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waist and fixed him with a haughty stare. “I was going to thank you for retrieving my trunks, but now I am not.”
    “Oh you’re not, are you?” he asked.
    Was it her imagination or was he fighting back a smile? She frowned. Marcus did not smile, or laugh, or take joy in anything beyond his bloody ledgers. The man she had fallen in love with was gone and no amount of hoping would make it otherwise. Hadn’t she learned that the hard way? Remain aloof, she reminded herself sternly. Do not allow yourself to care. If you care, he can hurt you and you cannot stand to be hurt anymore.
    “No I am not,” she said stiffly. “For you should have fetched my things this evening past so I did not have to go to bed in damp clothes. No doubt I shall catch pneumonia or some other dreadful disease, all because of your inherent laziness.”
    “My inherent laziness, hmm?” he echoed and this time there was no mistaking the grin that curved his lips and lifted the corners of his eyes. “I suppose it was my, ah, ‘inherent laziness’ that had you screaming out my name last night?”
    “Marcus!” Her cheeks flushed a dull pink.
    “What?” he asked innocently.
    “You s-shouldn’t speak like that,” she stammered. Thrown off guard by his unusually playful demeanor she crossed the small kitchen and gazed out the window. The glass was dingy and in desperate need of a good cleaning, but she could still see the sky was bright blue with nary a cloud in sight. Fields filled with wild flowers tumbled off in every direction, making the view pretty as a picture. She had forgotten how beautiful it was here, so far secluded from the hustle and bustle of London . Absently toying with a stray lock of hair that had come loose from the silk ribbon, she wondered what her three best friends were doing without her. She bit her lip to contain a smile. Sinful things, no doubt.
    It was a running joke amongst the four of them that Catherine, despite her promiscuous reputation, was the most saintly of them all. Only Margaret, Grace, and Josephine knew she had always been faithful to Marcus. It made it easier to bear knowing her friends understood the depths of her faithfulness, even if her husband did not. They had all urged her on more than one occasion to tell him the truth, but her stubbornness was too great a burden to overcome. If Marcus ever asked her if she was guilty of adultery she would reply honestly, but he never had. Instead he continued to believe rumor and speculation over his own wife and for that – even more than his abandonment of her – Catherine could never forgive him.
    “I like your hair like that,” Marcus whispered suddenly in her ear and she jerked, not having heard him get up from the table. His wide hands encircled her slim waist and pulled her back until her bottom bumped softly against his groin. Through her skirt she felt the hardness of his arousal and she steeled herself against him with all   of her strength even as her traitorous heart beat faster.
    “With your hair loose and flowing, like you used to wear it,” he continued, his lips brushing the curve of her ear before sliding lower to nuzzle at her jaw.
    She closed her eyes and braced her fingers against the windowsill. “Marcus, please do not do this.”
    “Do what?” His clever hands slowly made their way up from her waist to cup her breasts, rubbing small circles against the yellow fabric until her nipples hardened and ached. “You smell like violets and sunshine,” he whispered.  
    She bit her lip to keep from gasping in helpless surrender and held herself stiff, so stiff she feared she might break, but it would be better to break into a thousand pieces than have him see the unrequited love shining in her eyes.
    “If you wish to amuse yourself go find a whore, Marcus,” she snapped. “One who will enjoy your touch, for I cannot stand it! I have agreed to share your bed, but I do not have to put up with being… being groped in the