He did not know quite what he was going to do when he returned to London. His not-insubstantial mansion in the city would seem bleak and empty without Anne, and the activities that life there offered would appear even more shallow and meaningless than they had in the last year. He had never wanted to live in the country since leaving his grandparents' home to go to school. He had always thought that life had nothing duller to offer. Now he would have liked nothing more than to settle down to a quiet domestic life with his wife and daughter.

His daughter. At least he would have Catherine to give some meaning to his life and to remind him of Anne. She was a thorough delight. As soon as he returned home, he must find her a suitable nurse. But he did not intend abandoning her to the care of servants. He was going to be an attentive father. It was ironic, really, that he had never been fond of children. He had never noticed them, in fact. Yet now he was contemplating the care of his daughter as the brightest spot in his future.

Merrick was standing in the library, a glass of brandy in his hand, staring out into the darkness of late evening. Calling the room a library, he thought, turning to look around him, was to dignify the room considerably. There were very few books there. Now if he were to move here from London, he could bring his substantial library with him. His books would show to advantage in this room, which Anne had brightened with new green velvet drapery, an Oriental rug, and a newly varnished desk. He would be able to sit there, in that old leather chair before the fire, reading, knowing that at any time he could put down the book and join his wife in another room of the house.

Merrick made a gesture of impatience and drank the remains of his brandy in one gulp. There was no point in such self-indulgent thoughts. That was his trouble. He had always been insufferably selfish. Let him do one selfless deed in his life. No more talking about leaving. He would do it the next day. He would go now and tell Anne. She might as well know as soon as possible that the peace was to be restored to her life before another day had passed. She should know that soon all traces of his presence would be removed from her life. He put his glass down on the desk and strode from the room.

Anne was in her own room, ready for bed. She had put on her nightgown and brushed out her hair. Bella had been dismissed for the night. The baby had been fed. It was so much easier now that she was sleeping through the night. She was standing by the window of her room, staring out into the darkness. It was almost March, almost spring. She had smelled it in the air that morning, when she had been walking in the garden. Soon the first flowers would be in bloom. Would Alexander see them? Somehow it seemed very important to her that he should. Almost she felt she would be safe if he could only see the spring blooms, though she could not explain to herself why she felt this way. It was no good, though. She must reconcile herself to the fact that he would go soon. She could not keep him much longer.

There was a brief tap on her door and it opened. Anne turned, expecting to see Bella returned for some forgotten item. Her eyes widened when her husband stepped into the room.

"My apologies," he said. "I did not realize that you had retired already. But I did not wish to wait until morning. I shall be leaving tomorrow, Anne."

Her stomach lurched and her knees felt weak, but she showed no outward sign. "I see," she said.

"You will be glad to see me go," he said abruptly. "Soon your garden will be keeping you busy, I expect."

"Yes," she said.

"I shall try to leave before noon," he said, "so that we can be home before dark. I shall take the carriage and have it returned within a few days for your convenience."

"Yes," Anne said, "that sounds sensible." Her hands were twisting the sides of her nightgown.

"I shall take Nurse with me and hire a wet-nurse as soon as we reach London," he said.

"What?"

"Is she too young to be weaned?" he asked. "I am not sure. I have meant to ask you."

"What are you talking about?" Anne was whispering.

"I shall take Catherine with me tomorrow," he said. "Perhaps she is too young to be taken from you, but I thought it best to take her when I am here to care for her and protect her on the way. My God, Anne!"

Merrick lunged forward and caught his wife as her knees buckled under her. He could almost feel sound coming from her before the terrible wail finally escaped her lips.

"My God," he said, "what is it?"

But Anne could only wail and clutch at him. He looked around for a glass of water and cursed the luckless Bella when he found none.

Finally Anne's hysteria gave way to sobs, but she continued to clutch at Merrick's sleeves. "Oh, you could not be so cruel," she managed to get out between sobs. "Don't be so cruel, Alexander. Please. Oh, what have I ever done to deserve this. Oh, please, no. I just want to die."

Merrick took her firmly by the arms and sat her down on the edge of the high bed. He knelt on the floor in front of her and smoothed a damp strand of hair away from her face. "What is it?" he said. "What have I done?"

Anne covered her face with her hands. "Don't take Catherine from me, Alex," she said, still unable to control her sobs. "Please, anything but that. Don't take her from me. She is all I have."

He stared up at her for a moment and then got to his feet and drew her into his arms, pressing her face against his shoulder. "Anne," he said against her hair, "I didn't know. Don't distress yourself like this. I didn't know."

She was too distraught to hear him. "Please, Alex," she said. "Please. Don't take Catherine. Oh, I shall die. I shall die." She put her arms up around his neck and clung to him.

"Hush," he said, rocking her in his arms. "Hush, love. I would not hurt you for worlds. Hush now."

Anne still did not hear his words. But some instinctive part of herself knew that there was comfort somewhere within reach. She turned a tearstained face up to him without even knowing she did so, without even seeing him. And he kissed her.

They were both shaken, Anne by the terrible shock of knowing that he meant to take her daughter away from her, he by the realization that he would not even have the child with whom to comfort himself when he left the following day. Grief on both sides quickly ignited into passion. They set each other on fire with eager, searching hands, hot, demanding mouths and tongues, and bodies that arched into each other. They reached blindly for the ultimate comfort, the ultimate release from feelings that were too intense to be borne.

Merrick tore at her nightgown, too impatient to open the buttons down the front, and lifted her naked body onto the bed. He followed her there in but a few moments, his own clothes having suffered just as rough a fate. He came between her thighs and pushed urgently into her so that she cried out and twined her arms and legs around him. And together they found a rhythm intense in its need to be completed. He thrust deeper and deeper into her, and she opened and lifted herself more intimately against him, each straining for the unity that their love craved, both believing in their hearts that it was in reality but a one-sided experience. Yet they reached their climax together and murmured their release against each other's lips.

When rational thought returned, Anne found herself lying in the crook of her husband's arm, both of them still warm and damp from the exertions of their passion, covered by a disordered tumble of blankets, which Alexander must have pulled over them. She felt sore. It was almost a year since he had last used her, and she supposed that recent childbirth had left her tender. It would pass. It was almost a pleasant discomfort, caused as it was by the body of her husband, whom she loved. She turned further into the warmth of the naked man beside her.