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shame and remorse at the thought of her lustful selfishness. If disaster fell upon her and her child, she would only have herself to blame.
    Yet every time she cursed herself for her selfishness, she thought of Jocelyn, too, whom she would not have but for the duke. Because of Jocelyn, she could not be completely sorry for what she had done.
    She gently lifted her daughter and tried to carry her to the other room without waking her. That wasn’t easy, given Jocelyn’s size, but she managed it, and got her into bed without waking Nancy, either.
    Pleased with her success, she returned to her bedroom, closed the connecting door, turned—and collided with Galen Bromney.
    He grabbed hold of her shoulders as she stumbled backward.
    How well she remembered the strength of hisfingers, the feel of his hands on her body, the desire to be held in his powerful arms—memories that she must conquer.
    Panting slightly, she twisted away from him and struggled to regain her composure.
    “Go away!” she ordered quietly, mindful that Nancy and Jocelyn were only a few feet away.
    The hard angles of his face shone in the moonlight as if he were some kind of demonic specter come to haunt her. “That’s not a very polite greeting, considering what we’ve been to each other.”
    She sidled away from the door and away from the duke. “We were very little to each other, I think.”
    “Ah, you sadly underestimate yourself, Verity,” he replied, his voice low and seductive as his intense gaze followed her. “I remember nearly everything about that night, especially the way you left me. Then you departed Lord Langley’s before I came down for breakfast.”
    As tempting as it was to make him understand why she had left as she had, what good would it do?
    “Please leave, Your Grace. You mustn’t be discovered here,” she said, suddenly very aware that she was wearing only her nightdress.
    “Because you don’t want anybody to know I am Jocelyn’s father.”
    The color draining from her face, Verity stared at him.
    “It’s true, isn’t it?” Galen continued inexorably as he came closer to her. “Her age would be right, and she resembles me.”
    Verity sidestepped him and crossed the room. “Please leave, Your Grace.”
    “I have a right to know if the child is mine, Verity.”
    “Go,” she pleaded in a whisper, “and I will tell you all in the morning.”
    “Tell me now.”
    “It is late—”
    “It is indeed late for me to know if she is mine.”
    He moved toward her. “She is, isn’t she?” he asked in a whisper as he reached out and took her again by the shoulders. “You don’t have to tell me. I know she is.”
    He pulled her into his embrace, and she tried to remember why this was wrong. “A stronger, finer man would have sent you from his bedroom that night. Unfortunately, I was weak.” His voice dropped to a sultry whisper. “You make me weak. Even now.”
    Then he kissed her.
    Despite his words, there was nothing weak about his kiss. Just as before, on that long-ago night, his lips took hers with passionate possession, demanding that she surrender to his power and give in to her desire.
    How tempting he was! How dangerously, sinfully tempting…
    But she had learned the consequences of giving in to such dangerous temptation.
    She broke the kiss and pushed him away. “Please, Your Grace, go. I will explain tomorrow.”
    That was another lie. She would sooner march into a den of starving lions than meet the Duke of Deighton alone.
    His expression hardened. “I perceive that whatever attraction I held for you in the past is quite finished.”
    “I was young and foolish then.”
    “Gad, madam, so was I.” He bowed with stiff formality. “It will be as you wish. We will speak again in the morning. Meet me in the library at, say, nine o’clock? I daresay it will be deserted. Eloise’s guests are not generally the sort to read.”
    Nine o’clock. After they had gone.
    Desperate to be away from him, she nodded