With a growl, he flung himself away and off the bed. "Have it your way, madam, and don't imagine I'll be back. I hope you enjoy your cold, lonely bed."

Stalking toward his room, he walked through the connecting passageway and slammed the door, the wood rattling so hard she thought the frame might crack.

Shivering, she curled on her side.

I did the right thing. She thought. So why do I feel so empty? Why does it feel so wrong?

Closing her eyes, she started to weep.

An overly large blot of ink bled into the foolscap beneath Rafe's pen, obliterating several of the words he'd already written above.

Hell and damnation! he silently cursed, reaching out to crush the ruined paper in his fist. Flinging it toward the fireplace, he watched the wad roll, then bump up against another trio of previously discarded attempts.

With deliberate care, he set down his pen. I can't concentrate, he thought, and it is all her fault.

To his recollection, he couldn't recall ever being so angry, at least not with a woman. But after Julianna's heartless behavior, how could he be otherwise?

He'd gone to her room last night with the intention of gently wooing her, showing her with tenderness and care that despite his past words and actions his desire for her remained strong. The passion between them had always been explosive, and he'd been counting on using mutual need to rekindle their relationship and forge what he hoped might be a new, and even deeper, bond. After all, they were now husband and wife. Last night but the first of countless evenings to come.

Yet she'd been skittish and defensive from the start, ordering him from her room before he'd even had a chance to get near her. After an admittedly slow beginning, however, he'd thought things were going well.

Even now, he could feel the almost concussive delight of having her lips moving under his once again. Experience the heady bliss of holding her close in his arms, so warm and lush, so Julianna.

Once he'd carried her to the bed, he'd lost himself in the moment and in her, savoring each sensation, relishing every touch. And she'd been enjoying herself, too. He knew she had.

Yet abruptly, she'd turned cold.

He'd been dying for her, his body diamond hard and throbbing with need when she'd told him to stop. The effort to comply had been wrenching. Yet it was the venom of her words that had bitten most deeply. Accusing him of forcing himself upon her, of attempting to violate her with no regard for her feelings or wishes.

That had hurt worst of all.

Grinding his teeth, he shoved back his chair and stood. Crossing to the fireplace, he bent down to retrieve the ruined balls of paper. Slowly, he fed them to the flames, his thoughts still centered upon his wedding night.

Wedding night, hah! More like wedding nightmare.

After he'd slammed his way out of her room, he'd come downstairs for a much-needed drink. But the liquor hadn't helped. If anything, the spirits only seemed to increase his ire, to fan the flames of his outraged emotions and sexual frustration even more.

Nearly two hours later, he'd returned to his bedchamber to climb beneath his solitary sheets, and there he'd lain, utterly unable to sleep. At five, he'd given up any attempt at rest, dressed and shaved himself, then gone out for a ride.

The exercise did little to alleviate his mind, but at least he'd worked up an appetite by the time of his return.

He'd just been finishing breakfast when Julianna appeared, her face guarded and a bit pale. Without a word, he'd tossed down his napkin and left, retreating to his study.

He'd hoped to work, hoped to bury himself in dry financial matters that would drive all thoughts of her from his thoughts. And though he'd managed to accomplish something, it had been a very little something indeed.

Growling now under his breath, he tossed the last ball of paper into the fire.

Instead of remaining here at the house for what was sure to be a torturous dinner, he ought to send around notes to Tony and Ethan to see if they would like to join him for an evening on the Town. But doing so would be tantamount to admitting that his marriage was a disaster after only one day.

The same would prove true if he went out to find a convenient and willing partner to satisfy his lust. Taking another woman to his bed would serve Julianna right. But despite his anger, he knew he couldn't humiliate her that way.

Besides, he didn't want another woman. He wanted his wife, who happened to be upstairs in her bedchamber right at this very moment. But he'd sworn not to touch her again, and he wouldn't.

Gripping the edge of the mantelpiece, he wondered what he was going to do. How can I bear living in the same house with her, he pondered, wanting her yet knowing she is out of reach?

The same way he'd done without her all the time before their marriage, he supposed.

He'd given her up to protect her. He'd married her to do the same. He would honor his vows. He just hoped it didn't kill him first.

"Yes, my lady. I will see to it immediately."

"Thank you, Martin," Julianna said.

Seated in the morning room, she and her butler were finishing one of their twice-weekly meetings concerning the running of the household. "Is there anything further?" she added.

The older man straightened his already straight shoulders and cleared his throat. "Well, ma'am, though I do not like to trouble you with such things, there is the matter of a certain large individual. Despite my many admonitions that he not do so, he is still opening the front door to callers. Yesterday he scared poor Lady Neville when she stopped by for a visit, and then he had the bad manners to leave her waiting in the foyer."

Heavens! Julianna thought. No wonder she had found Beatrice waving her bottle of smelling salts beneath her nose when she had entered the room.

"I left instructions that one of the footmen is to answer the door when I am unavailable," the butler continued, "but that person does not listen. And he intimidates the footmen so they haven't the nerve to gainsay him."

That person, of course, being Hannibal, she realized without needing further explanation.

When she had moved into Rafe's house five weeks ago, she had brought along several of her own servants. In general, the adjustments in the household had gone smoothly with one notable exception. Stubborn and independent to a fault, Hannibal deferred to no one.

Except Rafe, of course.

She knew the easiest way to remedy the problem would be to go to Rafe, explain the situation, and ask him to put an end to Hannibal's cantankerous behavior. Unfortunately, she and Rafe were not on comfortable speaking terms these days.

In fact, despite living in the same house, they saw very little of each other. Occasionally they would share a meal, during which Rafe was always unfailingly polite. First he would inquire after her health, wanting to know if she was feeling well and if there was anything she required to make her pregnancy easier. Once she assured him she was well, the conversation would turn to mundanities-the weather, events around Town, or perhaps some interesting story one of them had heard.

Although she did her best to participate, to be equally polite and equally attentive, the encounters always left her drained and despairing afterward. Everything between them was surface now, without an iota of genuine warmth or intimacy.

We might as well be strangers, she mused.

Her fault, she supposed, since she had sent him from her bed. True to his word, Rafe had made no further attempts at having sexual relations with her. Lately, he barely looked at her, and never with anything close to passion gleaming in his eyes.

I should be relieved. And I am, she assured herself.

Yet she couldn't deny wishing things might be different, wishing by some miracle that Rafe loved her.

But he does not, she scolded, and I am only torturing myself by entertaining such idiotic thoughts.

She would endure the next few months and at the end of them have her reward.

Her baby.

She couldn't wait to give all her love to her child. Once her little one was born, she would be content. She would be happy. At least she would try to be.

For now, though, she must deal with life as it was, including resolving tensions among the staff.

"Thank you for bringing the matter to my attention, Martin. I will see what I can do."

He nodded his gray head. "My sincere appreciation, my lady." With a smart bow, he excused himself and departed the room.

Nearly an hour later, dressed in a warm but stylish blue velvet gown and a gray woolen cloak, she made her way downstairs. In need of a few more winter dresses that would accommodate her ever-increasing waistline, she was on her way to visit her mantua-maker. She planned to take Lady Neville up in her carriage so the pair of them could shop together.

At nearly the same instant she entered the main foyer, so did Hannibal. Seeing him reminded her of her earlier promise.

Drawing in a fortifying breath, she decided there was no time like the present. "Hannibal, I would have a word with you, if you please. Shall we adjourn to the drawing room?"

He peered down at her from his towering height, clearly deciding whether or not to obey. With a barely perceptible shrug, he moved down the hallway.

Once inside, she shut the door behind them. "You are scaring visitors who come to the front door and I wish you to stop," she began, cutting straight to the point. "You are also upsetting certain members of the staff, and I wish that to cease as well."

When she paused, he stood silent, crossing his ham-sized arms over his chest.

Swallowing against her own nerves, she forced herself to continue. "I realize that this was your home for a long while before my arrival, and that you have been used to doing things a certain way. However, those ways must now change. I am mistress of this house, and as such am in control of the household. I trust you will comply with my requests."

"Why have you kicked Dragon out of your bed? That don't sound very wifely to me."

Her mouth dropped open as hot color rushed into her cheeks. A long moment passed while she collected herself.

"My relationship with your master is none of your business," she said in a chill voice, "and I will thank you to mind your impertinent tongue. If you do not, you may find yourself looking for alternate employment."

"Dragon won't sack me. We've known each other since our days on the docks."

She shivered, knowing he was likely right. But she couldn't allow such defiance to go unanswered.

"Perhaps so," she said, "but you would be wise not to test my mettle. If you push me, we'll see which one of us prevails."

With eyes as black as tar, he stared at her for what seemed like forever. Then suddenly a wide smile split his mouth. "You've got pluck, missus. I like that. I like that a lot. All right, I'll leave off his nibs the butler and those jelly-kneed footmen of yours. They all need to grow a new backbone. Won't be near the fun around here not being able to needle them no more."

So he has been doing it deliberately, she thought. I suspected as much.

"My thanks for your sacrifice," she said.

He laughed. "You're welcome, missus. I know you're carrying a little Pendragon so I won't cause you more trouble. Expectant mothers need to stay calm."

Then you shouldn't have put me through the last few minutes, she retorted silently.

"Still, you ought to let Dragon back in your bed. He's touchy as a bear and ten times as cross these last few weeks."

Is he? she wondered. Around her, Rafe never seemed anything but cool and composed. Did it mean anything that Hannibal saw something different? No, she decided, shaking off the notion.

"That will be all, Hannibal."

With a salute of his chin, he strode from the room.

Slowly, she followed. As she approached the front door, she discovered Martin and the two footmen hovering, anxiety plain in their gazes.

"Is everything all right, my lady?"

"Quite well. You have sole custody of the door from now on."

Amazement lightened their expressions.

"Now, my coach, please."

Immediately, all three men sprang to do her bidding.

A few hours later, the bell jingled as Julianna came out of the milliner's shop, a small package containing a length of cherry-red ribbon clutched in her hand. With her mind still on the bonnet she planned to retrim for the holidays, she didn't notice the gentleman striding up the sidewalk until he was nearly upon her.

With a quick hand, he caught her by the arm and steadied her before she could take a tumble. "My pardon, ma'am, are you all right?" he asked.

Glancing up, she saw a familiar face. "Lord Summersfield! Good heavens, forgive my clumsiness. I nearly ran you down."

He smiled. "I believe I was the one in danger of running you down, but I am relieved you are unharmed."

Drawing her to one side, out of the way of other foot traffic, he released her. "So, you are shopping, I see. Are you on your own?"

She shook her head. "No, I am here with Lady Neville. But Beatrice always has a frightful time making up her mind about which trims to buy, so I decided to wait for her out here. I was headed for my carriage when we had our near miss."

Nodding in the direction of her equipage, she noticed the coachman and footman watching them. Having been observed, the servants discreetly turned away.

"What are you doing in Town this time of year?" she said. "I thought you generally went west to your estate."

"Yes, you're right, but I'd had enough grouse hunting and the partridges are thin this year, so I thought I would force myself to do my duty and actually attend a few sessions of the Lords." He broke off, then smiled. "And what of you? I understand felicitations are in order. Best wishes on your recent marriage."

She glanced away for a moment. "Oh, yes, thank you."

"Pendragon is a lucky man. I'm not sure how he won you, nor how the pair of you came to meet, but he caught himself a true prize."

"My lord," she said, once again meeting his gaze, "have I not told you before I have no need of such flattery?"

"And have I not told you, dear lady, that I am only being honest?"

Oh, dear, she thought. Did I misjudge him? Were his proposals in earnest after all?

But when he gave her a fresh smile, without so much as a hint of regret in his gaze, her qualms subsided.

Summersfield tucked a hand in his greatcoat pocket. "I hear as well we are soon to have a new peer. There's scarcely been talk of anything else since word came out that the Regent is granting your husband the rank of baron. Pendragon has been summoned to appear before the Lords in only two weeks hence so that he may take his seat."

"Yes, and we have both been called to appear at Court as well. Shulz is tailoring Rafe's attire for the occasion."

Julianna thought about the feathers and tippets as well as the full hooped skirt with train that she would be required to wear, glad that the cumbersome gown would thoroughly conceal any signs of her pregnancy. Not that she was showing yet-a benefit of the current fashion for high-waisted dresses-but she suspected all that would change in the very near future. With each week that passed, she felt the baby move more often as he grew bigger and stronger. But for now, she preferred that Society not know of her pregnancy, or the mental arithmetic would surely start to fly.

The shop's little bell rang again as Lady Neville emerged, a bandbox swinging on a small string over her arm. "Well, good day, Summersfield," she said, curtseying to the earl. "Have you been keeping poor Julianna entertained while I dallied over choosing just the right bonnet?"