"How long, Allie? How long are you going to allow that bastard to rule your life?"

She stiffened. "If you mean David-"

"If I mean David?" A harsh, humorless laugh escaped him. "Of course I mean David. He's ruled every facet of your life from the grave for the past three years, from your actions to the clothes you wear. He might as well be sitting in this bloody room with us. The way I see it, you've paid your debt. You've paid his debts. Exactly how many more years are you planning to give him? How much more of your happiness are you going to let him steal?"

Her hands fisted at her sides. "You don't understand-"

"You're right. I don't understand." He advanced a step toward her, and she involuntarily retreated a step. "Make me understand, Allie. Make me understand why you're not willing to put the past behind you and live again. Why you're willing to let one past mistake with a man who is dead ruin what we could have together."

"It is my past mistake I am determined not to repeat."

"What does that mean?"

"We barely know each other."

He drew a deep breath. "I know you, Allie. You've lived in my mind, in my heart, my entire adult life-all I had to do was find you. It is not necessary for us to know every single thing about each other to fall in love. As for me, I know everything I need to know about you. I know you are kind. Loyal. Honorable. You make me laugh. You make me happy. Those are the important things. We have a lifetime ahead of us to learn everything else."

"Clearly I was not specific enough. I should have said I do not know you well enough."

"That is easily remedied. What would you like to know?"

"What would you like to tell me?"

Her question and harsh tone stilled him, filling his eyes with a sudden unease. "I'd be happy to listen to any questions you wish to ask."

A very evasive, David-like reply, she noted. "Very well. I want to know about the fire."

His eyes went blank and a muscle ticked in his jaw. A deafening silence stretched between them, broken when he finally asked, "May I inquire who told you?"

"I cannot see that it makes any difference. What matters is that you did not tell me."

"I'd planned to."

"Indeed? When?"

"Eventually."

But she could see the true answer on his face, the guilt in his eyes. He clearly hadn't planned to tell her until after she'd married him-when it would be too late for her to reject him.

"It happened a long time ago, Allie."

"What happened?"

"What specifically do you want to know?"

"You could start by explaining your involvement."

He stared at her for several heartbeats, then said, "It is not something I like to talk about."

Hurt and anger waged a war in her. He wasn't going to tell her. Well, damn it, she was not going to accept that. "I only want to know one thing, and I want the truth. Did you cause this fire?"

He said nothing for a space of time that seemed to stretch into an eternity. It was obvious from his troubled expression that he was deeply conflicted. Finally, he said, "Yes, I did."

"Was it an accident?"

"No." The single, harsh word seemed ripped from his chest. "I was responsible for starting a fire in a nearby village. A building was lost. A man lost his life."

She actually felt the blood drain from her face. "You were not imprisoned?"

"No. My family wields a great deal of influence." He seemed about to say something more, but instead he pressed his lips together. Unreadable emotions flickered in his eyes, and his hands fisted at his sides. "That is all I am able to tell you."

Her heart felt crushed. It was obvious there was more to this incident-aspects he was unwilling to share with her. Dear God, how was it possible to feel so numb yet hurt so much at the same time? And why did she feel this ridiculous tug of pity for him? Was it the tortured look in his eyes? The way he seemed to be silently beseeching her for something she did not understand?

Well, she would not feel sorry for him. By his own admission he'd committed a crime. One he'd clearly had no intention of telling her about. It was as if she were reliving her worst nightmare. He was, indeed, just like David. Just like David… just like David.

Pulling her gaze away from the sorrow in his eyes, she looked pointedly toward the door. "I think it would be best if you left my bedchamber now. And did not return."

He grasped her shoulders, bringing her gaze back to his. There was no mistaking the pain her words brought him. "You want to end our affair?"

"I cannot share such… intimacies with you any longer."

"Because of one mistake in my past."

"Because of the nature of the mistake. And because you didn't tell me. You asked me to spend the rest of my life with you, yet you deliberately withheld information you had to know I would find pertinent-especially given my own past."

He moved one step closer to her and cupped her face between his hands, his own face taut with emotion. "Allie. Please. Let us both put the past behind us, where it belongs. I love you. So much, it hurts." His anxious eyes searched her face. "Do you love me?" The question seemed to erupt from him. "If you do, if you feel the same way I do, if you trust me, then we can conquer anything together. If you don't…" His words trailed off and he swallowed, his throat working. "Do you love me?"

Did she? God help her, she didn't know. So many conflicting feelings were pushing at her, pulling at her, until it felt as if her head were about to explode. She'd been so determined not to love him, not to feel anything for him, but he'd somehow sneaked around her defenses. She needed to think, and she could not do so with him here, confusing her further. The only two things she was certain of was that she did not want to love him, and she would not allow herself to be hurt again.

His hands slid slowly from her face. "I guess I have my answer."

"Robert." She pressed her hands to her stomach, feeling the need to say something, but completely ignorant of what to say, not even certain why, in spite of everything, she felt this inexplicable need to comfort him. To make him understand. "You just don't know what it's like. To have your heart completely, utterly broken."

He appeared to look right through her. In a flat tone, he said, "You are completely, utterly wrong." He leaned forward, until his lips almost touched her ear. "You see, I just found out," he whispered, his warm breath a stark contrast to his chilling words. Then he turned and walked swiftly across the carpet. Without a backward glance, he quit the room. The door closed behind him with a soft click that seemed to reverberate with a funereal finality.

He was gone, and she knew he'd just departed more than her bedchamber, closed the door on more than a sensual interlude. He was literally gone. From her life. There would be no more passion-filled nights, no more laughter-filled days.

An ache such as she'd never known crushed her, stealing her breath. Nothing, ever, had hurt this way. Not even David's betrayal. Her entire body started to shake, and she staggered toward the bed. She climbed beneath the covers like a wounded animal, shivering, feeling more lost and alone than she ever had.

Yet she'd done the right thing. For both of them. She'd vowed never to marry again, to never give her heart to someone who could trample it into the ground. A man who would keep things from her. Who was capable of committing a crime.

And even if she was insane enough to push aside all the reasons he was the wrong man for her and consider his proposal, she could not ignore the fact that she was the wrong woman for him. An image of him, cavorting with his niece and nephew, flashed through her mind, leaving a poignant ache in its wake. Whatever Robert's faults, there was no denying he was wonderful with children. No skirting the obvious fact that he was a man who would someday want, and need, children of his own.

And no ignoring the fact that she could never be the woman who gave them to him.

The area around her heart went hollow, then filled with throbbing grief. The memory of him bouncing children on his knees, children who gazed at him with love-filled, excited eyes, should not hurt her so. She'd known her relationship with Robert would never lead to marriage, knew children were not in her future. But clearly they would be in his. And that filled her with a misery and longing too painful to contemplate.

Yes, she might possibly satisfy him for a short period of time, but he would eventually want children. And she could not give them to him.

He'd clearly put his past behind him, moved on with his life. She recalled his words about the fire. It is not something I talk about. It was as if he'd placed the entire incident in a box marked "In The Past-Do Not Discuss," then shoved the entire affair into a corner of the wardrobe, never to be seen again.

It did not matter. Their whirlwind affair was over. It had simply ended a bit sooner than anticipated.

Yes, she'd done the right thing. For both of them. Her mind absolutely knew it.

Now, if she could only convince her heart.


*********

Robert entered his bedchamber and made a beeline for the decanters. Tossing back a hefty swallow of brandy, he immediately poured another. As he lifted the snifter to his lips, he caught sight of himself in the cheval glass. From the neck down, he looked like a man who had just emerged from his lover's bed- rumpled and disheveled. From the neck up, he looked like a man who'd just lost everything he held dear-empty, hollow-eyed, and drawn.