Sir Montague had been so c.o.c.k-a-hoop that the Dames' Tax had apparently driven its key opponent into marriage that he had had the temerity to approach Dexter and suggest that as he was benefiting directly from the tax he should pay Sir Monty a percentage of Laura's dowry. Dexter had declined the tempting invitation but that had barely dented Sir Monty's glee. If Laura had not been feeling so wretchedly uncertain about her future she thought she would probably have devised another plan to take him down a few pegs, just for Alice and Elizabeth's sakes. If the chance ever arose, she thought, she would return to the fray and help them vanquish the greedy baronet.

She stood before the mirror in her wedding dress. She had not had a new gown made for the occasion. She had not had the time. Instead she had chosen a very beautiful but very old dress that she had not worn since the early days of her marriage to Charles. It was of deep rose-pink silk, embroidered with tiny paler pink rosebuds. It swathed her tightly-she was more rounded than when she had first worn it as a girl of twenty-but the close fit of the silk was by no means unflattering. Fashions had altered, of course, but then Laura had never really cared about that. What was important about this dress was that she had worn it when she was happy, before the canker of Charles's neglect and indifference had eaten away at her and changed her life. It was as though putting the gown on today was a pledge of faith, a desperate hope that she would find with Dexter the happiness that she longed for.

Even so, she experienced a moment of utter panic as she stood staring at her reflection. How could she go through with this sham of a wedding? Dexter did not care for her. It was Hattie he wanted. He certainly did not love Laura the way that she loved him.

In the fortnight since Dexter had insisted on their marriage Laura had blanked out all doubt and hesitation from her mind, concentrating only on the need to do what she had to do in order to protect Hattie. Dexter had come to visit her every day, but they had spent very little time alone in conversation and he had not touched her once. His sole intention had been to start getting to know his daughter and so they had gone out onto the hills to fly Hattie's kite, or taken a picnic down to the river, where Dexter had fashioned toy boats for Hattie out of twigs and sticks and they had sailed them together. Sometimes Alice had accompanied them, and Rachel had come, too, which had eased the situation for Laura and also, at the beginning, for Hattie, too. But Hattie had accepted Dexter into her life with all the openness of her character and Laura's heart had ached to see the unguarded nature of her daughter's love. To Hattie everything was so simple and easy.

On Dexter's side, too, Laura thought that the love was unconditional. It hurt her to see him watching Hattie with so much pride and affection because it could only serve to emphasize all that she had denied him for the past three and a half years. And then Dexter would look up and see her gaze on him and the softness would melt from his own eyes and Laura would know that he had not forgiven her.

Miles never joined their family outings even though he had remained in Fortune's Folly. Laura had been surprised, for she had expected Miles to be pleased when she had announced her betrothal to Dexter-she had hoped that it would heal the rift that had been between them since the night Miles had discovered them together in the library. It had not. Something had been said between the two of them, Laura thought, and the breach was wider than before.

"You look beautiful, Laura," Alice said, putting a gentle hand on her arm and breaking into her thoughts. "Here-I have picked some of the last roses from my hothouse for you to carry. It's time to go."

Laura picked up the small bouquet and inhaled the faint scent. The roses smelled like the last days of summer.

"Thank you," she said. Alice smiled and Laura realized with a pang that her friend thought she was choosing to marry Dexter because she loved him, not because she had no choice. Alice had been so pleased when the engagement was announced-one of the few people who had accepted the news without judgment. Laura did not have the heart to tell her it was all a sham.

She had deliberately chosen the early evening for the wedding, when most of the curious inhabitants of Fortune's Folly would have gone to their homes. She had no desire for her charade of a wedding to become a freak show, as well, with the whole village staring. The only people she wanted there were Alice as bride's attendant and Miles to give her away. She had not even wanted Hattie to be present, although Dexter had insisted. He had wanted their daughter to be there to see her parents wed but Laura knew the significance of the occasion was for her benefit, not really for Hattie. Dexter was staking his claim to both of them publicly, openly, and with no pretense.

Hattie was with Rachel in the hall, a small, sleepy bundle rubbing her eyes and clutching a smaller posy of thornless rosebuds that were a miniature version of Laura's own. Laura's throat closed with tears as she brushed her daughter's soft cheek with her lips. Miles was there, too, an oddly sober Miles, his face set and stern. He smiled when he saw her and Laura managed a wobbly smile back.

"Are you all right, Lal?" he asked her and Laura nodded, feeling the tears at the back of her throat.

Miles swung Hattie up into his arms and they stepped out into the night, making their way along the path from The Old Palace to the church.

The autumn evening was chill. Laura shivered deep within her cloak with a combination of cold and nervousness. The path to the church was uneven and slippery with dew and she was grateful for the support of Alice's arm. She could see the candlelight behind the windows. The vicar of Fortune's Folly was waiting at the door and inside, in the timeless calm peace of the interior, stood Dexter and his groomsman, Nat Waterhouse. As they approached, Miles exchanged a stiff nod with Nat but ignored Dexter completely.

Laura met Dexter's eyes. He was looking at her and for a moment he looked dazzled and something more, then the coldness swept into his eyes again.

"Dearly beloved..." the vicar began.

The service pa.s.sed in a blur. Laura knew that she must have made the appropriate responses but she could remember nothing of it.

Dexter kissed her briefly at the end, his lips cool and remote against hers. It seemed there was no emotion in him for her at all.

Hattie wrapped her arms around Dexter's neck and kissed him and it was then that he smiled, a sweet, tender smile for his daughter that had Laura's heart thumping in her chest and her face burning red with grief that he had such uncomplicated love for Hattie and none for her. The love that she felt for him was impossible to dismiss. She had been afraid that, as with Charles, her love for Dexter would wither under the onslaught of his anger for her, but it had not. She saw him with their daughter and felt full of tenderness. She ached for him to love her whilst knowing he did not, but she could not quite eliminate the hope from her heart that one day things might change.

Miles kissed Laura but did not even shake Dexter's hand. He stood looking at his former friend with cold dislike, shoulders squared, aggression in every angle of his body. "I warned you not to marry unless you meant it," he said to Dexter. "If I hear one word that Laura is not happy, Anstruther, I'll come looking for you."

He nodded abruptly to Alice and walked away. For a moment there was an angry glint to Dexter's eyes. Then he picked Hattie up and turned to Laura.

"Shall we go home?" he inquired with scrupulous courtesy.

Alice reached up to kiss Laura's cheek. "I hope you will be very happy," she whispered.

Hattie was so tired by the time they got back that she was asleep in Dexter's arms. Laura watched as he carried her up the stair to bed. It felt extraordinary, as though everything was the same-and yet it could not have been more different. Mrs. Carrington had done her best with a dinner of mutton, but Laura was not hungry. She sat alone in the parlor, the mutton stew congealing on her plate, and reflected morosely that this was more like a wake than a wedding.

The parlor door opened and then closed with a very firm click. Laura was aware of Dexter standing behind her chair.

"Are you tired?" he asked. He touched her cheek, his fingers gentle but impersonal. "Perhaps we should go to bed."

Laura said nothing. The last time he had kissed her-the last time he had touched her-had been in the drawing room when he had sworn their marriage would be a full one in every possible way. In the intervening time he had become almost as a stranger to her, but now that moment had come and she was suddenly afraid. She went out of the room and walked up the stairs in front of him. She didn't turn round. The back of her neck p.r.i.c.kled with awareness of Dexter's scrutiny. She could feel him watching her and it was like a physical touch on her skin. As each step took her closer to the top of the stairs, her nervousness increased. Her heart was stumbling in her chest. Her fingers were shaking. The hysterical laughter bubbled inside her. It was her wedding night and she felt like a prisoner taking her last walk to the executioner's block.

On the top step she stopped abruptly and turned to him. "Dexter, I cannot do this. You...I...I feel as though I no longer know you at all."

There was a lamp standing on the armada chest on the landing and it threw a soft light. In that light Dexter's expression was remote and it was that very aloofness that made Laura curl up inside. He was worse than a stranger to her now: someone she loved, someone she wanted to love her, except that somehow all the pieces of their lives had been shattered by secrets and lies and she could not see how to put the pattern together again.

He took her hand in his, his thumb moving against her palm, and she felt the tingling of physical awareness through her body and felt even more wretched in her mind that her perfidious senses could betray her when she did not want them to. She had always been wild and with Dexter that wildness was translated into a sensuality over which she had no control and no choice.

"You know me." Dexter kissed her and her lips parted beneath the inexorable pressure of his mouth. His tongue swept hers, sweet and tantalizing. Her body recognized him instantly and filled with a trembling longing. Her knees weakened and her toes curled within her pink silk slippers and his mouth ravished and plundered hers until she had to drag herself away simply to draw breath.

Dexter made a sound of satisfaction deep in his throat and picked her up, carrying her through the doorway of his bedroom, where he dropped her full in the middle of the bed. Her petticoats rode up about her thighs and she sat up quickly to cover herself. The kiss had made her body ripe with wanting but her mind felt detached, cold and afraid. She could not respond to Dexter like this. She did not want to. Not when everything else was twisted and broken between them, not with her guilt and Dexter's lack of forgiveness.

Dexter was pulling his neck cloth loose now. He dropped it carelessly on the floor. His shirt followed. Laura looked away quickly, but not before she had caught a glimpse of his broad and muscular chest. The breathless feeling in her body intensified. So did the panic in her mind. She tried to communicate something of her disquiet to Dexter, making a last-ditch effort to make him understand.

"Why are we doing this?" she said desperately. "You do not even like me now, Dexter, let alone love me. And I have told you before that I cannot have s.e.x without love, only for the physical pleasure-"

"And I have told you that I am sure that you can." The blue glitter of Dexter's eyes was implacable. He came across to the bed and the mattress gave under his weight as he sat down beside her. "It will be my aim, my dearest Laura, to prove to you that you can."

Laura's stomach squirmed with an antic.i.p.ation that both horrified and excited her. Their eyes met and Dexter put out a hand to the rose-pink ribbon that tied the neckline of her gown. His knuckles brushed the upper swell of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s above the bow. Laura sat tense and upright, all her senses suddenly sharply alert. Dexter ran the ribbon thoughtfully through his fingers, then he gave a tug and the ribbon came loose.

"You are my wife and I want to make love to you," he whispered, his hand moving to the first b.u.t.ton on her bodice. "I am going to make love to you and it will be very pleasurable indeed, for both of us."

His other hand came up to tangle in her hair, drawing her head forward so that he could kiss her intimately, deeply, branding her as his. Laura's head spun. Her senses flared into vivid life. He had taken everything that day, she thought, as he eased her back against the bedcovers, following her down into their soft embrace with the weight of his body on hers. She was his wife, she bore his name, he had his child now and all he needed to do to complete his possession was to take her body. Her soul, which once she would have given so freely, was the only thing that he could not touch now. So why fight this intense, delicious warmth that undermined all her resolutions and defenses? She wanted the physical comfort of his touch and for now that would have to be enough. She did not want to struggle against him or against her own instincts any longer. She was tired and lonely and she wanted the illusion of being loved.

Dexter propped himself up on one elbow and unfastened her bodice in slow, measured movements, pausing to press soft kisses on her pale skin as each b.u.t.ton came open. Released from the conflict between her thoughts and her desires now, Laura's body relaxed and unfurled, lying still and quiescent beneath his hands, her flesh warming beneath his touch, a blush heating her exposed skin. Her breath was rapid and shallow. She allowed her eyes to flutter closed and let her mind drift, thinking of nothing now other than carnal pleasure and the slowly spiraling need for fulfillment.

Dexter drew her bodice down so that she was bared to the waist and cupped one of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s in the palm of his hand, lowering his lips to its taut tip. Laura did not try to hold back the small moan that escaped her and he paused on hearing it before taking her nipple between his tongue and teeth and sucking gently. Memories of their previous encounter in the library flashed through Laura's mind, inciting a further rush of helpless feeling. She squirmed on the bed, feeling the roughness of the covers against her bare back, wantonly pressing her breast against Dexter's lips as he caressed and stroked her with his tongue.

"How do you feel now?" His voice was low and very gentle.

"I feel warm..." Laura's voice sounded distant to her own ears. "And shivery..."

"Good." She felt the curve of his smile against her naked breast. "So it is quite pleasurable for you?"

"Quite." She gasped the word, arching upward like a drawn bow as he bit down gently on her skin.

His hand slid lower over the gentle curve of her stomach, easing her away from her gown, petticoats, stocking and chemise, and pushing them aside in a tangled pile. She lay pale, naked and exposed on the bed, and although her eyes were closed she knew that Dexter was looking at her, his gaze drifting slowly down every quivering, antic.i.p.atory inch of her body. A small part of her mind was still telling her that this was not what should be happening between them and she reached for something to cover her nudity, but he caught her hands and pushed them aside.

"Don't cover yourself. I want to look at you." His fingertips trailed fire over her belly. His tongue curled wickedly in her navel. "You are beautiful, Laura."

His hand slid over the silken skin of her thigh and Laura shuddered. That calculated, deliberate touch was stroking intimately close to the heart of her femininity and she tensed for a second, then allowed him to spread her legs wide and slide down gently to lick the swollen flesh he was caressing.

He raised his head a little. "How do you feel now?"

A groan was wrenched from Laura's throat as she felt the skillfull flick of his tongue over her most secret places.

"I want..."

"This?" He slid his tongue into her heated cleft.

A small cry escaped her and she arched upward again in mute appeal. Slowly, knowingly, he prolonged the pleasure, drawing out every caress, every touch whilst Laura's hips jerked helplessly as she sought release. He was ruthless, utterly controlled. Laura was aware of nothing but the shimmering need pulsing within her.

She became faintly conscious of the moment when he left her side to strip off the rest of his clothes and then he was beside her on the bed, his body hot and hard, and it jolted her out of her sensual dream for a moment. Her palms came up against his chest. She could feel the strong thrust of his arousal against her thigh and felt something akin to shock.

"Take me."

They were his words, not hers, an order rather than an appeal. Her eyes opened wide even as she felt him move and settle between her thighs where her body still throbbed with the demand for satisfaction. He shifted her slightly so that she was perfectly positioned to accommodate him and she felt the tip of his erection touch her a second before he thrust hard into her tight, quivering body.

His mouth took hers again in a kiss of primitive possession even as he drove into her body with sure, strong strokes, allowing her no respite, his demand on her absolute.

"Open your eyes."

There was no tenderness in him, only a total need that she be his and his alone and that she recognize the fact. She opened dazed eyes and saw the taut command in his face, the intense, concentrated glitter in his eyes. Her body burned and ached for surcease as he forced her closer and closer to the edge. She knew he was not going to succ.u.mb to his own climax until he had ensured that she had surrendered to him. She felt herself slipping into ecstasy, driven deep into pleasure by the insistent thrust of his body in hers. But then, at the very last moment, she felt herself withdrawing from him so that although her body convulsed with absolute rapture her mind was left cold and untouched and she felt strangely empty.

Her eyes locked with Dexter's. He had paused, watching her. He smoothed the damp hair back from her face and his fingers rested for a moment against her cheek in something close to a caress. But there was no affection in his eyes.

"Do not hold back from me, Laura," he said.

Her body still thrummed with the force of her climax. He was still inside her, strong and hard, filling her. She knew that he had not gained his release; what he had done had been all about showing her pleasure and proving that her denials were empty. Her body would respond to him without love and out of no more than a desire for physical pleasure. It had done. He had proved it. But that had not been enough for him. Now he wanted her mind, as well. He wanted her complete submission.

Now he moved again gently, barely at all, but the friction was enough to send further ripples of sensation through Laura's still-sensitive body. When he withdrew from her she could not help a small whimper of disappointment. He turned her over and canted her bottom in the air and the shock skittered through Laura again as she felt him spread her legs and enter her. The dark pleasure filled her. Exposed, vulnerable to his gaze and to his touch, she nevertheless felt impossibly aroused.

The rhythm built again. This time he penetrated her deeply and withdrew slowly, over and over, Laura's b.r.e.a.s.t.s moving languorously with each thrust, her nipples rubbed to unbearable stimulation with the friction of the bedclothes. Dexter slid his hands to cup her b.r.e.a.s.t.s before bracing her hip with one hand and slipping the other lower to stroke and caress the tender core of her. The intense, deliberate pressure of his invasion of her body sent the blood pounding through her veins once more as the molten pleasure flowed through her, twisting tighter and tighter within her. Slowly, inexorably it built and then suddenly she could not resist it any longer. It smashed through her and she cried out again and again in exquisite bliss, feeling Dexter finally succ.u.mb to his own climax. The sensations fused in her mind in a shower of blinding lights as she let go of everything and allowed the pleasure to sweep through her and take her away.

She rolled over and lay back on the pillows, sated and abandoned, dimly aware of Dexter beside her and the slick heat of his skin and the harshness of his breathing.

She turned her head slightly and a big fat teardrop rolled down her cheek to land with a plop on the pillow beside her, surprising her.

"Laura?" Dexter's voice was very quiet. "Why are you crying?"

Until that moment Laura had not realized that she was. Then her feelings caught up with her body, piercing the languid pleasure that had enclosed her in the aftermath of lovemaking. Her body felt full and heavy and satisfied and her mind felt terrifyingly lonely with a raw, screaming darkness that threatened to swallow her whole.

"I'm crying because that felt wonderful, Dexter," she said, "and really it ought not to have done, not when it had nothing of love in it."

Dexter was frowning now. He lay back on the bed, magnificently naked, making no attempt to cover himself. He looked glorious. She wanted to touch him. No. She wanted to hold him and feel close to him and revel in their intimacy.

She wanted to curl up in his arms and sleep, and wake to find him there, holding her against his heart. Whereas he had made it quite clear what he wanted, and that did not involve any element of tenderness. The hopelessness of her desires swamped her.

She rolled off the bed and grabbed her clothes from the haphazard pile on the floor. She was not going to stay here and let him see her cry, or worse, lie beside him and feel lost and alienated and alone.

"You have proved your point," she said quietly. "You can make love to me and not care for me at all and you can give me pleasure, too, but it means nothing. Do you understand that, Dexter? It is empty and worthless. That is your marriage."

She went through the connecting door into her own bedchamber and locked the door behind her. The room looked warm in the candlelight, familiar and rea.s.suring. Almost it was as though nothing had changed. But it had. Everything had changed. Laura scrubbed away another wayward tear from her face, slipped on her nightgown-it was cold because Molly had not warmed it before the fire, evidently thinking she would have no use for it that night-got into her bed and curled up tight against the cold. But the cold was inside her. And it did not go away.

DEXTER WAS FISHING. It was a glorious late-autumn afternoon on the River Tune with the wood smoke hanging on the air and the late sun glittering on the water. He should have been enjoying the peace and the quiet flow of the river. He was not. He should have been happy. He was not.

He cast his line with an unnecessarily vicious flourish. He had everything that he wanted now, neat, ordered and under control. He had his daughter, he had the money, or at least he would have when the lawyer, Mr. Churchward, had finished arranging the marriage settlements. He had written to his mother to tell her of his marriage. He would be able to buy Charley a commission now and pay Roland's university fees and meet all the other debts and obligations that had weighed so heavily on him in the past. He had his work in London, which he was going to return to just as soon as he had made a breakthrough in the Crosby case. He had also written to Lord Liverpool to tell him he was wed and that he now hoped to progress the murder inquiry, a.s.suming that Miles was ever prepared to work with him again.

He had Laura as his wife.

Uncomfortable emotions stirred in him. Conscience, guilt...He was not accustomed to feeling guilty about anything. He had always tried to do the right thing in his life and that had brought with it a belief in his own integrity. Even now, when he was feeling remorse for the way in which he was treating Laura, he told himself that he had forced her into marriage for Hattie's sake and that in time they would learn to live more comfortably with one another. She was his wife and so she fitted into the pattern of his ordered life now.

He shifted uneasily as his conscience p.r.i.c.kled again. They had been married for a week, but he was spending no time with Laura and deliberately so. He was punishing her. He still felt so bitter and betrayed that she had kept Hattie a secret from him. He could not seem to help himself. They lived as strangers to one another except that each night he went to her bed and each night they made love with heated, pa.s.sionate fervor. But that was also a part of his ordered life now. He could keep his physical urges under control by exercising them in the marriage bed. Everything was disciplined and rational and under control.

Except that it was not. A piece was missing from his life and for all his logic and intellect he could not work out what it was. Dexter closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them again the sun on the water almost dazzled him. He knew that he was dissatisfied with his marriage in some way. He, who now had everything arranged exactly as he wanted it, still felt irrationally unhappy. It was inexplicable.

He thought of Laura. He had thought that he could be angry with her and yet could make love to her and remain detached from everything but the perfect physical and sensual pleasure that he always found with her. Yet it seemed to be becoming increasingly difficult to find the satisfaction he craved. It was not that she ever refused him. She responded to his every desire with a pa.s.sion and wildness that fired his blood. He could not deny that their encounters were exhausting, spectacular and physically fulfilling, but at the same time they left him in some complicated way unsatisfied. His grip tightened on the fishing line so hard that he almost snapped it in two. It felt as though as his physical intimacy with Laura increased, so she slipped away from him in some way, as though she were even less than a stranger to him. The woman he wanted to possess body and soul was eluding him and turning into a phantom. He could not control the feeling and it infuriated him.

With a sigh, he gathered up his line and started to walk along the riverbank back to The Old Palace. As he came out into the water meadows he saw Hattie running toward him through the gra.s.s, her nursemaid and a woman in a lavender-blue gown walking behind. For a moment he thought it was Laura and despite everything his heart lifted. The he realized it was Alice Lister and felt a ridiculous disappointment. Alice waved to him, said a farewell to Rachel and Hattie, and walked away toward the Spring House.

Dexter put down his rod and line and picked Hattie up into his arms as she wrapped her plump arms about his neck and shrieked with excitement. Her body felt solid and warm against his and Dexter was swept with such a powerful feeling of love and protectiveness that he felt shaken to the core. With Hattie it was always this easy. She gave her love so generously.

"I am collecting pebbles for Mama," Hattie said importantly. "They are a present." She wriggled away from him and ran across to the stream, picking up little rounded stones and holding them out to Rachel, who put them in her ap.r.o.n pocket.

Dexter walked slowly back toward The Old Palace, threw his fishing tackle into a corner of one of the out-buildings and went inside to wash. When he came downstairs, Hattie was in the hall, arranging her pebbles in a pattern on the carpet. She was wearing the intent, concentrated look he recognized as one of his own qualities. She looked up at him with bright hazel eyes, Laura's eyes.

"Papa," she said slowly, as though trying the word out. Then she smiled and Dexter felt the love he had for her swamp him like a tide.

The drawing room door opened and Laura came out. Dexter thought she looked tired. Evidently she had been writing, for there were ink stains on her fingers. She was looking at them with a certain amount of exasperation and trying to wipe them off on her skirts. There were faint, dark smudges beneath her eyes. She looked up and saw him and he saw the expression change in her eyes to something wary and unhappy. He felt a kick of intolerable guilt inside. He had to do something to put matters right between them but he did not know what. Suddenly he felt as uncertain as he had done in his youth when he had loved Laura and lost her the first time. The instinct to retreat to the safety of his ordered world was incredibly strong, but he knew with absolute certainty that he would find no solace there. He had to do something different. He did not know what. The thought terrified him. He who had faced danger and even death in the course of his work was running scared of his own feelings.

"Dexter-" Laura began when she saw him.

He caught her hand in his and she looked at him, a startled expression in her eyes at the gentle gesture.

"Will you spend the day with me tomorrow?" He asked. He felt as though he was fumbling his way toward something he did not quite understand and had only blind instinct to guide him. "Just the two of us together?" he said. "I would like that."

Laura looked puzzled and a little fearful, and he suddenly felt a complete scoundrel for driving her so far from him. "I am not sure," she murmured, avoiding his eyes, her gaze on Hattie.

"Please," Dexter said. He tightened his fingers until she looked up at him. "Please," he repeated softly. "Laura, I must talk to you. There are things to discuss."

"I agree that we need to talk," Laura said, but she still sounded hesitant.

"Then spend the day with me," Dexter urged. "We could go riding, perhaps."

She smiled a little warily. "That might be...nice."

"I will try to make it so," Dexter said. He saw Hattie watching them and for the first time there seemed to be a shadow in her eyes as she looked at them, as though she had felt the tension between them though she was too young to understand it.

Laura's lashes fluttered down, their shadow spiky and dark against her cheek. Dexter felt a sudden rush of longing, so powerful it took his breath.

"I know we have to make the attempt," she said, "for Hattie's sake."

"Not just for that," Dexter started to say, "but-"

"I want a brother," Hattie said, looking up from her seat on the carpet. "Mama, Papa, I want a brother or sister."

Laura blinked. "She called you papa," she whispered.