That had been two days ago. He'd left again for New York, cautioning her he'd be gone five days. The cold weather had ended and an early spring settled over the land. Now, as Glory strolled through the quiet formal gardens between rows of dormant jonquils, she absently touched the tightly closed buds that awaited still warmer weather. During this, the longest of Nicholas's absences, Glory had begun to realize just how deeply she had come to care for him. Her days seemed endless without him. At night she remembered his kisses, longed for more, then worried that he spent his time away from her in the arms of another woman.

She moved among the green-leafed plants, the white buds brushing against her yellow cashmere dress, her thoughts in turmoil.

"Narcissus jonquilla," came a familiar deep voice laced with a gentle southern drawl. "Beautiful when they're in bloom, don't you agree?"

Glory spun to face him. "Nathan!" she cried, throwing herself into his arms. As he held her against him, she could feel his pleasure at seeing her in the flutter of his heart. Then he set her away, inspecting her from head to foot.

"Well, it seems you're none the worse for wear."

"And you, little brother, it seems you grow taller every time I see you." She hugged him again, noticing how handsome he looked in his dark brown split-tailed coat. For the first time she noticed he wasn't alone.

"These are friends of mine, Glory. Valentine and his mother, Hilly." A tall, thin Negro woman stood at the side of the garden, a small boy next to her, his face buried in her calico skirts.

Glory moved to greet them.

"Hullo, missus," the woman said in a thick black accent Glory hadn't heard in months.

"Hello, Hilly. And this must be Valentine." She knelt beside him, and the boy looked up at her shyly, brown eyes round and a little uncertain. His clothes were patched and worn, but spotless. "I'm Glory, Valentine. I'm happy to meet you." He graced her with a white-toothed smile, then returned to the folds of his mother's skirt.

"They need your help, Glory," Nathan told her. "In your letters, you mentioned your work in Boston. That's where these two are headed."

"Come inside," she said. "Out of the cold."

Once they were seated in the drawing room, sipping hot cocoa, she pressed Nathan about his involvement with the runaways-which obviously they were.

"Actually, it wasn't until I read your letters from Boston that I decided to take action. Of course I'd read about the Underground Railroad in the newspapers. It just seemed like such a risk. After I read your letters, I decided the risk would be worth it." He glanced at the two Negroes sitting on the settee before the fire. "I can already tell you it has been."

"What can I do to help?" Glory asked.

"Where's your husband?" Nathan countered. "I think this is something you should discuss with him."

Glory was surprised by his words. "After the way he treated you, I shouldn't think you'd give a damn what Nicholas Blackwell thought."

Nathan grinned at her surge of temper. "At first I did feel that way. But after you two were married, Nicholas came to the school to see me. He explained what had happened between the two of you. He asked my forgiveness and understanding, and welcomed me as one of the family. I told him I respected him and wished you both great happiness. I assumed he would have told you."

"No. No, he didn't." She glanced at the two by the fire, pleased with Nicholas for having the courage to apologize to Nathan, and wondering why he hadn't told her. But then, that was so like him. It was almost as though he tried to hide the gentle, caring side of his nature. "At any rate, he's gone into the city. He won't be back for three days. Valentine and Hilly can stay here until he arrives."

"That should give them time to rest. A wagon will come by on Wednesday morning to carry them on to the next stop." He looked at her hard. "Promise me you'll tell Nicholas, even if they've already gone."

"I won't promise, Nathan. This work is important to me. I've been looking for a way to help. I'd even thought of writing to George McMillan. I just didn't want him to misinterpret my reasons. Now you've solved my problem. When the time is right, I'll tell Nicholas. Not before. If it looks as though he'll oppose my work, I shan't tell him at all. I think Isaac will help me. Between the two of us, we can manage."

"I think you should tell him as soon as he arrives. But I'll let you handle it your way." He grinned again. "I always have, haven't I?"

"Thank you, Nathan." She turned to Hilly and Valentine. "Come along, you two. Let's get you settled in." She led them to a cozy room off the kitchen. "This should do the trick."

They eyed the fluffy quilt, the pitcher on the walnut bureau, and the wide, comfortable-looking bed. "Thank you, missus," Hilly said with an appreciative smile.

"Thank you, missus," repeated Valentine, lisping through a missing front tooth.

"You're both very welcome. I'll be back in a while with your supper." She closed the door and followed Nathan's tall frame back through the kitchen to the drawing room. "How long can you stay?" she asked him.

"I'm afraid I have to return right away. Exams, day after tomorrow."

"Then let's not waste time. I want you to fill me in on everything you've been doing."

"How about you? What's it feel like to be a married lady?"

She wished he hadn't asked. How could she tell him she felt far from married. She slept alone and worried constantly that her husband didn't. She glanced away. "I'm doing just fine. Now tell me about school."

With that he launched into a thirty-minute monologue on the horticultural experiments he was working on.

The night before Nicholas was due home, Glory lay on her bed beneath its heavy velvet canopy. She had seen the runaways to safety, then returned to her big empty house. Being near the little boy had dredged up painful memories of the child she'd lost. But more than that, Hilly had told Glory about losing her husband, how much she had loved him, how lonely she was without him.

As she stared up at the canopy, Glory tried to imagine what life would be like without Nicholas, forcing herself to remember that day in the harbor when he had abandoned her, her feelings of despair. Would a wedding ring stop him from leaving her again? She'd lost his son; she had no real hold on him now.

All day long she'd walked in the gardens trying to decide what to do. The Hudson flowed past clusters of weeping willows that were just beginning to green while ducks bobbed and dived below the surface in search of food. Maybe she should return to Summerfield Manor, she thought. Her mother's letters had softened over the past few months. It seemed her mother had missed her after all. Or maybe she should return to Boston. Should she ask Nicholas for an annulment again? Maybe this time he would agree. Or should she follow her heart and stay with him, be his wife, bear his children? That would take the greatest courage of all.

Every day she spent with Nicholas wound her deeper into his spell. She'd survived his mistreatment once, even survived the death of their child. But she could not survive his loss again.

By late afternoon Glory had worked herself into a state of nerves that left her moody and on edge. When Nicholas returned from the city that evening, she pleaded a headache and refused to join him for supper. Before he retired, he came to her room to check on her, but she wouldn't face him. She stood at the window in her simple cotton nightdress, determined not to let him know what she was thinking, and feeling totally bereft.

"Are you ill, love?" He crossed the room in long strides to settle a gentle hand at her waist.

"It's just a headache," she said softly, keeping her back carefully turned to him.

"You're sure it's nothing serious?"

A hard lump closed her throat. Just the sound of his deep voice caused her heart to pound. She felt drawn to him, desired him, and loved him, just as she had on the strand. "I'm all right . . . really," she said, her voice soft and strained. "I'll be fine by tomorrow."

He turned her to face him, and try as she might to prevent it, a single tear slid down her cheek.

"Tell me," he said, whisking the tear away with a long brown finger. "Tell me what's wrong."

"I can't. Please, Nicholas, just go away and leave me alone."

"I'm your husband, Glory. You can tell me anything." She only shook her head. "I'm sorry. I'm making a fool of myself. Please, just go away. I'll be fine in the morning."

"Dammit, Glory. Tell me what's wrong!"

Glory rounded on him, his anger bringing a surge of her own. "I'll tell you what's wrong. Everything! Everything's wrong. I don't want to be here. I don't want to be with you. I want to go home!"

"But why?"

Tears washed her cheeks, but she didn't answer.

"You seemed happy," he said. "I thought . . . If I've done something to upset you . . . tell me."

Still she didn't respond.

"Tell me, dammit! Tell me why you want to leave." She lifted her chin, her anguish turning to fury. "Because I don't trust you. I never know when you'll walk out that door and never come back." She swallowed past the tears in her throat. "But more than anything else, I don't want to love you."

Nicholas pulled her into his arms. He held her close to him, circling her protectively while she sobbed against his chest. He smoothed the pale strands of her hair with his hand, his voice low and heavy with conviction.

"Don't you understand?" he said. "I love you more than life. For months after you left I grieved, wishing you were with me, believing you were in love with someone else. Do you know what that did to me? Do you honestly believe I could go through that again?"

She turned her face to look up at him. "In love with someone else? I don't understand. Who?"

"We've talked so little, Glory. I can't believe you didn't know."

"Know what?"

"I thought Nathan was your . . . I didn't know he was your brother."

Glory pulled away. "You thought Nathan was . . . ? What?"

"I thought you were in love with him. When I came to Boston, I tried to explain."

"No, Nicholas. You didn't." She looked at him hard. "How could you have believed that of me? That I would make love to you and be in love with someone else?"

"I don't know." He couldn't meet her eyes. "I was a fool."

"Well, I don't know, either. Can't you see? I don't understand you, Nicholas. And until I do, I can't believe you or trust you. Most of all, I can't allow myself to love you."

"Dammit, Glory. I don't know what else to do."

"Maybe it would be best if I just went away."

"No."

"In time things might work out."

"Things are never going to work out between us until you're back where you belong."

She tilted her chin in defiance. "And just where might that be?"

"In my bed. It's time I showed you my love in the only way I know how." He scooped her up into his arms, strode across the floor, and lowered her onto the huge four-poster that dominated the room.

Glory began to struggle as he lay down beside her. "Please, Nicholas. You'll only make things worse."

"I told you once before that I would decide when the time was right. I want to love you, Glory. Maybe my body can make you believe what my words alone cannot." With that he cupped her chin and kissed her, stilling any further protests. With her hands trapped against his chest, she could feel the rapid beating of his heart. Slanted against her mouth, his lips felt firm and warm, and Glory stifled a moan. She had to stop him. If she didn't stop him now, she would be lost.

"Please, Nicholas," she whispered, pulling away. Again he silenced her with his mouth, kissing her relentlessly. He smelled of musk and tasted of brandy. Plundering her mouth with his tongue, he sampled the velvet corridors within and demanded she respond.

Glory could hardly breathe. Her struggles turned feeble, useless, as if she sensed winning the battle would be losing somehow. In truth, she knew she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Gently, he held her, pulling her nightdress over her head, leaving her bare and trembling beneath his gaze.

"So beautiful," he whispered against her ear. "Just as I've remembered every night these long months past."

"Nicholas," she breathed, wishing she could stop the words, "I've missed you so."

He released her hands and they slipped around his neck. She laced them through his curly black hair. He stroked her upturned breasts, lifting and caressing each one, touching them almost reverently. When he lowered his mouth to her nipple, Glory moaned and arched her back, wanting more and wishing she didn't. He kissed her mouth, her nose, her eyes, trailed tiny kisses along her shoulder.

With shaky fingers, she unbuttoned his shirt and slipped her hands inside to touch his warm skin. The feel of his stiff chest hair sent a shiver of anticipation down her spine and a surge of heat to her core. She moved her fingers to the buttons of his breeches, but he stopped her.

"Not yet," he whispered. While one hand cupped her breast, the other moved downward to gently part her legs. He lowered his body until he nestled between her thighs. His mouth burned a path of kisses from her navel along the smooth flat skin beneath until he reached the source of her passion within its protective nest of pale blond hair. As his lips surrounded her, Glory felt a flash of heat that drove her to madness. She moaned and writhed against him, calling his name and begging for more. With his mouth and his fingers, he brought her pleasure unlike any she'd known. Wave after wave of passion, withheld these long, lonely months, washed over her. Until at last she lay spent and a little embarrassed at her bold response.

She hardly noticed when he left her, only noticed his return as his heavy weight pressed down the thick feather mattress. When she turned to look at him, she saw he'd removed his clothes, and the sight of his lean hard body, his swollen manhood, filled her with a fresh jolt of desire. She watched him for a moment, drinking in the sight of his swarthy features, the hard, powerful body so long denied her. Then she cradled his face between her palms, feeling the angular cheekbones, and brought his lips to hers. Though the kiss began gently, she could feel the power he withheld, the passion he'd denied himself in order to bring her pleasure.

As her hands moved down the muscular planes of his body, the kiss turned demanding, and she heard him groan. Her fingers traveled to the smooth curves of his buttocks; taut muscles bunched beneath her hands. Moving on top of her, he guided his hardened shaft to the entrance of her womanhood.

"Please," she whispered, "I want you so." In answer, he claimed her mouth, forcing his tongue inside at the same moment his hardness eased into her.

White heat flooded her loins. She moaned and writhed against him, calling his name, begging for more. And Nicholas gave her what she wanted. Their skin glistening with perspiration, they rode the crest of their passion. Again and again Nicholas drove into her, filling her, pounding against her, and each time Glory felt sure her pleasure could be no greater. Just when she was certain she could stand the torture no more, a piercing sweetness washed over her, tiny pinpricks of ecstasy that carried her to release. Nicholas followed in her wake as shudders of pleasure washed over him.

They lay quiet for a time, lost in their own thoughts. Nicholas cradled Glory against him. Nicholas, she ached to tell him, I'm so afraid. Please love me as you say. I promise you won't be sorry. But she said nothing.

They made love again. And yet again. Each determined to breach the lonely months. Then she turned her head into the curve of his shoulder and pretended to sleep. By returning her husband's passion, she had made her decision. She was now his wife in every way. Whatever happened, she had chosen the path she would walk. But thoughts of the happiness they'd shared on the strand-and the terrible consequences that followed-kept her from falling asleep. She wondered if Nicholas rested as fitfully as she.

Chapter Twenty.

Glory awoke to find she'd slept after all. She blinked against the sunlight streaming through an open window, then remembered the events of the evening. With a start, she turned to find Nicholas beside her propped up on an elbow, sheet bunched at his waist, gray eyes open and watching her. He smoothed a lock of sleep-tangled hair from her face with his hand but said nothing, as if he felt a little uncertain.

"Still want to leave?" he finally said. There was a forced lightness in his voice she was sure he didn't feel. His expression seemed remote, guarded, as if he feared her answer but still had to ask.

"No."

"Regrets?"

She shook her head. The tension in his face drained away, but her answer was only half true. For she truly regretted the nagging doubt, the constant insecurity she felt in loving Nicholas. She'd always been so confident, so sure of herself. Now she faced every day with an uncertainty that never gave her a moment's peace.

"I'm your wife," she told him, with an attempted smile, "for as long as you want me."

He pressed her into the mattress, rolling his hard body on top of her in a single easy motion. "Forever isn't long enough." He lowered his head and kissed her. It was a demanding kiss, a telling kiss, and an apology for the past rolled into one.

If only she could believe it.

They made love again, sweetly at first, then fiercely, passionately, trying to compensate for the time they had spent apart. When they finished, Glory rested her cheek against his chest, listening to the even rhythm of his heartbeat, her pale hair spread across his torso like a gilded blanket.

"Nicholas, there's something I've been wanting to tell you." She shifted, then sat up to face him.

He wound a finger in an unruly lock of her hair. "Yes, love?"

"It's about the baby."