“I’ve waited long enough.”

 “Has she?” Amanda asked.

 “What do you mean by that?”

 “If she is Nicole Lassiter, has she had time enough to recover from your abandonment?”

 “I’m going—”

 “Very well. I see my advice is neither wanted nor needed,” she snapped. “I’m returning to Whitestone.”

 Grant pointed out, “There are several weeks left in the season.”

 “It doesn’t matter,” she said tartly, never taking her eyes from Derek’s face. “I refuse to stay here when you’re acting like this. I at least want to have the excuse of not being here when you embarrass yourself further.”

 As Derek walked out the door, he heard her exhale loudly and say, “Love has turned him into a fool. Grant, I’ll throttle you if you behave like this.”

 When Derek stood once again on the doorstep of Atworth House, he knocked, and after several minutes, the same wheezing butler answered.

 The man masked his surprise when Derek demanded, “I want to see Nicole.”

 He took a loud, deep breath and announced, “She is not in at the moment.”

 Derek smiled as he looked down. When he raised his head, his expression was neutral. “It is seven in the morning.”

 “Nevertheless, she is not in at the moment.”

 “You’re going to tell me this no matter how often I come here today, aren’t you?”

 He detected a slight nod just as the man said, “She’s not in—”

 With a raised hand, Derek shook his head. “I get the point.”

 Deciding not to wrangle with the footmen again, he nodded to the butler and walked down the steps. As soon as the door closed, Derek turned toward the back of the mansion, where he’d spotted an ivy-covered garden wall. He held his breath as he pushed down the latch on the gate, but it opened easily. He walked in and approached the back of the house. As soon as he stood at the steps to the terrace, he saw her.

 Early though it was, Nicole sat at a veranda table under falling cherry blossoms, absently tapping the tip of a strawberry against her bottom lip and ignoring the steaming tea service and newspaper in front of her. She looked out over the magnificent garden, but was lost in thought, unseeing.

 Nicole leaned back in her chair, replaying the events of the previous night. Sutherland hadn’t asked for forgiveness, hadn’t even asked her to marry him. He’d simply decreed it so. Again, against her expectations, the tears refused to flow.

 She didn’t understand what possessed the man to behave as he did. Audacious and arrogant weren’t strong enough words to describe him. Outrage spilled through her. All those late-night imaginings of him on one knee begging forgiveness—yet he just expected them to retie what he had so callously severed.

 As if she would marry him! She had a slew of suitors, suitors who had propped up her failing pride. She’d choose one who’d give her a nice, sedate life. She could make it work. Though not if Sutherland continued his antics. Strange how all those years her grandmother had worried about Nicole’s behavior in the ton, and now a renegade earl was about to ruin her.

 Suddenly, she froze. Out of the corner of her eye, near the house, she could see—no, it couldn’t be him. She turned. Sutherland!

 She wasn’t surprised to get that inexplicable tightening in her chest at the sight of him, but fought it nonetheless. She forced her eyes away from him, rose from her chair, and began her retreat. When she had to pass Derek, he grabbed her hand.

 “What are you doing, Sutherland?”

 “We’re going to be wed.”

 Not again. Panic rioted through her. “Have you lost your mind?”

 “No, I’m thinking more clearly than I’ve ever done. I’m taking you to Gretna Green.”

 She gasped and finally sputtered, “The hell you are! Why would I wed you when I despise you?” And why couldn’t she make her tone as outraged as she felt?

 He reached out to stroke the hair off her forehead, and after an initial try, she couldn’t seem to fling herself away from him. Had she missed him that badly? Enough to turn docile at his slightest touch?

 “Trust me—you do not want to marry one of those dandies. They’re not man enough for you.”

 She didn’t doubt that. “And you are?”

 “Indeed.”

 The arrogance! She was embarrassed by her weakness, brought low with another stroke of her hair. She couldn’t think when he did that, and he knew it.

 He took advantage of her temporary calm by grabbing her hand and pulling her down the steps. “We’ll talk in the carriage.”

 “No,” she squealed as she pulled back. “I’m not marrying you. And even if I wanted to—which I do not—you can’t come in here and act as if you own me. I have a family and obligations. Did it occur to you that they might want to be present when I do wed?”

 “Then we’ll be married twice.”

 “Again,I’m not—”

 Chapman appeared at the veranda doors, politely clearing his throat. “Are you all right, my lady? Shall I get the marchioness?”

 “No! No need for—”

 “She’s here?” Derek demanded.

 With a whistling breath, Chapman inclined his head toward the door, and before Nicole could form a protest, Derek half-dragged her in that direction. What would her grandmother think when a huge man came barreling into her staid parlor?

 She also questioned why she gave him only token resistance, why she was insanely going along with his high-handed behavior.

 When they reached the doorway to the salon, he called to the marchioness, “My lady—”

 “What do you want? I’m not hard of hearing,” she interrupted without raising her head, making it plain that her cross-stitching held more interest for her.

 He didn’t hesitate. “I am Derek Andrew Sutherland, sixth earl of Stanhope, and I am taking your granddaughter to Gretna Green to marry her.”

 The dowager sighed impatiently. “If you must….”

 Derek paused, openly surprised. “Have her things—if you could have her things sent along to the Bickham Inn tonight?”

 Her grandmother nodded, as if he’d just asked her to pass the salt.

 Nicole’s eyes went wide, and he took advantage of her shock by steering her toward the door again. Nicole looked back, baffled.

 The marchioness had a grin on her face.

 “If I didn’t know better,” Derek remarked as he hustled Nicole into the carriage, “I’d think the old girl might just like me.” His tone was normal, as if they were having a chat over tea. It made it difficult for Nicole to sort out her thoughts. She wanted to sound rational to him, to point out logically why they wouldn’t suit, but she’d sound like a fishwife compared to his even tone.

 She girded herself by recalling that she was beyond irritation at his conceit, at his assumption that she would just roll over and marry him. Her thoughts bubbled up in a stammering flood. “This is kidnapping! Just like before—I won’t have it—not again—not from you.”

 “It’s not kidnapping. It’s eloping,” he pointed out reasonably.

 “Eloping? I won’t marry you. I won’t! I can’t trust you—you left me before.” Her voice finally broke. Hot tears poured from her eyes, replacing those she swiped away. “Nothing ever hurt me so badly, and I’ll be damned if I set myself up for that again.”

 Chapter 28

 Leaving you…nearly broke me,” Derek countered as he swept a tear from her cheek. He saw her wobbling bottom lip and added gently, “But I had to go. I’ll explain to you why if you’ll listen to me.”

 She said nothing.

 “Please, just let me explain. I’ve never told anyone what I’m about to tell you. Grant suspected, but he was never certain.”

 In a huff, she replied, “Well, then, go on!”

 He nearly smiled at her militant tone, but instead took a deep breath. “William was my older brother and the heir, but he was not a good man. He was hedonistic and spoiled—made that way by the family and servants cosseting him and making him think he was next to God. Plus, in our father’s eyes he could do no wrong.”

 He looked over to see if she was listening.

 “Continue.”

 He raised his eyebrows, then said, “When William was shot in a drunken duel, a neighboring lord’s daughter came to our family and told us she was carrying William’s child.”

 When he paused, Nicole impatiently tapped at his hand for him to go on. Her tears were drying.

 “My father was ecstatic that William’s blood would be passed on—that his precious heir’s child would inherit—”

 “But wouldn’t the child be a bastard?” she interrupted, clearly getting caught up in the tale.

 He didn’t answer for several seconds. “That’s where I came in,” he said tonelessly.

 “Oh, no,” she murmured, her face a mirror of his pain as she comprehended what he was saying.

 “My mother was against the idea of me wedding her and passing the child off as my own, but in the end, everyone pitied her and pushed for marriage. Even I felt a responsibility for her. I resented William for doing this—I’d always cleaned up after him, and it appeared that I would take on his last obligation for the rest of my life. But as I said, I felt sorry for the girl, and married her.”

 “What about your own children? What if you’d had a son?”

 “You have to understand that my father loved William above all else.”

 When Nicole nodded, he continued, “On our wedding night and for several nights afterward, she refused the marriage bed, saying she was ill due to the child. But on that first night, she’d asked me to stay in her chamber to allay suspicion, and I agreed.

 “After a week, she indicated that she was ready to become my wife in truth, but when I arrived home that night, I received an anonymous letter. The spelling was poor, as well as the penmanship, and I didn’t doubt one of the servants had written it. The letter explained that the reason she hadn’t wanted to share her bed with me was because she was having her monthly cycle.”