It was very hard to think clearly, as shock, hurt and confusion mingled. "This is incomprehensible! How could you make love to me if you did not mean to reconcile?"

"I am a selfish bastard, remember?"

"But you have never treated me the way you have treated other women!" She choked. "I assumed that if we made love, you would come to your senses and realize that we are meant to be together."

He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. "That is very romantic."

She trembled, hugging herself. "My assumptions were wrong."

"Have you forgotten that I am not a romantic man?"

He had been terribly romantic toward her, but just then, she could not speak.

He wet his lips. "The last thing I ever wish to do is hurt you," he said. "When I tell you that I care deeply, you may believe my word. Francesca, I care enough to truly want to make your every wish come true! I truly want to give you the world on a silver platter. And as your friend, I hope to do just that. In fact, you might come to think of me as an odd benefactor, a champion of your dreams and desires. But I am not the right man for you. And once this infatuation passes, you will see the fact as clearly as I do."

"You are the perfect man for me," she heard herself somehow say.

"No, Rick is perfect for you."

She closed her eyes in despair. "Please don't start on Bragg. This is about us."

"His marriage will soon be over, Francesca, in case you haven't noticed. He is miserably unhappy."

She started. "I hope you are wrong. But I am not discussing Rick now!"

"You're right. This is about us. I told you once and I will tell you again-I am not going to be your downfall."

She stared at him. "So you are being noble now? You will sacrifice yourself for my sake? Instead of blaming me for jilting you, you have now taken up your old position that I deserve someone better?"

"Precisely. My mind is made up," he warned.

"We had this same argument three weeks ago!"

"Three weeks ago, I was accused of murder. By association, you were about to be ruined."

"And you have been proven innocent. So this is about the portrait?"

"You know me so well," he said softly.

She trembled. "It is not your fault!"

"Your future is at stake-and it is entirely my fault."

Francesca was in disbelief. How would she ever get him to change his mind?

"I am very sorry I took advantage of you a moment ago."

She bristled. "Your apology is not accepted!"

"I hope that one day we will look back on our ill-fated romance and laugh about it."

They were spiraling downward now, at breakneck speed, she somehow thought. "While I am married to another?"

"Yes."

It was impossible to decide how to proceed, when she was so upset. She looked around for her purse. All she felt like doing was retiring to her bed and shamelessly crying. She felt terribly used. Was this how those divorcees had felt? she wondered. Maybe it was truly over.

She found the purse on a chair and retrieved it. "I am not marrying anyone else." She refused to look at him now. "I think I will pass on supper."

He strode to her. "I will take you home."

"I prefer to ride home alone."

He started. Then, carefully, "I will always be your friend, Francesca. I will always be on your side-I will always champion your causes. You need only ask."

She finally looked at him. His stare was dark and intense. "Friends do not make love to one another, Hart."

"No, they don't." He hesitated. "I don't want to lose your friendship. I refuse to do so."

It crossed her mind that she had one last card to play. She hesitated, uncertain if she was willing to use the threat of withdrawing her friendship. Because it would be an even worse lie than her previous one of indifference. Hart needed her; she would never abandon him, no matter how angry she was. "We will always be friends."

He stared sharply. "You don't sound convinced."

"I am not feeling particularly friendly now."

"I see. Have I just destroyed our friendship?"

She trembled. She thought of what had just happened-and her expectation that they would be affianced anew afterward. "We are on very shaky ground, I think." She somehow found her pride. "I believe I will investigate on my own tomorrow."

He was very still. "I don't think that is a good idea."

The extent of his rejection was hitting her. "Then I will ask Bragg to play escort and bodyguard."

Did he flinch? "Good."

She fought not to hug herself. She felt terribly used, and it was a horrible feeling. She had trusted Hart completely. If he was merely a friend, then it was truly over. She would never leap into his arms again or walk down that aisle with him. If he was a friend, she had lost the greatest, and only, love of her life.

In silence, he walked her from the library and down the hall to the front door. As they waited for Raoul, he looked at her. She stared back. How could they be even more estranged now than they had been on Saturday night?

"Francesca." He suddenly took her arm.

She met his dark, unhappy gaze.

He made a sound and released her. "I am sorry-very sorry."

Her heart pounded and she heard herself ask very calmly, "Do you love me at all?"

A terrible pause ensued. She heard the carriage approaching. And Francesca was afraid of his reply.

He said, clearing his throat, "Raoul is here."

Francesca did not say good-night.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

Tuesday, July 1, 1902

10:00 a.m.

BELLEVUE HOSPITAL WAS on the East River. Once, its reputation had been notorious, boasting a patient-mortality rate that was one of the highest in the country. But that had been decades ago. Since the middle of the nineteenth century, huge efforts had been made to turn Bellevue into a premier medical and teaching facility, removing most of its inmates to other facilities. The insane ward was a tenth its original size, with most of its patients incarcerated at the asylum on Blackwell Island; only select cases remained. Serious renovation of the entire facility had begun in 1891, and many of the pavilions were so modern, well-equipped and well-staffed now that there was a waiting list to get appointments with its medical faculty. The entire complex took three city blocks, from Twenty-third to Twenty-sixth streets.

Francesca had agreed to meet Bragg in the main lobby at ten in the morning. There was no point in driving all the way downtown to police headquarters to pick him up. She was walking toward the front doors of the Pavilion for Internal Medicine and Obstetrics when she heard him call her name from behind her.

It was a pleasant summer day, with birds singing from the tops of the trees that had been planted about the pavilion, the sun bright and shining overhead. Francesca rearranged her expression as she turned. He knew her far too well, and she did not want to discuss Hart with him. But it was almost impossible to think about the case.

"Perfect timing," Bragg said, smiling, as he left his car double-parked on the street.

For one moment, she recalled Hart insisting that Bragg was perfect for her. He strode toward her, a tall, handsome, golden man with the same inner moral compass that she had. As his smile faded, she thought about how they shared the same hopes and dreams for the world. But she loved Hart. She wasn't sure she had ever been so worried, and she felt sick and used.

Could Hart really walk away from the future they had planned?

Bragg reached her and took her arm, his gaze searching. "What's wrong?"

"I meant to call you last night to tell you that Bill Randall and a guest are undoubtedly staying at the old Randall residence."

His gaze moved over her features. "That is good news. It is hard to believe that you didn't call. Let me guess-you were sidetracked."

"Yes."

He took her arm. "You are very distressed."

She trembled. His touch was, as always, reassuring. "You should send a detail over. I am sure you will be able to pick him up sooner or later." She smiled at last. "Hopefully, he will know where the portrait is."

"What has he done?"

She hesitated, aware that he referred to Hart, not Randall.

He took both her hands in his. "You look utterly ravaged, Francesca. Damn it. My brother has once again twisted you into knots. Or is your heart somehow broken all over again?"

She inhaled, meeting his angry gaze. But she saw a deep concern, as well. "I always knew that Hart was different from everyone else. Not because of his wealth and power, but because he is so dark inside. I knew he was difficult...that his smile, his indifference, his mockery hid so much more. I was never deluded, Rick. I knew that life with him would be a wild ride. And I was so astonished, truly, when he made his feelings clear. I mean, why on earth would Calder Hart choose me, of all women, to seriously pursue?"

"You outshine every other woman in this city, and he is hardly blind."

Francesca knew that Bragg was not referring to her appearance. She suddenly recalled the very first moment she had laid eyes on Hart. He had been in Rick's office. She had walked in on them, and the tension had been huge. Their discussion-or argument-had ended, and Hart had turned and left. His glance at her had been brief but direct as he walked out.

She had been falling in love with Bragg at the time. But she had turned to watch Hart go. His charisma, even then, had been irresistible.

"You've always thought-and still think-that he couldn't help wanting me because of you."

Bragg's gaze darkened. "I believe, at first, he flirted with you simply to annoy me."

"He flirted with me because it is second nature to him," she said, and recalling the time she had found him terribly inebriated in his library, she smiled. He had just learned of his natural father's death. Francesca had known that he would never admit he cared. She had worried about him, wanting to rescue him from his dark despair. She had left him that day realizing he was the most fascinating man she had ever met.

"What has he done now? I take it you have not patched things up."

She shoved the memories away. "I really thought he was softening-I really thought that we would slide back into our relationship. We spent the afternoon on the case. It was so easy to do."

"I happen to believe that my brother, as rotten as he can be, is not entirely rotten. You bring out the best side of him, Francesca. The only problem is, a leopard cannot change its spots."

"I know he cares about me. He has even said so. But caring is a far cry from love. I am in love with him, Bragg," Francesca said softly. "And I believed that he loved me back as deeply, as irrevocably, as I love him."

Bragg inhaled.

"Do you think he loves me?" she heard herself say roughly. "Do you think he ever really loved me? Or was I just some passing amusement?" There, she had said it.

"You shouldn't do this to yourself."

She felt tears rise. Just a few days ago she had been so certain that he loved her the way that she loved him. But she wasn't certain of anything now. "I am so inexperienced. I believed that because he asked me to marry him, because we shared several heated moments, because I loved him, that he loved me. But that isn't necessarily the case, is it?"

Rick put his strong arm around her. "No, it is not. I feel like pounding some sense into him. He must have said something terribly cruel to cause so much doubt."

She trembled in his arms. "We have not reconciled. And he has been quite explicit."

"I suspected as much."

"I don't know what to do! Connie told me to take off his ring and pretend indifference-it backfired."

"Don't play games with my brother, Francesca. As clever as you are, he is a world-class player."

"Yes, he will always win, for that is inherent in his nature, too."

"He has proven that he cares about you. I would have never dreamed that Calder would ever really give a damn about anybody, but I was wrong. Still, caring for someone, desiring someone, is a far cry from wanting a future with them."