A slight flush touched Gabrielle's translucent cheeks and her chin lifted in ominous fashion. Miles and Georgie exchanged glances and stepped backward, blending into the group behind them.

"Then I suggest you go," she said icily. "As it happens, I'm not ready to leave yet."

He wasn't going to leave her there. While the doubts and mistrust swirled in his head, he wanted-no, desperately needed-her under his eye. It was an instinctive but nonetheless compelling reaction.

"Nevertheless, we are leaving." He drew her arm through his, and she was immediately aware of the muscular power clamping her arm to his body.

She had no choice but to submit if this was to be a dignified exit. Nathaniel whisked them through the salons in search of their hostess. Gabrielle glanced at his tight-lipped countenance and struggled for the sake of politeness to keep her own anger from showing as she made her farewells, trying to compensate with her own warmth for Nathaniel's taciturn mutter.

They stood in the hall while a maid went in search of her cloak and the footman ran to the mews for their carriage. Gabrielle tapped one foot on the parquet, her eyes blazing. Nathaniel still held her arm in the vise of his own, and when she attempted to pull free, he smacked his other hand over hers so that she was held fast.

The carriage drew up and the footman bowed them out. Nathaniel released her at the footstep, but instead of handing her in, he put a flat palm on her bottom and propelled her unceremoniously upward.

She turned on him before the door was shut behind him. "Just what the devil was that all about? How dare you drag me out of there like some misbehaving child! And how could you behave so badly yourself?"

Nathaniel said nothing, just leaned his head against the leather squabs, his face turned to the window. Light from a night watchman's lantern flickered momentarily over his set countenance and Gabrielle could see a muscle twitching in his cheek.

"Answer me, damn you!" Her palm itched to slap him into a response, but Nathaniel was not a good man to hit. He gave as good as he got.

"There's nothing to say." He spoke finally, sounding ineffably weary. "I'm tired and I'm sick to death of these damn parties."

"That's it?" She stared at him. "You behave in the most ill-mannered fashion the entire evening, embarrass and humiliate me beyond bearing, and your only excuse is that you're tired. Well, let me tell you, Nathaniel Praed-"

"Bequiet!"

The sharp command so surprised her that for a moment she was silenced. She closed her eyes, struggling for reason and control, and then said more moderately, "What's the matter, Nathaniel? What's behind this?"

He regarded her bleakly in the dimness. What if he asked her outright? What if she admitted it? He couldn't bear it. It was as simple as that. He couldn't court that destructive admission. Better to live with these maggots of suspicion than have to deal with the knowledge that his wife had reasons other than love for marrying him.

Cowardice… arrant cowardice, and yet he couldn't help it. He rubbed his eyes with the tips of his fingers and sighed heavily. "Forgive me. I have a crushing headache. I could think only of getting out of there."

"Perhaps you should have gone easier on the claret and the port," she said with asperity, not a whit appeased by this explanation.

She turned her head toward the window, feeling her own temples tighten. His attack had not been simple petulance, Nathaniel in a bad mood taking it out on a safe object-wives were supposed to fulfil that function occasionally. No, it had been directed at her as the cause of his anger.

Could he suspect anything? But there was no proof and there never would be. Just that carelessness with the blotter, and that was easily explained. Even if he did suspect something now, it would die away in time when nothing happened to confirm those suspicions. She would just have to keep cool and calm until that happened. And accepting his treatment this evening was not consonant with the presumption of innocence.

"If you ever do anything like that to me again, Nathaniel, I'll create such a scene, you won't want to show your face outside your own door for a six-month," she declared in a low, fierce voice.

"Don't threaten me, Gabrielle." But he sounded more weary than menacing. "If I embarrassed you, I beg your pardon. I was desperate to get away."

"You could have gone home on your own."

"I needed the comforting company of my wife." Again without volition, the declaration emerged as sardonic as the feeling behind it.

The carriage drew up in Bruton Street before Gabrielle could come up with an appropriate response. Nathaniel jumped down and held out his hand to assist her down. Gabrielle ignored the hand, stepped down to the street, and stalked past him into the house. Her hands shook as she stripped off her silk gloves.

"I'll bid you good night, my lord. I suggest you take a powder for your headache. I can't think what to suggest for your temper, however."

In a rustle of emerald silk skirts she marched up the stairs, leaving Nathaniel in the hall.

He swore a savage oath and went into his book room, slamming the door behind him. He poured a glass of cognac from the decanter on the pier table, then tossed the fiery spirit down his throat and reached again for the decanter. He seemed to have a great cold hole in his chest that he could neither warm nor fill. It was a long time before he went up to bed.

******************************************************************

Gabrielle slept badly and awoke late the next morning. She lay in bed, wondering for a minute why she felt so leaden and melancholy, and then she remembered. Last night's scenes replayed themselves with depressing accuracy. How long was it going to continue… and how long could she keep quiet and put up with it?

Damn Talleyrand!

She pulled the bellrope beside the bed and waited for Ellie to come up with her hot chocolate.

"Miserable day, it is, m'lady." Ellie greeted her cheerfully, placing the tray on the bedside table before pulling back the rose velvet curtains on a gray, overcast sky. "I'd best light the candles," she said, bustling around.

Gabrielle hitched herself up on the pillows and reached for the cup of chocolate. The rich scent came up and hit her, and her stomach rose into her throat. "Dear God, I'm going to be sick!" She flung herself from the bed and behind the commode screen.

Ellie was plumping the pillows when Gabrielle re-emerged, paler than usual.

"Maybe tea would suit better than chocolate, m'lady," the maid said matter-of-factly. "Folks take agin different things… sometimes it's coffee, sometimes tea-"

"What are you talking about?" Gabrielle climbed back into bed. "I must have eaten something last night that disagreed with me. It was probably the crayfish pudding. I thought it tasted a bit odd."

"I don't believe so, m'lady," Ellie said, smoothing the coverlet over Gabrielle's knees. "It's been near six weeks since you last 'ad your time."

"What?" Gabrielle lay back on the pillows, absorbing this. "That long?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Sweet heaven." She touched her belly fleetingly.

"Shall I fetch some tea?"

"Yes, please… anything but that revolting stuff." Gabrielle's mouth twisted in distaste. "And, Ellie-"

"Ma'am?"

"For the moment this is just between the two of us. I don't want to say anything to his lordship until I'm certain."

"Of course, m'lady." Ellie bobbed a curtsy and disappeared with the tray of chocolate.

Gabrielle closed her eyes, a smile on her lips. Nathaniel was not going to be overjoyed, not at first, but he'd have to realize that however scrupulously careful he'd been, in the excess of passion that so often shook them like an earthquake, it was not surprising that his caution had been insufficient.