They made love several times that night, and it was wonderful and terrible, bittersweet and achingly moving. They didn’t talk much. George had no words; she was afraid if she tried to say anything, it would all spill out in a terrible emotional flood, and she’d be no better than his mother, trying to make him stay when he wanted to leave.

And he was never terribly chatty in bed.

But, oh, every touch, every caress . . . She did her best to save them up in her mind, to keep for later and revisit when he was gone, but each time he took her to the edge . . . and over . . . and her awareness splintered into glorious rainbow-colored shards.

*   *   *

Hart’s bags were packed, and the carriage was waiting. They’d made love at dawn, and it had left him feeling empty, completely shattered.

But she, she seemed calm and organized and dignified. She’d arranged food and drink for the journey, as if he were a child being sent off to school. The boys, solemn and serious and looking unhappy and bewildered, shook his hand like little men, and then she sent them back inside.

He was gutted by the ease with which she was preparing to wave him off, out of her life. But he had no leg to stand on. He was the blasted fool who’d signed the blasted settlement documents agreeing to her blasted conditions.

He hated those conditions now.

But he’d trapped her into marriage in the first place, and he owed it to her now to give her the freedom she desired. At least he’d insisted on conjugal visits. But, oh, how would he ever bear long months without her? Or weeks. And not just in bed.

He’d always believed he was a naturally solitary fellow. She’d changed all that.

She’d even taught him to enjoy the company of two rambunctious little boys.

George was the sun around who they all rotated, the source of all warmth and life.

But Hart had always prided himself on his control and he wasn’t about to crumble now and make a fool of himself. And entrap her into the kind of marriage she had explained quite clearly that she didn’t want.

He kissed her good-bye, and if it was a little desperate and needy and he could hardly make himself let go of her, well, that couldn’t be helped. It was nothing to what he really felt.

He climbed into the carriage, took a deep breath and rapped on the roof. With a jerk the carriage set off. Hart didn’t look out the window. He hated good-byes, didn’t want to see her standing there, waving, her lovely gray eyes bright with unshed tears . . .

Bright with unshed tears?

Unshed tears?

He rapped loudly on the roof of the carriage, and without waiting for it to stop he threw open the door and jumped down.