So there was to be no invitation to dinner, and he'd been offered only a glass of claret – a glass, moreover, that had not been refilled. Circumstances had certainly changed at Stoneridge Manor, and not for the better, the disgruntled lawyer decided, picking up his hat and gloves from the table in the hall.

The earl accompanied him to the front door, where he shook hands briskly, and then turned back to his book room without waiting to see Lawyer Crighton into his gig. He was aware he'd dealt somewhat brusquely with the man, but he was too anxious to get him out of the house before Theo reappeared.

He paced the small room for a few minutes, considering his next move. Theo was bound to be annoyed at her unceremonious exclusion from the interview, but now the danger was past, and Crighton wouldn't drop in unexpectedly another time; he could afford to be as conciliatory as necessary to smooth her ruffled feathers.

He'd suggested duck hunting earlier. Henry had reported that the sport at Webster's Pond was held to be excellent. Apart from a few poachers, it was rarely hunted, since it was on private Stoneridge land.

Maybe the idea of a competition would appeal to her. He'd never known Theo to refuse a challenge of any kind. The thought made him smile, and as he realized how relieved he was, he understood just how desperately anxious he'd been since Crighton had driven up to the door… was it only an hour ago? A lifetime of living with his despicable secret seemed impossible, but he couldn't imagine how he could ever tell her.

He moved to the door just as it opened. Theo came into the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

His words of friendly greeting died on his lips. Her face was paler than he'd ever seen it, and her eyes were depthless caverns.

"So, my lord, your business with Mr. Crighton is concluded?" Her voice was strangely flat.

"Cry peace, Theo," he said, coming toward her, smiling, one hand outstretched. "I know you've been accustomed to participating in these discussions, but -"

"But on this occasion things not for my ears were being discussed," she interrupted in the same expressionless voice. Before he could respond, she continued. "Did you ever consider that I might be too high a price to pay for the estate, my lord? But I imagine no price would be too high."

"You were listening?" His own face now bloodless, Sylvester stared at her, too stunned for the moment to grasp the full horror of this disclosure.

"Yes," Theo said. "I was eavesdropping. Nasty habit, isn't it? But not as nasty as deceit and manipulation, my lord. Did my grandfather know you, I wonder? Did he know what a greedy, dishonorable man he was tempting with his granddaughter's body?"

"Theo, that's enough." He had to take hold of the situation, to stop this dreadful, destructive monologue before something catastrophic was said or done. "You must listen to me."

"Listen to you? Oh, I've listened to you enough, Stoneridge. If I hadn't listened to you, I wouldn't be tied to a despicable, treacherous deceiver."

"Theo, you will stop this instant!" Guilt yielded to anger as her bitter words flew like poison darts across the small room.

"We will talk about this like reasonable people. I understand how you feel -"

"You understand!" she exclaimed, and her eyes were now bright with fury. "You've taken everything from me, and you tell me you understand how I feel." With a sudden inarticulate sound of desperate rage and confusion, she turned and ran from the room.

Sylvester remained where he was, his body immobile, his ears ringing with her accusations. There was a dreadful truth to them, but it was a black-and-white truth, one that ignored the complexities of the decision that he'd made. Theo, headstrong, forthright, free-spirited gypsy that she was, drew her world with the firm strokes of a charcoal pencil, no shading, no wavy lines.

Somehow she had to be persuaded to accept her grandfather's part in all this. Her grandfather had laid out the board, and he himself was as much a goddamned pawn in the old devil's game as Theo.

With a muttered execration he spun on his heel and began to pace the room, the hateful words pounding with his blood in his veins. Dishonorable; treacherous; deceitful. The accusations went round and round in his head until his brain was spinning with them. A dishonorable, treacherous man would give in to the enemy without a fight. Would see his men slaughtered, would surrender the colors, would condemn the survivors of his company to languish in an enemy jail…

He closed his eyes as if he could block out the dreadful images; he covered his ears as if he could erase the voice of General, Lord Feringham at the court-martial, a voice that made no attempt to disguise the general's contempt for the man on trial. What price an acquittal when not even the presiding general had believed in his innocence? They'd turned their backs on him in the court when the verdict had been announced…

And now his wife was hurling the same accusations at his head! Her eyes glittered with the same contempt. And it was not to be borne!

He strode out of the room, hardly knowing what he was doing. "Where's Lady Theo?"

Foster, crossing the hall, paused, looking startled at the violent edge to the abrupt question. What he saw on the earl's face had him stumbling over his words in his haste to answer. "Abovestairs, I believe, my lord. Is something wrong?"

The earl didn't reply, merely stalked past him and took the stairs two at a time. Foster stroked his chin, frowning. The slamming of a door resounded through the late-afternoon stillness of the house. The butler knew immediately it was the door to the countess's apartments. Something was badly wrong, and for once he was at a loss. Should he interfere? Send Lady Theo's maid up on some pretext, perhaps? Go himself? He waited, but stillness had settled over the house again. Uneasily, he returned to the butler's pantry and the silver he was cleaning.

Theo gazed, white-faced, at her husband as the door crashed shut behind him. "Am I to be granted not even the privacy of my own room?" she demanded with icy contempt. "I realize the entire house belongs to you, Lord Stoneridge. I suppose it's too much to expect -"

"Theo, stop!" he ordered, his eyes on the bed where an open portmanteau lay. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"What does it look like?" She pulled a nightgown from a drawer and tossed it into the bag. "I'm going to the dower house. The one part of the estate you didn't manage to get your thieving hands on!" Her voice was thick, and angrily she dashed tears from her eyes with her forearm before hurling her ivory-backed hairbrushes and combs on top of the nightgown.

She didn't look at him and didn't see his expression as she continued, blind in her rage and hurt. "The dower house was left free and clear to my mother, and not even a deceitful, treacherous liar would be cowardly enough to storm into the house of an unprotected woman."

The repeated insults finally unloosed the crimson tide of rage, and Sylvester fought to hold on to his anger even as he determined to compel her retreat. "By God, you're going to take that back," he stated. "That and every other insult you've thrown at me in the last hour."

"Never!" she retorted, shifting her stance imperceptibly, her eyes sharply focused, calculating his next move.

Sylvester came toward her, his eyes blazing in his drawn countenance. Theo snatched her hairbrush from the portmanteau and hurled it at him. It caught him a glancing blow on the shoulder. He swore and ducked as a shoe followed the brush and he found himself in the midst of a veritable tempest of flying objects as Theo grabbed whatever was to hand – cushions, books, shoes, ornaments – and flung them at his head.

"You goddamned termagant!" he bellowed as a glass figurine flew past his ear and crashed in a shiver of crystal against the wall. He lunged for her, coming in low, catching her around the waist, lifting her off her feet before she could counterattack.

Theo cursed him with the vigor and fluency of a stable hand, and he realized that until now he'd only heard the tip of the iceberg when it came to his wife's vocabulary. In other circumstances the realization might have amused him.

Theo found herself in the corner of the room, her face pressed to the wall, her hands gripped at the wrists and pushed up her back, not far enough to hurt, but coercive, nevertheless. Sylvester's body was against hers, holding her into the corner so she had no space, no possibility of independent movement.

"Now," he said, breathing heavily in the aftermath of that struggle, his voice hard with determination. "Take it back, Theo. Every damn word."

She threw another savage oath at him. Tensing her muscles, she tested her strength against the physical wall at her back. She could feel the rigidity of his body, a barrier as hard and invincible as a wall of steel. At her movement he brought one knee up and pushed it into her backside, pressing her even more securely into the corner.

"Take it back, Theo," he repeated, softly now, but his intention still as hard as agate. "We aren't moving from here until you do so."

He could feel her resistance as pulsing waves emanating from the taut body, and he concentrated every fiber of his being on winning this battle of wills. He knew on the most primitive level that he could not tolerate his wife's contempt. He'd endured a lifetime's worth of scorn and opprobrium from men whose opinion he valued, men he'd counted as friends and colleagues, and he didn't think those wounds would ever close.

"Listen to me," he said into the silence. "You have the right to be angry… you have the right to an explanation -"

"You talk of rights, of explanations, when you've taken -"

"Give me a chance!" he interrupted. "You have only half the story, Theo."

"Let me go." She twisted against him, but she knew it was futile.

"When you take back those insults. I'll not tolerate being called a coward by you or anyone."

The intensity in his voice pierced her fury and bewilderment. Vaguely she remembered tossing "cowardly" into the seething cauldron of accusations, but it had been one epithet among many. His hands were warm on her wrists, and she could feel the blood in his thumbs beating against her own pulse. His breath rustled over the top of her head, and the power of his frame seemed to enclose her, to swallow her as it did when they made love, and her confusion grew as her body's memory sprang alive with the knowledge of the hours of pleasure they'd shared.

Sylvester felt the change in her, the confusion tangling now with her anger, the smudging of her hard edges. "Let's be done with this," he said. His thumb moved against her wrist.

His closeness was suddenly more than she could bear. It muddled the clarity of her anger, the absolute knowledge of her betrayal. He'd used her body to betray her, and now it was happening again.

"All right," she said, desperate for release. "All right, I take it back. I've no evidence you're a coward."

Sylvester exhaled slowly and moved them both out of the corner. Theo glanced up at him and saw no satisfaction at this small capitulation. His face was drawn, his eyes strained. He looked like a man on his way to the gallows.

"Let's talk about this now," he said.

Theo shook herself free of his slackened grip. "There's nothing to talk about. I don't even want to be in the same room with you." Pushing past him, she made for the door.

She had her hand on the latch, but Sylvester was on her heels. "No, you don't!" He banged the door closed as she pulled it open. He stood with his shoulders against it and regarded her with near desperate frustration. "Damn it, woman, you're going to listen to me." He closed his eyes wearily for a second, rubbing his temples with his thumb and forefinger. "It's not going to do any good to run away from it."

"Why should I listen to you?" she demanded. "You're a liar and a hypocrite! Why should I ever believe a word you say?"

"Because I've never told you a lie," he said quietly.

"What? You have the unmitigated gall to deny…" She turned from him with an exclamation of disgust. "I loathe you."

A muscle twitched in his drawn cheek, and there was a white shade around the taut mouth, but he fought to keep his voice moderate. "Just consider for a minute. My actions were dictated by your grandfather. It was your grandfather who concocted the terms of the will. I can only guess at his reasons." He explained the details of the codicil.