“Lord Trenton. How are you this—Oh my!”

Catching her elbow, he dragged her down the hall and into the servant’s stairwell. He paused on the tiny landing and looked at her, noting the slight parting of her lips. Before she could protest, he drew her to him and kissed her, taking her mouth in near desperation, needing her response like he needed to breathe.

When she whimpered and surged into him, Rhys had to bite back the shout of triumph. She tasted like sweet cream and warm honey, a simple flavor that cleansed his jaded senses, and made the world fresh and new. He had to tear himself away, something he barely managed after spending a miserable, sleepless night without her.

“You will marry me,” he said gruffly.

Abby sighed and kept her eyes closed. “Now, why did you have to ruin a perfect farewell with that nonsense?”

“It is not nonsense!”

“It is,” she insisted, shaking her head as she looked at him. “I will not say yes. So please, cease.”

“You want me,” he said stubbornly, rubbing his thumb across her swollen bottom lip.

“For sex.”

“That is enough.” It wasn’t, but if he had her beneath him whenever he wanted, perhaps he could reclaim the ability to think. Once he could think, he could plan to win her. Grayson was bumbling along that path. He could simply follow the trail of crushed greenery.

“It isn’t,” she argued gently.

“Have you any idea how many unions have no passion at all?”

“Yes.” She set her hand over his heart. “But I do not believe that passion will be enough to bear the things others will say about you taking an American to wife.”

“Curse them all,” he grumbled. “We have more than passion, Abby. You and I rub along well. We enjoy each other’s companionship even out of bed. And we both like gardens.”

She smiled and his heart leapt. Then she dashed it to pieces. “I want love, and I won’t settle for less.”

Rhys swallowed hard. It was obvious she did not love him, but to hear her say it aloud was painful in the extreme. “Love can grow.”

Her lip quivered beneath his thumb. “I do not want to take the chance that it won’t grow. I must feel it, Rhys, in order to be happy.”

“Abigail,” he breathed, pressing his cheek to hers. He could win her heart. If she would only give him the chance.

Unfortunately, before he could press further, a door opened on a lower floor and the sounds of two maids speaking to one another rose up to them.

“Farewell, my lord,” Abby whispered, before rising to her toes and gifting him with a bittersweet kiss. “Save that dance for me.”

Then she was gone, and the sudden emptiness in his arms was echoed in his heart.

Pulling into the drive before the Hammond estate, Isabel was relieved to see Rhys’ black lacquered coach preparing for departure. After spending the last hour soaking her kerchief over the demise of her marriage and her broken dreams, she needed her brother’s shoulder to cry on and advice on how to proceed.

“Rhys!” she cried, descending the steps with the help of a footman and running toward him.

He turned with a frown, one hand set at his waist, the other rubbing the back of his neck. He stood tall and proud, his mahogany hair capped with a hat, his long legs sheathed in trim, fitted trousers. To her aching heart, the sight of her brother offered comfort in and of itself.

“Bella? I thought you had left for the day. What has happened? You’ve been crying.”

“I am riding with you back to London,” she said hoarsely, her throat raw. “I can be ready within moments.”

Looking over her head, he asked, “Where is Grayson?”

She shook her head violently in answer.

“Bella?”

“Please,” she murmured, lowering her gaze because his compassion and concern threatened to instigate a torrent of tears. “You will turn me into a watering pot in front of the servants. I shall tell you everything, once I’ve refreshed myself and collected my abigail.”

Rhys muttered an oath under his breath and tugged at his cravat. “Make haste,” he growled, shooting an anxious glance at the front entrance. “Please believe that I don’t mean to be harsh or uncaring, but truly ten minutes is all I can spare.”

Nodding, Isabel hurried into the house. Everything she had with her could not be packed in ten minutes, so she splashed water on her face, took what she needed to be comfortable on the long drive, and left a note for Grayson to see to the rest of her belongings.

At any moment, she expected her husband to appear and the anxiousness of waiting made the cold knot in her belly tighten. She felt rushed, off-kilter, breathless. Her entire world was spinning without the steady core she thought she had discovered in Gray. She should have known she would be lacking in some way. This tightness in her chest that made her dizzy was her own fault. The reality had always been there—she was too old for Gray and he did not trust that her body could give him the children she knew he desired. If she were younger, she doubted he would have such fears about her health.

“Come along,” she said to Mary, and they followed the footman, who carried her valise down the stairs to the front driveway.

Rhys waited out front, pacing restlessly. “Damned if you didn’t take forever,” he muttered, gesturing her abigail to the nearby servants’ coach, before catching Isabel’s arm and pulling her toward the waiting carriage. He pulled open the door and nearly thrust her inside.

Isabel had to scramble to stay on her feet and as she lifted her head within the confines of the coach, she understood her brother’s need for haste. Above a gag, eyes of bright blue with golden flecks met hers.

“Dear heaven,” she muttered, backing out quickly. She glanced around in search of a possible audience, then whispered furiously, “What are you doing with Miss Abigail in the coach trussed up like a dinner fowl?”

He heaved out his breath and then set his hands on his hips. “Blasted woman won’t listen to reason.”

“What?” Her arms akimbo pose mimicked his. “This is reason? The future Duke of Sandforth kidnapping an unmarried girl?”

“What recourse do I have?” Holding out his hands to her, he asked, “Was I simply to walk away when she refused me?”

“So you will force the girl into marriage by compromising her? What basis is that for a lasting union?”

He winced again. “I love her, Bella. I cannot imagine going on with my life without her. Tell me what to do.”

“Oh, Rhys,” Isabel breathed, her tears beginning anew. “Do you not think that if I knew how to create love where none existed, I would have done so with Pelham?”

Perhaps it was a familial curse of some terrible sort.

She had wished desperately for Rhys to find a true loving partner. What was left of her heart was broken further to learn that he had fallen in love with a woman who did not return his affections.

Fierce kicking against the interior of the carriage drew their attention. When Rhys moved toward the door, Isabel stepped into his path. “Allow me. You have done quite enough, I think.”

Raising her skirts, she used the small step to gain entry into the coach. She sat on the opposite squab, pulled off her gloves, and began to work on removing the gag that allowed only muffled protests to be heard over Rhys’ constant muttering about “impossible women.”

“Please do not scream when this comes off,” she begged softly as she worked at the knot. “I realize you have been treated abominably by Lord Trenton, but he truly does care for you. He is simply misguided. He would not have—”

Abigail writhed frantically as the gag worked free. “My hands, my lady! Free my hands!”

“Yes, of course.” Isabel swiped at the tears that wet Abigail’s cheeks, then tugged at the soft cloth that wrapped around her wrists. The moment the tie loosened, Abigail worked her arms free and threw herself out the open door of the coach at Rhys. His tall frame absorbed the impact easily, though his hat was knocked away.

“Abby, please!” he begged as she pounded ineffectually at his shoulders. “I must have you. Yield to me! I will make you love me, I promise.”

“I already love you, you idiot!” she sobbed.

He pulled back with wide eyes. “What? You said you only wanted—Damnation, you lied to me?”

“I’m sorry.” Her feet dangled above the ground as he hugged her.

“What the devil is your objection to marrying me then?”

“You did not tell me you felt the same.”

Setting her down, Rhys scrubbed a hand over his face and growled. “Why in the world would a man marry a woman who drives him insane if not for love?”

“I thought you only wished to marry me because we were caught kissing.”

“Good God.” His eyes closed, even as he reached for her again. “You will be the death of me.”

“Say it again,” she implored, her lips pressed to the line of his jaw.

“I love you madly.”

Isabel looked away from the scene, a fresh kerchief pressed to her face. “Remove his bags,” she said to the nearby footman, who hurried to do as she ordered. She settled into the seat, leaned her head back and closed her eyes, which didn’t stop the tears from leaking out regardless.

Perhaps it was only she who was cursed.

“Bella.”

Opening her eyes, she glanced at Rhys, whose torso filled the doorway.

“Stay,” he said softly. “Talk to me.”

“But it is so annoying when women start discussing their feelings,” she replied with a watery smile.

“Don’t make light. You should not be alone now.”

“I want to be alone, Rhys. Staying here, pretending to be well when I am not, would be the worst form of torture.”

“What in hell happened with you and Grayson? He was sincere in his wish to win your affections. I know he was.”

“He succeeded.” Leaning forward, she spoke urgently. “You took a risk for love, and it has paid you handsomely. Promise me you will always put your love above everything else, just as you did today. And never underestimate Miss Abigail.”

Rhys scowled. “Please do not speak in riddles, Bella. I am a man. I lack comprehension of the female language.”

She set her hand over his where it curled around the door frame. “I must go before Grayson arrives. We will talk more when you return to London with your fiancée.”

It was that one-word reminder that caused him to nod and step back. He would stay and speak with the Hammonds. She would survive, as she always had.

“I will hold you to that, Bella,” he warned.

“Of course.” She offered him a wavering smile. “I am so happy for you. I do not approve of your methods,” she amended hastily, “but I am glad that you have found the one woman for you. Please make my apologies for me. I did not have the time.”

He nodded. “I love you.”

“My, you are becoming proficient at saying that, aren’t you?” Isabel sniffled and swiped at her eyes. “I love you, as well. Now let me go.”

Rhys stepped back and shut the door. The coach lurched into motion, leaving the setting of fleeting bliss behind, but taking the memories with it.

Isabel curled into the corner and cried.

Gerard rode his mount hard through the Hammond park gate. When he drew to a halt before the front steps, he threw himself down and tossed the reins to the startled groomsman. Disregarding any semblance of decorum, he ran up the stairs to his rooms.

Only to find his wife gone and a tersely worded note requesting that her belongings be sent to her. His response knotted his gut and stole his breath like a physical blow.

He realized then how wounded she was. He sank onto the nearest chair, Pel’s missive crushed within his clenched fist. He was stunned, unable to comprehend what had happened to the happiness they’d enjoyed upon waking mere hours ago.

“What transpired?” asked a voice from the open doorway to the main gallery.

Glancing up, Gerard found Trenton leaning against the jamb. “I wish I knew.” He sighed. “Were you aware that Isabel wanted children?”

Trenton pursed his lips a moment. “I do not recall ever discussing the topic with her, but it stands to reason that she would. She is romantically inclined. I cannot imagine a woman finding anything more romantic than a family.”

“How could I have missed that?”

“I’ve no notion. Why is having a child a problem? Surely you want the same.” Trenton pushed upright and entered, taking the wingback opposite.

“A woman I once cared for died in childbirth,” Gerard murmured, staring down at the wedding band on his finger.

“Ah, yes. Lady Sinclair.”

Gerard’s gaze lifted with a scowl. “How in hell can Isabel ask me to relive the experience? The mere thought of her increasing fills me with such terror I can hardly bear it. The reality would kill me.”

“Ah, I see.” Settling back into the chair, Trenton crossed one foot over the opposite knee and gave a thoughtful hum. “Forgive me for discussing something delicate, but I am not blind. Over the weeks since your return, I have seen bruises on Isabel. Occasional bite marks. Scratches. I would venture to say you are not a man who practices moderation in his appetites. And somewhere along the way, you found some confidence that she could withstand such depth of ardor.”

“Damned if this isn’t uncomfortable to discuss,” Gerard muttered.

“But I am not wrong?” Trenton prodded. When Gerard gave a jerky nod, he said, “If memory serves me correctly, Lady Sinclair was of delicate stature. In fact, the difference between her and Bella is so extreme one cannot help but wonder how it is that you were so attracted to both.”

“Different motivators behind the two attractions.” Gerard stood and walked slowly about the room, searching out pockets of exotic floral scent in the air. Em had appealed to his pride. Pel appealed to his soul. “Very different.”