You believe the earl is too old for me, and I wouldn't care if he were a hundred."

"Why?"

"Why what? That I don't care about his age?"

"Yes."

"His years are irrelevant to me. As I told you, he is kind. He offers me what I want. I expect no more because there isn't any more. All there is, and I know this all too well, is a good deal less. I will take the earl as my husband and count myself pleased at my bargain."

"Are you telling me that you have fallen in love with this man?"

"No, certainly not. There is no such thing. There are other things, certainly, but with luck and a modicum of honor on his part, I will never have to deal with them."

He walked to the bowed windows, pulled back one of the draperies, and looked out onto the park across the road. He said finally in a meditative voice, as if he were speaking to himself, "Devbridge, from what Craigsdale said, is a rich man.

Thus, I don't have to worry that he is in need of your fortune."

"No, he doesn't even require a dowry."

"Very well. You don't love him. He gives you what you say you need and want.

Thus, I am forced to conclude what I originally said?you, Andy, need and want another aged mentor. Can it be that the earl in any way resembles our martinet of a grandpapa? Do you really see him as a substitute?"

"Ah, that was quite low, Peter, but I am not going to shout at you. You're just trying to shake me, rile me, make me say things that I don't want to say. Are you quite through now?"

"In your long line of things you were doing, you said marriage, wife, housekeeper. However, you said nothing about presenting the earl with an heir.

As I told you, he has a nephew who is currently his heir. That is not the same thing as having your own son as your heir. Doesn't he want to breed one off you, his new, ripe, not to mention very young and quite appetizing, bride?"

It was out of my mouth before I could bite down on those damnable words. "No, there will be none of that, do you hear me? None. Ever."

He cocked his head at me. "Why? Is he too old to perform his husbandly duties? I thought a man had to be on his deathbed before he was incapable of taking a woman."

"Shut up." I shook my fist at him and shouted, "I won't listen to this. You're like all the others, aren't you, Peter? Well, married to the earl I will not have to worry about my husband parading mistresses in front of my nose or bedding the servants. I shall be spared the humiliation of watching my husband indiscriminately spread his favors among all my friends. The earl swore to me that he would not touch me, that he didn't want any children. He swore to me that he has a mistress nicely tucked away to see to his needs. She will never intrude on our life. He swore that he would never hurt me or humiliate me in any way."

Peter looked at me for one long moment and whistled to himself. "I've often wondered how much you knew of your illustrious sire's, ah, amorous exploits. I had hoped that your mother would have had the good sense and intelligence to keep her bitterness and disappointment to herself. But I see that she did not."

"If you would know the truth of it, at the age of ten, I believe I knew more about men's dishonor than any female child alive." I looked at him and then added, no fury at all because I meant it, and it was clear and cold in my mind, "Had I been my mother, I would have killed him."

"Perhaps you would," he said slowly. "Still, you were only ten years old when she died. So young and yet you knew?"

"Yes, I knew. I can still hear my mother's sobs, still see her white face when he told her of his other women."

"That dratted woman," Peter said, frowning down at the carpet. "I have always pitied her until this moment. After all, she took me in after my parents died, treated me quite well. But now, now I see that she was a selfish woman without an ounce of sense. She poured her misery into your ears, a little girl, not a wise or clever thing to do."

"Don't you dare talk about my mother like that. You don't know, you cannot know what she suffered. You were away at school most of the time. Well, I was there, all of the time. I saw what she suffered. My bastard of a father killed her. Don't you know? She could bear no more humiliation, and?"

"And," Peter finished for me, "she caught a chill and died only a week after reaching Grandfather. Ancient history, my dear, it has nothing to do with you or me. We can curse your father, even feel sorry for your mother, but they have been out of your life for more than ten years now. I repeat, their mistakes, their selfishness, all the tragedies, none of it has anything to do with you."

"I really mean it, Peter, had I been my mother, I would not have run away. I would have taken up a pistol and I would have shot him, and I would have rejoiced when he lay dead at my feet."

He didn't leap on that, and I suppose I was grateful, until he said, "So you are marrying a man you won't have to murder?"

"That is not bloody funny. My father deserved to die for what he did, for what he was, which was a philandering dishonorable bastard. And if you think I would ever take a chance of that happening to me, well, I would rather die first or die trying to take my vengeance on him."

"Jesus," Peter said very quietly. He walked to me and pulled me against him. He didn't say anything for the longest time, just held me. Finally, he said quietly, right next to my ear, "You cannot let your parents' blunders ruin your life. You think to escape your mother's humiliation by marrying a man too old to have desires, or unable. Yes, he has told you he has a mistress. Perhaps it is true.

Perhaps he doesn't even want you in his bed. I find that very hard to believe, however. What makes you think you can trust him? You are young enough to be his daughter. Why, my dear, why the hell does he want to marry you? Do you know? Has he told you why?"

"I believe," I said, "that the earl much admires me, as our grandfather's child.

He is very fond of me. He enjoys my company. I amuse him. He enjoys pleasing me.

He is lonely. He knows I will run his household to perfection. He knows he can count on me. He knows I will not interfere with his private comings and goings.

He knows he can trust me. He knows I would never betray him, since I want none of that, ever."

"And if he has lied to you? If he changes his mind and tells you he wants you in his bed?"

"I won't do it. I have told him so. He will not cross that line. Unlike the tolerant attitude of most men when a woman is adamant about something, when I am resolute, he knows it. He believes me."

Peter didn't say anything for the longest time. He walked away from me. He stroked his chin, a habit of long-standing. "Oh, my God," he said, turning back to me. "I wondered why you turned down young Viscount Barresford, an excellent man and sincerely attached to you. And Oliver Trever?another very nice man who worshiped you?you went driving with him once, Grandfather told me, then you refused to see him again.

"You believe to avoid all unhappiness by running from life? By shackling yourself to an old man who swears he won't touch you as a man touches a woman?"

Blacking out of life, that was what John had said. I shook my head. I was silent, there was nothing more to be said, but Peter didn't realize that. "Andy, listen to me. Not all men are like your father. I never heard that my father was unfaithful to my mother. Believe me, Andy, I am not like your father. When I take a wife, I will be faithful to her. Many more men are like me rather than like your father."

Silence lay deeply between us.

He shook his head, and there was such sadness in his voice I wanted to cry. "No, I can see that you refuse to believe that."

I said, then, for there was nothing else to say to reconcile him, "The wedding is Tuesday next. We leave immediately for Devbridge Manor. You are, of course, welcome to come if you wish."

"This is dreadfully wrong, Andy," he said, "and it breaks my heart."

I did not reply, for my throat was choked with tears.

I heard him stride quickly from the library, the doors banging behind him.

Through the windows I saw Williams, the groom, bringing around Peter's horse, Champion. He swung a leg over the saddle and was gone.

I curled up in the window seat and stared out at the gathering fog. Peter's final words rang in my head. "This is dreadfully wrong, Andy." Dreadfully wrong.

Was he right? Was I escaping life, afraid of repeating my parents' failure? Was I blacking out life? I dashed my hand across my eyes, trying to rub away the tears. And he had said that it broke his heart. But men didn't have hearts that broke, even Peter, though I had little doubt that he believed what he had said.

I had no doubt either that he did truly love me. But he hadn't come home when Grandfather had died because he'd had other, more important things to do. And no one had thought very much of it. No one blamed him?no one except me.

No, men took and took and did just as they pleased. They were to be tolerated, perhaps even loved, but never trusted. Even cousins who were so close they were like brothers, and you loved them and they loved you. I would never find myself with child and thus dependent upon a husband.

Grandfather had been different. I prayed that my future husband would be as well.

There was a light tap on the door. Skinny Lord Thorpe, a name Peter had given Thorpe the butler ten years earlier, entered the library, stood straight and proud as any aristocrat in front of me, and announced the arrival of the Earl of Devbridge. I blinked in rapid succession to make the tears recede. Rising from the window seat, I quickly smoothed my gown and my hair.

"Andrea," he said in his smooth, beautifully modulated voice. "Andrea."

I jumped, startled, and looked quickly around me. I wasn't in Grandfather's library in Cavendish Square, but rather sitting across from my new husband in a gently swaying chaise.

Chapter Four.

"Andrea," he said yet again, smiling at me, "have you been bored to death, my dear? Or mayhap dreaming a bit yourself? I do believe that I nodded off for a moment. Do forgive me."

"I was just thinking of Peter," I said, refusing to think more about what Peter had said and what I had said in return. Lawrence leaned over and patted my gloved hands. "I know it is difficult for you. I, too, was very disappointed when your cousin refused our invitation. Ah, well, he will grow reconciled once he sees how very happy and content you are with me. He will also be impressed when he sees how your funds continue to accumulate, since my man of business needs but look at a guinea and it leaps to become two guineas."

I laughed. My husband made me laugh, just as John had. I frowned at myself. That man had appeared only three times in my life. He was long gone. He was nothing and no one. It was time to forget him.

"Do you think you can call me Andy, my lord? I have never cared for Andrea.

Grandfather only called me by my full name when he was irked at me for some misdeed."

"Andy? A boy's name?"

"I answer to it easily, sir. It's like a very comfortable shoe."

"Very well. It is odd, but I will try. I wish you had mentioned this to me before, then I would have been accustomed to it by now."

"I didn't know if you would approve. I didn't wish to take the chance that you would flee if I told you about my unfeminine name before we were wed."

He smiled at me, truly a charming smile. He really didn't look his age. Since he was tall and quite lean, there were no jowls to add years. His nose wasn't veined and red from too much drinking. His eyes were a dazzling dark blue, and one had but to look at him, listen to him converse for but a few minutes, to realize he was an educated man, a man of sensibility and refinement, whatever those two things meant. I had heard them so very often growing up, that I suppose they were important, and was thus as certain as I could be that he was fully endowed with both of them.

He was dark, his eyebrows full over his eyes. His hair was still thick, and thin streaks of white threaded through the darker brown hair. He was fine-looking, my husband.

Had he been my father, perhaps things would have been different.

And then he said, "Your upbringing was unusual, what with only your grandfather to see you after your mother died. There is much in it that is both charming and disconcerting. We will see."

Whatever that meant, I thought. I watched my husband settle again against the comfortable upholstered cushions and stretch his legs diagonally away from me.

He folded his arms gracefully across his chest and tilted his head slightly to one side, resting his chin lightly on his cravat. He seemed peaceful, calm. I was unused to a man who wasn't a volcano, as Grandfather had been. Always quick to rage and equally as quick to laughter.

I said, "Peter told me that you have two nephews who live with you. One of them is his age, Peter said, and he is also your heir."

"Yes," the earl said, "the older boy is my heir. We have, unfortunately, been somewhat estranged over the past years, but he is home, at least I pray he is, by now."

"What happened?"

An eyebrow shot up immediately. He looked ready to blast me, and I suppose it made some sense since my question was on the impertinent side, but I was, after all, his wife now. Then he just nodded, as if to himself, making a decision, drew a deep breath, and gave me a smile that was as shallow as a mud puddle after a light rain. Still, he said easily, "It is just that he is too much like his father. He was greatly distressed when his parents were killed by bandits in the Lowlands of Scotland. He and his brother were only twelve and ten years old when it happened. I was their uncle; my wife had died without children. I had no desire to remarry. Thus they both came to me, and I groomed them to be the sons of the house. Thomas, the youngest, settled in quite admirably, unlike his brother, John, who fought me from the very first day he arrived at Devbridge Manor."

He saw the question forming on my lips, and added, "He blamed me, I believe, for being alive whilst his father had died. He didn't believe it was fair."

I hadn't meant that at all. "You said his name is John," I said, a catch in my voice. Surely, I thought, surely it couldn't be the same John. There were dozens of Johns hanging about, showing their names everywhere, bunches of Johns coating the countryside, too many to even consider such a coincidence. I said, "I ask because I met a man whose name is John shortly after Grandfather died. All in all, he seemed a pleasant enough man."

"What was his family name?"

"I don't know," I said, and knew I sounded like an idiot. "He was just someone I saw on three different occasions. He enjoyed laughing. He also liked George. As for George, I believe he would have preferred staying with the man, if he could have been certain he would have been fed as well as I feed him."

"Well, then, he can't be my nephew. I have never heard John laugh. He is a silent, somewhat sullen young man, not at all charming or at all remarkable when it comes to either dealing with me or dealing with estate matters. I have never even seen him with an animal to be able to estimate his charms in that arena. He is, however, something of a war hero, so perhaps he will improve with time.

"To be fair, he hasn't been home very often to have learned much. Yes, time will tell."

"And Thomas?"

"Ah, my sweet, self-absorbed Thomas, who has never given me a moment's concern since he was ten years old. No, he isn't at all selfish, I don't mean that. It is just that he is concerned with every ache and pain he ever feels. The truth is, he quacks himself. Whenever he hurts a finger or bangs an elbow, he must needs read and study every booklet he can find on possible cures. His wife, Amelia, deals well with him. I believe she has an entire closet filled with potions and herbal remedies to treat everything from hairy warts to belly cramps.

Whenever the gypsies come around, she is off buying every restorative they possess. She is the daughter of Viscount Waverleigh, a vastly unusual gentleman.

She is quite lovely, and something of a snob?a good thing in most situations, I've found.

"And now, perhaps, John is home to stay." He grew quiet again, and I looked out the carriage window, surprised at the sudden darkness of the afternoon. It began to drizzle, and I pulled the warm rug snugly about my legs. The chaise was well sprung and quite luxurious, I thought, as I fingered the pale blue satin upholstery. I removed a lemon kid glove so that I could touch the soft fabric, and in doing so, revealed the Devbridge family ring that covered my finger to the knuckle. I gazed at the massive emerald surrounded by diamonds, and realized with a start that I was now the Countess of Devbridge. Had Lawrence's first wife worn it? Had they taken it from her finger when she was dead? Now, that was a gruesome thought. And I wondered how George was faring with Miss Crislock. They quite liked each other, and she had insisted that it was only right that I be alone with my new husband, and not sitting there talking constantly to George.

Not an hour later we arrived in Repford, where Lawrence had arranged accommodations for us at the Gray Goose Inn. No sooner had we pulled into the inn yard than several boys came running to hold the horses and open the chaise door.

We were greeted at the door with a very low bow from our landlord, who had not a single strand of hair on his shining head, a fact easily ascertained since he was very short. When he bowed, the top of his head was right under my nose.

"Good day, Pratt," Lawrence said. "Your establishment looks prosperous."

"Aye, my lord," Pratt said, wiping his hands on his very clean apron. "I took the advice of yer business feller and am making meself a tidy profit."

Lawrence just nodded. "I trust our rooms are ready? Her ladyship," he added, smiling at me, "is quite fatigued."

I wondered why it was always ladies who were fatigued and never gentlemen.

"Yes, indeed, my lord, if yer lordship and ladyship will jest come with me, I will show ye to yer private parlor."

"Let me get Miss Crislock and George settled," I said. "Then I will join you."

"Surely Miss Crislock can settle herself. She and Flynt can see to each other.

Indeed, Flynt can see to George's needs. I don't wish you to trouble yourself now that you are a married woman."

I didn't particularly like Lawrence's valet, Flynt. He looked too much and said too little. "Miss Crislock is a nervous sort, my lord, unused to change or strange places. Also she was ill. I wish to make sure that she is feeling all right."

"The Gray Goose ain't at all strange," I heard Mr. Pratt say under his breath. "It's common, but not strange."