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black eyebrow in a superior fashion that made her want to clout him. Not a new sensation. “Now that’s something I’d like to see,” he said.
    “What?”
    “Gratitude.”
    He knew he had her at a disadvantage and he wasn’t likely to rise above that fact. She gritted her teeth. “It’s all I can offer.”
    The smile that curved his lips was pure devilry. Another shiver ran through her. Like the last one, it was a shiver with no connection to the cold. “Your imagination fails you, my dear countess.”
    Her throat closed with nerves — and that reluctant physical awareness she couldn’t ignore. He hadn’t shifted, yet suddenly she felt physically threatened. Which was ridiculous. During all their years apart, he’d given no indication he wanted anything from her except her absence. One chance meeting wasn’t likely to turn him into a medieval robber baron who spirited her away to his lonely tower.
    Nonetheless, she had to resist stepping back. She knew from bitter experience that her only chance of handling him was to feign control. “What do you want?”
    This time he did step closer, so his great height overshadowed her. Close enough for her to think that if she stretched out her hand, she’d touch that powerful chest, those wide shoulders. “I want …”
    There was a piercing whinny and a sudden pounding of hooves on the snow. Appalled, disbelieving, Alicia turned to see Harold galloping away on one of the carriage horses.
    “Harold?”
    Her voice faded to nothing in the night. He didn’t slow his wild careening departure. She’d been so engrossed in her battle with Kinvarra, she hadn’t even noticed that Harold had caught one of the stray horses.
    Kinvarra’s low laugh was scornful. “Oh, my dear. Commiserations. Your swain proves a sad disappointment. I wonder if he’s fleeing my temper or yours. You really have no luck in love, have you?”
    She was too astonished to be upset at Harold’s departure. Instead she focused on Kinvarra. Her voice was hard. “No luck in husbands, at any rate.”
    Kinvarra suffered Alicia’s hate-filled regard and wondered what the hell he was going to do with his troublesome wife in this wilderness. The insolent baggage deserved to be left where she stood, but even he, who owed her repayment for numerous slights over the years, wouldn’t do that to her.
    It seemed he had no choice but to help.
    Not that she’d thank him. He had no illusions that once she’d got what she wanted — a warm bed, a roof over her head and a decent meal — she’d forget any promises of gratitude.
    In spite of the punishing cold, heat flooded him as he briefly let himself imagine Alicia’s gratitude. She’d shed that heavy red cloak. She’d let down that mass of gold hair until it tumbled around her shoulders. Then she’d kiss him as if she didn’t hate him and she’d …
    From long habit, he stopped himself. Such fantasies had sustained him the first year of their separation, but he’d learned for sanity’s sake to control them since. Now they only troubled him after his rare meetings with his wife.
    This was the longest time he and Alicia had spent together in years. It should remind him why he avoided her company. Instead, it reminded him that she was the only woman who had ever challenged him, the only woman who had ever matched him in strength, the only woman he’d never been able to forget, desperately as he’d tried.
    He smiled into her sulky, beautiful face. “It seems you’re stuck with me.”
    How that must smart. The long ride to his Yorkshire manor on this cold night suddenly offered a myriad of pleasures, not least of which was a chance to knock a few chips off his wife’s pride.
    She didn’t respond to his comment. Instead, with an unreadable expression, she stared after her absconding lover. “We’re only about five miles from Harold’s hunting lodge.”
    The wench didn’t even try to lie about the assignation, blast her. “If he manages to stay on