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What—?” She swallowed hard. Nothing
had escaped him in the past. That hadn’t changed. He must have
sensed his sister was in love. “Of course not. But why do you think
she would run away rather than ask your permission?”
    His brow rose sharply. “Because sometimes
women do damned illogical things.”
    “All right. I agree. But I have conditions
for you.”
    His mouth neared hers, making her go almost
cross-eyed as she watched his beautiful lips approach. Oh, how she
ached for another kiss.
    “Indeed?” he asked.
    She fought for control. “No more kissing,”
she said tersely. She wanted to throw these rules to the wind, and
she wanted to kiss him and never stop. But she couldn’t. “No more
touches. That’s behind us, Lyan. There can never be anything
between us again.”
     
    * * * * * * * * *
     

Chapter Four
     
    “Why did you do it, Sally? Why did you run
out on me before I came back for you? I thought—apparently like a
blind fool—you intended to be my wife.”
    Estelle jerked her gaze from the carriage
window, where she had kept it fixed for several hours. The carriage
lamps were lit now, so all she could see was a shadowy reflection
of her own face.
    Lyan was sprawled over the seat across from
her, his long legs splayed to make room for them in such a way that
his Hessians did not touch her slippers. His arms stretched along
the back of the velvet-covered bench. Ever since they had entered
the carriage together, he had stared fixedly out whatever window
proved opposite to the one she gazed at. Each time she’d stolen a
surreptitious glance, she’d discovered he was not looking at
her.
    That was for the best. It would be stupid and
irresponsible to feel anything else, any sort of girlish pang. She
had long stowed away the desires and foolish fantasies that always
began with the question “what if.” From the moment she’d made her
choice to run away, then discovered she was carrying Rose, she had
known exactly what she must do. Survive, build a business, invent a
plausible story about widowhood, and raise her daughter. Rose had
been what she’d lived for.
    Her future had been mapped out. Decided. It
was not to be changed. What she could do was shape the futures of
others.
    She did owe Lyan some sort of explanation,
but although she’d had ten years to concoct one, she had never come
up with one that satisfied her. Fear had been the reason she had
run—not fear of Lyan, but dark fears that had lived deep inside
her. Yet she hadn’t been as afraid of living alone as she had been
of marriage, and that seemed like madness now.
    “I did it so I could have what I have now,”
she said.
    “What do you have now?” he asked. “I could
have given you anything you wanted. I would have moved heaven and
earth for you.”
    Did Lucifer sound like this—like
smooth-flowing brandy or like chocolate when it bubbled in a
cup—when he promised to fulfill a woman’s dreams in return for her
soul?
    There were so many times she had wished for
someone to rely on. The only thing that had stopped her from
surrendering to the pretty dream of letting a man take care of her
was the certain knowledge that no man would. Just as men had
promised her mother protection and had given her nothing but
pain.
    Estelle cleared her throat, as if just a
little more time would clear away the heat wrapping tentative
fingers around her heart, the yearning blossoming between her
thighs. “I have my business and enough money to survive. I have my
daughter. I suppose what I have is success and security.”
    “But you have no husband. No one to protect
you.”
    “I protect myself.” She managed a smile.
“You, of all people, must remember I am capable of that.”
    “Aye,” he answered with a breathtaking grin
of his own, one that carved dimples deep enough to make her knees
quiver. “I still bear a few scars to prove it.”
    She had forgotten what this was like. For ten
years, she had worked every minute of the day. Her