‘Well, I’m certainly not going to bore you with my problems tonight,’ Adam went on quietly. ‘Especially after such a pleasant evening. You know, this house was getting to be a veritable tomb until tonight. No laughter, no fun, no gaiety anymore. Things are going to be different from now on,’ he exclaimed. He lit a cigarette, feeling unexpectedly elated.

Olivia observed him thoughtfully. She found in Adam every quality she most admired and respected. His intellect and his cultivation were a constant revelation. Her eyes lingered on his handsome face. He has such distinction and grace, she thought. And such beautiful eyes. Large and widely set and lucent. So different from her husband’s eyes. His had been small, black, and deeply socketed. Charles had always been considered a handsome man. She herself had thought him rather too stockily built and glowering to be truly handsome. She had not loved Charles at all. Poor dead Charles. Her father had arranged the marriage.

‘Penny for your thoughts,’ said Adam, watching her intently, fully conscious of her introspection.

Olivia jumped, startled from her reverie, and, taken off guard, she said, ‘I was thinking about Charles.’

‘Oh. I see.’ So that was it. Adam concentrated on the tip of his shoe, so she would not notice the expression on his face. If he were honest with himself he had to admit he had also been jealous of Charles.

Now he said in a gentle voice, ‘Are you happy, Olivia? I have often wondered about that lately.’

‘Of course I’m happy,’ she cried. Did he imagine-could he possibly believe she was grieving for Charles? ‘Why would you think I am not happy?’

A faint smile played on his lips. ‘I don’t know, really. I suppose because you are alone. No one wants to be alone. You are still a young woman, and a beautiful one at that. I’m sure you must have other suitors, as well as Andrew Melton.’ He tried to laugh. ‘Why, I saw a decided gleam in Bruce McGill’s eye tonight, and I don’t doubt there are other gentlemen with expectations.’

Olivia sipped the brandy. Her eyes were brilliant and they did not leave his face. ‘Andrew is not a suitor,’ she said. ‘He is a good friend, that’s all. Nor am I interested in Bruce McGill.’ She gave him a long look. ‘Actually, I’m not interested in any man,’ she exclaimed more strongly. And thought: Only in you, my darling, but you are my sister’s husband and therefore you will never know.

Adam ran his hand through his hair impatiently. ‘Do you mean you have not considered the idea of remarrying?’ he pressed.

‘No, I haven’t, because I have no intention of remarrying. Ever.’ Olivia hesitated and then said, ‘Adam, I am a little cold. Would you mind closing the window, please?’

‘At once,’ he said, leaping up.

When he returned, Olivia edged to the end of the sofa. ‘Please sit here, by my side, Adam. There is something I must ask you.’

He had no alternative but to lower himself on the sofa. He did this with a certain grimness, avoiding the merest contact with her.

‘Yes, Olivia? What is it, my dear?’

‘I am troubled because you are, or rather were, so upset earlier. I know you said you did not wish to talk about your problems tonight. But can’t you confide in me?’ She gave him the most tender of smiles. ‘It does help to talk to a friend on occasions, and I hate to see you distresssd.’

Adam wondered how to extricate himself. He certainly could not tell her the real reasons for his disquiet earlier. ‘There is nothing to discuss, Olivia,’ he said finally. ‘I suppose I worry about the children, the mill, and the newspaper. Just the usual everyday worries of a man in my position. But not too serious,’ he lied expertly.

‘And you worry about Adele, don’t you?’ she prompted.

‘To a certain degree,’ admitted Adam, reluctant to think about his wife.

‘Please try to relax about her health. She is better. You told me that yourself, and Andrew agrees. And I am here to help you. To make things easier for you,’ Olivia said in her most reassuring tone.

‘But you will be leaving in a few months. You said you had to return to London in July.’

‘Oh, Adam, you know I will stay as long as I am needed.’

‘Will you really?’ Adam felt his spirits lifting.

She smiled. ‘Yes. Was that worrying you? You know I love being here. And I am quite lonely in London, in spite of my busy life and all of my friends. Adele, the children, and you, why, you are the only family I have now.’ Impulsively, she reached out and placed her hand on his knee in a consoling way. ‘I will stay in Yorkshire as long as you think I am needed.’

Adam could not answer. He could only stare down at her hand. It lay there on his knee, soft and cool and white, like an immobile dove. But it scorched through the cloth of his trousers like hot steel. He felt the flush rising on his neck to suffuse his face. His heart began to beat more rapidly and he had to bite his inner lip to control himself. He picked up her hand, intending to place it safely in her lap. But, as he held it, he found his fingers slowly tightening on hers and he felt her tremble. He looked into her face. Her eyes were so dark they were almost black. And they were filled with that strange sadness he had noticed so often lately.

Olivia returned his gaze steadily, and then, with a small shock, she became conscious of the naked desire on Adam’s face, saw the sensuality on those partially opened lips, heard his rapid breathing, and she was afraid. Not of Adam Fairley. Of herself. She extracted her hand gently, and moved away from him slowly.

A look of suffering flashed into Adam’s eyes, and, before he could stop himself, he reached out and took her hand and brought it up to his lips. He uncurled her fingers and kissed the palm, pressing it to his mouth. He closed his eyes. He thought he would explode.

Olivia’s head lay back on the sofa and her mouth was quivering. A small muscle leapt on her slender white neck, and her breasts rose and fell under the robe. Adam moved closer to her. He looked deeply into her eyes, which hovered so close to his, and at last he recognized that sad expression for what it truly was. It was not sadness at all. It was an aching longing, an undisguised yearning-and it was for him. He knew this unquestionably. Joy surged through him. He bent over her and kissed her, crushing her mouth under his so fiercely her teeth grazed his lips. Her arms were around his neck. Her hands touched the back of his head, his shoulders, his spine, pressing him closer to her. Adam could hear her heart banging against his own and she trembled as violently as he did himself.

Olivia moved slightly within his arms and now he felt the cool insistent touch of her hands against his bare chest. He kissed her hair and her face and her throat, all the while murmuring her name, calling her his love, his darling, his only love, saying things to her he had never said to any woman. And she answered him with the same endearments, her voice vibrating with such love and desire it further thrilled him.

Abruptly, Adam pulled away from Olivia and stood up. He looked down at her. Her eyes were wide and questioning.

Olivia stared back at Adam. His face was congested, his eyes blazed, and his entire body throbbed with unbridled passion as he towered above her. Mesmerized, she was unable to tear her eyes away from him.

In the terrible grip of his own onrushing desire, pushed beyond endurance by the sensuality flaring in him after years of self-imposed celibacy, further aroused by Olivia’s responsive ardour that fully matched his own, and inflamed by drink, Adam Fairley could no longer hold himself in check. Without uttering a word, he picked her up in his arms and carried her across the floor.

Olivia clung to him, her arms wound tightly around him, her face buried in the soft tendrils of hair that curled on the back of his neck. She could hear his heart thudding as loudly as her own. She tightened her grip on him.