“Thank you, my dear. And that name is ... ?”

“Bliss,” she said.

Again, the leering yellow smile. “I daresay, it suits you. How long have you been married, Bliss?”

The question, innocent as it was, felt like a violation of some sort. Bliss blushed, growing more uncomfortable with each passing moment. “Only a few weeks,” she answered.

Albert Davis raised his bushy white eyebrows and his smile remained fixed. “You’re still honeymooning, then.”

Bliss lowered her eyes. The only time her marriage seemed real was when she and Jamie were in bed together, but she couldn’t very well confide as much to a virtual stranger. Especially not a male stranger.

“I’ve embarrassed you,” the old man crowed delightedly. Then he composed himself. “I’m sorry, my dear. I truly am. Tell me about this husband of yours. What does he do with his time?”

Quick as that, Bliss felt her attitude changing. Jamie was, after all, her favorite topic of conversation. “He has sheep,” she said happily. “Hundreds and hundreds of sheep. And I think he must be very important, for he’s had meetings every single day.”

“He’s wealthy, then?”

Bliss hadn’t really considered that, since Jamie wasn’t a man to flaunt the fact that he had money. “I suppose he is,” she agreed, with a note of surprise in her voice.

The sharp blue eyes were fixed on Bliss’s bare left hand. “But you don’t wear a wedding band,” Davis muttered.

The reminder was wounding to Bliss. A man who had been forced to marry, at gunpoint, would naturally be disinclined to offer his bride a wedding ring. Still, Jamie McKenna availed himself of the advantages of marriage without any noticeable qualms. Full of conviction, Bliss silently vowed to turn away the very next time he touched her.

If she could.

“Forgive me,” Albert Davis said smoothly. “It seems I’ve touched a nerve.”

Bliss sighed. Mr. Davis was only trying to make polite conversation, she was sure, but there was something so watchful about him. Something shrewd.

“Does your husband love you, Bliss?”

The audacity of that question stunned Bliss. She was speechless for a moment, then her eyes shot indigo fire. “How could such a thing possibly matter to you?” she countered.

He sighed; the sound was long and thin and ragged—like a bit of tattered, dirty cloth. “Saucy,” he said with a nod, as though confirming something.

Bliss was prepared to leap to her feet and make a dash for it if Mr. Davis started to rise out of his invalid’s chair or wheel it closer. She wished now that she hadn’t agreed to stay here until the other man returned. “I beg your pardon?”

Mr. Davis began to laugh. “I fear I’ve frightened you.”

Bliss sat up very straight. “You flatter yourself if you think that,” she said stiffly.

Again that laugh sounded; it was like the shrill caw of a crow. “Delightful!” he cried, slapping one blanket-covered knee. “Absolutely delightful!”

Bliss rose from her chair and moved to stand discreetly behind it. “I really don’t understand—”