"I didn't force you to make love to me last

night," she pointed out.

"Didn't you?"

The accusation cut to the quick, but more, it made her see herself with his eyes. He was absolutely right.

She'd remembered what Jeremy had told her and she'd used it against Warren. For that matter, she'd been utterly self-centered from the very beginning in her campaign to win him, never once taking his

present feelings into account, only those she was sure he would have later. But being sure was not proof positive, no matter how strong her instincts in the matter. She had been unfair.

She looked up to tell him how sorry she was, that she wouldn't manipulate him anymore, but he'd already slipped out of the room.

"So this is where they trounced you?" Anthony said to his brother as they walked into the large study downstairs. "Well, there was certainly enough room for it."

"Shut up, Tony."

But Anthony was never one to take advice unless it suited him. In the same vein, he said, "You must show me the infamous cellar as well while we're here so I can tell Jack all about it someday. I'm sure she'll be 411 fascinated to hear how her uncle nearly hung her father."

James took a step forward. Connie leapt between them. And Warren walked in, to ask, "Couldn't wait for me?"

The two brothers abruptly turned away from each other. Connie straightened his coat and said agreeably, "Good timing, Yank. They were about to forget that it's you they'd like to throttle."

"So who wants the pleasure?" Warren asked, looking between them.

"Not me, old boy," Anthony replied. "I've been through this myself, don't you know, though I didn't have the in-laws breathing down my neck. Weren't any, as it happens. Had to do the honorable on my own."

Warren turned to James. "Are you going to play the hypocrite, then?"

It was a moment before James replied, "No. As long as you set things right, I'll keep my hands off you.

And under the circumstances, caught as it were, you don't have a bloody choice, do you?"

Warren was aware of that, which was why he was so furious himself. It was one thing to enjoy Amy's charms if her family never learned about it, but something else again now that they did know about it.

"I'll marry her," he gritted out, "but I'm damned if I'll live with her, and I'm damned if I'll take any more

interference from you bastards."

"Well, good God, man, you don't have to be that accommodating," Anthony said. "We'd have settled for just the marriage part."

"Do you want to marry me?"

Warren swung around to see Amy standing in the doorway. She'd done no more than slip into her very mussed dress. Her feet were bare. His fingers had helped to mess that glorious mane of black hair. And the effervescence that was so much a part of her was missing.

He was too angry to note the tightening in his chest, too angry to see that she was braced for his reply.

"You already know the answer to that. I have never once indicated otherwise, have I?"

Amy might have been prepared for that answer, but actually hearing it, after everything they'd shared recently--after last night ... The pain was nearly unbearable, swelling in her chest and throat. But he was standing there, angry and as

stubborn as ever, and she'd die before she 413 let him know how much he'd just hurt her.

"Then that settles that," she said matter-of-factly.

"Not bloody likely, dear girl," James told her. "His preferences don't enter into this."

"'Course they do. I won't marry him."

Incredulous, James demanded, "Do you know what your father's going to say about this?"

But Amy merely replied, "I won't marry him until he asks me."

"There's such a thing as too much stubbornness, puss," Anthony said, drawing her attention to him.

And James added, "He'll bloody well ask you to marry him, Amy. I guarantee it."

"That kind of asking won't count. He has to mean it, and I have to know he means it. I told you before, Uncle James, that I won't have him if he comes forced to the altar. Now, that ends this discussion. I'd like to go home as soon as possible, if one of you will arrange it."

She didn't look at Warren again. She simply walked away as quietly as she'd appeared. But the exasperation she'd left behind was palpable, at least for two occupants of the room.

"Bloody hell," James snarled.

"Well, that lets you off the hook, Yank." This from Anthony with a full dose of disgust. "But it also means you'll stay the hell away from her, or I'll wipe the floor with you myself."

Warren wasn't at all worried about that threat, since he had no intention of ever going near Amy again.

But he wasn't sure if it was relief he was now feeling, and if not, what the hell was it that was wrenching at his gut and making him want to run after her? Not that he was going to give in to this nameless emotion.

To put the question from his mind, he turned to James and asked, "How did you get here so quickly, anyway?"

"On your ship."

Ordinarily, Warren would have exploded upon hearing something like that, but as it happened, he was delighted to have his ship at his disposal just now. He'd move to her quarters immediately.

"You will excuse me, then, gentlemen. Make yourselves welcome in my home. I'm going to the Nereus to see what's left of her."

It was a dig that went straight to the 415 heart of James's seamanship. James retaliated by saying,

"Not much."

Warren didn't take the bait. "You'll understand, under the circumstances, why I'm not going to offer you transport back to England."

"As if we'd put you and Amy on another ship together," Anthony grumbled.

Warren didn't take that bait either. "Then perhaps we won't see each other again."

They could all hope.

Chapter 40

Warren's brothers had left earlier in the week to return to England with the new manager. If he sailed immediately, there was a chance he could rendezvous with them at sea and thereby avoid returning to England himself to explain.

He didn't sail immediately. He found out for himself which other ships would be departing for that part of the world. One was scheduled to leave in three days. He expected Amy to be on it. And as long as she and her uncles were leaving that soon, there was really no point in his returning to London at all. They could take care of the explanations to his brothers. The new manager would be installed in the Skylark office. There was nothing else for him to do in London--except to be too close to Amy again for his peace of mind.

The last persuaded him to avoid England entirely for a few years, especially since he was already having a hard time staying away from his house while Amy was still in it. He kept having this nagging feeling that he shouldn't havelet it end the way it had, that he should have taken the time to explain to her, privately, why he still wouldn't marry her; that it wasn't her, but marriage itself, that he objected to. Of course, she probably knew that, since she knew so much about his background, including his history with Marianne, but it wouldn't have hurt to reiterate why he wouldn't ask her to be his wife.

And he couldn't get the last sight of her out of his mind, with that mixture of hurt, defeat, and obstinacy that changed her appearance, made her look older than her eighteen years, made him want to comfort her. She'd come to his rescue, refused to have him except on her terms. For that he was grateful--or he should be. But the plain

fact was, she'd refused to have him. 417

Christ, he wasn't going to let that bother him, too, was he?

Warren threw himself into work and socializing with old friends. On the day Amy sailed, he got roaring drunk and spent the next day in bed wishing he hadn't; then he got on with his life. He moved back into his house, but not into his bedroom, whose last potent memories were too strong to bear. He scheduled a run to the West Indies that would take several months, purchased the cargo, and spent his last evening in town with Mac, who wisely refrained from mentioning any Malorys.

On the morning of his departure, he walked to the docks to enjoy the late-summer weather, but in his present mood he found nothing pleasing about it. Five days had passed since Amy had left town, and it was getting easier not to think of her--That wasn't the truth. He couldn't stop thinking about her. But it would get easier. It had to, because the memories were actually becoming painful.

As it happened, that walk through town wasn't uneventful. Turning a corner leading to the docks, Warren saw Marianne, and all the old

bitterness welled up to nearly choke him. Dressed in sunny yellow right up to her parasol, she looked every inch a rich man's wife, yet he'd heard of her divorce. He wasn't sure what he thought about it, if anything, because he hadn't spared the time to give it any thought at all.

He'd have to pass her to reach the docks. The devil he would. He turned to cross the street, but she'd seen him. He stiffened when she called his name, but he didn't take another step. He waited for her to approach him, making her come to him. Once he would have done her slightest bidding. Now he could barely tolerate the sight of her, though with her blond hair and light blue eyes, she was still just as beautiful as she'd always been.

"How are you, Warren?"

"In no mood for idle conversation," he replied curtly. "So if you'll excuse me-- was

"Still bitter? I'd hoped not."

"Why?" he sneered. "Thinking of taking up where you left off?"

"No. I got what I wanted, independence

from any man. I wouldn't give that up for 419 anything."

"Then why are we talking?"

She gave him a smile he remembered as indicating patience. He'd forgotten that about her, her boundless patience, how nothing could ruffle her feathers. Now that he thought about it, it was more a lack of emotion on her part, so different from Amy's patience, or rather tolerance, because Amy was anything but patient.

"I almost came to your house, you know," she told him, "when I heard you were back. But I didn't quite have the nerve. So I'm glad I've run into you, because I want to tell you I'm sorry for my part in Steven's scheme. I couldn't tell you that before, but now that I'm divorced, I can."

"And I'm supposed to believe that?"

"It's all right if you don't. I just need to clear my conscience. Not that I would have done anything differently, but I never felt good about doing it."

"Doing what, Marianne? What the hell are you talking about?"

"Steven set the whole thing up--you, me. It was all a well-thought-out plan that was conceived by him before

you and I even met. And you fell for it. You were young and gullible, and it was a simple plan. Get you to fall in love with me, then jilt you for your worst rival. But the baby was part of the deal. So was the divorce, for that matter. As I said, he planned everything beforehand. All he needed was a woman to pull it off, and he found her in me, because what he offered in return was too good for me to turn down. To be rich and independent, without having to answer to any man. That was the lure. That's why I did it."

Warren was too incredulous at the moment to get angry. "The baby was part of it?"

"Yes. What Steven was going to say if you tried to claim the child, it was mostly true. I was sleeping with him. He insisted upon it, not because he liked me or anything like that, but to make sure a child would result. You see, he didn't care who fathered the child, as long as you thought you did."

"Whose child was it?"

She shrugged indifferently. "I honestly don't know. I wasn't going to get to keep him --that was also part of the deal--so I tried not to get too attached to him."

"Did Steven kill him?"

Warren had surprised her. "Is that 421 what you thought? No. That's the funny part. He actually loved that boy. He was real torn up about it when the accident happened."

"I'll bet."

She frowned. "You've let him win, haven't you? You've let it all work out just as he planned it."

"I don't see as I had much choice, gullible fool that I was."

"I meant now. You think I can't see how bitter you still are? Why didn't you just put it behind you and

forget about it? Don't you know that the only reason we stayed married as long as we did was because he thought you still loved me? The deal was that I'd have the divorce after just a few years, but he wouldn't give it to me as long as he thought our marriage was wringing a few more drops of blood from you. The only reason I finally got it was because you haven't been around often enough for him to gloat over."

"So you got stuck with him longer than you figured. You think I give a damn?"

"You might like to know that I never cared for him, and he felt the same toward me all these years."

"So there's justice after all?"

"You might also like to know that he got bored with the last scheme, that he's been looking for a new one."

"You actually think I'd make the same mistake twice?"

"No, I just thought you should know it's not over as far as he's concerned. He really hates you, you see.

I used to wonder if he was quite right in the head when he would go into these rages over childhood slights and black eyes, minor things that shouldn't mean anything. But he'd rage about how those childhood incidents had shamed him before his father, and how his father would ridicule and humiliate him for losing those battles with you. He hated his father, too, but he never admitted that--got it mixed up with you, I think. You were easier to hate. He didn't have to feel guilty about it."