Elizabeth took the tray from her, nodding. "Please tell him to come to me, that I need him. Straightaway. And please—don't alarm anyone else. Just send him to me."

She was sitting on the edge of a chair with the letter on her lap when he came in.

He hadn't escaped Mrs. Schuyler's attentions, that was clear. Sometime in the last hour he had bathed and shaved and he was wearing a fresh shirt, linen this time rather than homespun or buckskin, creamy white against the tanned column of his neck. There were shadows under his eyes, but he smiled at her, a relaxed smile. She tried to smile back.

"You'll have the Schuylers in an uproar, inviting me in here."

She handed him the letter. He walked to the window to read it, leaning with one shoulder against the jamb as he did so. The light moved on his face as his eyes scanned the lines, one after the next. Then he raised his head and looked at her.

"When did this come?"

"Yesterday. I found it with the deed and the patent in the secretary last night. I just read it now."

He was watching her, waiting.

"Nathaniel. What does it mean?"

There was a guarded look about him. "It means you don't have to marry me anymore, if you don't care to."

She stood up and crossed the room.

"That's not what I meant," she said peevishly. "I was asking about Richard, and my father, and why—"

"I know what you meant. But there's something else we got to get settled here first. You can do what you like now."

"Of course I can," Elizabeth snapped. "But I could do that before as well. Do you imagine that I was doing this against my will?"

"In the name of a good deed," he said, shrugging. "Maybe against your better judgment."

Elizabeth drew up, feeling her face flood with a bright, burning indignation. "Then you know me not at all, Nathaniel Bonner," she said. "And perhaps you had better reconsider yourself what it is you said you wanted from me. Unless—" She hesitated, and pushed on. "Unless you've already had that and satisfied your curiosity."

Even in her discomposure, Elizabeth could see how the anger took hold of him, how his lids lowered and his jaw settled hard.

"Is that what you think of me?"

She hesitated, and he grabbed her by the upper arms, pulled her in close. "Answer me. Is that what you think of me?" His grip was punishing, but she bit her lip rather than cry out.

"Let me go," she said. "At once." Nathaniel dropped his hands and stepped back.

"No," she said finally, rubbing her arms. "It's not what I think of you."

There was an almost imperceptible shifting of his mouth.

She said, "And what do you think of me? That I am here to fulfill some good cause?"

"If you don't need to be here, and you're still here, then I want to know why," he said, his voice hoarse now, on the edge of anger but steady.

"I'm here because I love you," Elizabeth said in a voice more calm than she would have imagined. "In case you hadn't noticed."

"You never said." There was something of an accusation in his voice.

"Neither have you!"

He looked out the window, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

She laughed, because otherwise she knew she would cry. Woodenly, she moved across the room to stand in front of the bed, far away from him, where he could not touch her.

There was a hesitant knock at the door; neither of them turned.

"Is everything all right?" Mrs. Schuyler asked.

"Fine," Elizabeth and Nathaniel barked in unison.

"The minister has arrived," she sang out.

"Please allow us a few more minutes of your patience, Mrs. Schuyler," Elizabeth answered, her gaze fixed on Nathaniel. "We'll be down shortly."

When her footsteps had faded reluctantly away, Elizabeth blinked.

"Won't we?"

He came across the room in three strides and bore her down on the bed before him, pinning her there with his hands and knees. His expression was absolutely ferocious; she thought that this must be the way he had looked in battle when he had an enemy squarely in his rifle sights.

"You could have what you want for yourself." His voice dropped, very low. "Live in the schoolhouse, teach. The land's yours to do with as you please. There's money enough to buy you independence, from your father and from me, too. If you don't want to sell us Hidden Wolf, we'll be good tenants."

Her eyes swam with tears; his face doubled and tripled. She could not raise her hands to touch him or to wipe her own cheeks.

"Is that what you want?"

"No," he said, a muscle in his cheek jumping. "No."

"Tell me," she said, her voice barely audible.

"Damn the land," he breathed against her face. "And damn your father and damn your aunt Merriweather and most of all goddamn to everlasting hell your know—it—all Mrs. Wollstonecraft."

"Tell me why," she said, more forcefully now, straining up toward him.

"Because I love you, damn it. Since you have to hear it. Because I love you. That's why I want you."

"Well, you have me," she whispered, no longer fighting him. "If you really want me."

He groaned then, gripping her harder, his fingers pressing into her wrists as he pulled them up and over her head. He dropped his face to the curve of her throat, nuzzling her like a loving and thankful child, his mouth open against her skin.