His lips set in a discontented line and he folded his arms over his powerful chest. He stared out the window. "Well, why isn't she here?"

Antonia smiled at his spiky agitation. It still astonished her to recall her first impressions of this man as someone impervious to emotion, self-absorbed, vain, careless. That shallow assessment was laughably far from the truth.

Six months of marriage had taught her that, if anything, he felt too strongly. He was intimate with few people, but once someone joined that inner circle, Nicholas pledged his complete loyalty. And with that loyalty came vulnerability. When he'd said he loved her, she'd been unaware what a powerful commitment he made to her.

She was strong enough to flourish in the blasting furnace of Nicholas's love. How ironic to remember she'd rejected his original proposal because she'd doubted his fidelity. He loved her with a concentrated ferocity that made her feel the most cherished woman in the world.

"We're earlier than we said we'd be." A good three quarters of an hour.

The convent dominated an isolated glen on the Connemara coast. The nearest town offering suitable accommodation was an hour and a half away. The late marquess had clearly decided to place his daughter beyond reach of temptation.

On the way here today, Antonia had thought Nicholas would get out and seize the reins himself, he'd been so impatient with their driver. Even though the roads were rough and muddy and the way traversed steep hills that tested the horses.

He turned to face her and her brief amusement died. She caught the raw emotions on his face. Hope. Fear. Self-disgust. Yearning. Uncertainty in a man so rarely unsure of himself. "Should we have come?"

"Yes." She spoke with conviction. Eloise's ruin and banishment constituted the defining upheaval in Nicholas's life. He needed to make peace with the past.

They'd been rapturously happy since marrying by special license a few days after he regained consciousness-partly to save the scandal of her presence in his house. But Eloise's fate still weighed on his conscience.

Once she'd scoffed to imagine he possessed a conscience.

He began pacing again. She laced her fingers together in her lap and prayed with all her might that today's meeting had a happy outcome.

As so often these days, her mind strayed to another happy outcome. One hand inched to brush her belly in silent greeting to the child resting there. The child Nicholas had no idea existed.

If he knew, he'd have delayed this difficult winter journey or left her behind. And she couldn't let him endure this fraught reunion without her.

She hadn't worried about traveling. She was as strong as a horse. But she suspected Nicholas would prove a doting and protective parent. Once he knew she was pregnant, her itinerary wouldn't include excursions across the Irish Sea.

Watching him prowl about the room, she wondered what he'd say when she told him about the baby. She hoped he'd be pleased, but he described his own childhood so coldly, she couldn't be sure. Even if he was happy about the news, he'd be furious she'd embarked on this arduous journey while carrying his child.

It had been an interesting six months. Lusty certainly. She'd expected that. Her husband's voracious appetite was familiar. Before his wound was completely healed, he'd debauched her all over his house. At first she'd fretted that sexual activity might slow his recovery, but he'd regained his health with astonishing speed.

Their six months together had delivered myriad surprises too. Passionate clashes as two strong characters established how to live together-it only occurred to her after they married what little time they'd actually spent in each other's company without making love. Clashes followed by even more passionate reconciliations.

A tiny smile touched the corners of her mouth as she recalled those incendiary unions. Then she chided herself for carnal thoughts in this sacred place.

When Lord Aveson's sister appeared seemingly out of thin air and married the Marquess of Ranelaw so precipitately, there had been talk, much of it vicious. Luckily nobody connected Lady Antonia Hilliard, newly returned from a long sojourn in Italy, and the dragon Miss Smith, doyenne of chaperones.

Safe in Nicholas's arms in his rambling manor house, she hadn't cared what poison the ton spread. She was happier than any woman had a right to be. If the gossips guessed her joy, they'd be jealous as well as curious and spiteful.

Henry had quickly reconciled himself to the marriage. He expected people to tolerate his scholarly eccentricities and in return he rarely passed negative judgment on others. Late in the summer Antonia and Nicholas had spent a month at Blaydon Park and she'd been touched to note the growing friendship between her husband and her brother.

Returning to Northumberland had been a bittersweet experience. Marriage and ten years away meant that the old house no longer felt like home. She'd enjoyed revisiting childhood haunts but felt no yen to live there again.

Blaydon Park belonged to yesterday. Tomorrow was all Nicholas. And the baby who arrived late spring or early summer. With hopefully more children to come. The big house on the cliffs called out to her to fill it with laughter. She'd garnered enough to know Keddon Hall badly needed an infusion of happiness.

The door opened and a tall woman entered with a purposeful step. Antonia was so busy watching Nicholas's face, she barely paid attention to Eloise. Ready to leap to his defense, she rose. Although why she imagined he needed defending, she wasn't sure.

Fleeting regret shadowed his eyes, then he smiled at Eloise with a surpassing tenderness that made Antonia's heart somersault. Yet again, she recognized what a remarkable man fate had placed in her path when the Marquess of Ranelaw decided to ruin Cassandra Demarest.

She'd wondered if he'd be stiff or distant with his sister, but he surged forward to take Eloise's hands with an open affection Antonia couldn't mistake. "Eloise, I don't know why I waited so long." He kissed her on the cheek.

"Neither do I." The woman's voice was low and musical. With instinctive grace, she untangled her hands from Nicholas's and turned to Antonia.

Without introduction, she'd still guess the nun's identity. Eloise shared Nicholas's black eyes and striking, elegant features. A wimple covered her hair, but even in her shapeless garments, it was clear the young Eloise Challoner would have been beautiful enough to set the world alight. In her late thirties, she was still breathtakingly lovely.

She smiled with the charm Nicholas shared. "You must be the new Lady Ranelaw."

Antonia dipped into a curtsy. "Yes, Sister Eloise. Although please call me Antonia."

"So pretty. And my name is Sister Mary Therese. Nicholas is the only person who calls me Eloise these many years."

Inevitably Eloise's attention reverted to her brother. "Thank you for bringing your wife to see me." She gestured to the hard chairs against the wall. Nicholas's lordly manner must be a family characteristic. "Tell me everything. Your letters left much to be desired, brother mine."

Antonia's dangerous, rakish beloved looked sheepish. She hid a smile as she sat. Nicholas hesitated, then took his place beside her.

At first conversation dwelled upon childhood memories, brothers and sisters and their families, changes to the estate, how his life altered with marriage. Antonia learned more about the widespread Challoner clan in this one afternoon than she'd managed to ferret out of Nicholas in six months. She hid another smile at his expurgated version of events leading to his wedding.

A novice delivered a tea tray and afternoon wended toward evening. Inevitably the atmosphere became more somber. Nicholas caught his sister's hands in an urgent grip. "Let me take you away, Eloise. Antonia is happy for you to live with us. Or we'll set you up in your own establishment if that's what you prefer."

Eloise frowned, not seeming to understand. "For a visit, do you mean?"

"No, permanently, of course."

She looked puzzled. "Why on earth would I leave?"

"I know you're unhappy."

She tried and failed to pull free. Antonia had noticed her discomfort with physical contact, perhaps part of her training as a religious. For the first time, the facade of calm cracked and bewilderment edged Eloise's tone. "For eleven years I've told you how content I am."

"I know you sought to reconcile me to your incarceration."

To Antonia's surprise, Eloise released a hearty laugh. "Nicholas, you're still a romantic. You were such a brave, intense boy, determined to protect the people you loved. I always admired that and hoped you didn't grow out of it."

Antonia glanced at her husband, wondering how he took this assessment. It seemed his sister saw him much as she did. How could Antonia condemn his chivalrous streak? She knew he'd die for her. Good God, he almost had.

He glowered at his sister. "You don't need to lie anymore, Eloise."

"I've taken my vows."

"Under duress. I'm sure allowance can be made."

Eloise still smiled. "I didn't take my vows under duress. I took my vows because what happened when I was eighteen delivered me to my destiny." This time she managed to pull her hands free. The act seemed symbolic to Antonia, as if she claimed a space Nicholas couldn't share.

"But Father exiled you against your will." Nicholas looked strangely bereft.

In silent support, Antonia took one of his hands. His fingers laced through hers with a swiftness that betrayed how difficult he found this conversation. He'd spent most of his life certain that Eloise was a prisoner. It must be a painful shock to discover his mistake, much as she knew he didn't wish his sister unhappy.

"Of course I was miserable when I arrived. Miserable and ashamed because I'd sinned and I knew it." She paused and for the first time, regret laced her voice. "My wickedness led to my baby's death. For twenty years I've prayed for God's mercy and offered penance for what I did."

For an agonizing moment, the tiny ghost of Eloise's lost daughter hovered in the silent air. Eloise looked pale and sad while Nicholas vibrated with outraged sorrow. Antonia's grip on his hand tightened.

"That bastard Demarest seduced you," Nicholas eventually said through gritted teeth.

Antonia squeezed his hand to remind him where they were. Since her marriage, she'd seen neither Cassie nor Mr. Demarest. In any just world, Demarest should suffer for ruining Eloise, but he continued as he always had. Perhaps rescuing Antonia counted in his favor in the universal balance.

Antonia still cherished hope that she and Cassie might resume their closeness. They wrote regularly but her father had forbidden Cassie to accept Antonia's invitations to Keddon Hall.

Finally Cassie had summoned courage to ask her father about Eloise, but he'd snapped her down and refused to discuss it. He'd blamed Antonia and her new husband for putting ridiculous fancies into his daughter's head. Antonia was well aware how Godfrey Demarest reacted when he was caught wrong-footed, and this anger was typical.

Cassie had confided that she was unsure she'd ever surmount the coldness that now existed between her and her father. So perhaps there was justice after all. Losing his daughter's unconditional love, Godfrey Demarest paid in some measure for his misdeeds.

Eloise drew her serenity around her like a cloak. "I long ago forgave him."

"I didn't," Nicholas snapped. "I never will."

A bell tolled in the distance. With the grace that invested her every movement, Eloise stood. There was a composed strength about Sister Mary Therese that made Antonia immediately accept that this woman had no quarrel with her circumstances.

Eloise's glance at Nicholas conveyed a wealth of love and a stubbornness that Antonia had long ago recognized as a Challoner trait. "I'm sorry. Both that you've come here under a misapprehension and that our meeting was so short. I must prepare for Vespers. If you don't leave soon, you'll be on those awful roads after dark. I don't recommend that."

Nicholas and Antonia stood too. "It's been wonderful to meet you," Antonia said. Beside her, Nicholas was taut with emotion.

Anger? Disappointment? Surprise?

A flash of a smile from Eloise. Again Antonia thought how beautiful she was. "If you're staying in the area, I'd love to welcome you back tomorrow and show you our farm. I've instituted some improvements I think you'll find interesting."

Nicholas inhaled and Antonia tensed for his answer. If this meeting ended in bitterness, she'd hate herself. Her husband needed to absolve himself of his part in Eloise's fate.

His response emerged steadily and with a warmth she couldn't mistake. "I'd like that very much."

Antonia released a relieved breath. It was going to be all right.

Eloise bowed her head as if acknowledging a victory. "Shall we say ten tomorrow? You're welcome to join us for Mass and a simple meal at midday."

As their shabby coach retreated from the convent, Nicholas remained quiet. Antonia didn't intrude upon his meditations. Difficult to meet a beloved sister after twenty years. More difficult still to come to terms with reality after so many false assumptions.

Only once the convent was well behind them did he release a shuddering sigh and turn to her. With a desperation she felt to her bones, he dragged her into his arms, crushing her tight against the carriage's jolting. She closed her eyes and slid her arms around his waist. Her heart overflowed with love and the longing to stanch his wounds.

For several miles, they remained wrapped in wordless communion. Slowly the shaking tension drained from his body. She tightened her hold, knowing he drew strength from her steadfast love.

Eventually he kissed the side of her neck. She shivered with immediate response.

"I want you." His velvety murmur set anticipation humming in her veins.

Reluctantly she pulled away until her arms loosely encircled him. The interior of the ancient carriage they'd hired in Clifden was dim, but there was enough light to illuminate the hunger in his face. Over the last six months, she'd learned to recognize this expression.

Her lips twitched. "When we get back . "

His eyes glinted with sensual purpose. "No, I want you now."

He sounded ruthless and determined. Excitement rippled through her. "But we're in a carriage."

A wicked smile curled his lips. "I haven't debauched you in a carriage."

She blushed. "Actually you have. In your gig in the woods at Keddon. I got a kink in my neck."

Amusement flickered without dissipating the intensity of his desire. "I don't recall you complaining."

As if he'd heard consent, he inched her skirts up. The trailing heat of his hand on her stockinged leg shot another quivering thrill through her. She caught his hand as it reached the bare skin above her garter. "So you do remember we've made love in a carriage."

"A gig. Not a carriage."

"Do you intend to tumble me in every possible location, my lord?"

He scattered nibbling kisses up her throat and his answer was muffled against her skin. "A man needs a hobby."

She bit back an unsteady laugh. "Anything to keep you occupied and out of trouble."

"Very wifely, my love."

His hand escaped her admonitory grasp and continued up under the leg of her drawers. Then he stopped, curse him. So close to where she wanted him. After six months, she knew he liked to tease.

"I'll arrive in Clifden looking the veriest hoyden." She liked to tease too.

"How else would the veriest hoyden look?" he asked with a sly look.

She arched her eyebrows. "Very droll."

"I promise the jokes will improve if you sit on my lap."

"They'd better." As a sign of acquiescence, she removed her bonnet. Because of course she wanted him too. She'd succor him against the world's harshness. As he said, very wifely.

The road was pitted and winding and the carriage's springs were at least thirty years old. Clambering across him, she nearly lost her balance. Cursing under her breath, she grabbed his shoulders and rested her knees on the worn seat on either side of him. Even when his hands circled her waist, her position felt precarious.

She stopped worrying about falling when he stretched up to kiss her. She tasted hunger. More, she tasted the turbulent emotion of the last hours. She wasn't surprised. His lighthearted act was just that, an act.

Love surged in a great wave. She'd use her body to heal the gash in his heart. She'd give him her soul for his plaything. She'd do anything for him.

She kissed him back with every ounce of love she felt. His lips lured her into a magical world where only Nicholas and his touch existed. Until the carriage lurched into a pothole and she nearly toppled into the well between the seats.

She laughed breathlessly as she tightened her grip on his shoulders. "This seems a dangerous occupation."

"Love is always dangerous," he said softly, and cupped her breasts with exactly the pressure she liked.

With pregnancy, her breasts were particularly sensitive. Under layers of wool and linen, her nipples tightened. Liquid pooled between her thighs and she shifted restlessly against his legs.

He groaned into her lips, kissing her again. "Hold on."