"I believe he's in the study, my lady." He gave her riding habit an approving glance. "A fine day for a ride, my lady. I'm sure Lord Maxwell would enjoy that."

"I hope so." Born and raised at Dornleigh, Hawking was very fond of the young master. Troth felt they had an unspoken pact on Kyle's behalf.

During her explorations of the past week, she'd learned that the study was a cozy room off the main library. With a fireplace, a writing desk, and several comfortable chairs, it was the most welcoming of the public rooms. It would be pleasant to sit there and read with Kyle in the evenings…

She crossed the library and was almost to the open door of the study when she heard voices inside. Gruffly Wrexham said, "So there you are, Maxwell. Can't hide from me forever."

"No?" Kyle replied lightly. "I've done a decent job of it so far."

Since neither of the men could see her, Troth paused, wondering if she should leave them to discuss business. But it was too beautiful a day to waste, especially since Kyle needed fresh air and sunshine.

A chair creaked as Wrexham sat. "When are you going to deal with that girl?"

Troth froze. Kyle said in a forbidding voice, "I presume you mean my wife."

"She's no wife," his father retorted. "That ridiculous ceremony would have been irregular even in Scotland. In China, it didn't mean a damned thing. You must put her aside so you can choose a proper wife."

"Though the legality is questionable, we both considered the ceremony binding."

"She was your damned mistress! I don't blame you for that-she's an attractive wench, and nothing if not biddable-but you'd never have gone through that travesty of a marriage if you hadn't thought you'd be dead the next day."

"It's true that being sentenced to death gave me the idea," Kyle said wearily, "but that's irrelevant. Having pledged myself in good faith, I can't casually set her aside now."

"You can, and you will! I was willing to accept her as your widow, but not as the next Countess of Wrexham."

"Why not?"

"For God's sake, don't play the fool," Wrexham said with disgust. "She's Chinese, and damned if I'll allow a future Earl of Wrexham to have slanted eyes."

Shaking, Troth sank into a library chair. All of her efforts to act like an English lady had been useless. In Wrexham's view, the fact of her mixed blood would always outweigh any qualities of intelligence or character that she might possess.

"In the nature of things, you'll be dead long before this highly theoretical child would assume your honors," Kyle said dryly. "I promised Troth my protection and freely gave her my name. What kind of Earl of Wrexham would I be if I broke my word because things have turned out differently than expected?"

He hadn't said anything about love, or passion, or even friendship. To him, she was merely an obligation. A burden.

"Since she helped gain your release from prison, you can't just turn her out," Wrexham agreed. "You can afford to be generous. A settlement of two thousand pounds a year will make her a rich woman. She can go to London and collect as many lovers as she wants. You weren't the first, and you certainly won't be the last."

As she buried her burning face in her hands, Kyle said in a voice of pure ice, "Troth's honor and virtue are irreproachable, and I will not allow her to be insulted by you or any man. Do I make myself clear?"

Numbly Troth supposed she should be grateful for that, at least. But once more he spoke from duty, not caring.

Unable to bear any more, she rose and left the quarreling voices behind as she escaped into the front hall. Mercifully, no one was around to see her flight up to her room. There she folded onto the bed and wrapped herself into a tight, trembling ball.

Her marriage was over. Marriage? Not even that-though she'd felt he was her husband, he'd obviously never really thought of her as his wife. She was merely an inconvenient souvenir he'd acquired in his travels.

Even if he'd still wanted her, there could be no marriage in the face of Wrexham's adamant disapproval. Kyle might chafe, but ultimately he would surrender because a son must obey his father. There was no place for Troth at Dornleigh, and since they had never truly been married, there was no reason to stay.

Moreover, she didn't want to. Be damned to Wrexham and Maxwell both! She was a daughter of the Celestial Kingdom, and their rejection proved that Fan-qui truly were barbarians. She would rather die than stay here. She didn't need the Renbournes, nor any man's pity.

With a rage unlike any she'd ever known, she rang for her maid, then began to pack. The trunk was too large to carry, but she had a pair of carpetbags. One she packed with a basic wardrobe of practical clothing, and the other with the most cherished of her Chinese possessions. Perhaps she'd send for the rest of her things later-the Renbournes would be so glad to be rid of her that shipping a trunk would be a pleasure.

No, she would simply vanish. Free of his inconvenient not-quite wife, Kyle could marry one of those bland blond girls who'd ogled him after church services at Warfield, and become fat and boring, as an English country gentleman should.

When Bessy arrived, Troth ordered, "Help me out of this habit, then summon a carriage."

The maid stared wide-eyed at the half-packed carpetbags: "My lady?"

"Not a word to anyone!"

Biting her lip, the girl unfastened the complicated habit, then left to call the carriage. Troth changed into a simple day dress, the sort of garment she could manage without a maid. The habit she left in a crumpled heap on the floor, where it could add to the bad feng shui of Dornleigh.

Courtesy demanded a note, and she was certainly more courteous than these foreign devils. Swiftly she scrawled, Lord Maxwell-you and your family wish to be rid of me. Your wish is granted. She signed with the Chinese characters for Mei-Lian.

A bag in each hand, she stalked into the upstairs hall and looked out a side window to see if the carriage had been brought around. To her relief, it was already waiting. She hastened down the steps unseen. Outside, she said to the driver, "Take me to the nearest coaching inn, please."

Like Bessy, he gaped at her baggage. "My lady?"

She gave him the flat stare of a tai-tai who was displeased. Hastily he stowed her bags away, then helped her into the carriage.

Once the vehicle lurched into motion, she leaned back against the velvet squabs and allowed herself to shake. It was over. She was a mistress leaving her former lover, and she should have done it sooner.

Between the money Kyle had given her before they left on their journey and the funds from Gavin Elliott, she had enough to survive for many months. She'd go to Scotland. Perhaps there would be an Edinburgh trading company that could use a clerk who spoke and wrote Chinese. If not, surely she could find use for her skills in London. Would Gavin Elliott still want her services now that she was his partner's former mistress rather than his widow? If not, no matter. She would find some kind of work.

Stony eyed, she gave Dornleigh a last glance. She'd wanted Lord Maxwell's aid in getting to Britain, and she'd received that, along with enough money to last her until she was established. They had fulfilled their obligations to each other, and now there was nothing left between them.

Nothing.

Chapter 32

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Kyle had been doing his best to ignore his father's words, but he snapped into full awareness when the earl went too far. Kyle clenched his hands against a desire to commit physical violence against his own father. "Troth's honor and virtue are irreproachable, and I will not allow her to be insulted by you or any man. Do I make myself clear?"

Wrexham's jaw dropped. "How dare you speak to your father that way!"

"The duty a man owes his wife takes precedence over that which he owes his father," Kyle said flatly. "You act as if Troth isn't good enough for me. In fact, the reverse is true. I'm not good enough for her."

The earl made an exasperated gesture. "If you insist, she's pure as the driven snow and a credit to her sex. But she's still no wife."

"If you will not accept her as my wife, then I am not your son! Feel free to disinherit me."

Wrexham's face turned an unhealthy shade of red. "You know perfectly well I can't do that! The title and almost all of the property are entailed to you. Everything passes from eldest son to eldest son-that's the way it should be."

Kyle glared. "Which means I can do any damned thing I want, and you have no recourse."

"Yes. Is it too much to hope that you'll behave with wisdom and honor? "

Kyle rose and paced angrily across the room, his temples pounding. He had avoided being alone with his father because he'd known they would have this argument, and he'd felt unable to resolve the conflict between what he owed Troth and what Wrexham thought his heir owed the family name. But the issue could be sidestepped no longer. How the devil could this fight be ended before he and his father damaged each other irrevocably?

Kyle's relationship with the earl had always been a complex blend of affection, duty, and tension. The older man had inherited an estate on the verge of financial collapse and pulled it back to prosperity with grindingly hard work. He'd become a just and innovative landowner and a conscientious member of the House of Lords. But where his family was concerned, he was fiercely protective and suffocatingly rigid.

Reminding himself of the earl's more admirable qualities, he said more quietly, "I missed you when I was away, Father. I didn't come back to resume fighting again."