"That is not your concern."

"I forbid it." His voice grew harsher.

"You cannot forbid me to leave."

"I can certainly stop you. I control your trust. I won't give you access to a penny-piece."

Had she heard right? Would he truly withhold her money? "I could find another protector."

"Beware, Catriona. I will kill him.

She stood and stared down at him. "I do not know you. I did no' believe you could ever be this man who stands before me, so hard, so cold. I can no' believe that I ever loved you."

Chapter Thirty.

James stood under a large oak tree, surveying the lawns of Wyndwick Court, a bottle of whisky in hand. The house dated from the reign of Queen Elizabeth and was an E-shaped design with an old fashioned brick and flint exterior. Large bay windows brought light into the spacious great hall. The park contained three sizable lakes designed by Capability Brown in the last century.

God, he loved this place.

And everywhere he looked, he saw how much Catriona would love it as well. He saw the gardens that looked so cold and controlled and knew she would be able to make them warm and welcoming. She would place bird baths there and flowering plants to attract the songbirds that she so adored. She would love the deer and the swans.

In the countess' chamber, two charming alcoves were located on the far sides of the wall. She would fill those spaces with all manner of beautiful things.

Without even having to ask, he knew that Lady Charlotte Bingham would cover the brick and flint exterior with more stylish stucco and composition. She would have Doric accents added and all sorts of more structured, cold aspects to make the house more fashionable. Once the mansion became Charlotte's home he would no longer love it.

James closed his eyes and lifted the bottle he held to his lips. He took another swig of whisky, focusing on the burn as he swallowed.

I can no' love you now...You've become too much a bloody Englishman...you're too cold.

Catriona's words had echoed in James' mind.

Just as they had on the carriage ride all the way from London.

However, today, surrounded by the tranquility of Wyndwick, he heard what he had not heard when in her presence.

She could no longer love him.

Did that mean she had loved him?

Or did it merely mean she could never bring herself to grow to love him?

He took another drink.

He was fast becoming foxed. He ought to return to the house and have something to eat. He had not eaten yet this day. Giddiness distorted his perception and he turned his face to the cool, gusting breeze. He watched the wind stir the few brown fallen leaves that speckled the ground.

"My lord!"

James turned to face the house.

A manservant dressed in dark green and maroon livery hurried across the lawn, one hand holding his hat firmly to his head.

James corked his bottle, thrust it into his coat pocket and began walking to meet the servant.

"Thomas," he said.

"My lord, you have a visitor."

James sat in the formal dining hall. Fine china dishes had been laid out, filled with hearty country fare of roasted fowl and potatoes, carrots, parsnips, rich cheddar cheese, shiny red apples, golden-crusted bread and a pie made of pears, spices and berries. There would be fine eating tonight at the servants' supper table, for little had been consumed during the course of the meal, although James had drunk three glasses of wine.

His appetite was quite ruined, for he kept glancing about the chamber, admiring the polished wood paneling and old style table and chairs.

And he kept imagining Lady Charlotte Bingham residing over this house, this house that was so clearly meant for Catriona, and his anger rose.

Why the devil did the world have to be arranged the way it was?

He had certainly never given his consent.

He had never even been asked.

He poured himself a fourth glass of wine.

"James Blayne, do you intend to sit there glowering at me all evening?"

He glanced up, startled to be reminded of Aunt Frances' presence. She was dressed elegantly in tones of burgundy and gold. The shimmer of velvet did much to enhance the softening effect on her complexion from the candlelight. Her hair was dressed in a becoming, loose, soft-looking style, the silver strands covered by some enhancement though he couldn't guess at what it was.

Her expression was anything but soft. She glanced at the footmen who stood around the table, waiting to serve them. "Will you send them away? I wish to speak frankly with you."

He granted her request and the servants withdrew. Then he sat there, idly chewing a piece of cheese, waiting for her to speak.

"I cannot believe you would take Sunny away from me just to make her your mistress."

Slowly, he finished swallowing, watching the play of light on her face, watching the light of anger flash in her eyes. He took a deep drink of claret.

"Well, what do you have to say about that?" she said, as two spots of vivid color appeared in her cheeks.

He toyed with the stem of his wineglass. "I don't like the name 'Sunny'."

"What kind of answer is that? What's the matter with calling her 'Sunny'?"

"It focuses on one aspect of her. It does nothing to appreciate her many facets."

"Her parents gave her that pet name, not me." Aunt Frances stiffened . "It suits her."

"Ah, yes. Everyone pressed her to be ever cheerful, ever girlish, ever innocent, even as her body and mind were maturing into womanhood. She was denied the ability to express her true self. But no one cared, no one saw her pain, as they only wanted to be warmed by her cheerfulness, to be constantly entertained."

Aunt Frances gaped. "You're foxed. "

"I am seeing clearly for the first time. Seeing all of you clearly. You drove her to her undoing."

"What in the world are you saying?"

"I am saying that there was never anything wrong with Catriona. Nothing except grief. You couldn't just let her grieve. You had to call in that odious doctor, and he raped her. Did you know that? Did you know that your trusted, genius doctor beat and raped our lovely, precious Catriona?" He hurled the words at her.

She paled and sat back in her chair. "You've gone mad."

He shook his head. "No, I am not mad. He is mad. He raped her in the worst way possible, rape of her soul. You let a madman abuse Catriona."

With a soft scrape of the chair legs on the floor, she stood. Then she threw her napkin to her plate. "This is indecent! I will listen not a moment longer."

He did not stand, as decorum mandated. He sat, studying her arrogant expression. "What did you come here for?"

"I came to see Sunny. I came to take her back home where she belongs."

He shook his head. "No. You are not to go near her ever again."

Bright color slashed her cheeks. Her eyes grew large. "You have no place to tell me that!" She drew her chin up. "You have failed me."

"Exactly how have I failed you?"

"You inherited the Blayne fortune and you've just been invested with an English title, yet you sit here, swilling wine and playing lord of the manner and wasting time with Sunny as your mistress. I suppose you must have her tucked away in a little cottage somewhere close. Or do you have her stashed away here, in some dark corridor, hiding in shame? You should be in Mayfair, going about the business of getting a suitable wife." She narrowed her eyes. "God forbid that you should take it into your mind to wed Sunny."

"That's my concern, not yours."

"She's common, she doesn't possess the connections or wealth that our name deserves."

"Why the devil was she good enough for Freddy?"

"Don't insult my intelligence, or yours for that matter. You weren't blind and neither was anyone else," she snapped. "Even in his boyhood, I knew Freddy was never going to be the man you are. I am a mother and I loved him, but I saw him as he was. So did your father. However, we both knew that if the Blaynes were to have a future of power and rank in England, it would have to be through you. He thought that if you brought enough honor and glory onto yourself in the navy, you could earn a knight's rank and you could serve in the House of Commons and perhaps eventually earn a baronet's title.

"Oh, my boy, have you ever exceeded his expectations." Her voice rang with fevered emotion. "On his deathbed, your father entrusted me with your upbringing and education." Sadness entered her eyes. "I have tried to make a gentleman of you. I tried to ensure that you were given every opportunity to polish all those rough edges, so that you wouldn't be cursed with being a savage Scot like your grandfather and my late husband."

I can no' love you now...You've become too much a bloody Englishman...you're too cold.

"Your father entrusted me with your future, with the future of the entire Blayne destiny," she went on. "And I did not fail him. I can face him with a clear conscience. It is you who have failed him."

He curled his lip. "Perhaps when you speak of me keeping Catriona hidden away in darkened corridors of shame, you are thinking of my father and yourself."

She went white. "How dare you!"

"It is the truth"

"You know nothing of your father and me. Nothing! You've been fed lies by your whore of a mother. You insisted on seeing her even though I cut her out of our lives years ago. I gave you everything! I worked hard for you. And you repaid me by taking the one shining light in my life, my lovely Sunny." She gripped the chair back and glowered. "You owe me more than you could ever repay."

"What would you have me give you?"

"I demand that you return my girl to me." She lifted her fist and pounded the chair back. "I demand it!"

"Never."

"What right do you have to take her from me?" She pounded the chair back again. "What God damned right?"

"I am the head of this family now, not my father. And I have the right to protect her."

"Protect her?" Her mouth fell open in shock. "What on earth would you have to protect her from with me?"

"You. Which is why I will never allow you to see her again."

"How dare you?" A malicious gleam lit her eyes. "Do not delude yourself. Sunny will not be content with being your mistress for long. She will come to her senses and realize the shame you have brought to her with your indecent attentions." Aunt Frances leaned over the chair back. "When she returns home to me it will be me who will never allow you to see her again!"

Chapter Thirty-One.

Sunny awoke and glanced at the china clock on her night table.

One in the afternoon.

She ought to call for her lemon and hot water, the replacement for her formerly customary hot tea or chocolate in the morning. She ought to rise and face the day with more courage than she'd had of late.

She started to push into a sitting position but fatigue assailed her. Fatigue that was more of the spirit than the body. That was something one didn't appreciate until it was gone-the will to go on that pulled one from the bed each morning.

She groaned and pulled the covers back over her face to shield her eyes. She willed sleep to overtake her.

Instead she slipped into a half-sleeping state where thought and memory tormented her.

She could see James scowling at her.

I can certainly stop you. I control your trust. I won't give you access to a penny-piece.

His cold tone echoed in her mind.

She couldn't stay here in James' house, and yet she didn't have access to her own money to leave. She thought about contacting Frances and asking for help. But James might well be right, Frances couldn't be trusted not to turn her over to Dr. Meeker.

She had to find a new protector.

But, raised to be a good girl, she had no idea how courtesans found their protectors. Additionally, she wasn't quite herself, not yet the old cheerful, witty Sunny. She didn't think many men would be as patient as James, listening to her cry over her late husband in their beds.