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him any way we can if that is what you wish."
    Her sister-in-law left the room, and Viola walked to the window. It was a brilliant April afternoon, warm and sunny. Looking down over the square, she could see Hammond 's carriage below, and she remembered another spring nine years before. She remembered the countless times she had stood at this very window during that season so long ago, staring down at Grosvenor Square, wait- ing for the sight of Hammond's carriage, eager and impatient, scared and hopeful, and so, so in love.
    God, it hurt to relive those days, to remember how her spirits would soar every time his carriage came into view, how she could barely stand the wait until she heard his voice in the foyer below, how he could twist her heart with sweet, painful pleasure just by looking at her.
    Do you love me?
    Of course I do. I adore you.
    It hurt to remember the innocence with which she had believed him. It hurt to remember her own vulnerability and the blind devotion with which she had entrusted him with her heart, her soul, and her future.
    She pressed her forehead to the window glass, remembering the pain of heartbreak, of learning that his words and acts of love had been false, that Anthony had been right all along, and it was her money John loved. It was other women he wanted. She still remembered how he had turned his back on her without even trying to understand her feelings about what he had done, how he had abandoned her and walked into the arms of another woman. Then another. Then another. As she stared down at the carriage below, she felt her frustration settling into the deep rage she thought she had overcome a long time ago. The rage of betrayal.
    The liar.
    Viola turned her back on that square below and those memories. She wasn't a girl anymore, she wasn't in love with him anymore, and she most certainly wasn't a fool anymore. There had to be a way out of this mess, and she was going to find it.
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Chapter 3

John had always been an amiable sort of person, even-tempered and slow to anger, but when his anger was provoked, when he was pushed beyond his limits, the results could be catastrophic. Most of the time it was easy for him to maintain his good humor, finding from long experience that a clever remark here and there could ease tensions and keep things civil. There were rare occasions, however, when keeping things civil took some serious effort, and those occasions usually involved someone in the Tremore family. "I am touched by your concern for my finances, my dear duke," he said with deliberate joviality. "Your offer of funds is much appreciated, but I am quite flush nowadays."
    He watched a muscle flick in Tremore's jaw, and since he had just been offered a bribe to go away, he could not help taking a certain satisfaction in his brother-in-law's frustration.
    "Your lack of interest in my purse astonishes me, Hammond. It fascinated you so much during the days preceding your marriage to my sister."
    "If I have been fascinated by your money, how could anyone blame me?" He gestured to the opulent drawing room of turquoise, gold, and white. "You are so superb at waving it about."
    " Hammond ." A serene voice broke in from the doorway, and both men turned to watch the duchess enter the room. "T hank you for coming to call."
    John was glad of her grace's arrival, but he noted that Viola was not with her. In everv crisis of her life, Viola always ran to her brother for help, and her brother always gave it to her. John began to steel himself for the inevitable battle that lay ahead. Tremore was a formidable opponent with far more money and power than he, and this situation was bound to become a difficult, wrenching, emotional mess. Viola knew how he hated that sort of thing, but if she thought that would make him abandon his intentions, she was mistaken.
    "Duchess," he greeted, with a bow and a kiss on her hand. "What a pleasure to see you again. But then, seeing you is always a pleasure for me."
    "I was