The words must have been a mistake, for Michael's clasped hands went rigid, the tendons showing in the wrists. "He has. Better than I have been to him." He shook his head. "Lord, why am I telling you all this?"

She hoped it was because she was special to him. "Because you know I care, and that I will honor your confidence."

"Perhaps that is the reason." Not looking at her, he said quietly, "I'm glad to have met you, Catherine. When I think of Brussels in the future, I might forget the balls and the rumors and the frantic gaiety, but I will always remember you."

The air between them seemed to thicken, becoming so palpable she feared he must be able to feel the beating of her heart. Haltingly she said, "Your friendship means a great deal to me, too."

"Friendship and honor are perhaps the two most important things in life." He bent and picked a daisy from the grass. "Friendship so that we are not alone. Honor because what else does a man have left at the end of the day except his honor?"

"What of love?" she asked softly.

"Romantic love?" He shrugged. "I haven't the experience to comment."

"You've never fallen in love?" she said skeptically.

His voice lightened. "Well, when I was nine, my friend Lucien's sister proposed to me and I accepted with enthusiasm. Elinor was a quicksilver angel."

Seeing the warmth in his eyes, she said, "Don't discount your feelings simply because you were young. Children can love with a kind of innocent purity that no adult can match."

"Perhaps." He rolled the daisy between thumb and forefinger. "And because Elinor died two years later, the love between us was never tested."

Nor had it had a chance to fade away naturally. Somewhere inside Michael, she suspected, there must still be the dream of finding a quicksilver angel. "If you loved like that once, you can again."

His hand clenched spasmodically on the daisy, crushing it. There was a long silence before he said in a barely audible voice, "I once loved-or was obsessed by-a married woman. The affair destroyed friendship and honor both. I swore I would never do that again. Friendship is safer."

For a man like Michael, failing to meet his own code of honor would have been devastating. Such a catastrophic mistake also explained why he had never said or done anything improper with her. Now she knew that he never would.

"Honor is not the exclusive province of men," she said quietly. "A woman can have honor, too. Vows must be kept, responsibilities must be met." She got to her feet and looked down into his fathomless green eyes. "It is fortunate that honor and friendship can coincide."

They looked at each other for a suspended moment as everything and nothing was said. Then she turned and walked toward the house, her steps steady so that no one would guess that her eyes were blurred with tears.

Michael sat in the garden for a long time, his eyes unfocused, his breathing slow and deliberate. Sometimes it was convenient to have to pay close attention to the air moving in and out of his lungs, because the effort kept pain at bay, at least for a little while.

It was easy to be obsessed by Catherine. Not only was she beautiful, but she was truly admirable. His mother, sister, and Caroline combined could not have equaled a fraction of her warmth or her integrity. She was perfect in every way, except that she was unattainable. Married beyond redemption.

Yet there was something real between them. Not love, but an acknowledgment that under other circumstances matters might have been very different.

He wondered if there had been a different path he might have chosen when he was younger, one that would have led him to Catherine on the terrible day when she was orphaned. Like Colin, he would have been quick to offer his protection. Unlike Colin, he never would have turned from his wife to other women.

Such speculations were nonsense. He had never seen a path except the one he had taken, which had led him to a warped love that had stained his soul. He got to his feet, feeling as drained as if he'd just fought a battle. Yet under the pain, he was proud that he and Catherine had forged something pure and honorable from what could have been sordid and wrong.

Of course, her husband was a soldier on the brink of war…

He shied away from the thought, appalled that it had even crossed his mind. It would be obscene to hope for the death of a fellow officer. It was also ridiculous to try to look beyond the next few weeks. When battle came, he was as likely to be killed as Melbourne. There were no certainties in life, love, or war.

Except the fact that whether the rest of his life was measured in days or decades, he would never stop wanting Catherine.

Chapter 8

Catherine was dressing for dinner the next evening when Colin entered the bedroom. Instead of ringing for her maid, she asked, "Could you fasten the back of my gown?"

"Of course." His fingers were deft and passionless. She was struck by the sheer strangeness of the way they inhabited the same house, the same marriage, yet never touched emotionally. Their relationship was woven of law, courtesy, convenience, and habit. They almost never fought, because each of them knew exactly how much-and how little-to expect of the other.

After Catherine's gown was secured, Colin moved away and began changing his own clothing. He looked uncomfortable in a way that she recognized. She asked, "Is something wrong?"

He shrugged. "Not really. But… well, I lost a hundred quid at whist last night."

"Oh, Colin." She sank down into a chair. There was never enough money, and a hundred pounds was an enormous sum.

"Don't look at me like that," he said defensively. "I actually did rather well. I was down three hundred before I won most of it back."

She swallowed, trying not to think what they would have done if he had lost so much. "I suppose I should be grateful, but even a hundred pounds will cause problems."

"You'll manage. You always do," he said carelessly. "It was worth losing a little. I was playing with several officers of the Household Guards-men from families with influence."

"Influence may be useful for the future, but we must pay our share of the household expenses now."

"Ask your friend Lord Michael for more-everyone knows the Kenyons are as rich as nabobs." Colin removed his stock and tossed it onto the bed. "The way he's been squiring you around, he obviously fancies you. Has he tried to bed you yet?"

"Nonsense," she snapped. "Are you suggesting that I have behaved improperly?"

"Of course not," he said with bitter amusement. "Who would know that better than I?"

There was sudden, sharp tension as the room pulsed with all of the issues that divided them. Realizing she had overreacted to Colin's casual remark, Catherine said evenly, "Michael is pleasant, but he has escorted me from courtesy, not because he's trying to bed me." And if her words were not quite the whole truth, they were close enough.

Accepting her statement at face value, Colin said, "See if you can turn him up sweet in whatever time is left in this billet. I've been doing some thinking about the future."

Her brows drew together. "What do you mean?"

"After Boney is defeated, the government will cut the army to a fraction of its present size. There's a good chance I'll be retired on half pay. It's time to start looking for another occupation, preferably a nice government post that pays well and leaves plenty of time for hunting." He pulled on a fresh shirt. "Getting such a position will require influence. Luckily, Brussels is teeming with aristocrats this spring. When you're hobnobbing with 'em, be extra charming to anyone who might be helpful when the time comes."

"Very well." The idea did not enthrall her, but since their future would depend on Colin finding a decent post, she must do her part. "Are you going to be dining here?"

"No, I'm meeting friends."

She sighed. "Try not to lose any more money. I can make a shilling stretch until it squeaks, but I'm not a miracle worker."

"There won't be any gaming tonight."

Which meant he would be with one of his women. She wished him a pleasant evening and went downstairs. It was early and Kenneth was the only person in the salon. He was gazing out the window, his shoulders as broad as those of a blacksmith.

"Good evening, Kenneth," she said lightly. "You've been as busy as Michael. I'm beginning to think the infantry works harder than the cavalry."

He turned to her. "Of course-everyone knows that."

She smiled. "You're as bad as my father. He was in the infantry, you know."

Kenneth looked horrified. "The devil you say! How come a nice lass like you married a dragoon?"

"The usual reasons." She poured two glasses of sherry and joined him at the window. The sun was hidden behind the trees, but it gilded the clouds with ocher and crimson and turned Brussels' graceful church spires to dramatic silhouettes. "A lovely sky. At times like this, I wish I could paint."

He sipped his sherry. "So do I."

"You don't? I assumed you must, since you draw so well."

He shrugged. "Drawing is a mere knack. Painting is quite another matter, one I know nothing about."

She glanced at his stern profile. Something in his tone suggested that he regretted that, but an army on campaign would have presented few opportunities to learn, particularly in the years before he received a commission.

Outside, the colors were fading and indigo clouds were gathering on the horizon. How quickly the night was falling. "It's not going to be much longer, is it?" she said softly.

He knew exactly what she meant. "I'm afraid not. The emperor has sealed France's northern borders. There's not a stagecoach, fishing boat, or document getting across- except for the false information Napoleon's agents are merrily spreading, of course. They say the authorities don't expect the campaign to begin before July, but I think war could come at any time."

"I have this sense that… that we're all living in a glass bubble that's about to shatter," she said intensely. "Everything seems larger than life. These last two months feel like a special time that won't come again."

"All times are special, and none ever comes again," he said quietly.

Yet it was human to try to hold back the night. On impulse, she asked, "Could you do a favor for me?"

"Of course. What would you like?"

"Could you do drawings of everyone in the household? Anne and Charles, Colin, the children. The dogs. You. Michael." Most of all, Michael. Seeing Kenneth's quizzical glance, she added quickly, "I'd pay you, of course."

His brows rose. "Really, Catherine, you know better than that."

She stared into her sherry glass. "I'm sorry. I suppose that sounded rather insulting, as if you were a tradesman."

The lines around his eyes crinkled. "Actually, it was a compliment-it would be my first professional drawing commission, except that I can't accept it."

"Of course not. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked."

He cut off her apology with a quick gesture. "I didn't say I wouldn't make the sketches. In fact, I already have a number that would do, but you must take them as a gift."

When she tried to thank him, he said, "No thanks are necessary. You and Anne have the gift of taking an assortment of misfit pieces and creating a home from them." He gazed out at the nearly dark sky. "It's been a long time since I've had a home. A very long time."

His wistfulness made her lay her hand over his, a gesture that was as easy with him as it was complicated with Michael. "When you do the sketches, don't forget the self-portrait."

"If I try to do one, the paper might spontaneously disintegrate," he said dryly.

"As Molly would say, you're so silly."

They both laughed. Removing her hand, she went on, "Are you going to the Duchess of Richmond's ball next week? It's supposed to be the grandest entertainment of the spring."

He gave an elaborate shudder. "No, thank heaven, I'm not important enough to rate an invitation. I'll be at the duke's ball on the twenty-first, though. Since he's commemorating the Battle of Vitoria, he'll expect his officers to be there."

She smiled teasingly. "I shall expect a dance with you."

"Absolutely not. I am quite willing to give you my drawings or my life, but dancing is quite another matter."