When the meal was over and the vicar had taken his leave, Lady Bothwell had announced that she was going to visit a few friends for several days.

"They have been inviting me for at least a quarter of a century, so it is time I went," she had said. "And newlyweds need to be alone for a while. Mrs. Cummings and the other servants will take care of all your needs."

By the middle of the afternoon they had been alone. And they had had two days together, forty-eight hours into which to cram a lifetime of happiness. No longer.

It was almost beyond belief that the Robert of those two days was the same person as the man who sat silently beside her now, the man who had told her only a little while ago that he had no wish to talk to her at all. He had talked and talked in those two days, and laughed and joked and teased. They had walked a great deal along the cliffs that formed one boundary of the estate and along the wide, sandy beach that could be reached after a difficult climb down a winding cliff path. They had cared nothing for the salt wind that had blown their hair into tangles and whipped color into their cheeks. They had not worried about the sand that filled their shoes and found its way into the rest of their clothing. They had been intent only on each other, their fingers entwined or their arms encircling each other's waists, since there were no other eyes to see and to censure them.

And they had made love for two glorious nights-no, for one glorious night. Robert had not been himself a virgin, but neither had he had a great deal of experience. He certainly had not known how to avoid giving her pain. And she had been hurt at his entry, so much so that she had cried out. It had not been good. He had finished hurriedly and then held her, alternately soothing her and apologizing to her and kissing her face. He had not tried to take her again that night. Yet even then she had felt a certain pride in knowing that she was indeed his wife and that she was now as close to him as any woman could be to a man.

But the next night had been very different. After a whole day in each other's company, they had been far more relaxed, far less nervous of what was to come. He had spent a great deal of time kissing her, touching her, and murmuring to her, so that when he had finally come inside her she had let him take her with him until they had been clinging to each other, sated with a shared ecstasy. She had discovered with wonder that that part of marriage was not to be just a necessary ordeal but that it would be at the very heart of her love for her husband. They had turned to each other time and again during that second and last night, one body, man and wife.

Elizabeth clung now to the seat of the curricle as she looked back on that night over the achingly lonely years between. Hetherington just could not be the same man. They could not possibly have grown so far apart after having shared that.

"Am I traveling too fast for you?" his cool voice asked now.

"What? Oh, no," she said blankly, startled out of her deep thoughts.

"You are clinging to the seat as if you fear for your life," he said. "I assure you that you are quite safe with me."

"Yes, I know," she said breathlessly. No, it could not be. It could not be the same man. There had been no barriers left between her and that other Robert. They had become one entity.

"You are tired," he said. "We shall stop soon for a change of horses, and you will be able to rest for a while and have some refreshment. But we will press on farther until we are stopped by darkness."

"Oh, yes, please," she agreed fervently.

He said not another word to her until they stopped at a posting house one half-hour later. Although she tried to persuade him then to proceed immediately, he insisted that she step inside the inn. He took a private parlor there and ordered her tea and a meal of beef and vegetables. But he did not join her there. When she questioned him later, he told her that he had eaten in the public taproom.

They traveled on for a few more hours until the growing dusk made the roads hazardous for the horses. Hetherington stopped at the next town only to discover that the inhabitants for miles around had descended on the place in anticipation of a boxing mill that was to take place there the next day. There was not a room to be had in the firs! two inns he stopped at, and in the third he was successful only because one patron had been invited to stay at a nearby home and had vacated his room only a few minutes before. There was only the one room available, but he dared not take the chance of traveling farther. All the inns of the town were likely to be full, and it was too dark to drive out of town. He took the room in the name of himself and his wife.

Elizabeth felt numb again. She knew that there was no use in objecting to the arrangements that had been made. They had been turned away from two other inns already and it was perfectly obvious that the whole town would be the same. She allowed Hetherington to lift her to the ground and take her bag from the back of the curricle.

"You will take my arm and stay close beside me," he commanded. And because the inn yard was bustling with horses and ostlers and guests, she obeyed.

She pressed even closer to his side when they entered the inn and stepped straight into the public taproom. It was crowded and noisy. Men sat and stood and jostled one another in every inch of space, it seemed. Elizabeth lowered her eyes and allowed herself to be guided across the room to the staircase. Hetherington was not a tall or a broad man. But he had a certain presence and a charming smile that did not falter in such situations. A path opened for him as if by magic.

Hetherington led the way up the staircase and into a small, dark room that was wholly dominated by a large bed. A washstand, a table, and a chair filled most of the remaining space. Elizabeth felt herself flush with embarrassment. Although the noise from the taproom sounded almost as loud upstairs, they seemed very much alone together in the room. He set her bag down beside the washstand.

"This is quite intolerable," Elizabeth said in a strangled voice.

He looked at her. "I could not agree more, ma'am," he said coldly. "But if you expect me to play the gentleman and offer to stay downstairs tonight, you will be sadly disappointed. I must have a few hours of sleep if I am tl drive you home tomorrow."

Elizabeth walked to the low window opposite the fool of the bed and stared blindly out.

"If you can spare a blanket and a pillow," he continued. "I shall sleep quite comfortably on the floor."

She said nothing.

"I shall go downstairs now," he said. "Lock the door. You must on no account open it to anyone. There are too many revelers around tonight who are in their cups. I shall have the key to let myself in later. Go to bed, Elizabeth, and get some sleep. You have been under much strain today, and tomorrow will not be easy for you. You may rest easy. You have nothing to fear from me."

Elizabeth pressed her forehead against the windowpane and continued to stare out into the darkness. There was silence for a while and then she heard him leave the room and lock the door behind him. She closed her eyes. Robert, Robert, what happened to us? she wondered. But she would not stop to think. She had exhausted herself with memories that afternoon. She must prepare for bed now and climb beneath the covers before he returned. She could not risk being caught in the act of disrobing. In fact, she did not wish to face him in any guise that night.

She wasted several agonized minutes deciding whether to undress or not. Her clothing seemed to offer some measure of defense. Yet her gray cotton dress would be hopelessly creased if she slept in it. And if she removed it to sleep in her chemise, she might as well change into the one nightgown she had brought with her. She undressed hastily, waiting until she was in the relative safety of the nightgown before washing herself at the washbasin.