As Lottie cast a glance around the assemblage, hoping to catch sight of him, her attention was caught by a figure standing several yards away from her.

Radnor, she thought, while a shower of icy needles seemed to rain down on her. Every muscle locked...she was frozen with the same fear she had felt during two years of being hunted. His face was partially averted from her horrified gaze, but she saw his iron-gray hair, the haughty tilt of his head, the black slashes of his brows. And then he turned in her direction, as if he sensed her presence in the crowded hall.

Immediately her silent terror turned to bewilderment...no, it was not Radnor, only a man who resembled him. The gentleman nodded and smiled to her, as strangers sometimes did when their gazes happened to meet. He turned back to his companions, while Lottie looked down at her clenched hands in their pale pink gloves and tried to calm the thrashing of her heart. The aftereffects of the shock hit her...a touch of nausea, a dousing of cold sweat, a trembling that refused to abate.How ridiculous you are , she told herself, disgusted by the fact that the mere glance of a man who looked like Radnor could have elicited such an overreaction.

"Mrs. Gentry," came a nearby voice. It was Mrs. Howsham, a pleasant and soft-spoken woman whom Lottie had only recently met. "Are you feeling ill, dear? You look rather queer."

She looked into Mrs. Howsham's face. "It's rather stifling in here," she whispered. "And I think I've laced a bit too tightly this evening."

"Ah, yes," the woman said in wry understanding, familiar with the complaints that corset strings often induced. "The perils of fashion we must suffer..."

To Lottie's relief, Nick appeared at her side, a glass of lemonade in hand. Instantly perceiving that something was wrong, he slid a supportive arm behind her. "What is it?" he asked, staring alertly at her pale face.

Mrs. Howsham took it upon herself to answer. "Tight-lacing, Mr. Gentry...I suggest that you take her somewhere a bit more secluded than this. A breath of fresh air often helps."

Keeping his arm around Lottie, Nick guided her through the hall. The night air caused Lottie to shiver as her sweat-soaked garments turned clammy. Carefully Nick drew her to the lee of a massive column that blocked the light and noise coming from inside the building.

"It was nothing," Lottie told him sheepishly. "Nothing at all. I feel like an idiot, making a fuss for no reason." Accepting the lemonade from him, she drank thirstily, not stopping until the glass was drained.

Nick bent to set the empty glass on the ground and rose to face Lottie once more. His face was taut as he took a handkerchief from his coat and wiped the trickling perspiration from her cheeks and forehead. "Tell me what happened," he said quietly.

Lottie flushed in embarrassment. "I thought I saw Lord Radnor in there. But it was only a man who looked like him." She sighed tensely. "Now I've revealed myself to be an utter coward. I'm sorry."

"Radnor rarely goes out in public," Nick murmured. "It's not likely that you would encounter him at an event like this."

"I know," she said ruefully. "Unfortunately I didn't stop to think about that."

"You're not a coward." There was concern in his dark blue eyes...concern overlaying some richer, more mysterious emotion underneath.

"I reacted like a child who's afraid of the dark."

His fingers slid beneath her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. "It's conceivable that you will encounter Radnor someday," he said softly. "But I'll be with you when or if that happens, Lottie. You don't have to fear him anymore. I'll keep you safe."

She felt a rush of wonder at the tender gravity of his expression. "Thank you," she replied, taking a full breath for the first time since they had left the hall.

Continuing to stare into her pale, damp face, Nick shook his head with a slight frown, as if the sight of her distress was painful to him. Seeming unable to help himself, he reached out and pulled her against him, his arms wrapping around her as he tried to comfort her with his body. There was nothing sexual about the embrace, but somehow it was more intimate than anything they had ever done together. His arms were strong and possessive, holding her steady while his breath fell in moist, hot surges against her neck.

"Shall I take you home?" he whispered.

Lottie nodded slowly, while a lifetime of loneliness transformed into a sense of inconceivable comfort. A home...a husband...things she had never let herself hope for. Surely this illusion couldn't last-somehow, someday, it would be taken away from her. But until that happened, she would cherish every moment.

"Yes," she said, her voice muffled against his coat. "Let's go home."

Gradually emerging from a deep sleep, Lottie became aware of odd noises in the house. Thinking that perhaps the sounds were a remnant of a dream, she blinked and sat up slowly in bed. It was the middle of the night, and the bedroom was pitch black. There it was again...a growl, a garbled phrase...as if someone were in the midst of an argument. Recalling that Nick was occasionally troubled by nightmares, Lottie sprang from the bed. Carefully she lit a lamp, replaced the glass, and carried it with her down the hall.

Shadows fled before her as she approached the guest room where Nick slept. Pausing at the closed door, she tapped on it cautiously. There was no reply. After a moment, she heard a violent rustling from within. Lottie turned the knob and entered the bedroom.

"Nick?"

He was stretched out on the bed, lying on his stomach with the sheet twisted at his hips. Breathing rapidly, he clenched his fists and muttered incoherently, his dark face gleaming with sweat. Staring at him in puzzled concern, Lottie wondered what unseen monsters could cause his long body to twitch with what was either suppressed rage, or fear, or both. She set the lamp on the bedside table and approached him.

"Nick, wake up. It's only a dream." Reaching out to him, she laid a gentle hand on the brutal curve of his shoulder. "Nick-"

Suddenly she was caught in an explosion of violence. A startled cry escaped her as she was seized and flung halfway across the bed. Nick was on her in an instant, straddling her with his powerful thighs. Hearing a murderous growl, Lottie looked up into the harsh, shadowed mask of his face and saw one huge hand draw back in a fist.

"No!" she gasped, shielding her face with her arms.

The strike never came. All went still. Trembling, Lottie lowered her arms and looked up to see Nick's face change, the nightmarish mask dropping, sanity and awareness creeping back into his expression. He lowered his fist and stared at it blankly. Then his gaze fell to Lottie's slim form, and the fury and terror in his eyes made her cringe.

"I could have killed you," he snarled, his white teeth gleaming like an animal's. "What are you doing here? Don't ever touch me while I'm sleeping, damn you!"

"I didn't know, I...what in heaven's name were you dreaming about?"

He rolled away from her in a lithe movement and left the bed, panting. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

"I thought you needed something-"

"All I need is for you to stay the hell away from me," he snapped. Finding his discarded clothes on a chair, he jerked his trousers on.

Lottie felt as if she had been struck. She hated it that his words had the power to hurt her. Even more than that, she was anguished for him, wishing he did not have to bear such torment alone.

"Get out of here," he said, pulling his shirt and coat on, not bothering with a waistcoat or necktie.

"Are you leaving?" Lottie asked. "There is no need. I will go back to bed, and-"

"Yes, I'm leaving."

"Where are you going?"

"I don't know." He didn't spare her a glance as he picked up his stockings and shoes. "And don't ask when I'll return. I don't know that, either."

"But why?" Lottie took a halting step toward him. "Nick, please stay and tell me-"

He shot her a warning glance, his eyes bright with the ferocity of a wounded animal. "I told you to get out."

Feeling the blood drain from her face, Lottie nodded and went to the door. Pausing at the threshold, she spoke without a backward glance. "I'm sorry."

He made no reply.

Lottie bit the insides of her lips, damning herself as she felt the sting of tears at the corners of her eyes. She left swiftly, retreating to her room with the shreds of her dignity.

Nick did not return all the next day. Anxious and bewildered, Lottie tried to find ways to occupy herself. However, no distraction proved sufficient to stop her from worrying. She took a long walk with a footman in tow, attended to needlework, read, and helped Mrs. Trench make tallow candles.

The housekeeper and servants were quietly deferential to Lottie. Predictably, not one word was mentioned about the previous night, although they were all certainly aware that some disturbance had taken place. Servants knew everything, but none of them would ever admit to knowledge of the intimate details of their master's life.

Wondering where her husband had gone, Lottie feared that perhaps he had done something reckless. She consoled herself that he was quite good at taking care of himself, but that did not ease her distress. He had been so very upset, and she suspected that his anger had stemmed from the fear that he might have hurt her.

However, she was his wife, and she deserved better than to be abandoned with no explanation. The day was relentlessly long, and Lottie was relieved when evening finally approached. After dining alone, she took a long bath, donned a fresh white nightrail, and read from a stack of periodicals until she finally felt able to sleep. Exhausted by the endless circling of her thoughts and the tedium of the past hours, she sank into deep slumber.