“Aha! Now the screaming is going to start, right? Let me give you a hand!” Alex picked up a jar that stood on her dressing table and flung it violently against the wall. It smashed, glass tinkling to the ground. Charlotte watched, mesmerized, as white cream slid down the wooden boards. Her heart was thumping in pure terror. Maybe he would kill her, she thought. She had read about such things in the papers. And the law would say he was justified. Because he had been tricked into marrying a woman who wasn’t pure.

A drop of strength infused Charlotte’s body. If she was going to be killed by an irate husband—some part of her mind couldn’t even believe this was happening to her—she was not going to let him think he had the right to do it.

“I am not a whore,” she said in a small but even voice. She didn’t want to look at Alex but she made herself. She raised her head and met his eyes, flinching at the loathing she saw there. “I only slept with you, once before.”

Alex’s eyes narrowed. What kind of story was this? Did she think he went about deflowering virgins in his sleep and wouldn’t realize that her story was just hog-wash? “I never slept with you before,” he retorted, utter contempt gracing every word. “And as God is my witness, I will never sleep with you again.” He suddenly reached out and wrenched Charlotte’s nightdress from her clutching hand, ripping it the rest of the way to the floor.

“You should be able to market your wares pretty well in London,” he said calmly, surveying her body with steely eyes. Charlotte hardly heard him, thinking only that he seemed to be regaining self-control. “Yes, I think that you will be able to do pretty well for yourself among the younger set. I can see it now, the beautiful countess—” Suddenly Alex broke off. “Damnation!” He just remembered that if Charlotte did have adulterous affairs, it would be put down to his impotency. He felt as if a twining black snake had curled around his throat and was choking him to death.

Then Alex had an inspired idea. He wanted a nursemaid; now he had one. No reason Charlotte should live in London. Forget the trip to Italy—they had nothing to celebrate. No, he would take his new nursemaid to the country, in fact, farther than the country. He had an estate in Scotland. They would go there, and the woman he married could earn her keep. Then he’d go back to London and leave her in Scotland. Maybe he would visit once a year.