Instead, she unfastened his trousers and, without further preliminaries, took him inside her. He was unspeakably aroused—the feel of her, the rain-clean taste of her, the urgency of her. She panted and trembled with her need, ravishing him, urging him to ravish her in return.

No more words were needed. She was the only thing that mattered. They were the only thing that mattered. The avalanche of pleasure to come would meld them into one seamless union.

There were no secrets left.

Nothing separated them now.


Christian awakened to an eerie stillness, as if the Rhodesia’s heart had stopped beating. It took him a disoriented second to realize that the engines had stopped humming.

The liner had dropped anchor in Queenstown.

Instinctively he reached for her, but she was not in his bed, to which they’d repaired for more lovemaking, forging ever greater pleasure and closeness for the better part of the night. He called to her, thinking perhaps she was in the parlor or the water closet. Silence answered him.

Alarm prickled his spine—she’d never left without a word. He grabbed his pocket watch from the nightstand. Five minutes to nine—quite late for him. Maybe she had not wished to disturb his slumber. He pulled on some clothes, dashed off a note explaining his possible late arrival for their walk, and rang for the suite steward to take it to her.

The suite steward returned as he was applying shaving soap to his face. “Sir, the baroness’s room steward told me that she has disembarked.”

Christian turned around. “For a tour?”

Ocean liners replenished their supplies at Queenstown. It was not uncommon for passengers to use the time for an excursion into the Irish countryside.

“No, sir. She asked for her luggage to be sent ashore.”

She was leaving. And last night, which he’d believed to herald a new era for them, had been but a long, wordless good-bye for her. She did not believe in his love. She did not trust that he’d left his former obsession behind. And she could not imagine any likely future for them.

All the possibilities that had come to life with her presence began to shatter, and his heart with them.

“She might still be in the disembarkation queue, sir,” said the steward. “Shall I go down for a look?”

The disembarkation queue. Of course, the Rhodesia had not docked. She was somewhere in the harbor. Passengers and their luggage must wait to be ferried in tenders.

Christian washed the soap from his face, threw on a day coat, grabbed his hat, and rushed down to the main deck. The sky was gray. The Atlantic was gray. Even Ireland, otherwise green and beautiful, was an unremitting spread of dreariness.

He pushed through the crowd, frantically searching for her familiar silhouette. The entire population of the ship seemed to have congregated near the tenders. Old ladies tottered about in pairs. Children were held aloft to see over the rails. Young Americans chattered about Buckingham Palace and Shakespeare’s cottage, while waving at a tender rowing toward the Rhodesia.

At last he spotted her standing at the rail. Relief swallowed him whole. As if sensing his urgency, the crowd parted, and those near her scooted away to make room for him. But she did not acknowledge his presence as he came to stand beside her. Her face remained bent to the waves that lapped at the riveted steel plates of the ship’s hull.

“Why? Why are you leaving?”

“I’ve reached my destination.”

“Is it because you think I still love Mrs. Elsewhere?”

“It is not that.”

“Look at me when you say that.”

Her face turned toward him. Her hand tightened on the railing, as if she were surprised by his appearance. He’d been perspiring earlier. But standing on the open deck without his overcoat—the cold was sudden and intense.

“It is not that,” she repeated. “You’ve always said that I could leave anytime. I am leaving now. I don’t need another reason.”

He shivered. From the cold or her words he did not know. “Does it mean nothing that I love you?”

“You don’t love me. You are in love with a creature of your own imagination.”

“That is not true. I don’t need to know your face to know you.”

“I am a fraud, remember? There is no Baroness von Seidlitz-Hardenberg.”

“You think I have forgotten that? I don’t need you to be a baroness. Who you are is more than good enough for me.”

Her laughter sounded bitter. “Let’s not argue a moot point.”

He placed his hand on her arm. “I won’t, if you stay.”

She shook her head. “My luggage is already on the dock.”

“It can easily be brought back on board.”

She shook her head more vigorously. “Let it be. Some things are lovely precisely because they are brief.”

“And other things are lovely because they are rare and beautiful—and should be given a chance to stand the test of time.”

She was silent. His heart thumped wildly. Then she reached up and kissed him on the cheek through her veil. “Good-bye.”

It was the end of the world, nothing but wreckage where entire cities of hope once stood, their spires shining in the sun. Disbelief and despair gripped him turn by turn. Chaos reigned. He was cold, so very cold, the wind like knives upon his skin.

Then, just as suddenly, the confidence he’d taken for granted in his youth reasserted itself. Or perhaps it was only a gambler’s acceptance of all possible outcomes, as he laid his cards on the table.

“Marry me,” he said.


She swayed. She’d swindled a declaration of love, and now a proposal of marriage. He would despise her so much it would make Sodom and Gomorrah’s fate seem like a fairy tale.

Irony—for it was exactly what she had wanted in the first place.

“I can’t,” she said weakly. “No marriage between us would be considered valid.”

“Let’s meet again and discuss what we need to do to make it valid.”

She’d been shocked, when he first found her, to see him unshaven, without his collar, his necktie, his waistcoat, or his overcoat. And his agitation had, if anything, exceeded his dishevelment. But now he radiated mastery and purpose. He’d made up his mind, and nothing was going to dissuade him from his choice.

She, on the other hand, had become all jitters. “What can we possibly discuss?”

“Your circumstances, obviously. Some dilemma prevents you from using your own name. When we meet again you will do me the courtesy of giving me a frank account, nothing held back.”

He might as well hand her a bucket of tar and the innards of a duvet. “It will be no use. Nothing will change.”

“You forget who I am. Whatever your difficulties, I can help you.”

“Even the Duke of Lexington cannot wave away every impediment in his path.”

“Not when you won’t tell me anything, I cannot. But we will meet. And you will tell me what is holding you back—you owe me as much.”

She could see the headline: THE DUKE OF LEXINGTON STRANGLES SOCIETY BEAUTY.

“You want to come with me on my expeditions, don’t you?” he said softly. “Have I ever told you that I’ve a small museum at home? And drawers upon drawers of enormous fossilized teeth that I’m sure will interest you greatly?”

Why must he do this to her?

“There is also an abandoned quarry on my estate, with beautifully differentiated geological strata and an abundance of fossils. Marry me and it’s all yours.”

Throw aside you veil, shouted a voice inside her. Throw aside the stupid veil. End this right now.

She couldn’t. She couldn’t face his wrath. Nor the very large likelihood that his love would not survive his first look at her face. Was it wrong to preserve their affair as it was, to let nothing blemish its perfect memories?

“Lady, are you ready?” one of the tender’s crewmen called.

The tender that had been rowing toward the Rhodesia had disgorged the newcomers and was loading the final batch of passengers to be taken ashore.

“I must go,” she murmured.

“The lady will need one more minute,” said Christian.

His tone allowed no dispute. The crewman touched brim of his cap. “Aye, sir.”

Her lover took her hands in his. “I will say good-bye now, but I expect to see you in London. At the Savoy Hotel, ten days from today. Bring the engraved pen for my birthday and we’ll drink to our future.”

She expelled a long, long breath. She’d say yes to anything now, to get away. “All right.”

But he didn’t let her go so easily. “Your word, do I have it?”

Perhaps no one else cared whether a beautiful woman was also honorable, but she had never gone back on her word. She shut her eyes tight. “You have it.”

He leaned in and kissed her cheek through the veil. “I love you. And I will wait for you.”


Well after the great ocean liner had disappeared beyond the narrow mouth of Cork Harbour, Venetia still remained on the pier.

She needed to locate a ticket agent to secure passage to England, cable Fitz to inform him of her time of arrival, not to mention find porters to haul the quarter-ton slab of stone that was Christian’s gift to her. But to tackle any of those tasks was to signal the end of her last hour as Baroness von Seidlitz-Hardenberg.

The end of the happiest week of her life.

She didn’t know how long she stayed in place. She didn’t even notice that it had started to rain until a porter came to offer her an umbrella. She thanked him and allowed herself to be escorted away from the pier, toward shelter, toward the perfect life of the beautiful Mrs. Easterbrook.