They reached each other, their hands met, and he drew her arm through his. “This way—I have the carriage,” he said.

After that it all happened as he had dreamed.

The carriage stopped at an Inn where Newland had arranged for them to take afternoon tea. The driver would only know that they had stopped for refreshment, nothing more.

“This way,” Newland said, guiding Ellen toward a staircase.

She did not question him, but walked along in silence. This would not be the first time that Newland had escorted her up a flight of stairs and to a room where he could hide with her from the rest of the world. He stopped at the first room on the left and unlocked the door. “Come in,” he said, turning back to her.

She shook her head. “No more, Newland.”

“Ellen, I—”

“I can’t be that woman.” Her eyes glistened with tears.

He reached for her hand. “You’re the most wonderful woman on earth.”

“And what kind of woman is that?”

“The only one I want . . . the only one I love.”

She shook her head again, turned, and started for the stairs.

He had so anticipated their time together and somehow had miscalculated what her reaction would be. Had he been so terribly presumptuous? He believed that she would long to be near him, to touch him . . . that they would fall into each other’s arms.

“I beg you to stay,” he said, unable to hide the desperation in his voice. “We’ll only talk if that’s all you will allow. I only ask to be alone with you. With no eyes peering upon us, no ears listening. Just us.”

She faced him. “I can promise nothing more.”

“We need only stay a short time. But let us sit together and enjoy our privacy.”

She nodded somberly, and then walked inside the room, brushing past him, her scent filling him with desire. And as much as he wanted to make love to her, he would restrain himself, force himself to be content with her presence.

She walked to a table draped with linen where a tea service was already in place.

“Please, sit down,” he said. “I’ll pour you some tea. You must be exhausted from your journey.”

She smiled wearily, but sat down and removed her gloves. Then he poured the tea and offered her the longneck teacup and saucer. His hand trembled, rattling the teacup.

“Are you cold?” she asked, glancing up to meet his eyes.

“No, it is not that. It’s . . .”

“Newland.” Her voice was soft, caring. “Please try to understand.”

He nodded and sat down. He did not want to spoil what time he had with her. “You must tell me, what have you been doing with yourself over these past four months?”

She settled back in her seat and glanced around the room. “I do what I must. Try to live.”

“And where do your thoughts go?”

“Always to you.”