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Hot tears of bitter humiliation welled up behind her eyes. She squeezed them back down. She would rather die than let him see how badly he’d hurt her.

Or anyone else. Oh, how she’d boasted… The triumph with which she’d left the sewing room a few minutes ago. Her prince had finally come.

Because he’d tried to get rid of her and failed.

He was silent a long moment. “I can see you’re upset, but—”

“Please excuse me. I feel… unwell.” Clinging to the last remnants of her dignity, she hurried from the room.

B ella ran through the quiet corridors. Penance if she was caught running, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t a schoolgirl anymore. She had to get away, to think, to understand…

She headed for her favorite place, a tiny courtyard on the far side of the convent, shaded in summer, a pool of warm sunlight in winter. A place for contemplation, Reverend Mother had said when she’d found Bella there once.

She’d been in tears then, too. In trouble for fighting, defending the honor of her absent husband. His honor…

The thought brought a fresh spurt of angry, bitter tears as she flung herself onto the cold stone bench that had been witness to so much of her misery.

The other girls had been right all along. It had taken stupid, stubborn Bella Ripton eight long years to learn the truth they’d recognized from the start. He hadn’t wanted her. He’d abandoned her to her fate. And he’d tried to annul their marriage, to erase all trace of it.

And failed.

She felt sick. Devastated. Furious. He thought he could just come and pick her up. Bella the Parcel. Stick her on a shelf until he remembered her.

Because he needed an heir.

Didn’t need her , just a wife.

Didn’t want her, just an heir.

All those years of worry on his behalf. What a fool she’d been.

She dashed scalding tears from her cheeks.

Her fingers came away pink and streaky. Paloma’s rouge.

She pulled the handkerchief from the bodice of her dress and scrubbed at her face, trying to remove the rice powder and rouge.

Why, oh, why had she let the girls dress her up like a stupid doll for him?

She could have been dressed in a sack for all he cared.

Humiliation roiled in her gut like an angry snake. She felt ill. Such a fool she was, coming all dressed up, primed for a romantic reunion.

So many times she’d sat in this small, sunny courtyard, remembering her wedding day.

To tell the truth, she didn’t remember all that much about it, only standing in the little whitewashed village church with the priest saying the words, a mumble of Latin.

She remembered holding Lieutenant Ripton’s hand; it was so big and warm, and her hand so small and cold.

It was cold in the church, and he’d rubbed his thumb lightly back and forth over her hand, a silent reassurance that everything would be all right, just as he’d promised her in the pine glade…

The priest asked a question, and just as Lieutenant Ripton answered, a beam of sun shone through the narrow windows of the tiny church and gilded his face, and he looked like an angel. He’d glanced down at Bella and smiled, just with his eyes, and she felt so safe, as if she’d been blessed.

She’d been so certain the golden beam of sunlight was a sign that her marriage had been blessed, that it was meant to be.

Stupid, dreamy fool…

When the others found out he’d tried to annul the marriage, how they’d pity her. She couldn’t bear it.

There were whispers once, about someone’s cousin whose marriage had been annulled because she didn’t please her husband. The girl was returned home, shamed and disgraced.

How much worse to have had your husband try for an annulment and fail? All of the shame, and none of the comfort of escape. She’d become one of those stories that girls whispered about. Utter, public, never-ending mortification.

“Isabella?” Reverend Mother’s voice came from thecourtyard entrance.

Isabella hastily wiped her eyes and turned to face her, expecting a scold, but though it was Reverend Mother who came toward her, it was her aunt who held out loving, sympathetic arms, saying softly, “Oh, my dear.” Isabella fell into them, sobbing afresh.

“My dear, I thought you knew,” Reverend Mother said when Isabella had finally sobbed herself out. She handed Isabella a clean handkerchief. “Wipe your eyes and blow your nose.”

“What do you mean, knew? How could I know?” Isabella blew her nose loudly.

“Lord Ripton was correct; annulment was the plan from the beginning.”

“It was ?” Isabella whispered.

Her aunt nodded. “I thought you knew.” She gave her a compassionate hug. “But there was a lot for you to take in that day, I know, and you were still a child, so I suppose it’s understandable that you didn’t fully comprehend.”

“But…” Isabella swallowed to remove the lump in her throat.

“Lord Ripton married you solely to protect you from a forced marriage to Ramón.”

Isabella nodded. “I knew that. But the marriage was still real.” Wasn’t it?

“It was legal, of course, but at the time it was just a stratagem. His intention— our intention—was to have it annulled when you were twenty-one.” She patted Isabella’s hand. “He planned to set you free to make your own choice, my dear.”

Bella sniffed. “Why didn’t you warn me—you must have… Didn’t you know how I feel—felt about him?”

A rueful expression crossed Reverend Mother’s face. “I could see you had a schoolgirl crush—not surprising when a heroic young man rescues you, and such a handsome one, too. But I believed you’d grow out of it, and you did.” She eyed Bella with a mixture of concern and doubt. “Didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Bella said dully. She did, she told herself. She felt nothing at all for him—now.

Humiliation twisted in her gut. How foolish, getting all upset about an arrangement that had been in place for eight years, only she’d been too stupid to remember it.

All the dreams, all the glorious romantic stories she’d told about her husband.

All stupid, vain, childish… lies.

She stared down at the worn stone cobbles of the courtyard and wished she could seep between the cracks and dissolve deep into the earth.

“In any case,” Reverend Mother continued, “shortly after you came here I knew an annulment was not possible.”

“How did you know?”

“My dear, you told me yourself of the… attack.”

“Yes, but… but what has that to do with it? Was it because Lieutenant Ripton killed the man? Because he was a deserter and—”

“No, my dear, it was because the man… er… compromised your virginity and that is why no annulment could be granted.”

“But Lieutenant Ripton didn’t—”

“No, no, of course not. But after that, no other man—nogentleman, I mean—would be prepared to take you to wife.”

Bella frowned. “Lieutenant Ripton is a gentleman.”

“He is indeed, and now a titled one—you really must learn to call him Lord Ripton—and so we must be grateful for his forbearance in this matter.”

Bella wove the handkerchief between her fingers. So now she must be grateful he was willing to overlook this terrible flaw in her—because he had no choice in the matter. Grateful that he’d come to collect this defective package that no other gentleman would want.

Grateful that she had no choice in the matter, that she must go with a man who clearly did not want her but was prepared to regard her with forbearance .

Foolish Isabella Ripton, dreaming of love when her lot was to be forbearance.

She twisted the handkerchief, tightening it around her fingers until it hurt. She would be just as trapped in an unwanted marriage as she had been by convent walls.

“Isabella? Do you understand what I am telling you?”

Bella nodded, as if reconciled, but her aunt wasn’t deceived. “It is a good marriage,” she insisted. “Lord Ripton is not of your father’s rank, but he is a titled gentleman, a good man of good family, and his war service was very distinguished.”

“How do you know about his war service?”

She snorted. “Did you imagine that I would make no inquiries about the man who married my niece?” She stood.

“For heaven’s sake, Isabella, stop looking so tragic.

You will live a rich and privileged life with a kind and handsome gentleman.

You will go to elegant London parties and wear wonderful clothes.

No other girl here has half as much to look forward to—and any one of them would take your place in an instant if she had the chance.

Now pull yourself together. Lord Ripton is waiting to speak with you. ”

“ Now? ” Isabella’s hands flew to her hair. She must make a terrible sight.

But nuns had no patience with vanity. “Yes, now. You’ve kept him waiting long enough.”

L uke paced back and forth in the cloisters. He was considerably dismayed by Isabella’s reaction. It was clear to him that she’d cherished… expectations of him. Romantic expectations.

Women often did that—took one look at his face and imagined he was someone else entirely, some blasted Byronic hero, to be sighed and swooned over. Spin fantasies about.

He was no fit subject for any young girl’s fantasy.

He recalled the way her face had crumpled when she’d realized he’d tried to have the marriage annulled.

He swore silently. A girl who’d lost both parents in a war, who’d fled her home in fear of a forced marriage to a despised cousin, who was brutally attacked on the road, and who was desperate enough to agree to a sham marriage to a stranger—how could such a girl cherish any kind of fairy-tale expectations, let alone eight years after the event?

Judging by her reaction, it seemed this one did. And Luke was going to have to deal with it.

It would be cruel to encourage any expectations she might have.

The sooner she realized that this marriage would be a practical arrangement, the better.

It might not have been what either of them planned, but with the right attitude they could make the best of the situation and forge a marriage of… of contentment.