"But I-I thought you were staying in London until they found the traitor."

"I thought so, too, but Wellesley has ordered my return to Spain. I leave on Wednesday next. That's little more than a week."

Her throat moved up and down. "A week?"

"I tried to get them to extend the time but apparently the army believes I'm worth more to them there than I am here. I have to go, Lee. There's going to be fighting and I have to do my share. When I leave, I want to know there is someone here who will take care of you."

"I can take care of myself." But her face had gone pale and he thought he caught the faint reflection of tears.

"I know you can." But he hated the thought of her fending for herself as she had done before, of perhaps returning to Parklands, putting herself at the mercy of men like Andrew Mondale or Oliver Wingate. "I need you to do this for me, Lee. I need to know your future is secure."

She only shook her head.

He reached for her, prayed she wouldn't pull away, and eased her into his arms. "Just meet him. That's all I ask."

She looked up at him. "How can I meet him? What will he think of me? Sooner of later he is bound to find out who I am."

"You're not Vermillion, you're Lee. Your father knows the truth and he understands."

Her fingers curled over the lapels of his coat and she pressed her face into his chest. He could feel her trembling and his throat went tight. She meant so much to him. So much. He didn't dare tell her. It would only make things worse.

He kissed the top of her head. "Please, Lee."

She hung on to him a moment more, then dragged in a long, shaky breath and stepped away. "All right-I'll meet him. But I won't promise any more than that."

It was the news of his leaving that had convinced her. He could hear the sadness and defeat in her voice. His chest squeezed hard. He couldn't let her know he felt exactly the same. "Day after the morrow, then. We don't have much time."

She looked up at him and tears welled in her eyes. "No. We don't have much time."

Caleb made no reply. His throat ached and his heart hurt. He hadn't expected this, hadn't known he would feel this crushing despair when he left her.

He hadn't known until that very moment that he had fallen in love with her.

As lovely as Parklands was, it couldn't compare to the beauty and charm of Kinleigh. Creamy yellow stone gleamed like golden sheaves of wheat against the grassy knolls surrounding it. Tall mullioned windows glittered like diamonds in the late afternoon sunlight.

As the carriage approached the house, Lee counted dozens of chimney pots rising above the gabled slate roof. The front doors were tall and arched and they seemed to beckon her in. The Jacobean architecture was exquisite, the jewel-like setting almost too perfect to be real, though it was difficult to take in the details with her mind on what lay ahead.

Today she would be meeting her father.

Though she had never imagined it would happen, had vowed to Caleb to dislike the man on sight, there was some deep part of her that wanted to know him, wanted him to care for her as a father cared for his daughter, as she had pretended as a little girl that he would.

"Are you nervous?" The coach rolled up the impressive gravel drive and Caleb leaned toward her from the opposite side of the carriage. They had barely spoken since their argument the day before yesterday-since he had interfered in her life and had told her that he would be leaving.

"I'm not the least bit nervous. He is only a man, after all-not a god of some sort, or a king or a saint. Why should I be nervous?" But Caleb only smiled, knowing very well that she was.

"If you give him the slightest chance, you're going to like him."

"I shall loathe him."

Caleb straightened away from her. "I pray, for all our sakes, that you do not."

They said nothing more as a footman swung open the carriage door. Caleb departed the conveyance, took her hand and helped her down the narrow iron stairs, then they followed the golden stone path to the house. The butler, a stately man with gray hair and roses in his cheeks, ushered them in with grand aplomb, and the housekeeper, a sturdy woman named Mrs. Winkle, led them upstairs to their quarters.

Since Jeannie remained yet at Parklands, the housekeeper assigned a fair-haired young woman named Beatrice to act as her lady's maid. Beatrice was older than Lee, perhaps in her thirties, very efficient and pleasant company. She quickly unpacked Lee's traveling valise and saw to her comfort after the two-hour journey from London, helping her to freshen and change.

"These are lovely," Beatrice said, laying out her dresses for inspection after the trip. "Perhaps this one would do for your interview with his lordship." It was a gown of striped aqua silk with short, capped sleeves and a bit of ruching around the hem, the very dress she had brought for the occasion.

Lee smiled, determined to hide her nervousness and thinking that she and Beatrice should rub along very well for the brief time she would be remaining at Kinleigh.

"Yes, I think that will do nicely." With Beatrice's help, she was dressed and ready in record time, her hair in a thick plait the maid pinned into a simple coronet atop her head.

Her nervousness increased. She tried not to think of Caleb and that he was leaving and that his departure was the reason she was there to meet Lord Kinleigh.

"My, Miss, you do look quite splendid," Beatrice said. "Have you never met his lordship, then?"

"No. No, I haven't."

"I'm certain you are going to like him. He is ever so nice a man."

But she didn't really believe it. Not after what he had done to her mother.

"Is there anything else you need, Miss?" Beatrice flicked a telling a glance at the clock on the mantel.

"No. Thank you, Beatrice. I believe it's time I made my way downstairs." Leaving the bedchamber, an opulent suite done in pale blue and gold with molded ceilings and a silk-draped bed, as well as a charming little sitting room with a marble-manteled hearth, she made her way down the hall and descended the stairs.

She wasn't surprised to find Caleb waiting.

"You look lovely," he said, lifting her hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it. "Any father would be proud to have you for a daughter."

A shiver of unease ran through her. She had no idea what to expect from the man, so she prepared herself for the worst. "I suppose that remains to be seen."

Dressed in his immaculate scarlet and navy uniform, Caleb offered her his arm and she rested her fingers on the sleeve of his coat. His hair was freshly washed and still damp and it looked nearly black in the light of the sconces along the walls of the corridor. He looked so handsome it made her breath catch, made her think again of how soon he would be leaving, and an ache welled in her chest.

She took a deep breath and let him guide her down the passage, into an elegant salon of creamy yellow accented with pale jade green. The sofas reflected the colors, as did the serpentine mantel on the hearth. Like the rest of the house, it was a beautiful room, and at the edge of a deep Oriental carpet, the Marquess of Kinleigh stood waiting.

Caleb paused while a footman closed the door behind them, giving her time to assess the man who had sired her. He was of only medium height, she saw, but his body looked fit and trim. His silver hair was perfectly groomed and his burgundy, velvet-collared tailcoat fit precisely over his shoulders. He was still a handsome man, for his near fifty years, and there was a sense of power and purpose about him. She thought that perhaps she could see how her mother might have fallen prey to his charms.

"Good afternoon, my lord," Caleb said formally. "May I present to you Miss Lee Durant."

The marquess smiled. "Yes... I can see that she is indeed a Durant. And there is no doubt that she is Angelique's child."

Angelique's child, not his. The marquess started toward her and she stiffened, certain he meant to deny his parentage, to accuse her mother of lying.

"You look so much like her." He stopped just in front of where she stood, pale blue eyes assessing her from head to foot. "Your mother was perhaps a little taller, her hair a little brighter shade of red. But you are her daughter and of an age that you could only belong to me."

The admission stunned her. She knew she should speak but the words refused to come. What did one say to a father she had never seen? She thought to feel nothing but hatred but what she felt was far different than that.

"I loved her, you know," he said. "I loved her more than my own life. I gave her up because I thought it was the only thing to do. Because I worried about social dictates and I listened to the people around me. I should have fought for her. I should never have let her go. I've regretted it every day of my life for nearly twenty years."

Her eyes burned. She hadn't expected that, for him to admit that he loved her mother. That he ached for her loss as she had ached.

"My mother loved you," Lee said. "She was never interested in any other man. She whispered your name with her last dying breath."

Something glittered in the marquess's eyes. It took a moment for her to realize it was tears.

"She must have loved you greatly," he said. "She wanted a child very much. And I can see that you still love her."

She was aching inside. She wanted to turn and walk out of the room, to leave the painful memories behind, to forget the past, forget this man she wanted to hate but somehow couldn't. She wanted to flee the pain his words caused but her feet refused to move. She felt Caleb's hand settle solidly at her waist and the ache eased a little.

"If I had known about you," the marquess said, "I would have brought you into my home the day she died. I would have raised you as my own."

A sob escaped. She couldn't help it. Caleb drew her closer and she could see he was fighting to keep from pulling her into his arms.

"It isn't too late," the marquess said. "You're young yet. I'm the one who is losing the battle with time. Say you'll at least give me a chance to know you. Say that you will consider staying at Kinleigh-at least for a while."

She wanted to say no. That it was impossible-inconceivable-for her to stay. She told herself to say the words. Told herself she owed it to her mother to deny him, reminded herself this man had abandoned her, abandoned them both. But when she opened her mouth, different words spilled out.

"I... would like that," she said. "I would like that very much."

He was standing closer than she realized. She hadn't expected him to reach for her, to pull her against his chest and simply hold her. She hadn't expected she would rest her head against his shoulder and simply hang on.

But that is what she did.

It was evening at Rotham Hall. The boys were in bed and the hour grew late. Elizabeth sat alone by the fire in the small salon she favored at the back of the house. Outside a summer storm had blown in, rustling the branches on the trees, tugging at the leaves. She hadn't seen Charles since supper, since he had joined her in the dining room as had become his custom of late.

She tried to tell herself it meant nothing, that he was simply being polite, but each time he arrived to take his place at the head of the table, each time he smiled at her and inquired after her day, listening to some small accomplishment the boys had made as if he actually cared, another tiny piece of the ice around her heart melted away.

She had begun to look forward to the evenings, to the time they spent together. She had begun to imagine that Charles felt something for her beyond duty, and a traitorous part of her had begun to hope that they might reconcile, as Charles seemed to want, and make their marriage more than one in name only.

As she sat on the sofa in the drawing room, her slippers off and her feet tucked up beneath her, those thoughts swirled around in Elizabeth's head. She wasn't a coward. And in truth, she still loved him-though she had tried to deny it for nearly ten years.

She loved him and she wanted him. She wanted him to be her husband and she wanted to be his wife.

And so when the letter had come, she had been crushed more deeply than she ever could have imagined. Because she had begun to believe in him again. Because she had begun to trust him.

Her hand shook as she reread the message that had arrived just after supper, a note for her, penned in a feminine hand. A note unsigned, but the author did not matter.

Your husband loves another. Do not be deceived again. It was signed simply, A friend.

She swallowed past the lump in her throat and wiped at the tears on her cheeks. She didn't hear Charles come in, didn't realize he was standing there in the drawing room until she heard his voice.

"You're crying. Darling, what is it? What's happened?" He strode toward her, was there by her side in an instant, gently drawing the note from her shaking hands.

His worried gaze left her face and fell to the sheet of paper. He read the words and his expression turned as black as the night outside. "This is a lie! A terrible, vicious, savagely cruel lie!" He waded the note up in a shaking fist and tossed it violently against the wall.

He went down on his knee in front of her, reached for her hand, gripped it between his own. "I was afraid she might do something like this. I should have warned you. I should have said something. I was afraid of what you would say... what you would think. I wanted your trust. I've tried so hard to win it. Now..." Charles shook his head.

Elizabeth swallowed past the knot in her throat. "Who wrote this?"

"There is only one woman vicious enough to do something like this. Moll Cinders wrote it. She came to see me in London several weeks ago. She told me she wanted more money than the amount I had settled on her when I ended the affair."

Elizabeth couldn't look at him. "I thought... I thought you did that some years back."

"Quite a number of years, in fact. Apparently, she is desperately in need of funds. She heard that I intended to reconcile with my wife. She came to see me, demanded more money. I refused. I had been more than generous already." He hung his head. "I should have paid her. If I had known what she intended-"

"You're telling me this note is a lie?"

"God, Beth. I love you so much. I don't want any other woman. I was young then, foolish. I rebelled against my father's dictates and the fact that the marriage was arranged. It took years before I realized what I really wanted... what a treasure I had already lost. I love you, Beth. So very much."

She sat there stunned. He had never mentioned love. Not ever. Not in the beginning, not in the weeks he had been pursuing her. She didn't know what to say.

The corner of his mouth curved up. "I've surprised you, haven't I? That isn't an easy thing to do. You didn't know? You couldn't guess the way I felt?"

"If you loved me, why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't think you would believe me. I thought that perhaps... once we were no longer estranged and living again as man and wife, you would be able to see the truth."

She thought again of the note. "I want to believe you, Charles. I want that more than anything in the world, but-"

"But you don't." He stood up, towering over where she sat on the sofa, his expression hard now, oddly determined. Lamplight gleamed on his fine, sandy hair. He was so unbelievably handsome. "Moll Cinders means nothing to me. Nothing! I am a lot of things, Beth, but I am no liar. I haven't been with another woman in more than two years. I haven't wanted anyone else." He paced away from her, walked back. "You're my wife. If I can't convince you with words, perhaps there is another way, something I should have done weeks ago."

Elizabeth gasped as he lifted her into his arms, turned and began to stride across the drawing room.

"Where... where are you taking me?"

"Upstairs, my lady. To my bed. From this day forward you will spend every night there. I am still lord here. Perhaps it is time I began to act like it again."

Every night with Charles. Every night in his bed, making love with him. More children, perhaps, the sort of life she had once dreamed of. It was all there-finally within her reach. If only she had the courage to grasp it.

Charles shoved open the door to the master's suite, carried her into his bedchamber and straight to his big tester bed. "If you are here and I am here, you will see that it is you that I cleave to. You I want and no other." He caught her chin, lifted it, looked deeply into her eyes. "I was always afraid of love. I had seen what it had done to my father, to other men of my acquaintance. But there comes a time, Beth, when one must put his fears aside and grasp the thing he holds most dear. For me it is you, my darling." And then he kissed her.

Elizabeth's heart squeezed. Melted. It was time, she knew, to put aside her own fears. No matter the outcome, love was worth the risk.

22.

Caleb strode down the long marble corridor toward the marquess's study. Lamplight flickered on the walls, casting his length in shadow. Supper was over and Lee had retired upstairs to her room, but the marquess had asked to see him and he was on his way there now.

For the past three days, Caleb had remained with Lee at Kinleigh. The marquess had spent each day with her and the bond between them seemed to have deepened to a surprising degree. It was amazing how much they had in common: Kinleigh's love of music and Lee's gifted playing of the harp; the marquess's stable of beautiful, blooded horses and Lee's love of racing; they both loved children and animals; even their laughter at times sounded the same.

With Bronson in London and Aaron away at boarding school, the past was the only obstacle between them. Though Caleb had missed having Lee in his bed, he was happy for her. He had taken something precious when he had taken her innocence. In finding her father, he had tried to give something back.

Still, it was time he returned to London. He had promised to visit his own father at Selhurst and the days were slipping away. He had to return and though he wouldn't take Lee to Selhurst, wouldn't subject her to his father's scrutiny, he wanted her with him as much as possible these last few precious days.