"I don't think so," she said slowly and braced herself for the questions that would be asked and for which she had no answers.

But Covey surprised her. "Ah, well, sometimes men have to work out their frustrations in their own ways.

Let us enjoy the meal."

Bridget served, and then Covey excused her so that she and Rosalyn could be alone. Rosalyn was thankful her dear companion had taken charge. Personally, she had little appetite.

"I don't understand it," she said finally, setting aside her fork and giving up all pretense of eating."He wanted the Commons seat," Covey answered.Yes, Rosalyn knew that. He'd married her for it... and right now, with her heart involved, the knowledge that it had meant more to him than herself hurt in ways she could never have imagined.

Covey leaned across to her and covered Rosalyn's hand with her own. "Don't think it."

"Think what?" Rosalyn challenged.

"You are wondering what you mean to him. You are equating his behavior now to his feelings for you."

She was right. "How did you know?"

Her companion smiled sympathetically. "You are in love with him. I could tell the moment I saw the twoof you together this afternoon.""More the fool I," Rosalyn confessed."Why? Because he's feeling sorry for himself in the other room?""Because he doesn't love me," Rosalyn answered. There, she'd said it. "It's the story of my father and my mother all over again. Covey, I told myself I would never let such a thing happen, and here I have gone off and fallen in love with a man who married me for political gain. And now he isn't going to get what he wants..." She put her elbow on the table and pressed her fist to her lips, struggling to not break down.

"My dear, he's disappointed-and, yes, in a bit of a pout-but I don't believe he blames you," Covey said stoutly.

"Who else is there to blame?"

"Himself." Her friend leaned forward. "The colonel is a fair man. He made his own choices."

"You and your 'choices,'" Rosalyn said in frustration. She shook her head. "He doesn't love me," she repeated, the words still having the power to hurt.

"Then make him love you." Covey pushed back her chair with an exasperated sound. "You don't try,Rosalyn. You've never tried."

"Tried what?""Tried to make yourself loveable. It's as if you can't trust anyone. You assume the only reason any of usare near you is for our own gain. You think I'm here because I have nowhere else to go. You organizerouts and parties because it gives you power and from power comes respect and need. You've neveronce entertained the idea that we enjoyed your company, that you mattered to us."

That was true. Covey was the only person Rosalyn trusted, and only after she'd secretly tested the

depths of that friendship.

"The irony, of course," Covey continued, "is that now that I am a member of the tight sphere of your friends, I was so valuable you would have sacrificed yourself to marriage for me. Rosalyn, please, you must not always be so afraid. I haven't let you down, others won't either."

"But Colin isn't you," Rosalyn protested."No, and he could leave. My dear, he didn't have to marry you-""He wanted the seat-""He tossed it aside for a fox!" Covey shook her head. "Rosalyn, Rosalyn, Rosalyn. Please, don't be so hard. Be forgiving. None of us is perfect. Let your husband have his 'pity' time... but don't be so stiffand unyielding that he can't turn to you.""I'm not that hard," Rosalyn said, hurt and a bit embarrassed over Covey's characterization."You are hard," Covey answered without sentiment. "I know about the letters your mother has sent. You 've never answered one, and I imagine she has begged you for some small word of forgiveness orunderstanding.""You know she has written me?" Rosalyn thought this her secret alone."Who do you think gave her your address?""You?""Yes." Covey folded her hands on the table."She abandoned me," Rosalyn said, her temper rising."She made a mistake-a grave one-but she is trying to make amends."

"She can't!"

Covey didn't flinch in the face of Rosalyn's flat rejection. "No, she can't," she agreed. "Not unless you are willing to unbend."

"My pride is all I have," Rosalyn reiterated.

"Your pride is leading you around by the nose," Covey corrected.

If her friend had slapped her in the face, Rosalyn would not have been more surprised-until the truth of Covey's words sank in.

The older woman must have sensed she was making progress. She leaned forward again and took Rosalyn's hand. "You spend too much time trying to please the wrong people. My dear, there is so much to life, but not if you hide behind hurt feelings. I don't ask you to write your mother. That is between the two of you. But that man in the other room is your one chance for a happiness greater than any you have known."

Tears filled Rosalyn's eyes. She looked away. "What if he never loves me?"

"How can he not love you? See? It's a matter of changing the perspective. And there is something between you. I could sense it from the moment you met. Go to him, Rosalyn. Make him share his feelings. Men sometimes have to be coaxed a bit."

"I don't know if I can do that," Rosalyn said, the words tight in her throat.

"Yes, you can," Covey said firmly. "Rosalyn, you are a woman now. You weren't away for nearly a week in Scotland looking at the sights. You could already be carrying his child in your womb. There is so much that awaits the two of you, but first you must conquer your doubts."

"I don't even know what to say to him. I tried. He wasn't in the mood to talk."

"Then try again."

Rosalyn looked into her friend's face and wondered how she could make something so hard sound so simple. "Where do I begin?"

"You begin by being a wife. You can fix a plate of dinner for him and take it to him. If he's drinking Alfred's whiskey, he is going to need something in his stomach."

"You knew about the whiskey?""In the liquor cabinet? Yes. Alfred always had a wee dram before dinner.""But you didn't offer any to Lord Loftus.""Of course not," Covey said dismissively. "He isn't worthy of Alfred's Single Malt. I've always feared it would go to waste, but now that we have the colonel under our roof, it won't.""Especially if he drinks it all tonight," Rosalyn said more to herself than Covey. She pushed away fromthe table. "You're right," she said decisively. "You are right about everything." She stood, took the plate from Colin's place at the table, and started heaping food on it. "I will go to him. He should talk to me,even to say he is angry he married me and now he won't have the Commons seat.""He won't say that," Covey predicted.Rosalyn stuck the serving spoon back in the peas. "He might, Covey. We don't know each other well.

He is ambitious.""As you are yourself.""You keep telling me that.""That's true."Rosalyn looked down at the plate of food she held. "I'm afraid," she stated."Be bold," Covey advised her. "Your marriage depends on it."For a second, Rosalyn hesitated. It would be easier to blame Colin for everything and shut him out of her life. But then she thought of what Covey had said. She could be pregnant... and were aloof, distant parents what she wanted for her child?

She picked up a candle and started for the door.

"I'll see the table is cleared," Covey called. "Don't worry about anything this evening. Think only of your husband."

Rosalyn gave her a nervous smile and left the room.

The hallway was dark. She knew her way, gracefully skirting the chair by the stairs. The door to the

sitting room was still closed. She set the candle down on the side table, next to his hat, and opened the door.

Colin was sitting where she'd left him before dinner, his legs stretched out and the heel of one boot

propped on the toe of his other. He'd not bothered to light a candle, nor did he turn to greet her.

She lifted the candle, juggling it with the plate of food as she entered the room. The whiskey bottle was now halfway empty.

Striving for a light tone, she said, "Are you going to save some of that for me, or down it all yourself?"

He looked up at her then, his expression lazy. "Damn me, but my wife surprises me again. I'd not known

you had a taste for hard spirits."

"I'm developing many new tastes of late," she said. "Here is your supper.""I'm not hungry.""That may be true," she said with the patience one saved for a child, "but Cook went to a great effort on your behalf and you owe it to her to take a bite or two."

As she anticipated, appealing to his sense of honor worked. He took the plate and set it in his lap. He

made no move to pick up the fork, because that would mean he'd have to put his whiskey glass on theside table. He acted as if it were permanently attached to his hand.Rosalyn started lighting candles on either side of the hearth. She usually didn't light these unless they had company.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, his voice husky from drink.

"Being a wife." She went over to the door and shut it before returning to him. "Eat."

His eyes glittered, and a muscle tightened in his jaw. She was certain few people ordered him around.

Well, that was one of the things a wife did, she reminded herself, and she sat on the edge of the footstool, forcing him to move his feet.

"Here, let me help you remove your boots," she offered.

For a moment, he looked as if he'd like to wish her to the devil. She returned his stare with a level one of her own.

A corner of his mouth turned up reluctantly. "All right, wife." Holding the plate with one hand, his drink with the other, he unceremoniously put his right foot in her lap.

Rosalyn looked down at the scuffed boot with mud on its heel and bit back a sharp retort. Instead, she took firm hold and pulled it off. She reached for his other boot and did the same, setting both boots aside.

"Go on, eat your dinner," she ordered softly and began massaging his feet.

Of course he didn't do as she asked. Instead, he watched her under veiled eyes-and she was struck bya memory of once seeing her parents sit together just like this."What is it?" he asked, always attuned to the nuances of her thinking."I had recalled something I'd forgotten," she said, kneading the ball of his foot with more purpose. "My mother used to massage my father's feet. It was a ritual of theirs. I'd forgotten."

Or had she deliberately put it out of her mind? An attempt to erase all the good memories along with the bad?

Covey's accusation of shutting people out returned twofold.

He set down his glass and lifted the fork. He took a bite of his dinner. Leaving his feet in her lap, she

reached for the whiskey and took a sip. The smoky burn of the liquor tasted good. It gave her courage."Alfred had good taste. He was Covey's husband, and she said he always had a nip at night.""I'm glad she wouldn't share it with Loftus."

Rosalyn nodded and took another sip. He moved his plate to the table and held his hand out for the glass. She gave it to him, and as their fingers brushed, she felt the same strong simmer of desire that always seemed to be between them.

For a long moment, they sat in silence, he staring at the fireplace, she out the window.

And then he said, "Did you ever want something so much you would have sold your soul for it?" He shifted his gaze to meet hers. "You knew you deserved it. It should be yours... and yet, it kept eluding you?"

She swallowed, afraid of the topic and yet knowing it had to be discussed. "Are you talking about the Commons seat?"

He sat up, bringing his feet to the floor, his expression more serious than she'd ever seen him. "I'm talking about a knighthood." He rolled the glass between his hands. "It sounds silly, doesn't it? Colin Mandland, son of the local cobbler, dreams of being knighted. When I was younger, I used to want to be a knight like the days of old. A jousting knight. I'd pretend to have a horse, and I'd harass Matt to joust me until he'd get irritated and wrestle me to the ground. That was before I grew bigger than he was."

"You saw him this afternoon."

"Yes." He polished off the whiskey in the glass and set it on the floor. "He's not happy with me."

There was pain, and confusion, in his words. "It is the banns? Does he believe we should have a church wedding? We can." Anything so that Colin would not be sorry he married her.

"It's not the elopement. It's something else... something more personal."

"Like what?" she had to ask.

His gaze met hers. He smiled. "You are relentless."