Nicholas again walked her to her room. He turned her into his arms before they even reached the doorway. Tonight his gentle kiss turned demanding. He cradled her cheeks between his palms and molded his mouth to hers. When he released his hold, Glory's arms slipped around his neck. She clung to him, the feelings he stirred so powerful her knees felt weak. With practiced ease, he kissed and nibbled and tasted until Glory's mouth parted of its own accord. His breath tasted of brandy and the cherries they'd eaten for dessert.

When he'd kissed her thoroughly, he pulled away and, just for a moment, Glory felt bereft at his leaving.

"Do you have any idea how much I need you?" he whispered, his voice husky.

She only shook her head.

"I want you back in my bed," he said, then turned and walked down the stairs.

Glory entered her room as if she were sleepwalking. Betsy appeared and helped her undress; then she slipped beneath the sheets of her huge four-poster bed. I'm falling in love with him again, she thought as she lay staring up at the velvet canopy. She shuddered and felt tears welling. Loving Nicholas Blackwell could only mean more heartbreak. She remembered their time on the strand, how he had gained her trust and finally her love. Then he'd abandoned her, purposely ruined her reputation without a second thought. He'd come to Boston and threatened to do it again-threatened even to destroy his child. She knew exactly how ruthless Nicholas could be.

She tossed and turned fitfully, her body feeling tense and highly strung. Though she fought against it, her mind conjured memories of Nicholas's kiss, the warmth of his lips, the heady male scent of him. Sooner or later he would claim his husbandly rights. Her body yearned for his touch even now. Once he possessed her, his power would be even greater than it already was.

Suddenly restless, Glory shoved back the covers and moved to the window. The snow had melted away, and a full moon lit the leafless trees whose jagged limbs broke the landscape into puzzlelike pieces.

Just like my life, she thought. If only she could fit the pieces together, maybe she could get a clearer picture of what she should do.

Chapter Nineteen.

The next morning Nicholas left for the city, stopping by her room only long enough to explain.

"I've stayed away from my business too long already," he had said. "I've got to make certain things are running smoothly. I'll come back as soon as I can." He smiled at her warmly as she sat propped up in bed, the breakfast of warm cinnamon rolls and coffee he'd brought her resting in her lap. "Try to stay out of trouble."

She had smiled at his words, but now, as she readied herself for the day ahead, she wondered why he hadn't told her sooner that he was leaving. Did he have some illicit plans he didn't want her to know about? Was another woman involved? She knew his lusty appetites. It had been months since he'd been with a woman-at least as far as she knew. The first prickle of jealousy, and a stab of alarm, snaked down her spine.

Nicholas returned three days later. Three long, lonely days for Glory. She'd been surprised at how much she missed him. And terrified by what she imagined he'd been doing.

"I'll be gone off and on all month," he told her when he returned. They were seated at the dining table, supping on roast venison, new potatoes, and steaming hot fresh bread. "I've found someone to take over some of the management responsibilities. Max Faulkner. He's a competent man. As soon as we get things organized, I'll be able to oversee the business from here at the hall. We'll have time to breed those racehorses we talked about." He smiled down at her, eyes flicking for a moment to the lush curve of her breasts above her green velvet gown. "With mares like your Siren's Song and a few good stallions, we should have a fine string in no time."

Glory smiled in return, wanting desperately to believe him and happy just to have him home again.

They rode at every opportunity, bringing fresh color to Glory's cheeks and a closeness to their relationship that hadn't existed before. Glory wasn't sure whether to be glad or wary. All she knew was that every day she spent with Nicholas filled her with equal parts of happiness and despair.

Each night he walked her to her room. Each night he claimed a kiss more demanding than the one before. When his hands strayed down the bodice of her gown, his long fingers slipping beneath the fabric to stroke her nipple, Glory moaned and pulled away.

"You said you wouldn't force me before I was ready." One comer of his mouth tilted in a roguish smile. "Are you certain you're not?"

Glory swallowed hard. Her body was most certainly ready. It was her mind that was not. "I . . . I . . . Yes. I mean, no. I most certainly am not."

He ran a finger along the line of her cheek. "I won't break my promise." He flashed another smile. "But like most women, you may not always know your own mind. I won't be timid in making the decision for you when the time is right."

"But . . ."

"Good night, madam."