"Glory, we don't have to talk about this now. We can wait until you're ready."

"I don't think I'll ever be ready."

He drew her hand to his lips and kissed the palm, encouraging her with his touch, if not his words.

"I shouldn't have blamed you," she told him. "It wasn't your fault." She swallowed hard and glanced away, feeling a jolt of remembered pain.

"Glory, listen to me." Nicholas sat up on the bed beside her, tightening his hold on her suddenly cold hand.

"Please. Let me finish. I knew there were problems. The doctor told me the baby wasn't sitting quite right. He warned me to take every precaution. I didn't tell anyone, not even Aunt Flo. I wanted the baby so badly, I just couldn't admit the possibility that things might go wrong. I tried to be careful, but I guess I wasn't careful enough. It was my fault, Nicholas. My fault, not yours."

She didn't notice the tears until he pulled her into his arms. Then the wetness dripped from her lashes onto his chest, where it clung in tiny drops, then ran in rivulets till it soaked the satin sheets.

He let her cry for a time, then held her away.

"I want you to stop blaming yourself. We have no way of knowing what really happened. God works in strange ways. There'll be other children. We've already started working on a second baby."

She smiled at him through her tears. "We have, haven't we?"

"We certainly have." He rested his cheek against her forehead. "And I intend diligently to pursue that end every chance I get." With that he turned her face with his hand and kissed her soundly, beginning to demonstrate the truth of his words. They made love slowly, then slept for a while. It was well past time for the noon meal when they made their way, arm in arm, down the wide mahogany staircase.

"I want your things moved into the master suite where they belong," Nicholas said.

Foot poised on the stair, she stopped, half glad for his words, half afraid. Each commitment only buried her deeper. Still, she'd made her decision-or rather, as always, he'd made it for her. She was surprised to discover she almost felt good about it. A loud knock at the heavy wooden door interrupted her thoughts. Isaac answered just as they reached the foyer.

A woman Glory could only have described as handsome, elegantly gowned and coiffed, clutching the arm of a thin-faced, foppishly dressed gentleman years her senior, swept past a startled Isaac before he had a chance to deter her. Glory glanced at Nicholas, who scowled blackly, then at the woman, who eyed him with a bold stare and an ingratiating smile, then at the gentleman, who yawned and looked bored with the whole affair.

"Nicholas, darling," the woman crooned, her voice rich and throaty. Her low-cut ruched-silk traveling dress revealed a great deal of bosom. Her dark hair glistened in the sunlight from the still-open door while her clear skin looked soft and appealing. She was a few inches shorter than Glory, though a bit more full-figured.

"The most dreadful thing has happened," the woman continued. "Our carriage broke down just a few miles from here. We had to catch a ride on a passing hay wagon, of all things. The driver says it'll take at least until tomorrow to fix the awful contraption. I told Arthur I was certain you wouldn't mind the intrusion. I just didn't know where else to turn." She spread the painted fan dangling from her wrist, fluttering it in front of her face. "You don't, do you? Mind the intrusion, I mean?"

Nicholas took such a long time to answer that Glory was embarrassed.

"How could my wife and I possibly object to helping two old friends?" he finally said. "Isaac, show Mr. and Mrs Pedigru to the Red Room. I'm sure they'll find it comfortable."

"Thank you, old boy," Mr. Pedigru put in. "Don't know what could have happened to the carriage. One minute it was fine, the next . . .'' He shrugged his thin shoulders in a gesture of helplessness. Glory chanced a look at the woman and was sure she caught the hint of a satisfied smile.

"Nicholas," Mrs. Pedigru put in, "what has happened to your manners? Introduce us to your lovely wife." Glory had been about to make the same request. Then she looked from the woman, richly gowned in rose silk skirts, to her own simple serge frock, thought of her un-coiffed hair, and wished she were someplace else.

"Pardon my thoughtlessness, Kristen," he said a bit sarcastically. "May I present my wife, Glory? Glory, this is Arthur and Kristen Pedigru."

"Charmed, madam." Arthur bowed gallantly, bringing her hand to his lips.

"I'm happy to meet you both," Glory told them.

"Isn't she charming, Nicholas?" Kristen said. "Why, she's not a bit what we expected."

Glory bristled, wondering what the woman meant. Nicholas seemed equally displeased.

"Why haven't you brought her to the city? Surely she's tired of this dreary country existence by now."

"I'm quite happy right here, Mrs. Pedigru," Glory assured her, then wondered for the hundredth time whether Nicholas had indeed purposely kept her away.

"Do call me Kristen. I'm certain we're going to be friends."

"All right, Kristen."

"Why don't you two follow Isaac?" Nicholas suggested. "I'm sure you'll both feel better after a rest. You can join us later. Supper's at eight. I'll tell Cook you'll be dining with us."

"That sounds fine," Arthur agreed. "We'll see you then."

Isaac instructed a servant to bring up their bags, then led the couple upstairs to their rooms.

"Who are they, Nicholas?" Glory asked, hoping the Pedigrus would give them some time alone. They were seated in the sunny morning room, though it was growing late in the day, Glory sipping tea, Nicholas a glass of wine while they lunched on cold meats, fruits, and cheeses.

"They're merely acquaintances. People I knew in the city."

"Nothing more?" Glory pressed.

Nicholas met her gaze steadily, as if making a decision. "Are you sure you want to know?"

She stiffened. "Yes."

"I could tell you they're just friends of the family. I could tell you any number of truths, and it would still be a lie. Kristen Pedigru is the woman whose clothes were on board Black Witch."

"Oh, God." Glory's hand crept to her throat where a tiny pulse began to throb.

"I told you before, she means nothing to me." He covered her other hand, suddenly cold, with his warmer one. "I haven't seen her in months. I didn't invite her here. I love you, not her. You've got to start trusting me."

Glory stared out the window across the manicured lawns toward the river. Several snowy geese honked and fed along the bank.

"I never professed to be a monk, Glory. I'm a man. I have needs and desires just like any other man. Kristen was willing-no, more than willing-to accommodate my needs."

"She's beautiful," Glory said.

"Not nearly as lovely as you."

"It's hard for me to think of you with her, doing the things . . ."

"You mean like last night?"

She couldn't answer.

"Glory, last night we made love. I've been to bed with other women, but I've never made love to any woman but you."

She wanted to believe him, she ached to believe him. She would die if she lost him again. Still, she said nothing.

"You don't believe me."

"I . . . I don't know."

Nicholas felt his temper fire. He gripped the napkin in his lap and tried to sound calm, but his voice came out harsh, and colder than he intended. "For months I've wanted you, loved you, tried to make things up to you. Tried to prove how much I care. But a man can only do so much. I swore I'd never chase after a woman the way my father did, never become so obsessed with loving someone my manhood would be threatened. I've come as close to that with you as I'll allow. I'm tired of trying to convince you of something you should be able to see with your heart." He threw his napkin down and shoved back his chair, the sound grating on the flagstone floor.

"Love me for what I am, Glory. Or don't love me at all. It's up to you." Without a backward glance, he stormed from the room.

Glory's heart twisted. She watched his tall, retreating figure, the rigid set to his shoulders. In a way he was right. He'd done everything in his power to prove his trust and love. Never once had he failed her-not since the strand. Still . . . If only she could be sure. And now there was Kristen Pedigru.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Glory thought about going to Nicholas, speaking her heart. But what could she say? She could lie, say she believed every word he told her-the way she had before. But it would be just that-a lie. Instead, she dressed for supper in a sumptuous gown of ice-blue satin, the decolletage indecently low. She might not trust him, but she loved him. She wasn't about to lose him to the likes of Kristen Pedigru! When it came to female competition, Glory had never been a fool. Kristen Pedigru had met a demure country wife this afternoon. Tonight she would meet the belle of Summerfield Manor.

When Glory descended the stairs, Nicholas stood in the foyer. As she had hoped, Arthur and Kristen waited beside him. One look at the dark-featured brunette's hostile face told Glory she'd already won round one.

Nicholas sucked in a breath when he saw her, eyes at first dark as he scowled at the low-cut gown, then turning light with amusement.

"Armed for battle, I see." He whispered the words for her ears alone.

"Some things are worth fighting for." She noticed his look softened even more.

"I see Nicholas hasn't lost his fine eye for clothing," Kristen said. Arthur seemed not to notice her words, and again Nicholas scowled. Glory took his arm, determined to act nonplussed at the intimate exchange.

"I say, my dear," Arthur said, "you look marvelous. Captain Blackwell certainly has a knack for attracting beautiful women."

"I assure you, Arthur," Nicholas said dryly, "my wife is the only beautiful woman I'm interested in attracting." His eyes added a bitter Even if she doesn't believe me.

"Such a pity," Kristen said with a sigh. "So many will be disappointed."

Nicholas's gray eyes turned almost black.

An iron band squeezed around Glory's heart as the brunette smiled up at him, and Glory knew a jealousy unlike anything she had prepared for.

They dined on squab and fresh-caught halibut, the sauces rich and creamy, the vegetables crisp, the dessert light. It all tasted like sawdust to Glory. Nicholas was polite and attentive to her, and polite but distant to Kristen. Determined to remain in control, Glory matched quip for quip with the dark-haired woman who fawned for Nicholas's attention.

"Such a lovely gown," she told Kristen, referring to the woman's gold satin brocade. "It seems Nicholas isn't the only one with a good eye-or did you buy this one yourself?"

Kristen tilted her lovely chin. "Madame LaSerre in Paris. Arthur insists I have only the best."

"I'm sure he does," Glory agreed, "at least in those pleasures he's aware of."

Nicholas frowned at Glory, but one corner of his mouth curved and she wondered at his thoughts.

"I've decided to take your advice, Kristen," Nicholas announced toward the end of the meal. "Glory and I are going to spend some time in the city. The Whitmores are giving a ball. I think it would be the perfect place to introduce my new bride."

Glory took a sip of her wine to cover her surprise and still her suddenly trembling fingers.

Kristen seemed surprised as well. "That should certainly make for some amusing conversation."

Remembering the terrible weeks following her rescue from the strand, the way she'd been ostracized and publicly ridiculed, Glory suddenly felt sick. She wondered if Kristen Pedigru knew about "the captain's tart." Her knowing smile said she did. It was all Glory could do to keep from running from the table.

"We'll be certain to look you up," Glory said instead. "Unless of course you'll be too busy." She glanced at Arthur, who looked up from his meringue.

"Nonsense," Arthur said. "My little pet has plenty of time. I'm just sorry I'm gone so much."

"Oh, that is a pity." Glory said. "What on earth do you do with yourself while he's away?"

Kristen smiled tightly. She glanced at Nicholas, whose lips narrowed in warning. "Frankly, I have been a little lonely lately." She sighed and batted her long black lashes at Nicholas. "I think I need to see more of old friends."

Glory could have killed her. She took a sip of her wine to calm her temper. They finished the meal in silence, and Glory excused herself with a headache.

"I think we'd both better go," Nicholas said, keeping a firm grip on her arm. It was all she could do to offer polite good-evenings with a smile on her face.

They moved up the stairs together, Nicholas still gripping her arm, Kristen and Arthur close behind. When she tried to stop in front of her room, Nicholas tugged her firmly toward his own room instead.

"Not a chance," he whispered beneath his breath. "I want them to be damned sure you're sleeping with me." She started to protest, but he covered her mouth with a kiss, pinning her against the wall until Kristen and Arthur rounded the comer and entered the opposite wing. He released her so abruptly she almost lost her balance. Nicholas had to steady her to keep her upright. Temper high, gray eyes dark, he guided her into his room.

"I thought you understood. From now on, you're sleeping in here."

"But what about my things?"

"I didn't have them moved today because I didn't want the Pedigrus to know we'd been sleeping apart. After they leave, we'll move your things."

"Surely you don't expect me to sleep with you when your . . . your paramour is sleeping down the hall!"

"And surely you know me well enough to know that's exactly what I expect. Kristen Pedigru is no longer my paramour, but you, my sweet, are my wife."

"Well, I won't do it, that's all. I'll sleep on the sofa." With that she flounced across the room and, gown and all, stretched out on the plush velvet couch.

"You, madam," came the deep rumble she knew so well, "have a very short memory." He strode across the room, heels ringing against the polished wood floor, scooped her into his arms, and unceremoniously tossed her on the bed.

"Since I bought that gown," he said, "I can do with it as I wish. Right now I wish to see it hanging in the wardrobe. But as you well know, I'll be just as happy to shred it into a pile at my feet."

Glowering down at her as he shrugged off his coat, he shed his gray woolen waistcoat and wide white stock, then unbuttoned and removed his shirt. "I'm sick and tired of pleading with you, Glory. From now on you'll do as I say."

Bare-chested, he towered in front of her, eyes storm gray. He looked sinister and furious-and devilishly handsome. And Glory had never wanted him more. Against her will, she raised her arms to him, encouraging his touch, the feel of his arms around her. When he bent over her, she slipped her fingers through his hair and pulled his mouth down to hers. Nicholas groaned and kissed her with all the passion she could have asked.

When he broke away and began hurriedly to unfasten the buttons at the back of her gown, she watched him over her shoulder. "Why is it," she whispered, "I cannot deny you?"

"Why is it that you, madam, can make me forget my anger and think only of making love to you?"

She smiled pleased at his words. He helped her remove her garments, then finished undressing himself. The bed creaked beneath his weight as he settled beside her.

"You are the most infuriating, most desirable woman I've ever known."

His lips smothered her retort, which settled into a soft, contented sigh. In seconds the sounds became those of passion.

When they had finished, Glory nestled in the curve of Nicholas's arm, the heat of her body cooled by a fine sheen of perspiration. She could feel his even breathing, but sensed he wasn't asleep.

The heavy draperies shadowed his face in darkness. "Tell me you love me," he whispered, his voice soft and low.

Glory felt a tightening in her chest, the sudden pulsing of her heart. When she didn't answer, the muscles of his arm tightened ever so slightly.