All right, so we didn't ride this morning. On the other hand we didn't get to our bed until nearly three o'clock."

His wife rose and walked to him. She was wearing a lovely soft pink silk dress that was, he saw, cut far too low, displaying too much of a magnificent bosom. She touched her fingertips to his sleeve and said, eyes twinkling, "And then you were resolved to show me an excess of affection, Douglas."

Douglas looked at her barely covered breasts, grunted, and poured himself another snifter of brandy. His fingers still tingled at the thought of touching her. It was amazing.

MEGGIE WORE HER new dark blue riding habit with its beautifully worked lace spilling out over the bodice, fitted at the waist with a narrow cloth belt. The skirts were full and looked quite elegant spread around her as she sat atop Eleanor's back, her black boots peeping out, waiting for Jeremy Stanton-Greville. Stanton-Greville. She'd always thought two last names sounded rather absurd, but realized that if everything came to pass as she wanted it to, as she prayed it would, why, she herself would have two names as well. She started, surprised at herself. Meggie Stanton-Greville. Yes, it sounded simply perfect. She pulled in a deep breath and wanted to be sick, but she wasn't about to deny it. She wanted to marry Jeremy Stanton-Greville and she'd only known him as a man for less than a day. It was madness.

No, no, it wasn't as if he were a stranger to her, he wasn't. She'd known he was hers from that day when she was only thirteen years old. So she had forgotten him for five years. He'd probably forgotten her as well.

Now that she thought about it, deeply, she decided that two names had become, overnight, quite distinguished.

She yearned for two names.

It was exactly seven-thirty in the morning, a dreary cold morning, with fat gray rain clouds hanging low overhead. To Meggie, the gray clouds were lovely, the morning was perfect, holding more promise than the day before, more delight than just an hour before.

Yes, it would rain, but not for several hours, that was what Old Hamish had told her. He was the head stable lad, all of sixty years old, gnarly as an old oak and very smart about the weather. Surely she would have Jeremy out of the park, off his horse, and under a lovely romantic shelter before it started raining. All she needed was two hours, maybe less. She was committed; she was focused. She just had to set Jeremy thinking on a straight line, one that led directly to her. She just had to assist him to truly understand why he was really here in London. A distant boom of thunder sounded.

Ah, let it rain, she didn't care. But her riding habit, her beautiful new hat. No, only Jeremy mattered, and how he would feel when she poured out her heart to him. Not immediately, no, it would surprise him, perhaps make him wary of a girl who professed to have fallen in love with him when she was thirteen. No, she would hold back until the time was right, until he looked at her and simply knew she was his mate.

She looked up to see two people riding toward her. She looked away, lips pursing. Well, blessed hell, she didn't want two strangers anywhere near her. She just wanted Jeremy, and she wanted him alone. The two horses kept coming straight at her. Meggie cocked her head to one side and looked now, really looked.

It was a man and a woman. The man, who looked like a bloody centaur riding a magnificent black barb, was Jeremy Stanton-Greville. As for the woman, curse her eyes, she was young. She was riding very close to Jeremy.

Meggie felt her heart begin to pound, slow thumping strokes. Her breath suddenly whooshed out when she realized she'd forgotten to breathe. She waited, sitting very still atop Eleanor.

Jeremy waved to her. In just another short moment he and the young woman were directly in front of her, not more than three feet from Eleanor's nose.

"Meggie," Jeremy said, riding his horse just a bit closer, extending his hand to take hers briefly, "I am so glad you're here. I wasn't sure that you would be here this morning. It's on the chilly side, you know."

"Yes," Meggie said, "I know. I wanted to see you." But she wasn't looking at him in that moment, she was staring at the most beautiful young lady she'd ever seen in her life, who had also ridden a big closer. Her glossy black hair was arranged in artful tight curls around her face with the rest of it pulled up atop her head into an Adonis knot. So much black hair, thicker than a female deserved, just barely covered by a clever little riding hat with a curling feather that caressed her white cheek. Ah, and such lovely white skin. She was more beautiful than a woman should be. Meggie wouldn't be surprised if her bloody name were Helen.

The goddess smiled, a quite lovely smile that reached those incredible blue eyes of hers.

Jeremy said, "Charlotte, I would like you to meet one of my favorite cousins, Meggie Sherbrooke. Meggie, this is Charlotte Beresford, my betrothed."

Betrothed. In that moment everything in Meggie closed down. She'd heard the term coup de foudre-struck by lightning, to signify falling in love upon first seeing someone. This was a different sort of lightning. This coup de foudre sliced right to her heart and split it apart, shattering it into a million pieces.

"How do you do," Meggie said in another's voice as the real Meggie lay there beneath Eleanor's hooves, mortally wounded. Both parts of her wished the heavens would burst open, right this instant, and every fat cloud would dump every ounce of rain until she drowned in it. No, until that damnable young lady named Charlotte drowned in it.

"I am very fine, thank you, Miss Sherbrooke," said the young lady. She grinned toward Jeremy and lightly tapped her riding crop to his sleeve. "I have told Jeremy that he comes from such a distinguished family. His uncle Douglas is known by simply everyone, you know. I believe your father is the vicar who is also Baron Barthwick of Kildrummy, is that right, Miss Sherbrooke?"

"Yes," Meggie said, and hated Charlotte Beresford all the way to the soles of her lovely pale gray boots, that perfectly matched her riding gown and that damned artful little hat she wore.

"I have been told that your other uncle, Mr. Ryder Sherbrooke, Jeremy's brother-in-law, has even taken a seat in the House of Commons. So quaint for a younger son, don't you think?"

"Not quaint at all," Meggie said. Jeremy, who was looking a bit puzzled, hastened to say in the abrupt silence, "My brother-in-law hates to see children abused. He works tirelessly to abolish child labor." Charlotte said, "I am eager to meet him. You and I haven't spoken of it, but I must say that I feel the same way. It makes one want to weep to think of the poor little ones forced to work at looms for untold hours on end." She nodded to Jeremy but continued to Meggie, "Jeremy is taking me to Chadwyck House next week to meet his sister and his brother-in-law. And also to Brandon House to meet all the Beloved Ones."

Meggie wished Charlotte would shut her lovely pink-lipped mouth, particularly since everything that had emerged was filled with kindness and charm. Damn the woman. She was Jeremy's betrothed.

"Meggie," Jeremy said now, pulling his gelding in beside Eleanor and motioning Charlotte to pull into the other side of her, "Shall we ride now? You and I can talk about your wild and fractious childhood tonight." He paused, patted her hand. "I wanted you so much to meet Charlotte."

"How very thoughtful of you, Jeremy," Meggie said, that distant Meggie, not the Meggie who lay in pieces on the ground. When it began to rain a few minutes later, she didn't even blink, just smiled at Jeremy, at Charlotte, and said, "It is too inclement to ride. Goodbye."