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T he papers were full of the scandal. Madeleine read avidly.

A certain duke who was recently married has suffered an unwelcome lesson for marrying beneath him.

His new bride has been caught in a compromising position with a certain viscount.

Anyone who doubts the veracity of this shocking tale need only see the dreadful bruised eye the viscount is sporting as a result of the duke’s wrath.

We wait with bated breath on the sequel to this dramatic turn of events. A play upon the stage could not be more entertaining or shocking.

Madeleine sat back staring at the opposite wall of her breakfast parlor done out in pretty white and pale green striped wallpaper.

She played absently with the teaspoon in the sugar bowl.

How might this unexpected turn of events play to her favor?

Would Robert seek solace with her now, after this shocking betrayal by his duchess?

Her hand crept to the curve of her belly, the evidence of her mistake she could no longer deny.

Can I convince Robert that the babe is his?

He would not turn his back upon her if he thought the child was his.

She was bigger than she ought to be for only three months along.

But she’d had her courses after her last time with the duke, so it couldn’t be his, could it?

But perhaps it was? She hoped, she prayed it was.

She didn’t know the identity of her mysterious blond lover from that night of the masked ball.

They had only exchanged first names. It might be enough for her to track him down if she really tried, but she hadn’t tried, because she kept clinging to the hope that it was Robert’s child.

She had even made up her mind last night that she ought to try to find him, then this. ..

What should I do?

*

Despite the dowager duchess’s best attempts to quash the scandal, the tale of the duke’s attack on the viscount spread like wildfire, getting more lurid in the telling.

The viscount and his family left The Castle early the following morning, and it was easy to see that marital discord was high between Lord and Lady Ashford.

The lady ignored Sarah altogether and stalked toward the carriage, also ignoring her husband’s hand proffered to help her up the steps.

Ashford, his eye black and purplish blue this morning, swung up behind her, and the horses started forward, the lead carriage containing the lord and lady, followed by the second containing the couple’s valet, personal maid, and their three offspring.

Sarah turned to walk back up the steps into the house but was stopped by a hand on her arm.

“Will you take a walk with me?” asked Robert stiffly. They were the first words he had addressed directly to her since the previous evening. After finding his door locked against her last night, she was still both hurt and angry. I have done nothing wrong, so why is he treating me as if I have?

She inclined her head, every bit as stiff as he was, and allowed him to lead her round the side of the house to the south lawn. It was deserted except for a few birds pecking in the grass.

“I must apologize for my—loss of control last night.” he began.

“Did you apologize to Emrys?” she asked him.

“Not exactly.”

“Why not?”

“I was too angry last night, and this morning there was no opportunity.”

“He has done nothing wrong, and you hurt him!”

“You are mightily exercised over his welfare, madam!”

“And you are ridiculous! You call him your friend and you treat him thus?”

“Will you at least tell me what compelled you to hug him?”

“No! I will not!” said Sarah, furiously. “If Emrys did not confide in you, I will not break his confidence. If you have so little trust toward him and toward me, I see no value in satisfying your idle curiosity.”

“It is not idle curiosity; I simply wish to understand—”

“The reason was sufficient. And for that you will have to trust me !” She turned away from him, but he reached out and pulled her back around.

“Must you make everything into a fight?”

“Must I —?” Sarah gasped and almost choked on her indignation.

“It is not I who started this, Your Grace! You are at fault here. I will not be browbeaten by your arrogance!” She pulled her arm from his grip and stormed off, too furious with him to continue the conversation.

Her heart was thudding and her eyes prickling with tears.

His lack of trust and his readiness to jump to the worst possible construction of the circumstances broke her heart. Does he have so little faith in me?

*

Robert watched her walk away in despair.

He knew he was being unreasonable about Ashford, that there was nothing in it.

He acquitted both of them of amorous intent, but the idea that Sarah might give Ashford comfort still provoked him.

It seemed that instead of truly letting go of his feelings over Lannister, he had merely bottled them up and they had festered.

It was an ugly side of himself he didn’t like, didn’t want.

A sharp contrast, he realized, to both Sarah and Ashford’s kindness of spirit.

Ashford was the kindest man he knew, and Sarah was quite naturally drawn to a kindness that was an echo of her own.

They also shared that trait of generosity, which he seemed to lack. Something he loved them both for.

It was the same spirit that inspired Lannister’s admiration of her. The notion was bitter gall. It still rankled that Lannister understood his wife better than he did. Perhaps that was the true root of his insecurity.

Either way, it was really Lannister he wanted to hit on the eye.

He could not rid his mind of the suspicion that she harbored feelings for him that she had not admitted to.

Why else did she still have his card? He kept coming back to that, worrying at it like a dog with bone.

They should have had a conversation about it after all.

His normal confidence was shattered by the thought of her returning Lannister’s esteem, even in the smallest degree.

He couldn’t fathom it. The man was so unworthy of respect, let alone love—he was sure of it.

If she harbored feelings for a man such as that, she couldn’t be the woman he thought her to be.

Not the woman he loved. And that thought was truly why he had shied away from asking her about the card.

It wasn’t some determination to be reasonable or to trust—no, he just couldn’t bear to discover any painful truth.

Wretched, he flung off to the stables to take out Firefly for a good gallop, as he had the other day, anything to run off his sick despair.

He learned later that his sisters-in-law had left while he was out, and he felt a twinge of regret to have missed them, but in the current circumstances he felt it might be for the best.

The conclusion he had drawn on his ride was that the less he saw of Sarah for the moment the better.

It was clear that he couldn’t deal with the thought of her possible feelings for Lannister or discuss it with her rationally in his current state, so until he could be civilized about it, he was best to avoid her and wait until he could.

He had thought he had found a way to deal with this jealousy, but he was mistaken.

All he’d done was bury it, and the mere sight of Ashford’s arms round her had set off every nerve of insecurity he had.

The rest of their guests, including Lady Holbrook, left in dribs and drabs throughout the day.

Ravenshaw and Pendrell were among the last to leave and both attempted to speak to him about Ashford, but he had no desire to discuss what he knew was his own folly and rebuffed them, suggesting they apply to the viscount for the story.

That night it was Sarah who locked her door.

Robert spent the next two days mostly with his steward, following up on the work he had begun two days ago and setting in motion much needed repairs to the estate that were now possible with access to Sarah’s fortune.

It gave him a good excuse to stay away from the house for the majority of the day and avoid any private speech with Sarah, not that she showed any inclination to talk to him.

Which, perversely, just made him more upset.

After discovering her door locked against him, he was too hurt—or too stubborn—to try again, quite forgetting that he had locked his door to her the previous night.

Thus, he spent another night alone, prey to fears that his behavior was destroying any burgeoning feelings she might have for him and instead fanning any flame of affection she had for Lannister.

And if that truly were the case, everything was at an end and their marriage was a hollow shell.

Such gloomy thoughts were uncharacteristic, and he tried mightily to head them off, but they kept intruding, showing him the bent of his mind.

He had learned early that he needed to stay in control of his emotions and remain the cool head when others lost theirs.

And he had lived much of his life in that artificial condition, not really feeling and believing that was self-control, even being proud of himself for that.

What he hadn’t realized until now was that his control was a veneer.

It merely masked much stronger emotions he had never known—or admitted—he had and when they exploded as they had the other night, he discovered he had no practice, no methods for preventing it.

And further, in the aftermath, he found himself mired in a mud of conflicting feelings, paralyzed by shame, hurt, and fear—emotions he was not accustomed to entertaining.

He had made a wretched, self-serving attempt to apologize to Sarah, but when she pointed out that he had hurt Ashford, guilt had made him lash out at her! Which was unforgivable.