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V ictoria crossed the room slowly, and sat down in the chair that James had indicated for her.

She kept her eyes on him the whole time, wondering what he might be thinking.

But James didn't speak. He remained silent, watching her.

Victoria remained silent as well, wondering which of them would break the silence, which of them would speak first. It seemed impossible that either of them would give in.

In the end, though, it was Victoria who spoke.

"What are you doing up in the middle of the night?" she asked him.

"You asked me that already," James told her.

"I know I did," Victoria said, "but you didn't answer, so I'm asking you again."

"You didn't answer when I asked you either," James pointed out.

"I couldn't sleep," Victoria said. "Is that a crime? Do I have to explain myself to you every time I'm out of bed?"

"You're in my house. So, yes, you do have to explain yourself to me every time I ask you to," James told her.

Victoria thought of arguing with James, telling him that this was her house and not his, but they had had that argument so many times that she couldn't see anything else to be gained by having it again. She held out her hand. "Could I have my book?"

"My book," James corrected her.

"It actually is my book," Victoria told him. It doesn't belong to the estate, I bought it myself when I was in town one day."

James looked at the Voltaire in his hand. "This is your book," he repeated. He sounded as if he couldn't quite believe what she had told him.

"I know," Victoria said. "You've never seen a lady read Voltaire before." She felt frustrated with him, for he had made it very clear that he didn't believe she was smart enough to read the books she liked best.

She held out her hand for the book. He handed it over, although he seemed reluctant to do so.

"I answered your question," she told him, "so now you should answer mine. Tell me what you're doing up in the middle of the night."

"I don't have to explain myself to you," James told her. "I'm the master of this house and you just live here."

"Well, try showing a little courtesy," she said. "You may not owe me any answers, but it wouldn't kill you to give me an answer."

"Well, if you must know," James said, "I couldn't sleep either. Sometimes I have trouble sleeping at night."

"I suppose we have that in common then," Victoria said.

"I suppose we do, although the reason I can't sleep has nothing to do with fears that the house might be haunted."

"I'm not afraid that the house is haunted, Victoria said, "but I do become frightened when a man puts his hand over my face in the middle of the night!"

James exhaled. "I'm sorry for doing that," he said. "You're correct. I shouldn't have done so."

"No, you shouldn't have done that."

"Well, I did apologize."

"You shouldn't make fun of me for being afraid the house is haunted when you are the one who told me that there were cold spots in the house that might mean that there were ghosts in here."

"In my defense," James said, "you did believe me."

Victoria let out an exasperated sigh. "Yes," she agreed. "I did believe you. You wanted me to believe you."

"I was teasing you."

"You're merciless."

"So did my ghost stories keep you awake? Is that why you're here?"

"Yes, of course it is. Of course that's the reason," Victoria said.

"I'm not frightened of ghosts." That wasn't entirely true, but the truth was something she wasn't ready to admit to him.

She felt unsure of herself, shaken and upset, and she didn't want to let him see too much about her.

"I knew that you were teasing me. But the stories stuck in my head and made me feel anxious and agitated. It wasn't very kind of you to do that."

"You began it."

"But I'm a lady. Do you think it's all right to frighten a lady?"

"I suppose I shouldn't have," James said. "I didn't think it would upset you as much as it did, since you were the first one to tell ghost stories."

"Well, I apologize too," Victoria said.

"It would be interesting if the place was haunted by the late duke," James mused. "What do you think he would make of all this?"

"I think he would tell you to let me stay," Victoria said firmly. "He would say that you ought to let me have the house. I earned it by marriage."

"Your marriage lasted less than an hour, from what I've been told," James said. "Did you know there are those who wonder if I'm the one who died?"

"What? How can anyone wonder that? You're sitting right here. Any fool can see you aren't dead."

"But I wasn't sitting right here, was I?" James asked. "I was away for a very long time, and no one knew what to make of my absence. Surely even you must have wondered, knowing there was an heir, why I didn't come back and claim what was rightfully mine."

"I suppose I thought you weren't interested," Victoria said. "After a year passed with no sign of you, I confess I allowed myself to stop thinking about it." She frowned. "I see now what a mistake that was, of course."

"You didn't think me dead?"

Victoria laughed. "I didn't think much about you at all!"

It was difficult to believe, now, that there had been a time when that was true. A time when she hadn't yet known James, when he hadn't occupied her thoughts. As angry as he made her, as maddening as she found him, Victoria realized she had gotten used to having him around.

She even liked having him around in some ways.

She liked the way her pulse quickened when they spoke to one another.

She liked the eager anticipation she felt each morning before she saw him, wondering what their interactions would bring that day.

Perhaps she had been on her own too long, and that was why it felt so exhilarating to have someone else in the house—even though it was someone she wasn't entirely sure she liked.

"And what about you?" James asked, cutting into her thoughts.

"Me? What do you mean?"

"You're not exactly social. Word has it you keep yourself shut up in this house all the time—you're very nearly a ghost yourself.

It doesn't help your reputation that you act like this, you know.

Maybe you wouldn't need me to come in and salvage things for you if you put yourself out among people—if you tried to find a match for yourself. "

"I don't require your help," Victoria said. "And I haven't looked for a match by my own choice. I made a decision long ago that I would never look for love again. Gentlemen aren't worth the effort. They're not worth the heartache."

He looked at her, cocking his head curiously to one side, and Victoria could tell he was wondering what she meant. What she might have been through in the past to turn her away from the idea of love.

She felt her heart lift. Maybe there was hope. Maybe he could really understand what she had been through—even though she didn't want to give him all the sordid details. Maybe he could empathize with her enough to let her stay here in the house.

But then his jaw tightened.

"Well, it's a good thing no one is asking you to find love," he said. "All I care about is that you marry. It's up to you whether you try to love your husband or not—that's no concern of mine."

"I can't believe you." All the eager anticipation she felt for their interactions evaporated like smoke, and she was reminded forcibly of the fact that she didn't actually like him at all.

Whatever tricks were being played on her mind by the fact that he was witty and quick to keep up with her in conversation, she couldn't allow it to supersede the fact that this man was actively trying to ruin her life.

"You know I have no interest in marriage.

You know that it's the last thing in the world I want.

And now your response to me is that it's no concern of yours whether I even feel any affection for the man I marry or not? "

"You said yourself that you weren't interested in finding love," James pointed out. "Why would you care what I think about it? You should be grateful that I'm not insisting you try for a love match since you've specifically told me that you don't want one!"

Victoria stood staring at him for a moment, trying to come up with a retort—but she couldn't think of a thing to say. After about a minute had passed, she decided she wasn't doing herself any favors by standing here in stunned silence, and she shoved her way past him and left the room.

She fumed all the way back to her bedroom. How could someone who was so engaging to talk to make her so angry? Surely if she enjoyed trading banter with someone, she should be able to get along with that person?

But this had always been the problem, with every man who had entered her life. For every good thing a man brought to the table there were at least two negatives balancing it out, making him not worth knowing.

James might be interesting to talk to, but he was heartless. She could never for a moment allow herself to forget that fact.