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the son so desperately wanted:

Would the countess have been happier if the boy had been real? Very likely. People were usually happier in conventional situations. With luck she would have married a man who appreciated her spirit and intelligence, and be an adored wife and mother by now. Mother perhaps to another happy little girl, and a solemn, impish little boy.

Children who would never exist, because of the hard choices she had made.

Understandable choices.

Marriage presented tremendous dangers to her. Few men could accept subordinate status to their wife, and if they wished to, society would not permit it If she married, the men around here would breathe a sigh of relief and deal with the husband, who would legally be her representative as soon as the vows were said. After all, any decisions or administrative actions he objected to would instantly become null.

"A husband and wife are one person," the law said, "and that person is the husband."

The men would ignore her, and the women would expect her to surrender manly interests and become one of themselves.

Though marriage settlements could be drawn up so that her property was secure, her husband would have many rights of access to it. If she protested and he beat her, she would have no recourse unless she could prove excessive cruelty.

These matters did not stop most women from marrying. They had less to lose, and their income and dower property could be well protected by sound marriage settlements. They were an immense barrier to a woman in the countess's unusual position.

If she could magically produce a brother now and no longer be the troubled Countess of Arradale, would she?

Unlikely. It went against nature to retreat from hard-won achievements, even if they were a burden. To do so made nonsense of the pain along the way.

He touched the lad's hair, allowing himself to think for a moment of the children he would never have. He had not recognized the sacrifice it was until recently, with tiny Mallorens springing up around him. He was not unsympathetic to Bryght's position, either. In his situation he'd feel the same protectiveness toward his child, and the same anger if others would not bend.

He, no more than the countess, could change course, however. His decision was logical, and any wavering was only because of the spate of weddings and births. This, thank heavens, was the last of the weddings.

Perhaps, he admitted, he also wavered because of the Countess of Arradale. Unique could well describe her, and her unique nature drew him. Bold, clever, direct, daring. And hauntingly vulnerable.

He remembered what Fettler had said - about her knocking on the door earlier. He thought he knew what she'd had in mind, and it suggested that a marriage in name only would not be easy for either of them.

So. He flung the cloth back over the automaton and stripped quickly out of the rest of his clothes. Such a marriage must be avoided at all costs. He must see her safe home from London without it.

Chapter 10

It was no hardship for Diana to rise early because she'd hardly slept for thoughts of madhouses, the marquess, unfinished tasks, the marquess, kisses, the marquess, coach journeys, the marquess...

Before the clock struck two she knew she should have decided to travel in her own coach, but it was too late now. At least in part because she didn't want to. The thought of days by his side sent shivers through her, good and bad.

And nights at inns. At least two nights at inns. They'd dine together, just the two of them. They'd talk, intimately across a table as in the card game. Surely she'd learn more of him. Perhaps she'd be able to satisfy some of her itching curiosity about his nature, his mind, his view of the world.

At three she rose to light her candles and write out lists of the instructions bubbling through her mind. She managed to fall asleep then, but woke at first light and gave up. She summoned Clara and put into action the extensive and complicated plans for departure and absence.

She sent a note up to Wenscote, summoning Rosa and Brand. She hated to bother them so soon after the wedding, but she knew Rosa would never forgive her if she left without a proper farewell.

With her rooms already a swirl of packing, and Mr. Turcott supervising instructions and plans for a month or so, she sent to ask if her mother was awake yet. When the maid