“She says you promised to trust her.”

The words dropped into the charged silence between them like small leaden weights. Alex kicked the log burning in the fireplace. Maybe he should seek out Patrick. What the hell was he to do tonight, anyway? Banish his wife to Scotland in the dark?

“Can you find him and return before three weeks?”

“Yes,” Alex said absently, not even thinking about Sophie’s odd question. Braddon Chatwin lived two days’ ride from Downes Manor. “All right,” he said finally, straightening up with a last vicious kick at the burning log. “Tell my wife”—bitingly—”that she should be ready to travel to Scotland a week from now.”

Sophie nodded and slipped back out the door of the study. She didn’t trust herself to speak again, she was so angry. Ten minutes later the front door slammed and Alex shouted for his horse.

Sophie and Charlotte looked at each other over the piles of clothes littering Charlotte’s bed. Three maids were bustling about, helping Marie pack. Charlotte fingered a little pile of soft white baby garments.

“He didn’t … show any signs of relenting?” she whispered.

Sophie shook her head. Charlotte took a gulping breath of air. Sophie said firmly, “After we get to Scotland, Charlotte, you can buy more things for the baby.”

Charlotte looked at her, startled. Sophie nodded toward the four women in the room and drew Charlotte to the door. “Come on, darling. Let’s go play with Pippa. We can leave first thing in the morning.”

“No!” Charlotte protested in the hallway. “I want to leave tonight!”

“It’s not good for the baby. You need to rest.” Sophie’s voice admitted no arguments. “If we tell everyone that our destination is Scotland, it will throw Alex off the trail for a week or so.”

Charlotte nodded. It was true that every bone in her body ached to lie down, especially now that she knew Alex was out of the house.

“I’ll send a tray to your room,” Sophie said consolingly. “We can leave first thing in the morning.”

That night Charlotte fell into a sleep so deep that she hardly stirred on the pillows. Toward morning a dream flowered, a seductively tender memory. She was back in Scotland with Alex, in the days when they were so happy. They had gone for a picnic on the banks of Grouse Lake. Katy had taken Pippa back to the house for a nap, and Alex’s eyes were glowing as the carriage bore their child away.

“The coach won’t return for at least fifteen minutes.” Alex’s deep voice was seductive, suggestive. He slipped off one of Charlotte’s peach-colored slippers and ran his fingers over the delicate arch of her foot. “It’s not enough time for … a five-course meal,” Alex murmured. He bent his head and white teeth bit her toes gently.