"Give me a little more time," she whispered at last.

He made no response. It was a long time before the muscles in his arm relaxed.

In the morning Glory awoke to find Nicholas gone. The sun shone high in the sky, a bright yellow orb that promised a brilliant March day. Glory hurried with her ablutions; Betsy brought a pale yellow cashmere day dress and helped Glory coif her hair into ringlets below each ear. Wandering through the house, she encountered Arthur in the breakfast room, but saw no sign of Nicholas or Kristen.

Next she tried the stable. He wasn't in any of the stalls or out at the paddock, but one of the grooms said he'd seen Nicholas just a few minutes earlier. Glory wandered back through the bam, enjoying the pungent odor of the animals mixed with the sweet smell of hay. Deciding to check the tack room, she pulled open the narrow door just in time to see Kristen Pedigru wrapped in her husband's strong arms. Cursing beneath his breath, Nicholas broke away the instant he saw Glory.

Kristen spun to face her, a guilty flush staining her pretty round cheeks. "It isn't as it seems, I assure you. I simply stumbled. Nicholas was kind enough to catch me as I fell." The smell of her lavender-scented perfume wafted across the tiny room.

"How convenient," Glory said, fingers clutching the folds of her cashmere skirt.

"If you'll excuse me, I have some last-minute packing." Kristen brushed past Glory, who watched her retreating figure all the way to the house.

Nicholas's voice, bitter and low, spun her around. "I'm sure you're determined to believe the worst," he said. "The truth is she came up behind me and I thought it was you. There was nothing more to it than that. I won't spend the rest of my life defending myself for things that didn't happen." His eyes, cool and remote, held hers for a moment in a bit of a challenge; then he straightened. "Now I suggest we return to the house and bid our guests goodbye. Tomorrow we leave for the city." He stalked past her, his mouth a narrow hard line.

Glory watched his tall frame until he'd disappeared from sight. For minutes she didn't move. Then she smiled. She couldn't explain how it had happened, couldn't begin to understand why, but for the first time since they'd left the strand, Glory knew without a measure of doubt Nicholas was telling the truth.

She saw little of him the rest of the day. They bade the Pedigrus farewell, Nicholas cool and reserved, Glory wearing a pasted-on smile; then Nicholas returned to the stables, his mood dark and brooding. Glory left him alone. He joined her for supper, but said little, retiring to his study as soon as they were through with the meal.

Beginning to feel at home there, now that her possessions had been moved, Glory waited for him in the huge master suite with its dark wood paneling and heavy burgundy draperies. She liked the feel of the room, liked the way the fire crackled in the marble-manteled fireplace, the way the velvet curtains could be lowered to enclose the huge tester bed.

The only thing missing from the room was Nicholas.

As the hour grew late, she almost weakened, fighting the urge to go to him. Instead, she dressed carefully in a snowy white French lace negligee, propped herself up against thick down pillows, and tried to concentrate on her book. Heavy footsteps in the hall alerted her to his approach. Setting the book aside, she lowered the wick of the lamp.

Nicholas opened the door without glancing toward the bed. Turning his back to her, he slowly undressed and put away his garments, taking longer than usual, it seemed to Glory. Enjoying the play of firelight against muscle as he moved around the room, Glory watched him from beneath her lashes. At last he turned and walked in her direction, stopping the instant he reached the foot of the bed. For a moment he didn't move, just stared at her in confusion. His gray eyes darkened as they traveled from her face to the fullness of her breasts, the dark circles of her nipples visible through the lacy swirls of the fabric.

Striding toward her with a quickness that had been missing in his step earlier, he drew her into his arms and pressed his cheek against hers.

"You believe me," he whispered, his breath warm against her ear.

"Yes."

As he pulled away to look at her, gray eyes sparkling, a smile softened his mouth. "I promise you won't be sorry." Capturing her lips, he joined her on the bed and spent the next few hours proving she'd made the right decision.

Morning passed in a flurry of activity as they readied themselves for the trip to New York. A driver and groom wearing red and black livery brought around the elegant black brougham, crafted in England especially for Nicholas. He helped Glory inside. She wore a rust and forest green traveling dress, and he looked handsome in his dark gray split-tail coat with its black velvet collar.

As the carriage rumbled and swayed along the tree-lined lanes, Glory wished she could keep her thoughts on the pleasures of the evening past instead of the uncertainties of the next few days. Nicholas expected her to mingle with the very people who had shunned her before. What would they say to her? How should she respond? Would they dare to spurn her as they had before?

"What are you thinking?" Nicholas asked after they'd traveled the first few miles in silence. "You look as though the weight of the world rests on your shoulders." He rode with one long leg propped casually against the empty seat across from them. Glory couldn't help but admire the play of muscle beneath his snug black breeches.

She smiled, distracted from her thoughts by his nearness. "Nothing, really. I'm just enjoying the scenery."

It was obvious he didn't believe her, though the countryside was beginning to turn green and the few scattered houses along the lane seemed cleaner and brighter than they had just a few weeks before. Several farmers worked in the fields, readying the soil for spring planting. An occasional mongrel rushed the carriage, nipping at the wheels and bringing a round of muffled obscenities from the driver.

"You're worried about the ball," Nicholas said a little later.

"I can't help it." She wet her lips, which had suddenly gone dry. "Must we go?"

"I want them to know once and for all that you're my wife. That I love you. That I will not allow another word against you."

Glory closed her eyes and leaned against the velvet seat, pressing herself into the tufts as if she wished she could disappear. "Couldn't we just make a brief appearance and then leave?" Her hand trembled as she remembered the dreadful weeks she'd spent after her return from the strand, the ridicule she'd suffered, the shame she had felt.

"No. I want no doubt left in anyone's mind. We'll still their wagging tongues once and for all."

Glory turned away, her eyes beginning to pool with tears. "I'm not sure I have the courage to face them," she said softly.

Nicholas lifted her chin, turning her to look at him. "I'll be right there beside you every moment."

A single tear slid down her cheek. Her voice came out in a whisper. "They hated me, Nicholas. They said terrible things. . . . They called me . . . the captain's tart.' "

Nicholas bristled, his expression turned stormy. "I could buy and sell the lot of them. If they say one word against you, I'll either ruin them or shoot them!" He clenched his fist and scowled as if he would take on the world. Shifting his position on the seat, he moved closer, draping his arm protectively around her shoulders.

Recalling his words and the protective note in his voice, Glory smiled up at him through her tears. Never had she loved him more.

Chapter Twenty-One.

They reached Nicholas's town house late that eve-ning, having taken their time and supped along the way. To Nicholas's surprise and delight, Bradford met them at the door.

"It's about time you two got here." Brad grinned broadly, hazel eyes dancing with mirth. "I've been waiting all evening."

"And just what are you doing home?" Nicholas asked with a lifted brow.

"School holiday. Mother told me you were coming."

"I'm sure she was ecstatic."

Bradford rolled his eyes. After giving Nicholas a brief hug, he shifted his attention to Glory. "You look as lovely as ever. No, that's not quite true. You look even more beautiful than you did when last we met. I take it you're feeling better."

"Much better, Brad. Thank you." Brad helped her from the carriage; footmen scurried to unload the baggage while Nicholas led Glory inside. Elizabeth St. John Blackwell stood just inside the door dressed in a simple but expensive gray velvet gown, dark hair parted in the middle and swept into fat curls beside her ears.

"Hello, Nicholas," she said, her tone stiffly formal. She was a short, broad-faced woman of little humor.

"Ah, Mother dear. You're looking well. City life must agree with you." The words were spoken with a touch of sarcasm Glory hadn't heard from Nicholas in some time.

"Agree with me? Why, I've never felt less healthy in all my life." She glanced down her wide nose at Glory. "And whom do we have here, as if I couldn't guess?"

"This is my wife, Glory. Glory, my stepmother, Elizabeth St. John Blackwell."

"Hello, Mrs. Blackwell." Glory extended a slender white-gloved hand.

Mrs. Blackwell eyed her from head to foot. "I can't say I'm pleased to meet you, young lady. Since the day my stepson uprooted me to this house I've suffered nothing but scandal because of you."

Glory let her hand drop heavily to her side.

"That's enough, Elizabeth," Nicholas warned. "None of that was Glory's fault. As to the house. You've been after me for years to move you into the city. I should think you'd be pleased."

"I'd forgotten how dismal the city was. How noisy and dirty. Not at all what I'd expected. But then, I'm sure you're not concerned about my likes and dislikes." Nicholas clenched his fists.

"Why don't you and Glory get settled?" Brad put in smoothly. "Then come down and join us for a nightcap."

"That sounds like a fine idea, Brad." Taking Glory's elbow, Nicholas guided her upstairs to the suite of rooms at the end of the long lamplit hall. Two black-clad servants brought up their trunks a few moments later.

When they'd left, Glory turned to Nicholas. "Is she always like that?"

"Like what?" Nicholas scoffed. "Biting and rude, bitter and hateful? No, far from it. That was one of her warmer greetings. Sometimes she doesn't speak at all." Glory's heart went out to him. "But why?" she asked, resting her hand against his cheek.

"She hates me for what my father did to her."

"What could he possibly have done to make her treat you so-"

"He was a failure. She expected so much-wealth, power, position. My father disappointed her."

"But Papa said Alexander Blackwell was one of the wealthiest shippers in the North."

"He was for a time. Then he married Elizabeth St. John and drank himself to death trying to forget the woman he loved."

"Your mother?"

"Yes."

"Oh, Nicholas, it must have been terrible for you."

"I was just a little boy when Father married her. I didn't understand why she loved Bradford and not me. She treated me badly or ignored me completely. Of course, Brad was just an infant. He was the sweetest baby you've ever seen. I used to sit by his cradle for hours just watching him. Elizabeth would shoo me out of the room whenever she caught me, but I'd always sneak back in. I got the birch more than a few times for disobeying her, but it was worth it." His mouth curved in a thin, bitter smile.

"Father felt guilty and began to drink even more," he said. "Things got steadily worse after that. I ran away to sea when I was twelve. You know the rest."

"After all she'd done, you still provide for her and Brad?"

"Brad is a gem. Elizabeth doted on him, but he never became selfish or spoiled. I swear he was born grown up. He deserves everything I've ever done for him. As for my stepmother, she's still my father's widow. I could hardly turn her out in the street."

"Some would have."

"That's the ironic part. She hates being under my protection-at my mercy, she says. She has to take money from me because she has no other way to live. It only makes her hate me more."

Glory slipped her arms around his neck, resting her cheek against his. "I had such a happy childhood," she told him. "Father was always there for me. Mother and I were never close, but I knew deep down that she loved me."

He kissed the top of her head. "I love you, too, Glory. Never forget that." He watched her for a moment, as if he wished she'd say those words to him. Glory swallowed hard, trying to find the courage but still unable to speak.

"I think we'd best descend to the lion's den," he said, breaking the mood, "or should I say the lioness?" He took her arm and opened the door. "It seems different this time. Easier with you here."

She felt a tightness around her heart, a yearning to protect him. She wished she had the courage to speak her feelings.

Arm in arm, they moved into the hallway and down the stairs.

Later that night, after they'd made love, Glory snuggled against him. She lay quietly for a while, but her conscience wouldn't let her sleep. When she rolled to her side, she saw Nicholas was also awake.

She propped herself up in bed. "Why aren't you sleeping?"

"Why aren't you?"

She wet her lips, deciding now was as good a time as any. "Because I've been keeping something from you that I shouldn't have."

Nicholas sat up beside her, the sheet falling to his waist leaving his chest bare. "You lied to me?" Moonlight streaming through a window betrayed the pulse that hammered at the base of his throat.

"No. I just didn't tell you. It's something I feel strongly about, Nicholas. So much so, I was afraid to mention it for fear you'd forbid me to continue. I didn't want to go against your wishes."

Nicholas watched her closely. "Go on."

"While you were gone to the city this last time, Nathan came to see me. He asked for my help. I want you to know he insisted that I seek your permission, but I convinced him I'd speak to you when the time was right."

"And you think that time is now?"

"I think that time was probably when you returned. But you . . ."

"I what?"

She felt a rush of warmth, adding color to her cheeks. Seeing the softening around his mouth, she knew Nicholas had noticed it, too. "You . . . persuaded me back to your bed."

He chuckled, the sound no more than the merest rumble. "Is that what I did?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes. And then there was Kristen Pedigru, and things got even more complicated."

"So you decided to deceive me."

"No! I wanted to tell you, but I'd waited so long . . ."

"So you're going to tell me now."

She took a deep breath. "This is the most important work I've ever done. I know you don't approve; I'm not asking for your approval, only your permission to continue."

"Now, this is a first. Gloria Summerfield Blackwell asking my permission."

"Nicholas, you are making this harder than ever."

"Good. Next time you'll tell me the truth in the first place." The words sounded harsh, but the indulgent light in his eyes said he wasn't as angry as he seemed. "Go on," he urged when she didn't continue.

Glory took a deep, steadying breath. "I belong to the Underground Railroad. I helped runaways when I lived in Boston, and the other day I sheltered two of them at Black-well Hall." She didn't even move, just waited for his outburst. "Well, aren't you going to say something? I just told you I hid runaway slaves in your house."

"Our house," he corrected. "Besides, I already knew."

"You knew! How did you know?"