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send her to her knees. But truly, it was a small miracle he wasn’t already wed with several children by now. Perfectly legitimate aristocratic children.
    “I see.” Charlotte paused. “Well I wish him well.”
    And she did. She sincerely did.
    It would be utterly selfish of her to begrudge him happiness. And by God she wasn’t selfish. Her absence from his life attested to that. Marrying him would have been selfish.
    “Charlotte, do you know what I believe?” Katie said softly from behind. She hadn’t even heard her approach.
    Charlotte turned. Her sister took her cold hand in hers and looked her directly in the eye. “I don’t for a moment believe there was ever another man—this husband. And I don’t believe you left because you didn’t love Alex.”
    Charlotte went stiff, her spine ramrod straight, feeling vulnerable and exposed. “What?”
    Katie’s mouth curved but it wasn’t a smile. It was entirely too sad to be described as such. “My dear, do give me some credit. I’ve known you all your life. Perhaps, the story you’ve so convincingly rehearsed would have fooled strangers, acquaintances, and perhaps even James and Missy. But this is me. We occupied the same womb for nine months and bedchambers for fifteen years. You would have walked barefoot across the desert for Alex. And as for finding someone else? You had eyes for only him, which would have made that impossible. You loved him then and I’m quite convinced the years apart haven’t changed that one little bit.”
    It should have been a diatribe, for Charlotte had lied to her, but it was not. Katie had exposed her web of well-rehearsed lies in calm, gentle tones, her only proof being her sister’s intimate knowledge of her.
    Thoughts of issuing an emphatic denial flitted through her mind but the lure of understanding in Katie’s eyes had her head dropping as if her neck could no longer support its weight. Her admission conveyed the truth without a single spoken word.
    “Nicholas is Alex’s son, is he not?”

 
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Three
     
    Alex returned home and executed a swift change of clothes. His waistcoat suffered the loss of three of its four shanked, brass buttons. His rage ripped his linen shirt near the seam of the arm. He savaged the button closure of his trousers with his impatience. His drawers were the lone garment to survive the ordeal unscathed. He tamped down his anger long enough to ensure donning his riding clothes was a much less destructive affair.
    He made good time getting to the stables, his long strides clashing with hard earth. Minutes later he sat bent over Shalais, his favorite Arabian mare, his gloved hands closed tight about the reins, flying across Reading’s flat, grassy terrain with the wind at his back.
    With his every labored breath and every stretch of dirt kicked up by Shalais’s hooves, he tried not to think about her . But since the moment he’d left, his attempts at this had been wholly unsuccessful. Her image and the memories would not go willingly into the dark recesses of his mind, refusing to be bowed by the strength of his will.
    Little by little, they seeped back into the forefront of his thoughts as his gray-stoned manor house shrank against the backdrop of a deceptively cloudless, sunlit sky. She had returned, bringing with her ugly and unforgiveable lies, effectively darkening the skies like a swarm of locusts.
    Dusty-rose lips, just as soft and full as he remembered from countless dreams, looked too tempting to be the vehicle of such egregious lies. But those same lips had lied to him before. I love you. Yes, Alex, I’ll marry you. I can’t imagine my life without you.
    With a squeeze of his thighs, Alex urged Shalais into a full-out gallop, trying to expend himself physically to quell the lure of oblivion a glass of alcohol could bring. He needed exhaustion enough to prevent him from the insanity of barreling a path through heavily wooded trees and underbrush to return to