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  The implied second part of that statement was, “When you could have someone like me?”

  Glaring at him, Regan almost snarled. “Farrell is a gentleman. He knows how to make a woman feel like a lady. His courting is…exquisite,” she said with feeling. “All you Americans know is how to make demands.”

  Travis snorted. “Any American can outcourt any weakling Englishman.”

  “Oh Travis,” Regan smiled serenely. “You know nothing of courting. Your idea of seducing a woman is to drag her about by her hair.”

  “There’ve been a few times when you’ve liked being dragged about,” he answered.

  She lost her serenity. “That is an example of your Colonial crudity.”

  “And you, my dear, are an English snob. You said your birthday is in three weeks. You’ll marry me on that day, and you’ll do it willingly.”

  With that, he left the room before he heard Regan gasp, “Never!”

  Early the next morning, Regan, in her office, was bombarded with news from Brandy. First there were accusations because Travis had left the inn last night, and this morning he still hadn’t returned. Brandy’s looks showing her opinion that Regan was in the wrong were followed by a word of warning, for a tall, red-haired woman had just registered at the inn and was asking for her fiancé, Mr. Travis Stanford.

  “Looks to me like you’ve got some trouble,” Brandy sighed.

  “Oh good,” Regan answered in a tired voice. “Just what I need. Doesn’t anyone realize that it’s not easy to run an inn this size? I have days of work piled on my desk, and, by the way, Farrell has already informed me that Travis has left, and, before him, my daughter told me. Farrell, I’m sure, has much more to say to me, but Jennifer may never say another word in my presence. Now, the redhead has got to be my dear friend Margo Jenkins. Just let me have a few minutes to collect myself and I’ll be able to deal with her.”

  Brandy nodded and left the room.

  For several moments, Regan stood quietly in her bedroom, letting her mind take her back to that time of Margo’s visits to Travis’s plantation. Then, Regan had been so grateful to Margo for not being angry with her, for helping with the household staff, that Regan had not seen Margo’s insults for what they were. That Malvina! Regan thought. How she’d like to get her hands on that foul-tempered, lazy cook now. And Margo! Dear Margo lording it over the poor, insecure little wife, pretending to help but actually destroying what little confidence she did have.

  Smiling, Regan left her office, stopped by the kitchen, and asked Brandy to prepare midmorning tea for two women. She ignored Brandy’s remarks about looking ready to do battle and then sent an invitation to Margo, asking her to tea in the library.

  Margo appeared in an astonishingly short time, and Regan saw things she hadn’t seen before; years of dissipation were showing on Margo’s face and body. Late nights, rich food, overindulgence of every sort showed in lines and dark places, a thickening of the waist in spite of the tight lacing of her stays.

  “My, my, it’s the little English flower,” Margo said as she entered. “I hear you own this place now. Who bought it for you?”

  “Won’t you have a seat?” Regan said politely. “I’ve ordered some refreshments. Yes, I do own the inn.” Smiling innocently, she continued, “As well as the printer’s building, the lawyer’s, the doctor’s, the mercantile store, the blacksmith’s, the schoolhouse, the druggist’s, plus four farms outside the town and three hundred acres.”

  Margo’s eyes blinked once, but otherwise she showed no change of expression. “And how many men have you slept with to get all that? Travis, I’m sure, would like to know.”

  “How kind you are to say you think I’m worth so much,” Regan said enthusiastically. “But alas, I’m afraid I don’t have your skills of selling myself to get what I want. I had to use old-fashioned intelligence and hard work to get what I own. Whenever I had a spare bit of change, I didn’t spend it on a new gown but used it to bargain with to buy more land and more building materials.”

  She stopped to answer the door to a very curious Brandy who was holding a large tray.

  “How’s it going?” Brandy whispered.

  Regan smiled smugly, making Brandy laugh as she handed her friend the tray.

  When they were alone again, with the tray on a low table between them, Regan poured tea.

  “Shall we begin again?” Regan asked. “It’s no use pretending that we’re friends. I take it you are here because you want my husband.”

  Margo collected herself. This was not a battle she wanted to lose. “I see you have learned to pour tea,” she said.

  “I have learned a great many things in the last few years. You’ll find I’m not so trusting as I once was. Now tell me what you want.”

  “I want Travis. He was mine until you jumped into his bed, got yourself pregnant, and forced him to marry you.”

  “That is one way of looking at the situation. Tell me, has Travis said he’d marry you if he were free of me?”

  “He doesn’t have to tell me,” Margo said. “We were almost engaged when he met you, and the only problem is that he’s infatuated with you. He’s never had a woman leave him before, and it’s driving him wild.”

  “If that is the case, if Travis likes women who leave him, why did you follow him here? Wouldn’t it have been better to stay away and let him return to you?”

  “Damn you, you little bitch!” Margo snarled. “Travis Stanford is mine! He was mine long before you were out of short dresses. You left him! You stole his mother’s jewels and just walked off and left him. If I hadn’t found that note—.” She stopped abruptly.

  Regan caught Margo’s eyes for a moment, her mind concentrating. All these years she’d wondered why Travis had never found her. She’d left a trail a child could have followed, but Travis had never even bothered. But if Margo had found the note first….

  “Did he look for me for very long?” Regan asked quietly.

  Standing, Margo glared down at her. “You don’t really expect me to tell you anything, do you? Just be warned. Travis is mine. I don’t believe you’re woman enough to fight me. I get what I want.”

  “Do you, Margo?” Regan asked calmly. “Do you have a man who holds you at night while you cry or one you can tell your deepest secrets to? Do you know what it’s like to share, to love and be loved by someone?” Turning her head, she looked up at Margo. “Or do you think of people in terms of dollars and cents? Tell me, if you owned Scarlet Springs, would you be so interested in my husband?”

  Margo started to speak but seemed to change her mind as, silently, she left the room.

  When Regan put the teacup to her lips, she was surprised to find she was trembling. The questions she’d asked Margo were what she’d been asking herself and had not been aware of them. What did owning a town mean, anyway? She had friends here, people she’d come to love, but were they any substitute for one special person, someone who loved you even when you weren’t in the best of moods, someone to hold your head when you were sick, a special person who knew all your ugly parts and still loved you anyway?

  Remembering Travis’s plantation and Stanford Hall, she knew that Jennifer should grow up there. Travis’s hundreds of relatives’ portraits were on the walls, and they were Jennifer’s ancestors, too. She deserved that sort of continuity, a place that was filled with security and peace, not the ever-changing interior of an inn.

  Smiling, she leaned back against the chair. Of course, it wouldn’t be easy to tell Travis he’d won. No doubt he’d gloat and tell her he knew he’d win. But who cared? It meant more to spend her life with the man she loved than to give it all up because of her silly pride. Besides, there’d be ways to repay him. Oh yes, she thought. She’d make him sorry he had ever bragged about anything.

  “You certainly look pleased with yourself,” Brandy said.

  Regan hadn’t heard her friend enter the room. “I was just thinking about Travis.”

  “That would make me smile,