Beside her, Verity felt him draw himself up to his full impressive height. The duchess was tall for a woman, but he loomed over her. "I do. I would be the most fortunate man on earth if thislady were to call me husband, madam."

This was too much for Her Grace. The perfect complexion whitened and the delicate jaw dropped in astonishment.

But she could hardly be more startled by the declaration than Verity was. He hadn't mentioned marriage since Kensington. The concept of her as a duchess was still nonsensical, but nothing could dam the traitorous warmth his words poured into her grieving heart.

"This lady adorns any abode she cares to enter," Kylemore said in a low voice that still managed to cut. "You, however, have long been a disgrace to your exalted name and rank. Kylemore Castle belongs to me. You are not welcome here."

The duchess staggered back. For one awful moment, Verity thought she might collapse. "Justin! I am your mother!"

"To my eternal regret," he said softly.

"Kylemore, you can't throw your mother out," Verity gasped. He had every right to hate the duchess, but an open break would only bring further scandal down on their heads.

She turned to the duchess and tried to keep a reasonable tone. "Your Grace, my brother and I leave today. My arrangement with your son has ended. I won't embarrass you further."

The duchess's expression became more forbidding. Verity forgot the legendary beauty and saw only the obdurate, destructive will.

What could it have been like to call this woman mother? She was astonished Kylemore had emerged from childhood with even a shred of humanity intact.

As she'd expected, the duchess still refused to address her directly. "Justin, your behavior is unacceptable," she said in an autocratic voice. "I am here to insist you act in a manner appropriate to your position. Dismiss this slut at once and return to London to select a bride. Pray, boy, recall who you are."

He remained unmoved. "I am the Duke of Kylemore. These are my domains. If you aren't off my lands by this evening, Mother, my servants will escort you to the boundary."

He turned to face the staff with all the authority at his disposal. "The duchess will ride in Mr. McNab's vehicle to Inverathie, where she will wait at the inn. Pack her trunks and send them down with her carriage, which she will then use for her immediate departure."

"Justin, you cannot be serious!" his mother protested, clutching at his sleeve.

"I've never been more serious in my life, madam." He shook her free as if she were an unwelcome petitioner. "Good day to you."

He turned to glance at Ben, who stood aghast at the base of the staircase. Verity realized Kylemore's mention of marriage must have astonished her brother. She'd never confided in him about what had happened that last afternoon in London.

Kylemore's voice was peremptory. "Ashton, if you care to join us?"

He dismissed his mother with a spin on his heel and strode inside. Perforce, Verity followed into an impressive hall decorated with displays of spears and swords arranged in complicated geometric patterns. Behind her, she was aware of Ben mounting the steps and the servants preventing the vociferously protesting duchess from pursuing them.

She was still in a daze. How she'd treasure that moment when he'd announced that she was the wife he'd choose.

But the duchess's disbelieving response only echoed the world's derisive reaction if he actually went ahead and wed his mistress.

Her reasons for leaving him were as urgent as ever.

Kylemore didn't wait to see what happened to his mother. His staff had their orders, and he knew they'd obey unquestioningly. Instead, he drew Verity into a salon on the ground floor.

He turned to his two unwilling guests. Ashton remained mercifully silent, but Kylemore read displeasure and shock in the square-jawed face. Verity was exhausted, and strain left dark shadows under her beautiful eyes. He didn't care about the brother, but he most definitely cared about her. He gently took her hand.

"I'm sorry I couldn't save you from that," he said softly. "I had no idea my mother was in residence."

"I shouldn't be here," Verity said unsteadily.

"Yes, you should." His statement brooked no argument.

If I had my way, you'd be here always, my soul's darling.

He handed her carefully into a chair and crossed to the sideboard to pour three glasses of local whisky. After what they'd been through, they all needed it, he thought grimly.

"Here, drink this," he said, handing one to Ashton. He couldn't say he was any fonder of the fellow, but for Verity's sake, he was willing to make an effort.

"What is it?" Suspicion laced the man's question.

"Hemlock, of course." Without pausing to see what Ashton did with the drink, he went back to Verity.

"This will make you feel better," he said in a totally different tone as he crouched down on his haunches before her.

"I don't drink spirits," she said shakily.

"Just this once, mo cridhe . It will help."

She nodded, and he pressed the crystal glass into her chilled fingers. He stood up and downed his own drink. The liquor soothed the physical aches lingering from his scuffle with Ashton. Unfortunately, nothing short of a bullet could cure the pain in his heart.

Ashton returned the empty glass to the sideboard with a click. The whisky had revived his usual combative self. Perhaps hemlock would have been a better choice.

"You heard what the lass said. I'm taking her home with me this afternoon," he said with familiar belligerence.

"Surely that's her decision," Kylemore said neutrally.

Down on the dock, she'd all but announced that he had her full allegiance. How could she leave him now? Or was it that while she might want him, she wanted freedom more? Anguish clenched hard fingers into his heart at the thought.

Verity raised her head. He waited in desperate hope for her to tell her brother that she'd changed her mind, that she meant to stay.

But she looked over to Ashton and spoke in a firm voice. "Yes, Ben, I'll come with you."

No!

Ashton looked relieved, damn him. "That's grand, lass. I've got a hired carriage ready. We'll go when you say the word."

Kylemore swung around toward the tall windows open to the garden outside. He couldn't let her go. Not now. Not when he knew she cared, even if she didn't careenough . One hand lifted to the curtains and crushed the silk so tightly that his knuckles shone white.

Even with his back to her, he felt her eyes upon him.

He'd sworn when she'd nearly perished that he'd never compel her to anything again. But this was impossible.

"Stay and eat something, at least," he said to the gardens, although he hardly saw the sun shining on the perfectly maintained grounds. How absurd he could still sound like a civilized man when ravening demons clawed at his soul. "And use my traveling coach. It will be more comfortable."

"We want nowt of yours," Ashton snapped. "Throwing your brass around won't make up for what you've done. Any road, I'd prefer to get my sister well away from your bully boys before you change your mind and decide to keep her."

Kylemore didn't bother to defend himself. What was the point? Ben Ashton would find out soon enough that he meant to abide by Verity's wishes, no matter what it cost him.

Perhaps one day she'd remember this moment and know she left him a better man than she'd found him.

What a pathetic epitaph to his great love.

"Ben," Verity said quietly. "I'd like you to go to the village and arrange our departure. I want to talk to His Grace."

"I'm not leaving you on your ane with this sodding bastard. He'll spirit you away before I get back."

Kylemore could hardly blame the fellow for mistrusting him. At their last encounter, he'd left the younger man to shiver naked in a cold ruin while his sister had disappeared to face who knew what violence and abuse.

"He won't." Unmistakable certainty rang in Verity's low voice.

Thank you, mo cridhe, he whispered silently, before he spoke to Ashton. "The servants can collect your carriage and belongings while you wait in the hall."

"You could still bundle her off without me knowing owt," the bumpkin insisted with a stubborn set to his jaw.

"Ben, there's nothing stopping him having you constrained now while he abducts me," Verity pointed out gently. "Please leave us. There are things I need to say to His Grace."

Kylemore turned around to see Ashton glaring at his sister in indecision. Then he nodded abruptly. "If this villain makes the slightest false move, scream."

She tried to smile. Kylemore couldn't say she made a success of it. "If he so much as touches my hand."

Kylemore didn't pause for further objections. He led Ashton outside and gave the appropriate orders to his butler.

He would have insisted they use his coach, but he saw that the disharmony between Ashton and himself upset Verity. And she, in spite of the fact that she'd gotten exactly what she wanted, had clearly reached the end of her strength.

He left Ashton to kick his heels in the hall and returned to Verity. She'd risen and stood staring down into the flickering fire. Her profile was perfect and unutterably sad against the mythical revels carved on the marble fireplace. When she looked up, her silver eyes were dark with a misery equal to his own.

How could he bear this? He leaned against the closed doors behind him and braced himself for what was to come.

Verity knew this was the last time she'd be alone with the man she loved. Hungrily, her eyes traced his face and body. He looked the worst kind of ruffian, with his ruffled hair and rumpled clothes and the darkening bruises on his face.

"I'm sorry he hit you," she said softly without moving from the grate.

"I deserved it." Kylemore straightened and gingerly touched his cheek. "If your brother ever finds himself short of the ready, he'd make quite a career as a boxer, I warrant."

Automatically, she took a step toward him and her hand rose to soothe his injuries. Then she remembered she'd forbidden herself such tender gestures.

"At least he's saved you a journey to Whitby," she said, unable to hide her regret. She hadn't wanted to prolong the pain of parting, but now that the final moment had arrived, she resented every second's passing.

"It would have been a privilege." His expression was somber. "Verity, what you told everyone down at the dock, you didn't have to say it." He paused, obviously at a loss, then finished gruffly, "Thank you."

This time, she couldn't keep herself from reaching for him. "Well, I couldn't let him hurt you."

He took her hand in a rough grip. "Verity, don't go. For God's sake, don't go."

She closed her eyes, fighting tears. Her own unhappiness was devastating enough. But the agony he no longer troubled to hide made her want to die.

"I must." She spoke as much to herself as to him.

"Oh, Christ, I can't stomach this! Why do you have to go? Why, mo gradh? "

He flung himself away from her and prowled restlessly around the room as if he couldn't contain his frustration when he remained still. "Hell, I thought it was clear enough. You were happy to be my lover for a few weeks in the glen, but you always meant to seek your independence." Angrily, he ran his hand through his hair. "I'd even accepted it. God knows, after what I've done, you'd be deranged to stay with me."

He came to a furious halt in front of her. "But I was wrong, wasn't I? You're not leaving because you want to. It's what you'd like me to believe, but it's not the truth, is it?"

"Kylemore, don't," she pleaded, vulnerable to this sudden attack.

He ignored her entreaty. "Tell me, Verity-back at the glen, you said you wanted me. Was that true?" His eyes burned in his pale face and a muscle jerked in his cheek.

"There's no point in this."

"Was that true?"

"Yes, it was true. You know it was," she said wearily, unable to lie, although it would have been better for both of them if she had.

"You still want me. Tell me I'm mistaken, Verity."

She bent her head, unable to bear the stormy torment in his eyes. Why was it so hard to do what was right?

"No, you're not mistaken," she whispered and lifted a hand to ward him off as he made a convulsive move in her direction. "But it's more complicated than what we feel. You're a duke. I'm a whore."

"For God's sake! You've had three lovers. My mother goes through more men in a week. And she's received everywhere."

Regretfully, Verity shook her head. "My protectors paid to use my body. The whole world knows it and condemns me."

"I don't," he said steadily.

"Perhaps not. But that doesn't mean there's any future for us. You must marry and have an heir, Kylemore."

"You're the only woman I want to marry," he said gravely. "Verity Ashton, will you grant me the unparalleled joy of consenting to become my wife?"

She fought back another searing flood of tears. "You do me too much honor."

He stood straight and oddly still as if any untoward movement might startle her into running away. "If your fear is I'll tire of you and abandon you in favor of another, it's misplaced." Then on a burst of feeling, "By my soul, mo cridhe, I have wanted you without ceasing from the first moment I saw you. Surely you cannot doubt my steadfastness."

The strange thing was, she didn't.

In spite of the dissolute habits of the society he moved in. In spite of his charm and manifold attractions.

She'd accepted that what he felt for her went far beyond physical desire, powerful as that physical desire was.

But still, it wasn't enough.

She shook her head. "I cannot marry you, Kylemore. Our children would be outcasts. You'd be a pariah."

"Society can go to hell," he said shortly.

"You say that now. But you'll repent giving your name to a woman like me. I couldn't bear to cause you harm. It's better we separate now." Her voice broke on a sob, although she'd promised herself she wouldn't cry. "Don't press me, I beg of you. I've told myself a thousand times we can defy the world and live for ourselves alone. But we can't! We can't, Kylemore. All I ask is that you don't make this any harder than it already is."

He finally came to rest near the windows. He looked strong, controlled, arrogant. Infinitely dear.