"Should I take that as a challenge?"

"No!" She realized she was stark naked and his waistcoat didn't conceal much. She was tempted to grab her cloak, but knew he'd be hurt. She'd undressed for him last night, hadn't she?

His smile turned tender. "All right, I'll admit it. I need to recoup my strength. I suppose you're in the same state. That was a truly remarkable night." He slid out of bed and began to straighten it. She went to the other side to help. Their eyes met across the sheet they were pulling tight.

"This feels very comfortable," he said softly. "Very right."

"Yes, it does, though you don't make good corners, you know."

They both laughed, and the smiles lingered as they completed the bed. But then he folded it back and came around to her.

"What-"

Kate was picked up and tucked into the bed. "Stay there."

"Bully." But Kate stayed and watched as he found his robe and slipped it on. It was a rather dull gray. She pondered what color would suit him better, planning to make another for him.

He disappeared into the next room, returning with her valise. He dug out her nightgown and tossed it to her. "Put that on, and I'll command some breakfast for us."

Kate clutched the night dress but looked around at the wild room. "Here?"

"I'll soon have it tidied."

"I should-"

"It can be your turn tomorrow."

Kate slumped back, silenced by his confidence. Tomorrow. Another night like last night, and then tomorrow.

They still had to face today.

While he was out giving orders, she pulled on the night dress, then climbed out of the bed. He returned as she was finding her comb and hairbrush in the valise. Sitting at the dressing table working on tangles, she fired the first shot of reality. "If I came to live here, Stephen would have to come too."

In the mirror, she saw him turn to her. "Of course he would."

She swiveled to face him. "You wouldn't mind?"

"I'd mind any other arrangement. I mind the fact that you haven't brought him with you. He must be a different child to the one I saw born."

"Yes, he is. But you can't acknowledge him as your son."

"Later, Kate." He turned away to gather up his coat and her flannel petticoat. "We'll talk about it later."

Kate sighed and turned back. Time wouldn't change anything, but perhaps that was reason enough to put off the reckoning.

He had the room in pretty good order by the time two maids arrived with trays of food. Though well-trained, they couldn't hide their interest and excitement at Kate's arrival. They arranged covered platters, coffee and chocolate pots, and pots of jams, then curtsied and left.

"I suppose I'll be a nine-days wonder."

"Begging for compliments?" He led her to the table. "I'm sure your wonder will last more than nine days."

"You know that's not what I mean!" She raised a cover and found eggs and bacon. "I'm astonishingly hungry."

"Nothing astonishing about it." He helped himself to a huge amount of food and ate with relish.

Kate ate a bigger breakfast than she ever had in her life.

And all the while they talked-about army friends, his decision to come home, and her family in Aylesbury. They avoided talk of their marriage.

When they'd finished, he said, "I've ordered you a bath next door, and Jess should have your clothes unpacked.

When you're ready, come to the drawing room. It's to the left at the end of the corridor. We'll talk there."

Kate went without complaint. The idyll was over.

A long bath was welcome, and delayed the fateful hour. Kate had to climb out eventually, though, for even with a fire in her room, the water grew cold. She dressed carefully in the light brown merino she had intended for her formal meeting with Charles Tennant. Jess helped her tidy her hair into a simple knot, and then settled a demure lace cap on top of it. The cap was trimmed with lace and ruffles, but couldn't be called frivolous, she a.s.sured herself.

Taking a deep breath, she went into the corridor and followed it to the left to a half-open door. When she pushed through it, she found herself in the drawing room with Charles awaiting her, standing by a lit fire.

Midday sun shafted through four long windows hung with cream brocade, and glowed on light-oak paneling and a white-painted ceiling. It was a charming, comfortable room, part of a house that until recently had presumably been a happy one.

"What happened to your cousin's wife and daughters?" she asked.

"They are living with Sophie's family at the moment. I'm sure they will at least visit here."

He was dressed much as he had been yesterday, in green coat, long white waistcoat and breeches, and brown tan-top boots. He'd shaved, and his hair was tamed back into a neat ribbon. All the energy was there, though, threatening to shatter her good sense.

She sat in a chair quite close to him. "So, what are we to do?"

"I think our best course is to tell the world that our marriage occurred after your baby's birth."

Kate gripped her hands together and made herself consider it. "It makes him a b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

"Everyone seems willing to accept that you were married to Fallowfield."

"That's only because no one has questioned it."

"Who's likely to?"

"His family? For all I know, there's an inheritance at stake."

Now she'd surprised him. "You don't know?" he asked.

She shook her head. "He never spoke much of his family and since coming home, I've ... I've been too frightened to look."

"Kate, there's no inheritance. His father was a corn factor, I believe, who married a lady. Doubtless the father had the same charm as the son. They were both carried off by a fever when he was quite young and he was sent to a school paid for by his maternal uncle. All the uncle did for him in the end was to buy him a commission. So I doubt anyone is going to take an interest in his son."

For a moment, Kate surrendered to the pleasant prospect, but then she sat up straight. "But the only birth doc.u.ments I have are those provided by Mr. Rightwell, and they state that he is your son!"

"We'll find Rightwell and have the matter corrected. If you were married to Dennis when the child was conceived, that overrides who you were married to later."

'But he'll want proof that I was married to Dennis!

"Plague take it, are you always this difficult!"

Kate snapped to her feet. "And are you always so self-deceiving? There is no easy way around this. Either my son is a b.a.s.t.a.r.d, or he is your son and heir." She took a deep breath and made her decision, bitter though it was. "He can be a b.a.s.t.a.r.d. He certainly is a child of his mother's folly. I expect the support and patronage of a peer of the realm will mitigate any stain upon him."

"Which only leaves your reputation sullied ..."

"Perhaps I deserve that."

"Never." His hand formed a fist against the mantelpiece. "Kate, what if we can find proof of your marriage to Dennis?"

"Proof?"

"Those actors."

"There are probably more actors in the nation than booksellers! How do you intend to find those three?"

"We could advertise. Post bills."

"Charles! It's a forlorn hope."

He smiled in a way she remembered from the army. "I'm the master of the forlorn hope," said Charles the Bold. "First, we'll go to the place you were married ... Where was it?"

"Worleigh, but-"

"That's not far from here. We'll ask questions. Perhaps the actors were local."

"But-"

"If we find witnesses to vows, no matter who they are, the marriage would be legal."

"And Stephen would be Dennis's son." Kate was almost caught up in his spell, but only almost. "I go odds we find a decrepit house, and no one who even remembers a mock wedding over two years ago." "So you'd rather give up without trying?" At that, Kate raised her chin. "Never. By all means let us try." "That's my girl." He pulled her in for a kiss.

"Don't forget, I'm a genius at the forlorn hope."

Kate's memories of Worleigh were faint, but she remembered the name of the place in which she'd said her vows-Thornford House. She and Charles had come alone in his curricle, traveling almost entirely in silence. Kate could not bear to talk of hope or the future, but was not interested in anything else.

She suspected he felt the same.

She tried to hold onto hope until they turned in between crumbling stone pillars and gates rusted open. It was a wild-goose chase. The house was still deserted. The drive was rutted, and overgrown by unkempt trees and straggly shrubbery.

"Other vehicles have pa.s.sed this way," Charles pointed out as he steered around a particularly large hole. Kate looked and saw that he was right. Since the last rain, wheels had rolled down this drive. It gave her a tiny bit of hope.

At first glance, the rambling old house killed it, but then she realized that behind dense ivy, no windows were broken.

A wisp of smoke curled up from one of the half-dozen chimneys.

"Someone's here!" she announced.

"Probably just a servant," he cautioned as he halted the vehicle and jumped down. "We won't find our actors here, but there may be a clue."

Kate scrambled down by herself. "It's more than I ever hoped for. It's something." As he tied the reins to a tree, she marched up to the door and rapped the iron knocker, causing a shower of rust.

Paint was peeling from the door, but even though most of the leaves had fallen and were piled in drifts around the house, the steps were clear of them.

She plied the knocker again, loudly.

"Perhaps we'd better go around the back," said Charles, coming up behind her. "If it's a servant, they doubtless just live in the kitchen."

Kate scowled at the knocker, but took his hand to pick her way along a rough path round the house to the back. There they saw the promising sight of a well-tended kitchen garden, and when they knocked on a back door, it was opened by a surly old man.

"What d'yer want?"

He held the door half-closed so they couldn't see into the kitchen, but warm air and a smell of soup or stew wafted out.

"We'd like to speak to the mistress of the house," said Charles.

"Why?"

Kate's heart gave a little skip. He hadn't denied such a mistress.

"Private business." Charles became the officer. "Open up, man! You can't keep a lady standing here."

The man instinctively stepped back, and they were in before he could collect himself.

It was a large old kitchen, with smoke-blackened walls and simple wood furniture, but it was fairly clean and well-tended. In front of an open hearth, two old women sat on a settle hunched in shawls.

One of them straightened. "What business have you here?" It was not a servant's voice. Then she peered at Kate.

"Don't I know you?"

Heart beating fast, Kate went closer. "I'm Kate Dunstable, Miss Heston. I was here two years ago to marry your great-nephew, Dennis Fallowfield."

"Hah! Now I remember. Yours is not a face anyone would forget, gel. What do you want?"

"I'm afraid Dennis is dead, ma'am."

"So I hear. Do you want money? You'll not have it from me."

"No, I don't want money." Kate was gripping her hands tight together. The aunt was real. Was it possible the marriage was too? Had Dennis lied to her?

G.o.d, why had that never occurred to her?

"What do you want, then? Speak up."