As Rafe stared at her, he felt the quickening of arousal, the rising warmth of tenderness, and an ache of yearning. A terrible thought had sprung to his mind, the wish that she were Bland-ford’s daughter instead of Natalie. Sweet God, he would have married her on the spot. But that was impossible, not to mention unfair to Natalie. And thinking it made him feel every bit the cad that Hannah had accused him of being.

As Hannah finished the second chapter, and laughingly promised the clamoring children that she would read more the following night, Rafe made an unselfish wish for someone else for the first time in his life…that Hannah would someday find a man who would love her.

AFTER PRAISING THE SINGERS AND MUSICIANS FOR THEIR FINE performance, and leading a group of ladies into the parlor for tea, Lillian returned to the drawing room. Some of the guests were still congregated there, including her husband, who stood in the corner speaking privately with Eleanor, Lady Kittridge.

Trying to ignore the cold needling in her stomach, Lillian went to Daisy, who had just finished talking with some of the children. “Hello, dear,” Lillian said, forcing a smile. “Did you enjoy the music?”

“Yes, very much.” Staring into her face, Daisy asked bluntly, “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing’s the matter. Nothing at all. Why do you ask?”

“Whenever you smile like that, you’re either worried about something, or you’ve just stepped in something.”

“I haven’t stepped in anything.”

Daisy regarded her with concern. “What is it, then?”

“Do you see that woman Westcliff is talking to?”

“The beautiful blond one with the smashing figure?”

“Yes,” came Lillian’s sour reply.

Daisy waited patiently. “

I suspect …” Lillian began, and was startled to feel her throat closing and a hot pressure accumulate behind her eyes. Her suspicion was too awful to voice.

Her husband was interested in another woman.

Not that anything would come of it, because Westcliff was a man of absolute honor. It was simply not in him ever to betray his wife, no matter how acute the temptation. Lillian knew that he would always be faithful to her, at least physically. But she wanted his heart, all of it, and to see the signs of his attraction to someone else made Lillian want to die.

Everyone had said from the beginning that the earl of West-cliff and a brash American heiress were the most improbable pairing imaginable. But before long Lillian had discovered that beneath Marcus’s outward reserve, there was a man of passion, tenderness, and humor. And for his part, Marcus had seemed to enjoy her irreverence and high-spirited nature. The past two years of marriage had been more wonderful than Lillian could have ever dreamed.

But lately Westcliff had started paying marked attention to Lady Kittridge, a gorgeous young widow who had everything in common with him. She was elegant, aristocratic, intelligent, and to top it all off, she was a remarkable horse-woman who was known for carrying on her late husband’s passion for horse breeding. The horses from the Kittridge stables were the most beautiful descendants of the world’s finest Arabians, with an amiable sweetness of character and spectacular conformation. Lady Kittridge was the perfect woman for Westcliff.

At first Lillian had not worried about the interactions between Lady Kittridge and her husband. Women were always throwing themselves at Westcliff, who was one of the most powerful men in England. But then a correspondence had begun. And soon afterward he had gone to visit her, ostensibly to advise her on some financial matters. Finally Lillian had begun to experience the pangs of jealousy and insecurity.

“I…I’ve never been able to quite make myself believe that Marcus is truly mine,” she admitted humbly to Daisy. “He is the only person, aside from you, who’s ever truly loved me. It still seems a miracle that he should have wanted me enough to marry me. But now I think…I fear…he might be tiring of me.”

Daisy’s eyes turned huge. “Are you saying you think that he…and Lady Kittridge …”

Lillian’s eyes turned hot and blurry. “They seem to have an affinity,” she said.

“Lillian, that is madness,” Daisy whispered. “Westcliff adores you. You’re the mother of his child.”

“I’m not saying that I think he’s unfaithful,” Lillian whispered back. “He’s too honorable for that. But I don’t want him to want to.”

“Has the frequency of his…well, husbandly attentions…lessened?”

Lillian colored a little as she considered the question. “No, not at all.”

“Well, that’s good. In some of the novels I’ve read, the unfaithful spouse pays less attention to his wife after he begins an affair.”

“What else do the novels say?”

“Well, sometimes a cheating husband may wear a new scent, or start tying his cravat in a different way.”

A worried frown gathered on Lillian’s forehead. “I never notice his cravat. I’ll have to start looking at it more closely.”

“And he develops an untoward interest in his wife’s schedule.”

“Well, that doesn’t helpWestcliff has an untoward interest in everyone’s schedule.”

“What about new tricks?”

“What kind of tricks?”

Daisy kept her voice low. “In the bedroom.”

“Oh, God. Is that a sign of infidelity?” Lillian gave her a stricken glance. “How do the bloody novelists know these things?”