Lynley finally looked at his friend and found him smiling. Amusement danced in St. James’s eyes. “Absolutely,” Si replied.

★ ★ ★

As they drove in the darkness back to the lodge, Barbara studied Lynley furtively, realising that until this evening it had been entirely unthinkable to her that a man such as he could ever have been unsuccessful in love. Yet here on the outskirts of the village was the undeniable evidence of that fact: Deborah.

There had been at the hall a horrified moment with the three of them staring at one another before she had come forward, a tentative smile on her face, a hand outstretched in greeting.

“Tommy! Whatever are you doing in Keldale?” Deborah St. James had asked.

He’d been at an absolute loss. Barbara saw it and intervened. “An investigation,” she replied.

Then the horrible little American had thrown himself into their midst-it was a merciful intervention, really-and the other three began to breathe evenly once more.

Still, St. James had remained in his place by the fire, greeting his friend politely but making no other movement, his eyes for the most part following his wife. If he was concerned about Lynley’s unexpected arrival, if jealousy stirred in him at the man’s blatant feelings, his face betrayed nothing.

Of the two, Deborah had been more obviously distressed. Her colour was high. Her hands had clasped and unclasped repeatedly in her lap. Her eyes had moved restlessly between the two men, and she hadn’t concealed her relief when Lynley suggested their departure at the earliest opportunity after the meal’s conclusion.

Now he was pulling the car in front of the lodge and switching off the ignition. He leaned back and rubbed his eyes. “I feel as if I could sleep for a year. How do you suppose Mrs. Burton-Thomas is going to get rid of that dreadful dentist?”

“Arsenic?”

He laughed. “She’ll have to do something. He was talking as if staying another month were the dearest thing to his heart. What an appalling man!”

“Not exactly the sort one wants to run into on a honeymoon,” she admitted. She wondered if he would pick up the conversational thread, if he would say anything about St. James and Deborah and the awkward coincidence that had flung them into his path. Indeed, she wondered further if he would say anything at all about how he had come to position himself on the worst possible side of this unusual love triangle.

Instead of replying, however, he got out of the car and slammed the door. Barbara watched him shrewdly as he came to her side. Not a ripple appeared on the surface of his calm. He was in firm control. If anything at all, the fop was back.

The lodge door opened and a square of light framed Stepha Odell. “I thought I heard your car,” she said. “You’ve a visitor, Inspector.”

Deborah gazed at her reflection in the mirror. He’d said absolutely nothing since coming into their room, merely walking over to the fire and sitting in the chair, the brandy glass in his hand. She’d watched him, not sure what to say, afraid to penetrate the wall of his sudden isolation. Don’t go that way, Simon, she’d wanted to shout. Don’t cut yourself off from me. Don’t go back to that darkness. But how could she say it and risk having Tommy thrown up in her face?

She ran the water into the bathroom basin and dismally watched its flow. What was he thinking, alone in that room? Was he haunted by Tommy? Did he wonder if she closed her eyes when they made love so she could dream of him? He never once had asked. He never once had questioned. He simply accepted whatever she said, whatever she gave. So what could she say or give to him now, with her past and Tommy’s between them?

She splashed her face repeatedly, dried it, turned off the water, and forced herself to walk back into the bedroom. Her heart sank when she saw that he’d gone to bed. His heavy leg brace lay on the floor near the chair, and his crutches leaned against the wall next to the bed. The room was dark. But in the dying light of the fire she saw that he was still awake, sitting up in fact, with the pillows behind him, watching the glow of the embers.

She walked to the bed and sat down. “I’m in a welter,” she said.

He felt for her hand. “I know. I’ve been sitting here trying to think how I might help you. But I don’t know what to do.”

“I hurt him, Simon. I never intended to, but it happened all the same, and I can’t seem to forget it. When I see him, I feel so responsible for his pain. I want to make it go away. I…I suppose I’d feel better then. Less guilty about it all.”

He touched her cheek and traced the line of her jaw. “If it were only that easy, my love. You can’t make it go away. You can’t help him. He’s got to do it alone, but it’s hard because he’s in love with you. And the fact that you’re wearing a wedding ring doesn’t change that, Deborah.”

“Simon-”

He wouldn’t let her finish. “What bothers me is seeing the effect he has on you. I see your guilt. I want to take it away, and I don’t know how. I wish that I did. I don’t like to see you feeling so wretched.”

She searched his face, finding comfort and peace in the familiar battle of its lines and angles. Utterly unhandsome. A catalogue of agonies lived through and conquered and lived through again. Her heart swelled with love for him. Her throat tightened with the emotion’s sudden intensity.

“Have you actually been sitting in this darkness worried about me? How like you, Simon.”

“Why do you say that? What did you think I was doing?”

“Tormenting yourself with…things in the past.”

“Ah.” He drew her into his arms, resting his cheek on the top of her head. “I won’t lie to you, Deborah. It’s not easy for me, knowing that Tommy was your lover. If it had been some other man, I could have attributed to him all sorts of faults to convince myself that he wasn’t worthy of you. But that’s not the case, is it? He is a good man. He does deserve you. And no one knows that better than I.”

“So you are haunted by it. I thought as much.”

“Not haunted. Not at all.” His fingers moved lightly down her hair to caress her throat and slip the nightdress from her shoulders. “I was at first. I’ll admit that. But frankly, the very first time we made love I realised that I never had to think of you and Tommy again. If I didn’t want to. And now,” she could feel his smile, “every time I look at you, I’m reminded most decidedly of the present, not the past. And then I find that I want to undress you, breathe the fragrance of your skin, kiss your mouth and breasts and thighs. In fact, the distraction’s becoming quite a problem in my life.”

“In mine as well.”

“Then perhaps, my love,” he whispered, “we should concentrate all our energies on seeking a solution.” Her hand slid under the covers. He caught his breath at her touch. “That’s a good beginning,” he admitted and brought his mouth to hers.